Terminal Humor

I drove my husband to the hospital this morning.  He found out he needed an Endobronchoscopy only last week.  A midst waiting for the lab results of a mole that was removed last week and having to schedule a treadmill stress test, going in for this EBUS biopsy of a way-too-big node in the middle of his lungs has produced stress.  Even for my husband, who is known for giving stress, not getting it. 

I knew he was getting antsy when he announced last week that he was taking two days off work for a road trip to the Ranch.  To him, the Rockin R is like Tara is to Scarlett O’Hara – he’s got to put his boots on that land fairly regularly.  The trip did him good, and when he returned home he had only one more day to wait and wonder before the EBUS.

We were both feeling pretty good about things as we got into the car to drive to the medical center.  All of our kids, siblings, Mom, church family, friends and co-workers are covering us in prayer and we know that all of these health things are in the Lord’s hands, so no reason to worry.  Nevertheless it’s disconcerting to have to go through the tests.  As I pulled out onto the main street heading for the expressway I decided to turn the radio on.  I have a couple of fave “radio preachers” and I thought Paul could use the strength and encouragement that I experience regularly from their biblical preaching.

I turned up the volume and heard “…you are sick and it’s terminal, you must come to grips with it.”  Immediately I yanked the knob down to mute and looked over at Paul.  “Well,” he said, “that’s it then.  It’s terminal.  Now we know.  I guess there’s no reason to even have the procedure, just turn around, let’s go home.”  I started laughing.  I couldn’t help it.  My desire to encourage him in his moment of anxiety had done exactly the opposite.  It felt like the words coming out of those speakers had been directed at him.  Unfortunately NOT the words I was expecting or wanted him to hear.  Maybe it was my own anxiety, but I couldn’t stop laughing.

“Thanks honey, it’s so nice to know you won’t miss me when I’m gone.  Sure am glad I’ve done all this financial planning, you’re going to be fine.”   He kept the morose, Eyeore look on his face but I knew he was having fun at my expense.

“You have that phone conference with the financial guy on Wednesday, think you can hang on until then?” I asked, laughing.  He shook his head.  “I don’t know, now that it’s terminal I could go any day.”

That little banter lightened the moment, but after a few minutes of silence the weight of possible bad results was back in the air.  I reached to turn up the volume on the radio.  Surely by now the uplifting part of the sermon would be on.  “I recall the funerals of my parents,” the preacher was saying.  “Their lifeless bodies a reminder that they were no longer.  A reminder that we are all sinners and one day each of us will die.”

Once again I quickly muted the volume.  Paul looked over at me.  “Would you mind not turning that on any more?” he asked.  Once again I burst out laughing, not able to hold back.  “I’m glad you think this is so funny.  Are you even planning to attend my funeral?”  Paul’s teasing was relentless, and every funny one-liner that left his lips just made me laugh harder.

By the time we got to the hospital the tears were rolling down my cheeks.  The irony of the whole situation had gotten to me.  Locking the car, I picked up my day bag and turned to Paul.  He stretched and looked out past the concrete to the cloudy sky.  “Yep, special close-in parking for the terminal patients.”  “Stop it,” I said, I’ve got to be able to focus once we get inside.”  We smiled, and together entered the building.  Like Mom always says, if you have a sense of humor you can get through anything.