One of my favorite visitors in the days to come was my step-sister’s good friend, Terry. She was a tall, big-boned, model-beautiful girl. She had the greatest sense of humor, enviable self-confidence, and the best pair of hands! Terry would come in and make me laugh while she peeled off thin layers of my shredding skin, which was the result of my recent sunburn and the rash that accompanied my illness, Toxic Shock Syndrome.
Next, Terry would slather me with the hospital lotion to make my skin feel smooth. Her hands were strong and sure, just like Mama’s. She wasn’t scared of any of my splotches or scabs. She made me feel acceptable and worthy of new friendship in spite of my condition. I often enjoyed her company more than others, even though I hadn’t known her that well before.
I looked forward to my visits from Terry while in recovery. She was just a cool chick with a big heart. I could see why my step-sister liked her so much. She made me feel special by taking the time to come see me, but more than that, it seemed like Terry’s main purpose was to make me laugh! She would sit for an hour or so, rubbing my arms and legs with lotion while cracking jokes about everyone and everything. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t hear her jokes well. She laughed at her own jokes, and her laughter was contagious!
Whether she knew it or not, Terry was an important instrument in my healing. Her sense of humor may have even had therapeutic benefits toward my recovery. It is said that laughter is the best medicine. Each of Terry’s visits was a pleasurable experience for me. Her humor made me feel carefree, lighthearted, and most importantly, normal.
Terry had once come to visit with a few other friends while smuggling in a bottle of Mountain Dew under her shirt. She pointed under her shirt and whispered something to me. “What?” I asked, unable to hear what she said. This was a perfect moment for Terry to use her humor and steal the show. Rather than speak up, Terry exaggerated her words, breaking them down into individual syllables, and said,
WE-SMUG-GLED-YOU-IN-SOME-
IL-LE-GAL-MOUN-TAIN-DEW!”
Even after all her breathless effort, I still missed some of what Terry said, and everyone roared with laughter. Rather than feel offended, I joined them in their amusement. It was a coping skill I immediately began to develop and would use throughout the rest of my life.
I worried that the smuggled soda would get us all in trouble until they explained that they had actually received permission from the doctors and nurses to bring me the soda. There were conditions of course. It had to be kept in the nurse’s station and given to me sparingly with lots and lots of ice. The soda had caffeine in it, which probably wasn’t good for my recovering body. Diluted with ice was the only way they would let me have a sip, and the nurses got to decide how much and when.
I remember the first cool taste of that sweet carbonated drink. It reminded me of all the times when Mama would give us 7-Up to soothe our tummy aches. I found the Mountain Dew surprisingly helpful in covering up the banana-flavored aftertaste that was left in my mouth from the potassium drip attached to my IV for days.
