It Only Hurts When I Don't Laugh

For some bizarre and unexplained reason, the film Patch Adams popped into my head this morning. Okay, I'm lying. I was noodling around the idea of a blog entry—this one—about the role of humor in coping with illness, and the movie popped into my head for this convoluted reason (see Figure 1...click to enlarge):

 

So, Patch Adams lodged in my head and compelled me to do further research. And, if Wikipedia is accurate (which, I'm told, is beyond any doubt), the real Dr. Patch Adams uses humor as a part of his medical treatment—so it's not at all unreasonable that, when I thought of humor and medicine, Patch Adams might spring to mind.

 

Of course, because Patch Adams is only based on a true story, the real Doc Patch apparently bristles at the film's suggestion he's a "funny doctor"—a notion at which none would arrive until the split-second they first saw his 19th-century-gentleman-slash-1970s-porn-star moustache. For many doctors, I believe, "levity" is seen as akin to "sloppiness" (or, perhaps, "humanity"). Which brings us to Figure 2:

 

 

Even if Dr. Adams chooses to be a grouch about a movie glorifying his awesomeness, I do know that humor has a place in times of greatest upset, because I've seen the darkest stabs at wit immediately lift a pall hanging over a room. True, the mood might again grow somber, but the weight of reality seems easier to support after a hearty-yet-guilty release. And sure, in some cases, the timing borders on what some might consider, uh, iffy. Case in point: at a family gathering to divide Patty's mother's belongings, Patty's brother announced with mock horror that one niece had just started into a game of dress-up in the "special boots" in which Grandma had breathed her last. A young girl's look of utter mortification was the stuff of which viral videos are made; and yet her laughter when she realized she was part of a joke was both delicious and infectious—and, I believe, healing. A twisted means to an end? Sure. And yet it's in these very moments, when the jokes are darkest, that a shot of humor seems most therapeutic.

 

As we share in Pulse of My Heart, a select few doctors get in on the action:

Seconds after nurses steal Patty, I launch into an all-encompassing panic; I can't shake the sudden certainty we've signed on for a terrible mistake. At first, I blame Patty's extra armband; next to the one sharing her name, date of birth and blood type, a pink strip announces, "R.I.P." The letters refer to some aspect of her care, but my mind drifts elsewhere. Thankfully, Patty doesn't pick up on my weakness. Even Dr. Sanborn's gallows humor fails to silence this alarm. Just before he follows Patty, I ask if someone will inform me should complications arise. He gestures to the pager nurses have given me and says, "I'll tell you this: If you see a message that reads, 'It's over', don't freak out. We'll be talking about the surgery, not your wife."

We may not have laughed then, but we find the memory heartwarming today. And our recall of the doctor is more favorable, as well. Without exception, the friendliest, cheeriest—and yes, funny—doctors were the ones we trusted most with Patty's care. There's no way I can prove humor improved Patty's well-being...but there's no proof it didn't help, either.

 

The American Cancer Society, on its website, explains that "humor therapy" or "laugh therapy" has been a part of medicine since Biblical times, although they then go on to describe this therapy in the most humorless fashion imaginable:

Although available scientific evidence does not support claims that laughter can cure cancer or any other disease, it can reduce stress and enhance a person’s quality of life. Humor has physical effects because it can stimulate the circulatory system, immune system, and other systems in the body.

Or, to simplify: If you laugh, you enjoy life more, even if you're sick.

Scientific data or no, looking for the lighter side in the darkest of moments helps ease the shadow off the path ahead, which may also help you better see your way toward an uncertain destination.

What do you think? Has humor helped you through rough patches?