If You Can't Laugh, You're Screwed

A very good, forever friend said to keep writing; that I was good.  Aside from my siblings she holds the longest run as my friend.  Of course, I love those comments, but what I really want to know is whether or not anything funny is getting through. I think if you can't laugh at yourself, or situations you find yourself in, than you're pretty much screwed. Without laughter you might as well give up, especially after sustaining the all encompassing head injury.

After the accident, I admit, I didn't laugh so much.  At first, it was because my broken jaw was wired shut.  After I was wire free, my lack of laughter was because I was still very messed up. 

No laughter, but I did do a lot of crying.  I shed tears like rain falls in Seattle.  They would erupt without warning and my husband, at the time, would simply send one of my children to give me a hug.  They were both sweet, huggable toddlers at the time. Most often their embrace would quell the flow.  Probably because I didn't know why I was crying to begin with. Later, though, the tears came from my realization that I was physically broken and my brain was the problem, and the part still functioning probably knew I'd never be the same.

Those around me did laugh, however, and sometimes it was because of something I said. Their laughs made me happy.  I'll say this just once: When I ran, I loved to win, but now, I love to make people laugh. 

I was still in the hospital, in a physical therapy session, when something I said resulted in loud guffaws. My therapist was Kyle; a young, very cute Asian. I'm sure the only reason I knew his name was because each session, twice daily for almost 4 months, began with him telling me his name.  It surprises me that I knew any other names, because there were about a bazillion people in the room, but I knew Jim.  

This is how I learned to walk again

    

This is where I always rested

Jim was the therapist who had helped Kyle use a shopping cart to get me walking for the first time, (maybe that's why I remembered his name.)  Jim held the front end of the cart,I held the handle, and Kyle moved my legs. This particular day, Jim was across the room and I was sitting on the side of one of those low, padded therapy tables resting.  I did that a lot. 

Well, I looked across the room at Jim, shook my head, and said, to no one in particular, Jim needs a haircut.  Kyle laughed like a hyena!  I was out of earshot (is that a word?) and Jim didn't hear me, but Kyle called him over and, between chuckles, told him what I had said.  And then they both had a good laugh, together.