Laughter, glorious laughter!

I don’t recall exactly when the laughter returned, but it’s been in full season since Kevin came into my life.

When my scrambled eggs for brains (a chapter title in the first draft of the book) began turning into more properly arranged axons and dendrites (the gray matter of the brain) and I was working more regularly and earning a more sustainable wage (yes!), a friend of mine said, “Well, now, how about your love life?” There had been several dates here and there, but I guess ultimately I wasn’t ready for love. I was still far from well.

While the brain was clearing up, the body most certainly was not. My cognitive-, speech-, and psycho- therapies had concluded sometime in 2002, I believe. I then began working with a new physical therapist that my new physician, Chris Centeno, MD had suggested. I was being instructed in how to use a therapy ball, foam roller and a TENS unit (Transcutaneous Electrical Nerve Stimulation) to manage the pain. Dr. Centeno offered a variety of other therapies and procedures that made an enormous difference in my life. He explained that the chronic pain syndrome I was experiencing was a direct result from the trauma to my brain. He used the term central (autonomic) nervous system dysfunction (fibromyalgia) and explained that my brain over reacts to stimuli from my body. This seemed bad! I hated the word fibromyalgia (although he didn’t use it). I knew enough about it from my patients over the years and from a dear friend who suffers from it, and I definitely did not want it myself! I hadn’t wanted a brain injury, and for that matter, I had wished the whole damned thing hadn’t happened to me.

The pain was awful. Walking, sitting for too long or even lying down all hurt. The pain woke me up. I slept a lot, but still never felt rested. The only place it didn’t hurt was in a warm bath. And one of the most maddening things about the chronic pain syndrome (I still won’t use the word fibromyalgia) was the exacerbations and remittances. There would be hours (at first), then days, then weeks of no pain and every time that happened-every time-I’d think, “Oh thank God that’s over.” Then I’d be struck again and it would rock my world. It would tear me apart emotionally. It hurt so much. I took so much ibuprofen it negatively impacted my health in other ways. I never took narcotics. I couldn’t fathom adding another problem (addiction) to the laundry list of problems I was already facing.

When I met Kevin in 2005, I was not well physically. I was still out of shape (I hadn’t run in seven years), but he didn’t seem to notice or didn’t seem to care or just decided not to mention it, and I am forever grateful for that.

It was a cold January night, a Thursday, the thirteenth. He was fifteen minutes late. On our second date, he was thirty minutes late. I thought to myself, if this thing works out, I’m going to have to let go of needing him to be on time. Kevin is time-challenged. It’s humorous sometimes, but mostly not.

Then the laughter started. He is so funny. Silly really. It’s been an ongoing circus, a lunacy, a King of Hearts, a play date with a five-year-old.

One time, he was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. He was going to make scrambled eggs. I was in the living room stretching after a run and I could see him crouched down in front of the cabinet below the island where the mixing bowls, cups and serving platters are stored. “Which vessel should I use for these eggs,” he called. “Kevin, ‘vessel?’” I roared.

The other day, I called him (as I often do during the day) while I was on an errand for work. I heard some muffled crackling noises and he was slow to say, "Hello." I figured he was struggling with the phone, because he was right in the middle of something. He said, “I’ll have to call you back. I’m transacting.”

Now, that may not seem funny to you, but I had to pull the car over I was laughing so hard. My eyes watered. I couldn’t see. My belly ached. My ribs hurt. I was still laughing uncontrollably when he phoned back moments later. “Kevin, ‘I’m transacting,’ who talks like that?” Kevin does. He’s precise. He’s exact. If you need a picture hung, he’ll whip out the level and measuring tape faster than you can say, “Jack Robinson.” He carries hardware in his pockets at all times; he’d put his level and tape measure in there if they’d fit. You never know when you’ll need a flashlight or pocket knife. He’s a boy scout without a troop, list in hand, items labeled and accounted for. He is precise and exact in word and deed.

Kevin is also multi-task-challenged. We were preparing dinner. He had a drink (I think it was limeade, his favorite) in his hand and I looked over at him, and a few minutes later I looked again, and then said, “I thought you were going to start chopping this onion.” He looked at his drink, then he looked at me and said, “I can’t possibly chop that onion right now, I’m sipping my limeade.” Another roll-on-the-floor fit of laughing erupted. And there’s more, much more.

I had my last big flair-up of pain in March 2005. It was Tuesday, March 15th, the ides of March. The pain was so bad that day that I couldn’t work. I had trouble walking, driving and thinking. I called a spiritual friend whose opinions matter greatly to me. I consider him someone who explores the inner workings of his heart and soul and he follows a path that looks beyond what we can feel, hear and touch with our physical senses. He suggested I pray. He suggested I be grateful for the experience I was having. I wanted to choke him! But, I was too weak to drive over there. We talked for quite awhile when I began to realize what he was getting at. What did I have to lose? I thought for a long time about what he said, then I began this prayer, “Thank you, God, for this pain. I don’t know why I have it, but if it serves some purpose for you now, thank you for it.” I’d say that prayer hundreds of times a day.

I guess I now know the purpose. Gratitude is an antidote to pain. Whoa! I wouldn’t have figured that one out on my own.

I hold hope in the palm of my hand and I freely offer it to you by sharing my experience, journey and this story.

Now, every time I run I pray, “Thank you God for giving me a strong, healthy pain free body and the ability to run.” I say it over and over while I run. I am strong. I am healthy. I am a runner. I’ve been relatively pain free since May 2005.

Maybe it was the laughter that healed the pain. Maybe it was the prayers. But, I do know it had something to with some outstanding, committed and knowledgeable people on my healthcare team.