I spoke yesterday at a Rehab Celebration at Gunderson Medical Center in La Crosse.
I talked about community, because rehab and recovery aren’t individual efforts. Like most meaningful parts of life, rehab happens in community.
I offered three stories, including one I don’t share often. I thought you might appreciate a giggle wrapped around an important lesson.
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My life mostly consists of awkward situations punctuated by moments of extreme indignity.
It’s important to laugh at yourself, especially when you must choose laughter or tears. Sometimes living with disease or disability casts every situation in life-altering seriousness. Occasionally we need to gain some perspective and chuckle at life’s absurdities.
I’m blessed with friends willing to lend a hand. We share a number of embarrassing stories that merge humor and compassion. Sometimes I wonder if they keep me around as a dependable source of cheap entertainment.
When I first learned to drive following my injury, I purchased an old van equipped with hand controls and an ancient lift. The price was right and I welcomed the increased sense of freedom, but the equipment proved to be about as reliable as a rain dance.
One morning my van failed to start, so I called my friend Hal for a ride to work. We’d done this before, and usually, he traded vehicles with his wife. I’d transfer easily, the chair would slide into the trunk, and off we’d go.
On this particular morning, however, he showed up in his vintage full-size Chevy pickup. The back of the truck seemed well covered; perhaps a tonneau cover of sorts like those sold by Peragon or similar firms. It caught my eye instantly because of its clean look. I was told that the bed cover could protect from the elements and provide extra security for any equipment stored therein. That been said, I don’t think I liked the truck much. The seat was much higher than my chair, and no matter how he parked the truck or where I placed my chair, I couldn’t even get close to hoisting my backside onto the seat.
Hal tried to help, but despite unintentionally groping inappropriate body parts there seemed to be no position from which he could lift effectively. We had to figure something out quickly to avoid being late to work.
As it turned out, late would have been a much better option than what actually happened.
In retrospect it’s difficult to believe either of us even considered Hal’s next idea, but much of my life’s like that. Things that once made perfect sense lose obvious logic when viewed with the 20/20 vision of hindsight.
Hal told me to park my chair next to the passenger side and lean my upper body onto the seat. He went to the driver’s side, climbed in, and reached across the cab. He grabbed my arms, intending to drag me toward him and onto the seat.
He might have actually succeeded-except for one tiny but important detail. The lever that adjusted the seat protruded to the side, so as he hoisted me upward the knob hooked the waistband of my pants. Hal gave a mighty heave, and in an instant we confronted a good news/bad news scenario.
The good news: my upper body now rested face down on the seat, legs dangling precariously over the edge. The bad news: my pants neatly encircled my ankles, leaving my bare backside exposed to the entire neighborhood.
Hal ran to the passenger side, moved my chair, and stood directly behind me contemplating a view he hadn’t quite anticipated. Adding to the indignity, when he stooped to grab my legs I heard him laugh. Since I wasn’t seeing the humor, I turned my head to see a woman walking behind him on the sidewalk.
I can’t begin to imagine what passed through her mind as she took in this spectacle. She stared at my exposed posterior while Hal crouched to wrap his arms around my lower legs. If you envision where this placed his head, you get an entirely new and undesired interpretation of “cheek to cheek.”
At this point we had little to lose. He lifted my legs and reached around to unhook my waistband, causing us to become even more intimately acquainted. Then he shoved me onto the seat.
Our one-woman audience moved on as we laughed uncontrollably at the sheer insanity of the circumstances. I was lying basically naked from the waist down in my buddy’s truck, reaching back for my pants. He was trying to help without getting into any more positions that might give neighbors cause to summon police. We made slow progress because we were giggling like little kids. Eventually we managed to get most of me covered and seated upright, and we even got to work on time.
I just hope we didn’t cause permanent psychological scars for the unfortunate woman who simply wanted a little early-morning exercise.
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Can you laugh at yourself? Can you be serious about your work without taking yourself too seriously?
Please leave a comment here.
