Humor and Cancer

About a month ago, I came across an article in the Journal of Clinical Oncology that I thought was interesting, and I forgot about it until this morning. It's from a special section of the journal called "The Art of Oncology," where they publish personal stories from doctors and other healthcare professionals (and occasionally patients). The rest of the journal mostly deals with the science of oncology, with heavy research. But the art of oncology is about other things, mostly dealing with people. That part is a lot messier than the science.

The article I looked at was called "Just Humor Me," and it's by an oncologist who argues that the cancer clinic is an appropriate place for laughter. (If you are sometimes hesitant to read the things I link to because they can be hard to read, then try this one. Very readable.)

I would certainly agree that the cancer clinic is a place for laughter. But I think pretty much every place is a place for laughter. I'm not the only one. The author shares some research: "One survey of patients undergoing radiotherapy in Ottawa found that a stunning 86% of patients felt that laughter was somewhat or very important to their care, whereas 79% felt that humor decreased their level of anxiety about their diagnosis. If we had a drug that decreased anxiety levels in 79% of patients, had minimal to no side effects when used correctly, and cost the health care system zero dollars, should not we be using it?"

That's a very good point.

I used to write a lot more about cancer humor (search for "cancer humor" in this blog and you'll see some of those early posts). I think I do less of it now because humor is still important to me, but it's maybe less vital to my health. When I was first diagnosed, humor was definitely a coping mechanism, which is common for many patients (or Follicular Lymphoma or any other disease or condition). There was definitely a sense for me of "not letting cancer win" by taking away something I love -- laughter. 

I remember, a few days after getting diagnosed, my parents came to visit, so they could see how we were doing and try to gauge how out young kids were doing. My parents were in the other room playing with their grandchildren, so I finished making dinner and set the table. My mom heard me banging around the kitchen, and came to see if she could help. Too late; I had already gotten everything ready. So I said, "I did it all. Nice. Make the guy with effing cancer do all the work." She laughed, which was what I expected. Then she hugged me and said, "WE shouldn't be laughing at this." To which I said, "We can't ever stop laughing at this."

A few years later, after she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, we all went to a baseball game. She and got in line to get ice cream for everyone. As we got to the front of the line, I whispered to her, "You should tell the ice cream guy you have cancer. Maybe he'll give it to you for free." She laughed. "I can't do that." But after she ordered, she said very quietly, "I have cancer." The young man didn't hear her, or didn't know what to say, and as we walked away, Mom said, "I didn't even get free sprinkles." It made me laugh. 

I laugh, too, at the absurdity of it all. I went to the dermatologist a couple of weeks ago to follow up on my skin cancer surgery from about a year ago, and as I got undressed, the nurse turned her back on me. Which was polite and appropriate. But all I could think of was, "Why bother, nurse? Do you know how many people have seen me without my clothes on in the last 16 years? Doctors, nurses, residents, technicians, probably a few janitors. The idea that it would embarrass me is absurd." I didn't say that out loud, but I thought it. The sheer ridiculousness that I got diagnosed with cancer at age 40 when I was in the best shape of my life is worth laughing it. 

I guess I write less about cancer humor these days, too, because I have a better sense of who is reading the blog. I know laughter comes to people who are open to laughter. Especially when a diagnosis is new and raw, or when things aren't going as hoped, it's hard to laugh. You have to be open to laughter before you can laugh.

I remember a few years ago, my wife and I were talking on the phone, and a friend of ours walked up to my wife to say hello just as my wife let out a big laugh. "Who are you talking to? our friend asked, and my wife said it was me. "Oh my gosh," our friend said. "I thought for sure you were having an affair and talking to your new man." She couldn't believe that y wife and I still made each laugh after being married for so long. I think about that a lot. We've been married for almost 32 years. If we stop laughing with each other, that's when I would know our marriage is in trouble. You have to be open to laughter before you can laugh. Sometimes that's just not possible for someone with cancer (but it's my wish for all of us).

So I hope you find something that makes you laugh every day, even if it isn't humor that is directly about cancer. But if you can find the humor in that, I think you're doing alright.

Have a happy day.