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. :-)

Have a heart

Last week was one of the most nerve-wracking weeks I've ever had, and truth be told, I'm really glad it's over.

My dad went in for bypass surgery (or open-heart surgery, as the doctors called it. Which freaked my Mom and I out, so we opted for the more vague but less-scary-sounding "bypass"). Initially, the doctors told him they'd be bypassing three arteries (triple bypass!!), but they actually ended up bypassing five.

He's fine now. A little loopy from the pain meds and bored by the hospital routine, but other than that, he's on the mend. He's no longer hooked up to the oxygen canister or sporting the plastic-mustache tube that delivered the oxygen. He doesn't have all the IVs and other liquid-filled bags hooked into him. (At one point, I counted 14 bags simultaneously dripping stuff into him.) As I write this, he's still in the hospital, but may go home today or tomorrow.

I'd like to say that in his hour of need, my family responded in the most graceful, mature manner possible. Of course, anyone who's met my family knows that is a lie. Instead, we handled it in the typical Dinsdale fashion: with nervous laughter, inappropriate jokes, and the constant threat of being tossed out of my dad's room for being too loud, or having too many family members crammed into his tiny room. (We patently ignored the "two visitors at a time" rule the entire time.)

But at least we all responded together. Between my immediate family, aunt, uncle, and cousins, we filled up half the ICU waiting room. There were 10 of us nervously pacing, trying to distract ourselves with smartphones, email, magazines, the giant TV, or by diving into any one of the seven containers of cookies. (Apparently, in my family, cookies are love, because everybody brought a batch.) We tried to distract my mom, who held up very well until the last hour.

And as scary as it all was (and still is), at least we went through it all together. It's so cliche to say at least we were all together, but it's the truth. I was relieved that my oldest brother was paying attention (and understanding) all the info the doctors gave us. I was grateful that my mom's siblings were there to hug her, and be her rock, as they've done their whole lives. I was blessed that my sister-in-law took over the home front, cooking while we waited in the ICU, and watching the kids so that we could focus on my dad. And I was glad to be surrounded by my own siblings (and cousin), just as my mom was, and receiving their brand of comforting, which involved a lot of playful punching and insults (that's how they show their love--why say the words "I love you, sis" when a jab to the kidneys will do?).

Like I said, my dad's made a lot of progress, and he's one tough dude -- he even has an awesome new scar to prove it. (I told him chicks dig scars.) My mom's hanging in there -- she's pretty tough herself.

So now we just wait a little longer. A little longer, and he'll come home. A little longer, and he'll be feeling better. A little longer, and he'll be up and walking around, joking like he usually does, and acting silly with the grandkids.

And I'll be grateful for it all.