[2023-08-09] Laughter heals many hurts
This morning, as I drove my daughter to the park-and-ride, I pulled out onto Eagleson Road. I was still in my early-morning, retirement brain, but noticed cars gaining on me. Alright, I thought, I'll increase my speed from a leisurely 60 km/hour to the posted maximum of 80 km/hour. Clearly, that wasn't enough for the gainfully employed commuters. Cars started to pass me.
— "Don't you know I'm retired?" I screamed to no one.
— "Don't you know she has cancer?" Mel added.
— "Don't you know I have only one breast?" I upped the ante.
Mel laughed, admitting that she had thought of that joke but wasn't sure whether it was too soon to make it.
— "It's not too soon," I giggled.
When I was in active treatment for cancer, Mel and I used to play "the cancer card" for comedic effect between us—a little dark humour to make cancer seem less scary. And even though my cancer rarely had anything to do with the issue at hand, attributing something to the disease always made us laugh.
I can recall playing the cancer card only once. It was during the early days of the COVID pandemic, long after physical distancing had become the norm. A woman was crowding me at the post office counter. It was my turn, not hers, and I was uncomfortable with how close she was standing to me.
— "Could you please stand back there?" I asked. "I have cancer." She backed off immediately. It felt good to stand up for myself.
On the day of my emergency surgery to remove one of my new implants, a friend referred to me as the "interim one-titty committee." I thought that was hilarious. But, until today, I wasn't ready to share that nickname more broadly. We all need to mourn awful circumstances, whether they happen to us or to someone we love. I didn't want to trivialize something that people around me were continuing to struggle with. But as Madeleine L'Engle said, "A good laugh heals a lot of hurts."
After almost a week as the unaboober, it's time to start laughing about the whole thing. One friend sent me a photo of a booby (a large tropical seabird with brightly coloured feet), with the caption "I see your one booby and match you with another! Haha." Another friend asked—in response to my post referencing Knitted Knockers—whether there might be a lucrative market for Knotted Knuts. I replied that Knotted Knuts would be macramed (as opposed to knitted), because that seems more manly, and they would be made with fuzzy yarn.
Yesterday at Costco, a woman saw me taking a large bag of yogurt out of the cooler. It was a great price, and I was picking one up for my son.
— "Do you drink this yogurt like a drink or eat it like a food?" she asked me.
— "You can definitely eat it like a food, but I know my son sometimes drinks it from the bag."
— "Oh, OK. Good to know," she said, with genuine interest.
— "Do you have teenagers at home?" I asked.
— "No, it's just me. I would be the one drinking it from the bag."
— "Oh, well then, in that case, you go girl!"
We both laughed. This woman is perfectly entitled to drink yogurt out of a bag. And I admired her for admitting it.
What does this anecdote have to do with having only one breast? Absolutely nothing. It was just a very funny exchange that I didn't want to forget.
Just before publishing tonight's post, I received a message that a friend had left something on my front porch. There I found the most adorable little cake with pink icing, decorated with the word "Parabéns" (Portuguese for "congratulations") and a little trophy, in honour of my completing the Brazilian Portuguese course on Duolingo. That made me laugh. It also made me feel very special, adding to my day of laughter and good feelings.
