Cancer. It’s not the type of thing you ask for — usually. Who’d want it? A life-changing, sometimes life-ending disease. Cancer’s so scary that there are people who won’t say the word aloud…but I was saying it regularly, begging God to let me be the one with cancer. My son, a strong, smart, energetic 22-year-old junior at the University of Missouri, woke up one morning with an aching chest. It turned out to be a malignant tumor, and the start of my most fervent prayers. “Please. I’ve had a great life. Let it be me — not him.”
I can’t even describe that time in our lives accurately. It went by in a blur — and not the fast paced blur you enjoy while you rocket along the roller coaster’s tracks, but a confusing, often terrifying inability to really understand and deal with what was going on. There were months of chemo. He had surgery. His hair fell out. The boy who could empty a refrigerator in the blink of an eye now wouldn’t eat — everything tasted metallic, and he had no appetite. And through it all, we wondered: would he ever have a girlfriend, a family, a life…
For two decades, I’d studied, written and spoken about the therapeutic values of humor. It was time to walk the talk. It was tough. I won’t kid you. Being funny can be hard work. At times, we had to make a conscious effort to laugh. And yet sometimes, if we would just let it”it would just happen. Humor was a saving grace for all of us.
There was a time for tears, but there was a time for laughter. Many times, actually.
David’s friends provided great laughs. They dubbed my son “Captain Cancer”. One of my son’s roommates, a red-headed Italian color blind art student, couldn’t resist the potential canvas David’s head provided: she begged him to let her decorate it with colorful markers!
We laughed at home, we laughed at the hospital, and we laughed at work. David was working as a bouncer at a popular local bar. One of his friends worked with him, and together they were known as Tonto and the Lone Ranger. After a round of treatments, though, his nickname changed. According to the bar’s patrons, my son was now Chemo-sabi!
Allen Klein, author of The Healing Power of Humor, surveyed patients who were terminally ill, about the use of humor. About 80% of them wished for more humor”from their caregivers, and the freedom to use humor themselves.
Humor can be used proactively, to help heal both the body and the spirit. To do this, you can:
Play: Make a Play List. This is a list of 10 low or no-cost things that are fun for you. Then, when you’re not feeling well, do something from the list. You dont wait until you feel better to play. You play and then you feel better.
Make sure you have a stock of toys”Magic 8 balls, Koosh toys, whatever makes you smile”available.
Be A Humor Collector: Gather funny books, magazines, movies and cartoons. Have people tell you funny or embarrassing stories. Search for great jokes. Amassing the collection is only part of the fun: spend at least 15 minutes a day enjoying it.
Choose to surround yourself with people who share your appreciation of humor. The world is full of serious, downbeat folks who view the world through mud-colored glasses. Leave them alone, as much as possible: that type of mood is contagious, and you don’t want to catch it! Ask people to make you laugh — and do your best to make them laugh. Surround yourself with joy as often as possible.
By the way, David has been cancer free now for 4 years. Hes engaged to be married next month. His courage, his gentle spirit and his sense of humor”hes my hero.





