As the intercom announced the end of visiting hours, I grabbed my coat, kissed my wife (without a mask – don't tell Dr. Fauci), and headed toward the elevator. Hanging my head a bit, I sighed while recalling countless hours in hospitals during 35-plus years as her caregiver – and through her more than 80 operations. A 1983 car accident left Gracie severely disabled and eventually cost her both legs, and most recently, a 9-hour surgery on her back.
Briefly lost in reflection, I overheard a group of nurses laughing loudly. Turning to see the commotion, I discovered they put baby pictures of themselves on a wall, and their colleagues had to guess who belonged to which image.
To hear lively conversations and laughter seems a stark contrast to the difficulties of daily care those nurses undertake. Yet joy and even hilarity are not mutually exclusive to difficult times. Caring for those following complex operations is hard enough. However, medical care in the COVID world is brutal and isolating – and the laughter of nurses served as a welcome reverberation against the painful circumstances felt by patients and at least one weary caregiver.
Just as I thought I'd spent all my optimism and humor, a group of laughing nurses lent me theirs.
Decades of caregiving for Gracie through a medical nightmare continues to reinforce the importance of exuberance – especially in difficult times. Optimism, hope, and humor can all thrive in the soil of hardship. Our tears and impotent fury at severe challenges seem endless, but can we laugh, tease, and express a lust for life – even in the ICU, a pandemic, or a stressed and politically divided country?
Not only can we -- we must.
Caregivers for a chronically impaired loved one eventually learn that one cannot wait for circumstances to improve or worsen to live a healthier life. Part of that healthiness includes laughter and optimism -- and both are contagious.
A moment in the ICU recently drove home the transmittable properties of hope in an unexpected way. The acute pain team daily arrived to assist my wife with her intense post-operative pain – as well as the daily pain she's endured for a lifetime. After logging so many hours in hospitals, we simply act like our usual goofy selves – and often don't realize the signal it delivers to others. As the pain team started to leave, Gracie thanked them profusely and apologized for the extra time they had to spend with her. The professor leading the team turned, walked to her bed, and said the most remarkable thing. "We are around misery every day – all day long. Walking into this room is a breath of fresh air!"
Checking on my wife during rounds, the neurosurgeons asked how things were going. With a serious expression, I inquired if Tourette's syndrome was a complication of this particular surgery. With an indignant look, Gracie hoarsely whispered out that she did not have Tourette's syndrome – and to not listen to me! Even through their masks, the smiles of the surgical team lit up the room. For just a moment, laughter distracted us all from the hardship of her recent surgery – and her considerable pain.
Gracie's keenly aware of her disability and the seriousness of her challenges. She hardly needs me to remind her of those things. However, she does require a lifeline to brighter days ahead and companionship along the journey. Hence, I tease and flirt outrageously with her – even in such a serious place as a hospital. She weakly smiled and rolled her eyes at me when I lapsed into my best Jeff Foxworthy impression, "If you hang a sock on your wife's hospital room door, you might be a redneck!"
I couldn't help but notice that her eyes were not filled with tears.
Nurses laughing at their colleagues' baby pictures, pain doctors feeling encouragement from chronic pain patients, and a husband teasing his wife in a room full of surgeons. All of these things reflect life – regardless of the painful journey.
Fearless optimism and hope remain our greatest weapons against despair. While we cannot remove many of the challenges and heartaches from our lives, we can purpose to live with joy and gratitude.
Wishing for a better life is futile. Living a better life in the midst of whatever - remains a worthier goal. During the pandemic and ensuing national and global discord, it seems too many focus on mitigating risks - and avoiding suffering and hardship at the expense of living. Sadly, fear leads many of us to twist ourselves into pretzels to achieve normalcy in life. But, as Val Kilmer stated when playing Doc Holliday in Tombstone, "There is no normal life, there's just life, ya live it."
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Peter Rosenberger hosts the nationally syndicated radio program, Hope for the Caregiver. www.hopeforthecaregiver.com
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