Comic Relief

My family doesn't always react as you might expect and we often use humor during the gravest times.  Over 20 years ago Michelle was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis and ever since she gets two defective brain jokes for every offering of sympathy.

Michelle had some problems back in February that put her into a wheel chair (when Mandy wasn't plopping her in a regular chair so she could see how long she could keep the thing up on two wheels).  As a result, Michelle had some neurological exams and MRI images to determine if the problems that kept her from walking were a pinched nerve or the MS.  One of the MRI pictures showed she has lesions consistent with a blood based or metastatic cancer (which opens a whole other story I'm not going into right now).  I'll never forget the day they we got called into the office so they could give us the news.

To be clear,  I'm a guy who rarely recalls a date, but this one is etched in my mind forever.  It was February 14th of this year.  We got home from the doctor consult and there was a vase of orchids on the table with a card from Mandy.  The card said:

"Getting a cancer diagnosis on the most expensive flower day of the year ... nicely played".

When Shane got the news about his mother I believe his comment was along the lines of "Oh great, we already have to ride bikes for the MS, now we have to walk for cancer too?"

So as you can imagine we've spent a lot of time sitting in the hospital this week, and as you can imagine we've spent quite a few hours trying to keep it together.  Well, our friend Tim came to visit one afternoon and at some point he suggested we go downstairs and donate blood.

For my part, I never pass up an opportunity to donate blood with Tim because he always falls down afterwards and it's a hoot to watch the nurses and techs freak out.   (Apparently Tim doesn't fall down anymore so that's a pint of blood I'll never get back...but I digress)

So I'm laying on the little couch waiting for my turn.  Now, keep in mind that idle time is the worst time when you are dealing with an illness like Shane's - your mind can wander so many unpleasant places.  Anyway, there is a 50's radio station playing in the background and as the tech is doing the iodine prep the song "Oh where oh where can my baby be" comes on (now the people my age are connecting to where I'm going while the young'uns are a bit lost).  I found myself struggling to keep my composure when a thought, typical for me, but probably unthinkably cruel for normal people, crosses my mind.

"I could wait until she sticks the needle in my vein and then just stop fighting these tears and start sobbing like a little girl - that would be interesting"

Well the thought of the tech's reaction broke the emotion brought by the song.  The needle stick was just routine.  As my opportunity to be mean to this complete stranger vaporized it served as a gentle reminder.  Laughter is the best medicine (well, that and chemotherapy, anti-nausea medicine, morphine, and colon stints so my son won't be full of ... um ... so my son won't get septic).