Dear Mr. O'Brien
I used to think that jokes about incontinence were very funny. And they were, until the problem became my own.
After I emerged from the TLC, my muscles had deteriorated so far that I was incapable of doing anything. Walking was still out of the question, I could barely lift my own head off of the pillow, and, those muscles you rarely think about, that allow you to "hold it" when you have to go to the bathroom, were nonexistent. Despite these weaknesses, I was in the mood for some happiness.
So Josh and I spent a lot of time watching Conan O'Brien clips on the computer. Invariably, we would laugh and laugh until I was in the very near danger of wetting the bed. Then I would howl "Turn it off! Turn it off! Get me a bedpan!" My call light would begin ringing, nurses would sprint to help me, and I would smile with glee at the hilarity.
People of a certain age will remember a scene from the movie "Billy Madison":
Incontinence, like Adam Sandler's films: not funny but also funny.
That is to say, I think that it is funny, my niece Ella and my very serious physical
therapist Kellie do not think that it is funny.
A couple of weeks ago, Ella threw up at school. She was so embarrassed, as though
puking in front of the other kids on the playground has ruined her life.
To make her feel better, I said, "Let me tell you a story Ella, about how last month I went to dinner with some friends and laughed so hard that I peed my pants... constantly… throughout the entire meal…"
"Why did you tell me that?" Ella asked, disgusted.
"To make you feel better."
"Yeah," she replied, "how does that make me feel better? You didn't throw up in front of anyone on the playground."
Then I told her this awesome joke: "Your friends may think it's funny when your nose is kind of runny, but itsnot." Unfortunately that was lost on her as well.
My physical therapist is similarly somber about this issue. "I know you mentioned that when you left the hospital you had some incontinence issues," she said that a recent appointment, "Is this still an problem for you?"
"Oh no," I said, "Only if I laugh enough."
"Any incontinence is a problem," she said.
While that is a pretty good slogan for a T-shirt, I'm not so sure of its truth. I prefer to think that laughing enough to pee your pants is a sign of being cool.
When I was a little girl, my sisters were the funniest people I knew. And when they came for the summer, I would be so excited that I could hardly contain myself. Every thing they said or did made me howl with laughter. Tears would start pouring out of my eyes, I wouldn't be able to breathe, and I would start slapping the legs of anyone near me. It was like the adage "a real knee slapper," except that the joke didn't have to be funny, it just had to come from my sisters' mouths, and the resulting welts on peoples' legs would have them begging me to stop laughing. ("Stop laughing Carrie!" "I can't stop! I won't stop!") And, of course, I would have to go change my pants. Laughter can be a messy, full contact sport.
So I don't care what Kellie says. After such a long, sad summer it feels pretty good to laugh again. You just have to make sure that you wear appropriate clothing (long coats) and bring a change of pants when you go out with funny people.
After I emerged from the TLC, my muscles had deteriorated so far that I was incapable of doing anything. Walking was still out of the question, I could barely lift my own head off of the pillow, and, those muscles you rarely think about, that allow you to "hold it" when you have to go to the bathroom, were nonexistent. Despite these weaknesses, I was in the mood for some happiness.
So Josh and I spent a lot of time watching Conan O'Brien clips on the computer. Invariably, we would laugh and laugh until I was in the very near danger of wetting the bed. Then I would howl "Turn it off! Turn it off! Get me a bedpan!" My call light would begin ringing, nurses would sprint to help me, and I would smile with glee at the hilarity.
People of a certain age will remember a scene from the movie "Billy Madison":
Incontinence, like Adam Sandler's films: not funny but also funny.
That is to say, I think that it is funny, my niece Ella and my very serious physical
therapist Kellie do not think that it is funny.
A couple of weeks ago, Ella threw up at school. She was so embarrassed, as though
puking in front of the other kids on the playground has ruined her life.
To make her feel better, I said, "Let me tell you a story Ella, about how last month I went to dinner with some friends and laughed so hard that I peed my pants... constantly… throughout the entire meal…"
"Why did you tell me that?" Ella asked, disgusted.
"To make you feel better."
"Yeah," she replied, "how does that make me feel better? You didn't throw up in front of anyone on the playground."
Then I told her this awesome joke: "Your friends may think it's funny when your nose is kind of runny, but itsnot." Unfortunately that was lost on her as well.
My physical therapist is similarly somber about this issue. "I know you mentioned that when you left the hospital you had some incontinence issues," she said that a recent appointment, "Is this still an problem for you?"
"Oh no," I said, "Only if I laugh enough."
"Any incontinence is a problem," she said.
While that is a pretty good slogan for a T-shirt, I'm not so sure of its truth. I prefer to think that laughing enough to pee your pants is a sign of being cool.
When I was a little girl, my sisters were the funniest people I knew. And when they came for the summer, I would be so excited that I could hardly contain myself. Every thing they said or did made me howl with laughter. Tears would start pouring out of my eyes, I wouldn't be able to breathe, and I would start slapping the legs of anyone near me. It was like the adage "a real knee slapper," except that the joke didn't have to be funny, it just had to come from my sisters' mouths, and the resulting welts on peoples' legs would have them begging me to stop laughing. ("Stop laughing Carrie!" "I can't stop! I won't stop!") And, of course, I would have to go change my pants. Laughter can be a messy, full contact sport.
So I don't care what Kellie says. After such a long, sad summer it feels pretty good to laugh again. You just have to make sure that you wear appropriate clothing (long coats) and bring a change of pants when you go out with funny people.
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