Laugh Always

Thanks Momma for inspiring this post and reminding me of a hilarious story from one of my surgeries. As much as I have cried, screamed, pouted, you name it, I have laughed MORE! Laughing, crafing (crying and laughing – my friend Jennie and I named it), whatever! – it’s what gets me through and lifts me up. Here are some fun stories of laughter.

**

I was recovering from my first surgery at home in Albany. I spent most of my time in my dad’s recliner because it was THE only thing that felt comfortable. I couldn’t lay flat in a bed and would have to sleep in the chair. My family would have to help me out of bed, down the stairs, into the chair, and into my nightgowns (yes this was all I could wear for weeks and those AMAZING stretchy hospital underwear). This help also included showering me. I couldn’t bathe myself and just standing in the shower for five minutes took all the energy out of me. It was a huge task to go upstairs and clean my little tushy. Well, one day when my sister was bathing me, (thanks Allie J) I noticed how heavily she was breathing – she has allergies so tends to breathe heavy, but since she was so close to me it sounded like a rhinoceros! I said, “You are breathing like a rhinoceros.” Next thing you know we were both CRYING laughing. I was actually crafing because laughing hurt like hell with the pressure of the 32 staples down my tummy.

**

After my third surgery I was back at my old apartment in Boston with my delirious mother. Delirious because she never left my side in the hospital and brought me back to life. I was relaxing – or trying to – on the couch and of course my mom was running around the apartment cleaning anything and everything she could find. My mom could find dust where dust doesn’t exist. All of a sudden I see her with the Swiffer and she slips and does a full out split. I started cracking up which then turned into grabbing the pillow for my belly and yelling at her because it hurt so much! She was rolling around on the floor laughing too.

**

Panic attacks happen. They actually happen a lot on my drive home from work, which is definitely not the best time because I am DRIVING a “potential death machine” as my mom called it when I first got my permit. They happen on my way home because I have likely been holding in my emotions all day at work. So it basically starts with hyperventilating, my whole face tingles, then comes the crying, then comes the muscles getting all tight, and the anger and the flailing in my seat and the screaming. At some point during all of this I call my parents. Sometimes my mom is so upset to hear me upset that she says hold on and throws the phone at my dad. SOMEHOW he manages to make me laugh by saying the stupidest thing!! “So I saw Casey M. working in Stewart’s can you believe that. He dropped out of college.” What?!! So random of my dad to say – Casey graduated high school with my brother but was always a little bit of a question mark as to whether or not he would go to college or just end up staying in our home town. The randomness made me laugh and completely distracted me. I did my little I am still crying but also laughing and you are ridiculous laugh/grunt thing. Thanks, Datty. (My dad has many names – Little Ronald, Faja, Datty, Mr. Sir…)

**

My second surgery I had this adorable redheaded Irish nurse for one of the night shifts. Her name was Mary and she was just a gem. As with every nurse, my mom (a nurse) watched her every move. Some got the evil eye, but Mary was a keeper, she got an A. It was probably somewhere around 3 a.m. when Mary came in to give me my heparin shot (blood thinner shot into my thigh that stings like a biatch). Mary tiptoed in and explained what she was doing in her little Irish whisper. My mom was sleeping on the chair to my left. Then, poof, my mom was up and at ‘em standing right next to Mary, like the sneaky guy with the foot fetish in the movie Mr. Deeds. Mary got very startled and in her Irish brogue said, “Oh, I didn’t even see ya there.”

**

Surgery number two, back at the apartment again with my mom recovering and I was on the toilet – sure you wanted to know that. The reason I tell you that is because from the toilet I could see into my bedroom. (I was just peeing for the sake of this story, don’t worry. My mom would help me onto the toilet then leave me alone for a few then come back to help me off. Dignity, shmignity.) I look up and there is my 50-something mother trying to walk around in a pair of my three-inch Nine West stilettos. Okay, now let me define what trying to walk in these looked like – she could barely lift up her feet, was wearing her pajama pants that always manage to shrink and look like flood pants, and was concentrating very hard. I said, “WHAT are you doing?” We both looked up at each other and starting crying laughing.

**

Those are just a few stories of laughter for now. One note I have to end with is that my dad is very attached to his recliner I mentioned – it is his buddy. Of course he didn’t think twice about giving it up for me for a month because it was all I could get comfortable in, but I know he missed that thing like a fat kid misses cake. When I was starting to feel better and was able to get comfortable in other places, I came downstairs one day and there was a piece of paper taped to the recliner that said “Eviction Notice. This chair is now being returned to the care of Ronald A. Sail.” Very funny, Datty! J

Being that it is February 11th, I have to give a Happy Birthday shout out to my one and only rhinoceros, my sweet chinchilla, my other half -- Allie Wik.