gut-splitting laughter

 this is my brother.  my baby brother.  with my nephew.  my toddler nephew.  they are the best guys.  one or the other can make me smile at any point during any kind of day.  together they make me very aware just how lucky we are.  good things abound despite the occasional setback.  (i use the term occasional loosely) 

 this is my dog, peachy.  i'm pretty sure she should have her own instagram account.  she would amass a following all other black labs would aspire to.  in the morning, when she wakes, she waits until i sit up in bed before getting up from hers.  she immediately begins nipping at my feet.  i stand and she dances around the room, wagging her tail.  but it isn't so much wagging her tail; she is wagging her butt.  her nickname is fast becoming "waggle-butt".  i suppose this is fine.  she doesn't speak english.  she won't be offended.

 on to another couple of guys i love.  dad and barney.  two other guys who can make me smile when i need it.  and two guys who were willing to give up their saturday to sit with me at a penn state game in 42-degree rain.  on metal bleachers.  yes, we were 19 or so rows off the field, dead-center on the 50-yard line.  our rear ends were frozen.  i drank two hot chocolates.  barney wore his kayaking dry suit.  dad looked like a lemon.  but you know what, we stayed the whole game and so did most of the people around us.  the blue band played and in the end, the first alma mater sung was that of the opponents, Army.  those guys and girls are off to protect us once they graduate.  i'm happy to sit on a cold seat in the rain to watch them play.  it was an honor, really.

 but then, then.  just when i thought i would have a week without appointments, blood tests, new medicines, new tests, my guts split.  well, not really.  but kind of.  some of my lower-GI guts decided they'd had enough of what i eat and drink (which actually isn't so bad) and they got all pissy and inflamed and landed me in a (very nice for a hospital) room in good old rhoads for a couple of nights.  in a room with a roommate who watched fox news at all hours, at the top of the volume scale.  and she snored when she slept.  this is why i have my magic blue bag, filled with ear plugs and ear phones and hand sanitizer and hand lotion.  because you just never know.  goddamn it, i didn't get that week off.  i didn't even come close, as wednesday morning was when the -ahem- shit hit the fan.  i'm not even sure i can blame this one on cancer.  but i'm going to blame it on cancer treatments over time, until someone in a white coat tells me otherwise.  samples were taken for biopsy.  results are pending.  i am eating the most bland diet imaginable.  it better all clear up in time for thanksgiving.  seriously, body.  get it together.

 

so here's the view from my room.  they call this floor the penthouse, it really does have one of the best views anywhere in the hospital.  i got lucky having the window bed.  

ah, yes, the point of this post, being lucky.  lucky to have a brother who is willing to stop at target on his way to visit his sister in the hospital - yet again - and buy some socks, sweatpants, and a t-shirt for her in order to save her from the shame of wearing a gown.  a brother who has had to visit his sister in the hospital way too much.  and thankfully, a brother who is funny as hell. 

the attending doctor came into the room after jimnerd's arrival and began with the normal, mundane questions - name, date of birth, contact in case of emergency...

"911".  my brother is cracking himself up as he can't stop himself from making this wise-ass answer to the doctor's question.  he is literally sitting there laughing.  and this makes me start laughing a little.

the doctor looks nonplussed.  it has been a long day for him and he is very near the end of it.  i try to stop the silent laugh i have going on but i cannot.  it is impossible.  the damage has been done.

the rest of the questions are asked and subsequently answered, and soon mom and jimnerd hit the road.  the doctor returns with an ultrasound machine so he can place an IV in my impossible veins.  he looks a bit more relaxed now.  we talk a little bit.  he works for what seems an eternity to find a good spot to sink the needle and catheter into.  he works for another eternity advancing the catheter to get a blood return.  after the stress of sitting there, not moving, while the doc sticks a giant needle in my elbow, i am so damn thankful.  the ordeal is over and now i can have a CT scan and figure out whether metastases are at the bottom (get it?) of this problem (by the way, they aren't.  no mets in my abdomen).  i can go to sleep.  but mostly, i am thinking about the "911" moment and i'm once again laughing so hard to myself i am nearly crying.  

even though sometimes i feel like i am doing some of the scary stuff on my own, i never am.  and the people i love have been there with irreverent and inappropriate humor every step of the way.

nine year this saturday.