Day 317/365 I Like My Humor Dark, Like My Coffee (or Google is an Asshole, Part 2)

{Click here and read that one first.}

By the time my mother told us she had breast cancer, her doctors already had a plan in place – chemo, then surgery.

On the last day of chemo, suddenly the plan was changed to chemo, surgery, then radiation. This was disappointing, especially to my mother, who had plans to enjoy her spring, cancer and treatment free.

Two days after that, the plan was…

Well…shit, who the hell knows what the plan is…you might have lung cancer.

What we did know was that if she had lung cancer, she would not be having the surgery that had been planned to deal with her breast cancer…beyond that, we had no idea, but it seemed pretty grim.

Suddenly, we found ourselves hoping that she was going to be having major surgery. After all, the alternative was apparently too dark to discuss.

No one wanted to go there.

It’s a funny thing that happens – a Jedi Mind Trick of sorts.

Something as scary as a five-hour surgery suddenly seems like a trip to Disney when things go down something like this…

You might have terminal lung cancer, in which case you won’t be having surgery. 

Just kidding, you don’t have lung cancer! 

You get to have SURGERY!


For a couple of days we basked in the glow of finally having gotten some good news…even though we had been put through the ringer to get it. I guess in a way that’s what made it all the more sweet. The surgery seemed totally manageable in comparison to the alternative (or lack thereof) with which we had been presented.

For me, the euphoria last until yesterday – one day pre-op. I started to feel restless and jittery. I slept fitfully last night. This morning we awoke in the dark and had a mostly silent pre-dawn ride to the hospital.

The intake room was chaos as they readied all of the 8am surgical patients at once. Mom winced as a nurse grazed her IVs trying to get the blood pressure cuff on. I felt a surge of protectiveness. No matter how strong you know a person to be, when they are laying on an ambulatory bed, wearing a surgical cap and johnny….they look helpless, and scared (and rightfully so).

The nurse was frustrated because the number on my mother’s ID didn’t match her file. There was a computer glitch. “Sorry for the delay,” she said. “We want to get that fixed before she goes into surgery.”

“Uh…yeah,” I replied,  “I don’t want to come back and find out you’ve amputated her leg.”

Mom and I cracked up. We needed that.

The nurse was not amused. Perhaps dark humor is not her thing. Maybe it’s an acquired taste. Although it seems like the professionals in certain fields would need to appreciate it to survive.


Come to think of it, the funeral director didn’t appreciate my dark humor either. A year ago when we asked if our dog could be buried with my dad, the director had said, “The dog has been cremated, I assume?”

I said, “Oh, the dog isn’t dead. It’s just that dad was the only one who liked her.”

Sometimes laughter is the only thing that keeps you sane, and I know a person is a part of my tribe when they go to dark places with it.

As I sit here writing this, mom is in the recovery room. They are letting the anesthesia wear off before I can see her. Everything went well, they said.

I am so relieved…

They said her leg should heal up just fine.