I may not be getting endowed with special powers, but my jokes might be. Last week, I told my two young, patient techs that I’d just experienced a "wardrobe malfunction" in the hall. They knew exactly what I meant. The worn, faded, often tie-less gowns provided for us breast cancer patients were designed to tie in the back, but we are instructed to tie them in front and our breasts keep flopping out of them, sometimes in public places.
I was making a joke. Who cares who sees me–I’m fast losing my modesty and anyway it was the breast that is still there, thank heavens, and looking good. So, taking advantage of their embarrassment, I suggested I just wear a cardigan. It’d be easier for all of us. “Sure,” said my affable tech, “Why not?”
So now I do. Meanwhile, two days later, a pile of pink tie-in-the-front mammogram gowns showed up in the ladies’ dressingroom. Did my joke cause this to happen? Who cares. We joke a lot, we in this cancer boat. Our humor genes get exercised and muscled up pretty good. I may cry more these days, but I laugh more too.