A few days ago, I made a comment about being really sick last year. I was asked what happened and I explained that I had peritonitis as a result of developing a hole in my intestines. The guys were surprised; although I’d made remarks about being sick before, they hadn’t realized how sick I was. I’ve been thinking a lot about my recovery; I still have some problems but I’ve come a long way in the last ten months.
Now, I can raise my feet (separately) to about the knee level if I hold something for balance; this is in contrast to how I had to use a walker to drag my feet along the ground when I first got out of the hospital. I can even climb stairs normally if I hold onto the handrail. And I can wear clothing with a waistband for an hour to two. I don’t have to wear sweatpants or baggies with suspenders all of the time anymore. I still notice what I can’t do and I usually take for granted what I’ve accomplished.
My surgical scars are no longer angry purple slashes surrounded by a lot of inflamed tissue. They’ve calmed into light violet lines on normal-looking skin. I can see that eventually they will turn white. The one at my waist should be invisible in the normal crease. The emotional scars will take a little longer to fade.
In the aftermath of getting sick, I’ve had to confront my own mortality. Why did I survive the same surgery that killed my father? Don’t assume I’m getting maudlin; I’m glad I’m alive! I’ve got a lot of things to do and I’d like the chance to try to accomplish some of them. It’s just that I don’t know if there is something specific I’m supposed to do in the future or if my survival was just random chance. My dad left a lot of things unfinished and there are times when I’m annoyed that he isn’t around to help me with my projects any more. It was traumatic to lose my dad when I was a bona fide adult; to think that my son might have lost a parent while still only a big kid upsets me tremendously. I want to see him grown, married, with kids of his own before I consider shuffling off this mortal coil.
I’ve also come to realize fact that I do not see the world the same way as other people. Having so much time during my convalescence in enforced contemplation has made me confront my lack of normalcy. I’ve pretended to be “normal” for so long, this realization has also been traumatic.
I’ve got a prime example of how I am not normal - my sense of humor. Let me explain –
I’m not sure which cable channel is airing a show this week (Thursday night) that includes a segment on John. I thought it was The Discovery Channel, but the teaser on his Facebook page said it was on a different channel. I’m a little nervous that a wise-ass comment that I made on camera might appear in the finished program. I can’t help making certain comments in response to specific stimuli, and this was a doozy.
When John and I were together, he routinely teased me to the point of torment. He never understood when he had gone too far. After I bought a big chest freezer for the basement and, once again, he was teasing me about something, I suggested that he might find a new home in pieces in it – and he stopped teasing me. I continued to use the line as needed during our marriage to rein him in and even afterwards, whenever anyone asked if I might ever consider getting back together with him. The worst happened – the interviewer asked me “what if” John and I had never separated. I said, with totally deadpan demeanor, that there was no way – that he would have ended up in pieces in the freezer. The whole crew apparently thought I was serious and they were hideously shocked. They didn’t know it was a long-standing joke!
So, my big fear is that I’m going to look like a homicidal maniac to the general public, either on this show or on some other one where they might use the footage. Sigh. IT WAS A JOKE! A bad one, I admit, but nonetheless, a joke. I have no plans to chop anyone into bits and put them into the freezer. It’s full. Besides, there are so many better ways to get rid of a body (IT’S A JOKE! A JOKE! Jeez!).
A friend of mine belongs to a writer’s internet discussion group. Several years ago, someone started a thread about how to hide the evidence of a murder indefinitely, despite future advances in DNA analysis. My friend posted a comment that he had a friend who was a grad student in anthropology named Mary, who thought the best way to get rid of a body would be to deflesh it with beetles, denature any remaining DNA with formalin, and hang the skeleton in the lab alongside the other study skeletons. Another member of the discussion responded, “Are your friend’s initials MR? Is she in school at UMass/Amherst?” Yes, a second person in this international group knew me well enough to suspect that this was my suggestion for the perfect crime. I want to be clear - I have no access to a beetle colony. I have no plans to dispose of any bodies. Really. I don’t even have any bodies that need disposing. I have NO plans to wind up with any bodies. These aren’t the droids you’re looking for. Move along.
I guess my subconscious has the very odd sense of humor. Sometimes, the damnedest things just fly out of my mouth and I don’t know where they come from. I think the problem is, I act seriously a lot of the time so, when I pull someone’s leg with a straight face, they take me seriously. I’ll give you one more example.
Last year, I was teaching high school math in an inner city school. One day, when class was essentially over, I was taking questions and killing the last minute before the bell. A kid asked me about a piece of artwork on top of my bookcase, a life-sized plaster head of Maya king K’inich Janaab Pakal I (of Palenque) as the Young Corn God. I said I got it when I lived in Mexico. Another kid, new to the school, said, “Mexico! What were you doing in Mexico?” Without a pause, I replied, “Running from the law.” He squealed, “Running from the law! Why were you running from the law!?” I couldn’t continue to keep a straight face and burst out laughing. He believed me! This otherwise street-wise kid really thought that I had been a fugitive in Mexico! The bell rang as I was reassuring him that I had a completely legal reason for living in Mexico. I’m still not sure which story he believed.
I don’t know where the line came from. I’d never considered telling anyone that I had been on the lam in Mexico before and I don’t know how it just popped out of my mouth. These things happen. Just like the line about the freezer.
I think I’m being funny but many people don’t know when I’m joking. I don’t know how to better signal that I’m joking. The problem is, many jokes are funnier when told with a straight face. It’s a dilemma. Any suggestions?
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