After work tonight I popped over to the UCSF medical campus in Mission Bay to check on my pal Kari who'd undergone surgery on Tuesday. On my way to her room I ducked into the hospital gift shop for a roll of dental floss (at her request) and spotted, among the greeting cards and plastic floral arrangements, a gendered stuffed cactus that I thought she might like.
For the nearly three hours that followed my arrival the two of us gabbed our faces off about all things, pausing only so that Kari's nurses could take her blood pressure and ask detailed questions about her bowel movements. Apart from the setting and the poo inquiries, the evening felt a lot like how we'd spent so many evenings in our twenties when we'd lie on the bed in her tiny Lower Haight studio and listen to each other's problems.
I stood up to leave around nine o'clock and felt a pang of sadness come over me, mostly because it had gotten dark outside while we were talking and Kari would be alone for a little while until her boyfriend got there. My sadness didn't last long, however, because I was assured, via text message a few minutes after I'd returned home, that my friend was in good company.
Mend well, love.
I hope you poop soon.