Monday, September 11, 2006

The Humor in the Tumor

I married Bubba because he makes me laugh. Sometimes he makes me laugh so hard I hurt the next day and I love that. Don't get me wrong, he has a myriad of other fantastic qualities that endear him to me, but none of them would have sealed the deal like his twisted sense of humor. We understand that there are things we find hilarious that other people just don't get, and I take solace in knowing that there is at least one other person on the planet who will laugh when I get especially morbid or dirty-minded.

The past month has been especially trying for our family and we have sought out ways to make fun of ourselves as we struggle through the uncertainty and fear. My youngest is convinced that the egg-shaped tumor is either an egg that Daddy ate and it went down the wrong pipe and got stuck, or her long lost stuffed naked mole-rat that Daddy ate with BBQ sauce by mistake one day. She rolls her eyes as she tells him to pay more attention when he eats. My husband has taken to calling the tumor his "pet" and wonders aloud if it is actually a mole come to take revenge for all of the battles he has waged over the years to take our lawn back from the mounds that push up overnight in the spring and fall.

Yesterday, as I was asking if there was a way we could have a photograph of the tumor post-excision (so that I can reassure myself it is actually no longer part of my sweetie's body), a tabloid headline flashed through my mind:

Man's Tumor has Face of Osama

I mean, the trail for him has gone cold, right? Could it be that Bin Laden has found the perfect hideout, sequestered in the stomach of a farmboy-turned-Democrat? We may never have found him if my husband's immune system hadn't revolted and thrown him into periodic attempts to purge everything inside himself. I saw myself staring at the Polaroid of the tumor sitting in a gloved hand, my eyes searching out the beard and bound head of the Al Qaida leader and having it all make sense in that one moment...


I know, I'm weird, but you've got to allow me a little wiggle room here, right? Leave me to my coping mechanisms, no matter how strange.

7 comments:

Mother Jones RN said...

Humor is a great way of dealing with stress, and if the tumor really looks like Osama, I'm sure you can get some TV gigs before you sell the tumor on E-bay:-)

ammogirl said...

I adore your coping mechanisms. I also adore you. Good luck today.

Michelle O'Neil said...

Love it!

Maybe he should ask that tumor what it wants? What do I have to do to make sure you go away and stay away?

kario said...

Mother Jones: They say laughter is the best medicine, right? Our pharmacy is open 24/7. Here's hoping it works!

Ammogirl: Thanks. We're feeling the love all the way on the other side of the world!

Michelle: Hey, we don't negotiate with terrorists! Maybe a little torture is in order, though, before we let it go...

Carrie Wilson Link said...

That which doesn't kill us, only makes us funnier!

Jenny Rough said...

Anne Lamott wrote a novel about family who's father is diagnosed with a brain tumor (her own father had one, I think). She titled the book Hard Laughter. I thought that was brilliant.

Miss Devylish said...

You are so precious.. and funny. :)

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