Being sick is no laughing matter. But it does help to see the lighter side of things

YOU’RE lying in bed, bogged down by fever. You’re shaking and shivering, coughing your lungs out and thinking you’ve lost your nostrils because your nose is way too stuffed.

No this isn’t a scene from “The Walking Dead” or a re-enactment of some outbreak. It’s just the flu. But if feels like a car has run you over twice, and you’re almost ready to call Dr. House.

When you’re this vulnerable, hosting and being the lone guest at your very own pity party, it’s kind of hard to find something to laugh about. It’s only when you’ve recovered from your latest bout with your most recent affliction that you find humor in an otherwise painful, and I do mean painful, situation.

I am a hypochondriac, a legacy from my grandmother. I wish I got her blonde hair and blue eyes instead. I don’t even think I’m a good hypochondriac, because I don’t go to the doctor when I feel something. I just whine, usually to my mother, who has gotten so used to my rhetoric she’s learned to ignore me when I complain. But this wasn’t always the case. It was only when consultations and medical tests became costly that I stopped bugging doctors with my imagined aches and pains.

When I was living in the US, I had very good medical insurance coverage from the company where I worked. I only had to pay $5 for every medical consultation, no matter what it was for. Even my medication was covered by insurance. The problem was that my doctor’s office wasn’t on any convenient bus or train route. I’d have to actually drive to his clinic or ask someone to take me, which wasn’t always easy. By the time I was well enough to drive, I’d also be well on the way to recovery.

Having suffered from asthma most of my life, I was familiar with how it felt when an attack was coming on. I never used inhalers and relied on pills for relief. But the cleaner air in San Francisco provoked less attacks and soon, I stopped stocking up on asthma meds.

One time, I felt tightness in my chest and started wheezing. Oh no, another asthma attack! I got in my car and headed post-haste to my doctor’s office. To his puzzlement, the breath test showed that everything was normal. So he started interviewing me. “Anything going on in your life these days?” he asked. I couldn’t really think of anything. But being the good doctor that he was, he poked and prodded my brain until I said, “Well I am going out of town in a few days. We’ve been planning this trip for a while and I’m really excited.”

His diagnosis? “Just an anxiety attack.” Sure enough, as soon as we landed in Seattle, I was able to breathe normally. No more wheezing, no more heaviness in my chest.

A few months later, I was back in the doctor’s office for yet another asthma attack. After passing the breath test again, the doctor sat me down and asked the same question, “Anything going on in your life these days?” I replied, “Nothing special. I’m just getting ready to move back to the Philippines.” He went on, “What will you do there?” I answered, “Look for a job, figure things out.” His facial expression changed, as if a light bulb literally lit up in his head. “So you’re packing up your life, moving to another country, with no solid job prospect. It’s an anxiety attack.” I realized he had a point. And suddenly the wheezing stopped.

But sometimes, my aches and pains do turn out to have some medical cause. One birthday years ago, my family went out for a dinner celebration and I indulged in some cholesterol-laden chicken dish. By late evening, I had the worst stomach ache and spent most of the night puking my guts out. I decided that it was food poisoning and vowed never to visit that restaurant again. A few months later, after another rich and hearty dinner at some other restaurant, the same thing happened again. And again and again. I realized that I couldn’t have gotten food poisoning at all those restaurants, so my mom went to the next logical conclusion. Big meals equal stomach ache equals overeating.

Finally, one Valentine’s Day, we went to Gulliver’s and I ordered a steak and several servings of their eat-all-you-can creamed corn and creamed spinach. That night there I was again, writhing in pain and practically glued to the toilet seat watching my dinner go down the drain. I crawled to my mom’s room and begged to be taken to the emergency room. After several tests, the diagnosis was I had gallstones and needed surgery. When I came out of the anesthesia, mom was looking down on me and said, “I will never say you’re overeating again.” If it didn’t hurt so much, I’d have laughed my ass off.

It’s always easier to see the lighter side of things when you’re not the one bedridden with some pain or illness, real or imagined. One time, when my sister was 10 years old, she had the flu and was experiencing severe joint pains. Being the devoted ate that I was, I lay down beside her and asked what I could do to help. She wanted me to lightly massage her arms while singing. Yes, singing. And no, not some touching, heartwarming lullaby, but a song from her idol, Madonna. So picture this, me lying beside my baby sister, my hands lightly rubbing her aching arms while singing, “Last night, I dreamt of San Pedro, it all seems like yesterday, not far away…” I couldn’t sing my personal Madonna favorites like “Crazy for You” or “Shoobedoo.” Nope, it had to be “La Isla Bonita.”

My nephew was down with food poisoning recently and my sister and I were trying to amuse him with this story, with me offering to sing to him too. He said no. But a few hours later, he actually changed his mind and said, “Ninang, you can sing to me now if you want.” And we both laughed. It was a good way to lighten the mood and give him a few seconds of relief.

Because I realize that sometimes laughter is indeed the best medicine, I try to cheer up friends who are sick with a few well-placed jokes or snappy retorts. A friend whose medical condition forces her to visit the emergency room quite a few times has been the (UN) lucky recipient of some of my well-intentioned jokes. I try to console her with some comic relief especially when we’re waiting for lab test results. We’ve even posed for pictures at various x-ray rooms, ERs and yes, even the clinic of the cruise ship we were on. These photos are for private consumption only of course, never to be posted on Facebook. Let’s just say that these hospital visits have taken our friendship to a whole new level.

My hypochondria has definitely caused me moments of panic, attacks of depression, hours of worry and even crying jags. Sometimes, I even wish that doctors would actually find something wrong with me to justify my fears, and then find myself immensely relieved when they don’t.

Being sick is of course no laughing matter. But in the middle of all the pain, often imagined in my case, it helps to see the lighter side of things, to find something to laugh about. It’s free, it doesn’t require a prescription or medical supervision, and it really does give some relief, albeit momentary, from whatever ails you at the moment. I guess laughter really is the best medicine.