Finding Humour in the Storm

I haven't wanted to post about this as we are in the middle of a storm of ill health, and there is no telling what the outcome will be, but, as I told one mom last week, if I don't find humour in things I will go crazy.  I spent the afternoon with my head down on a friend's kitchen table as Little Miss bounced back and forth from bouts of hives and thought, it's time to search for humour.

After six days of doctors, enormous amounts of Benadryl and steroids, Little Miss is screaming bloody murder, refusing to take any "yucky" medicine and scratching her feet until they bleed.  With bribing and a forceful voice from Mr. she takes her prednisone "shooter" and sits in agony, listing off all of the toys she deserves for all of this suffering.

And the whole idea of oatmeal on her skin completely pisses her off.

As I sigh for the millionth time this week, my son starts his one man comedy show, including farting noises, in order to cheer her up.  Rude sounds, goofy faces and throwing himself on the floor over and over forces her to laugh, pull of her anti-scratching mitts and join in with the magic of farting with hands and lips.

"All right, this one time ONLY, let's have a farting contest," I suggest, slugging back the last of my coffee. Laughter fills the room, apart from the eye-rolling of Mr. Man, and we have a bit of respite from the stress and tiredness we are all feeling. Finally Mr. joins in and pulls out his cellphone which has a farting app.

I can leave the room and hide knowing he's got it under control.

****

Earlier this week, while sitting in the doctor's office, Little Miss's hands and face start to swell.  I race her next door to the pharmacy and ask where the antihistamines are.  As I yank open boxes, and struggle to rip the protective cover off the bottle, I realize there is no cup included.  A scene from the movie, Hitch, comes to mind and, sorry to say, a part of me, deep down, had to smile. But to excuse my inappropriate humour, by that time the pharmacist had jumped in, handed me a cup and a glass of water, without questioning about the possibility I may not purchase the magical bottle.  LM's swelling went down, and I paid $13.99 for the Benadryl (and kept it in my purse).

For those of you who may not have seen the movie, here is the clip:

*****

With the unpredictability of Little Miss's reactions, I obviously cancelled all that I could in my schedule.  Unfortunately it meant missing a funeral I had wanted to attend. Since I ended up racing her to the hospital that same day, it was a good decision, but it left me completely depressed and feeling defeated.

At the end of that tedious day, just as I was getting the strength to start supper, I looked out the window to see a dear friend stopping by after the funeral, carrying flowers for Little Miss. I ran out the front door with a big smile on my face with not only the joy of actually seeing another person, but one who so easily cheers me up. I hugged her and did not let go for quite some time.

After recapping my day, while still standing in the driveway, finally able to breath easily, her husband suddenly asks, "what's that noise?"

The smoke alarm was going off.

You're kidding me.

He and I run in, finding the kitchen filled with smoke, and struggle to turn off the detector as more alarms go off in the house.

The supper that I had attempted to make was not burned, but the supper spill from the day before certainly was.

We got everything back to normal and I turned to find my friend cheerily putting flowers in a vase, as if nothing was out of the ordinary, and that everything was under control, and I wished she would stay forever. I was a huge mess.

That night, Mr. cancelled his meeting, and came home with strawberries, chocolate sauce, a movie and two cases of Corona.  I think I cried.

We got the kids to bed, checking on Little Miss every so often, and I was able to relax.  But looking back I don't remember having supper...