Sick(bed) sense of humor

My dad's surgery last week provided a few unexpected days of family time. I'd rather celebrate family time in the more traditional manner -- holidays and family celebrations -- but it was comforting to have the family around. In between worrying and nervously biting our nails, it also provided a few light-hearted funny moments, as we tried to distract ourselves.

Such as in the ICU waiting room. My aunt's cell phone had a terrible '80s synthesizer ring, and my uncle implored my cousin Kathleen to change it while my aunt was out of the room. Kathleen was happy to assign a ring tone, but knew her mom would rally against the $2 charge. My uncle said he'd pay for it -- by check.

So Kathleen started messing with the phone, until my aunt re-appeared and asked what she was doing.

"Giving you a new ring tone," Kathleen answered.

"Does that cost money?" my aunt immediately asked. "I don't want to pay for it!"

On cue, the whole family burst into laughter, and my uncle said, "Where's my checkbook? Evelyn, it's on me."

I also found a stack of blue surgical masks in the ICU waiting room, and put those to good use. First, I put one on and amused my family by breathing heavy so it fogged up my glasses. Then I wore it on my head like a kippah, and clasped my hands together in prayer. We sent that photo to my friend Kelley, who's a rabbi, with the message, "Shalom from the waiting room!"

Even Mark brought his A game. My aunt passed around a bag of cookies, and gave me some to offer Mark.

"You want a cookie?" I asked him, and he answered "Yes!" before I finished the sentence.

"Just so you know, you never have to ask me that," he said, assuring me the answer would always be yes.

Even our first visit in the ICU post-op was a tad inappropriate. My dad was still sleeping, hooked up to IVs and all sorts of tubes and wires. My mom, brother Tim and I all stood around his bed, watching him sleep, relieved that the surgery had gone well, but a little anxious he wasn't awake yet. All around us, machines were beeping, and tubes were draining, and it was hard to know where to look.

Tim spied a large glass bottle, hanging upside down. He silently pointed to it, and I read the label. Nitroglycerin. He raised his hands, miming an explosion, and whispered, "Boom!" I about lost it.

"It was like Bugs Bunny," he said later, in the hallway. "Like how Yosemite Sam was always blowing up stuff with dynamite and nitroglycerin."

"Yeah, but he always pushed down on it," I said. "So you should do this instead..." And I mimed pressing down on box that triggered the dynamite fuse. Tim repeated, "Boom!" and we burst into giggles again. I thought my mom might smack us, but she giggled instead.

Or when the respiration technician came in to give my dad his breathing treatment a couple days later. He hooked up a mask onto my dad's face, and I watched as steam poured out the sides. My dad's breathing grew heavy, loud, and it reminded me of a certain famous villain.

"Come on, dad, say it!" I encouraged, and he responded as I knew he would.

"Luke, I am your faaaather," he breathed loudly, sending us all --including the respiration tech -- into a fit of laughter.

The kids -- mine and my nieces and nephew -- also lightened things up for us. My son insists on riding in the mini-van with his cousins whenever we go somewhere, so my niece Nathalie escaped into my car. We spent most of the week giggling and being silly together. We even transported my Mom after dinner one night, when she'd had a glass of wine. She was telling us all about a nearby school she'd worked at, named after Marie Curie.

"They named it after a chicken sauce?" Nathalie asked excitedly, but my mom didn't quite get it.

"What chicken sauce?" she asked.

"Curry!" Nat and I answered simultaneously.

"No, they named it after..." she started, but it was too late. Nat and I were gone, laughing our heads off.

And of course, my other niece Gabi cracked me up, when recalling a story about how she drank three bottles of root beer at a party, and spun outta control from it.

"One time, when I was root beer-drunk -- " she started. I was laughing so hard at that simple description that I never did hear the rest of the story.

So our week was long, and left us emotionally spent at the end of each day. I felt guilty about laughing and joking while my dad was laid up in bed, but honestly, I think the laughter is what kept us all sane, and from going over the edge with worry. I was (and am) grateful that I'm not the only one in the family who reverts to laughter and inappropriate jokes when I'm scared or nervous.

And I am grateful that I was born into a family with a sense of humor that is as immature as my own, which shows up at maybe not the most appropriate of times.

But as my dad proved during his Darth Vader impression, this apple certainly didn't fall far from the tree. :-)