Doug went in to surgery this morning. He's had Crone's disease since he was a child. Everyone has bacteria in their intestines that are necessary for the digestion of food, but if you have Crone's disease, your immune system attacks those bacteria. That's the short explanation of the disease. It's very painful. But Doug's a strong man; he puts up with the pain every day, all day, never complaining about it. I suppose he's had a long time to get used to it.

So Doug went in to surgery this morning, to have the infected portions of his disassembled intestines removed. He's being put back together again, enduring a traumatizing and dangerous procedure. And I'm in Saint Louis, three hundred miles away. What kind of friend am I? I should be next to him, holding his hand through the whole procedure, letting him know I'm near, I care, and I love him. Instead, I sit in Saint Louis, staring aimlessly and wondering what is happening. My imagination is often overly active; I hope for the best, but expect the worse, bringing myself to the verge of tears but holding them back for reasons unknown.

I was expecting a call shortly after ten. Eleven, noon, one o'clock all come, and no call. Maybe he just forgot to tell someone to call me. No he wouldn't forget; something must be wrong. What can I do? There isn't anyone I can call. All I can do is sit and worry, and I do exactly that. I just want to hold him right now, to tell him everything will be alright, to tell myself everything will be alright.

I check my messages every five minutes. Where is that message? Quarter past two, I finally get it. It's Becky, and she sounds a bit nervous. He's out of surgery, in recovery, he should be fine. She repeats this several times, maybe to reassure herself, maybe to reassure me, maybe both. It doesn't work. They found more Crone's, but they removed it. They found more? What if there is more they didn't find? But he's in recovery; everything should be fine. His mother said everything was going to be fine. Mother can't be wrong, can she?

I'll just have to wait and hope, here in Saint Louis, so far away. Come home Doug- I love you so much.

I spoke with Doug, setting my worries at ease. I wanted to call him this morning, too, but I was running late for work. I'll call him at lunchtime. I've heard that traumatic experiences such as this can bring people closer together. I always thought that theory was suspect, but I'd never known anyone to have such a trying experience as this. I don't think this brought us closer together; I think it simply made me realize how close we already are. Perhaps someday we'll be together again, exclusively and always.