Lesson # 4 A Time to Laugh

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance. - Ecclesiastes 3:1,4

What's so funny?

The funny thing is, Rat Lungworm Meningitis at its worst, had Eric wondering if he would ever want to laugh again.  It hurt him to consider the idea.  Much like you wonder if you will ever want to eat again when you are crouched over a bucket retching with the stomach flu. 

 To laugh when Eric was in such deep agony would have been bad timing.  I did not even want to put the TV on, for fear some comedy would taunt Eric in his misery.  His nerve hypersensitivity was so extreme at one point on this journey that a pineapple tidbit falling onto his lap while I fed him would send him writhing.  He did not cry, as that would have caused additional nerve pain.  Instead, he winced. He would holler out and then close his eyes and barely breathe.  I could see tears roll out the sides of his closed lids.  If timing is everything, that was NOT the time to laugh.

But right before Eric ended up in ICU, God gave me the gift of laughter.  If you asked me what time it was in Hawaii, I'd a had to say, "It's a time to weep"  For everything there is a season, and that was a season of tears.  Yet, just before things took a turn for the worst, God prescribed the best medicine- laughter.

Eric was beginning to hallucinate.  Sort of. It was not due to high fevers, but most likely to the parasites swimming precariously close to brain matter.  They stayed this side of the meninges- the outer lining of the brain (where they dog-gone died after about 7 weeks of swim fun)- but there is never room in a person's brain for worms, right?!  I recorded the following episode.  Eric told me upon waking on the morning of November 27th, that he had talked to Joe.  I was quite surprised for a number of reasons.  One, I was with Eric almost all waking hours and two, Joe never calls anyone. So I say, "Really?, When?" And Eric continues, "Well, not just now, but I was talking to him and he was watching The Lion King and I asked Joe who was the voice of the Lion and Joe said he didn't know.  I told him to guess but Joe couldn't guess.  Then I told him it was my voice.  Not really my voice, but my voice.  It is hard to explain.....oh crap! What am I talking about?  I hate this! I make no sense. Whatever...."

 It was funny, sort of, but not funny, really.  Not at that moment.  What was happening to Eric's mind to send him into a strange sort of land where Joe Reinert makes phone calls?  Later, when that nonsense talk resurfaced, I ought to have been a crazy mom-- hysterical with fear.  But God's grace walked through the door and changed things.  

 A radiologist, David, at the hospital contracted Rat Lungworm.  He was out of work for nearly a year.  He had recently returned.  He stepped into the room and proceeded to share with me his episodes of nonsense.  He said he was out of it for most of the seven weeks he was in the hospital and he cannot really remember much pain, but he does have vivid memories of believing he was in a strange hospital that turned into a homeless shelter.  The man next to him was taking out David's IV.  He kept assuring David it was OK.  David remembers wondering what happened to the doctors and nurses?  Was this really how things had to be in America?  It was that real to him.  

 But the part of David's story - the part that God used as medicine for my fearful heart - was when David mentioned the cats.  He said every time someone came to visit him, many cats followed.  They always got in the door.  Even when David asked people to be sure to not let the cats in.  They would sit on his lap.  He would ask his visitors to please take the cats away.  The worst part of the cats in the homeless shelter hospital was the shape of their heads.  David said they were square-headed cats.  1950's flat-top cats.  Creepy.  

 This all was a relief.  A way to laugh at the danger.  A way to face the fear and say, "Ha!, You can't scare me!" And a way to reconcile Eric's condition with hope of recovery.  Eric talked about wanting to eat his supper- sitting on a tray right in front of him.  But he couldn't.  There was all that dirt in the way.  And he had to dig it up.  And yet he kept telling me he wanted to eat.  I kept telling him to go ahead and eat.  I would help.  He just argued.  And like a light switch, he turned off the crazy talk.  And ate.  

If you are in a season of weeping, I pray God offers up a prescription of hope: Laughter- the best medicine.  In a small dose, perhaps.  Since, maybe things are still not at all funny.  But may you find something about your situation to laugh at. May God send you the healing touch of humor. 

And on a final note, when Eric visits, the glorious music of his laughter fills the air.  What a joyful noise!