Is it bad that my first thought when I got diagnosed was, “Does this mean I can smoke pot again?” Not how long is this going to take, or what will my life look like, it was when can I visit Colorado. I took that as a sign that probably I shouldn’t. So now I just do what I always do: stuff my face with brownies and gummy worms and hope that one of them is laced. #freelapse
I listened to Fresh Air yesterday, and they were interviewing Kumail Nanjiani about his new movie, The Big Sick. It’s based on the true account of his girlfriend going into a medically induced coma and him bonding with her parents while she’s conked out. Conked out being the official medical term for a coma.
He said in the interview that comedy is about people in situations they are unequipped to handle. I had never heard that perspective before, but I love it. That’s why I find my cancer so amusing. Because it’s horrifying, I am unequipped to handle it, and the last defense in the human arsenal is humor.
And there is something so humbling about the whole experience that all I can do is laugh at it. Like, for example… I hate talking about anything related to the bathroom. I’m not one of these people who will like fart and think it is funny. To tell you the truth, I don’t even like that I wrote the f word. But after my surgery every other word out of the doctors mouth was, “Did you pass gas? How are your bowel movements? Have you had one yet? And I was like “MY GIRLFRIEND IS IN THE ROOM AND I DON’T DO THOSE THINGS EVER!” and she was like “ALL THE TIME WHEN HE SLEEPS” and I was like I hate all of you.
Seriously, people were applauding every time I did anything. It was like I was a toddler fucking potty training. They were giving me Skittles as encouragement. I was so embarrassed I was like, “Well I’m no longer afraid of dying because in this moment I kind of want to.”
Now every time I tell someone my story I have to tell them about my large and small intestines, and I’d rather people not think I have those in the first place.
So of course I laugh at it. I mean seriously, if I can’t handle talking about going to the bathroom or carrying around a fanny pack, how can I handle having this ticking time bomb in my lymph nodes?
This is how I fight it.
By making fun of it.
And by hoping that one of these days I’ll get lucky with one of these brownies.