After a few days of bed rest in our dorm room, Lou was starting to go stir-crazy. 

The doctor had strenuously cautioned Lou to take it easy, but by the start of day three, Lou was going out of his mind. I’d been going out several times a day to grab take-out food, and to replenish our basic supplies. We were really lucky to be right in the middle of the University of Mineesota campus because everything I needed was within walking distance, and I never felt like I had to leave Lou for very long to get whatever he needed.

But right then, he needed to get out of that room, and I couldn’t blame him.

The doctor was very concerned about making sure Lou’s prostate could heal from all of the cauterizing, so he suggested that we get a “hemorrhoid donut” so when Lou was sitting upright in a chair, there would be no direct pressure on his prostate. This seemed like a great suggestion at first. But here’s the funny thing about pharmacies on college campuses: they don’t tend to carry a very wide selection of incontinence or hemorrhoid care products.

Shocker… I know.

So the only donut they had was a bright, retina-burning-yellow colored foam ring that was about two inches wider in circumference than a normal toilet seat. I remember when the pharmacist walked me over to the section where this donut was lurking, it nearly jumped out and bit me it was so visually aggressive. 

But I really wanted Lou to be able to sit outside in the sunshine, or to go have coffee at the Starbucks right next to our dorm. Clearly, I couldn’t be choosy about such things, so I sucked it up, and bought that enormous yellow O.

I remember feeling really relieved that the donut “just fit” into my ruined handbag. It felt like that was such a win because I wanted to keep things as discreet as possible for Lou. My plan was to shove the big O into my purse, then quickly whip it out of my bag and slide it into position under Lou as he started to sit down. 

If I did it right, no one would ever be the wiser.

When I came back to the dorm room to pick up Lou, we emptied the cath bag, and Lou styled his hair with the AXE teenage-hair gel I picked up for him at the pharmacy. He was wearing his hospital scrubs with the nice dress shirt he’d worn on the day of the surgery. His shirt was very rumpled, and it didn’t look very good with his scrub bottoms — and neither did his leather shoes — but Lou didn’t seem to care. Lou was ready to be out and about, and little things like that never really bother him anyway.

Lou always thinks he looks good. 

So we carefully made our way down to the very crowded campus Starbucks. It was bustling with students hauling enormous book bags on their backs; and, most of the girls were sporting trendy looks complete with leather knee-boots and colorful sweaters layered over hip T-shirts. 

I remember standing in line with Lou, hoping that one of the highly caffeinated students wouldn’t knock into him, or brush up against his cath bag and accidentally open up the nozzle. I wanted to put a protective bubble around my husband so no one would harm him; but when I looked up at Lou, he was smiling and soaking in the vibes as if he didn’t have a care in the world. (Remembering moments like these always makes me love Lou.)

After we got our black coffees, we started looking around the shop to find any open seating. This Starbucks catered to students who needed a place to study, so there were long tables with bar stools and a handful of squatty square tables with spindly chairs scattered throughout. I couldn’t imagine making the donut work on a stool or rickety chair, so I was really trying to find a club chair or something more suitable.

As luck would have it, just as I spotted a cluster of leather chairs in the far corner, a nerdy kid with spiked hair and glasses looked like he was packing up his bag, and preparing to vacate his seat. I told Lou I was going to go get him that chair; then, I handed him my coffee so I could make a mad dash to stake my claim. 

My purse was very awkward because of the huge yellow O distorting the shape, so I wouldn’t be surprised if I knocked into people on my way to grab that chair. But when I reached the seating cluster, I pushed my way over so I was standing right in front of the nerd. 

I was ready to pounce. 

I remember the kid looking up at me with this irritated “chill lady” expression, but I didn’t care. I needed to secure that chair for Lou. And, I needed a second or two to casually slip the enormous yellow donut out of my purse as discreetly as possible before Lou sat down.

Unfortunately, the donut was wedged in tight, and I couldn’t whip it out the way I had imagined. So instead of being discreet, I seemed to be drawing extra attention to myself. Lou was suddenly standing beside me, watching me wrestle this enormous golden thing out of my purse. He seemed to assess the situation silently, and then he put our coffees on a nearby table. 

He said, “Hold your bag, and I’ll pull.” 

In one simple effort, the golden donut was out of the bag and fully in view of any onlooker paying attention. Lou looked at the donut curiously, and then tossed it into the chair. I watched as he carefully lowered himself into the seated position, and then slowly straightened out his legs. 

“Baby. Can you hand me my coffee please?” he casually asked.

So I handed Lou his coffee. There was no available seating for me by Lou, so I took my coffee to a nearby table (with rickety seating) and kept my eye on my husband. Throughout the next hour or so, Lou sat in that chair and talked to student after student. The 2012 presidential election was only about 7 weeks away, and so Lou was conducting his own straw polls and getting students to express their beliefs about Romney or Obama.

It was painful for me to watch. 

But for Lou? He was living the life of a Golden Gopher, holding court, teaching life lessons, and offering a few lucky students an entrepreneur’s point of view on politics.