Coping with Humor

By Guest Blogger: Donnanne Marvin I am certain that we can all agree there is nothing funny about cancer.  However, humor in itself is a powerful coping strategy, at least it is for me.  Before being diagnosed this past March with breast cancer, my friends and family have always known me to be the life of the party, the outgoing one, and the one who could have fun in a paper bag.  How could I let breast cancer change my personality?  I couldn’t.  Breast cancer has, and is, changing so much of me physically; if I let it change my personality I would be letting myself and others down.  I can’t have that.  So I turn to humor.  I find things funny in ways others may not. One of the hardest things with undergoing chemotherapy was losing my hair. I am coming off long red hair, which I rather liked.  Now, nada, zip, nothing.  I think I look a little like Bruce Willis when I take my bandana off. Not sure that is a good thing, just an opinion.  I have also thought I looked like the Dalai Lama and Uncle Fester, minus the light bulb.  Sure when I look in the mirror it is hard to embrace the physical changes, but is it wrong to see the funny side of it too?  I don’t think so. Maybe I can’t even help it.  I don’t want to be sad and depressed all the time, I want to laugh. Even at my own expense – but on my terms of course. Let’s talk wigs.  Before losing your hair in chemo you are absolutely positive you need the best wig out there to cover your head.  I have two wigs, and have not worn either one of them.  They are hot and itchy and I don’t feel like myself in them.  But…. I have found a fun way to not only play with my identity, but to slightly torture my children and bring a smile to many faces.  And it was with wigs.  Several of my friends helped me out by lending me their costume wigs – both colorful and bold in style.  My plan was to play around a bit with my identity and get a reaction out of my two kids.  Each day for the last couple of weeks of school, I waited on the front porch in a different wig.  Green, long black, mullet, afro… whatever floated my boat that day.  My middle school aged son was the perfect age to embarrass and torture.  At first he would hide behind his hand while his friends hooted and hollered. As the days went by he was looking forward to seeing whom I was.  The best was the day I had the ugliest mullet wig on and was standing there pretending to drink a beer. I looked like an ugly dude. I thought he was going to die! Instead, he walked up the porch, kissed me on the cheek and went inside.  Kids.  I repeated the act for my daughter’s bus about 30 minutes later. The kids said they looked forward to seeing me each day.  I took a picture of myself and posted it on my blog for my friends to get a laugh too.  I would actually crack myself up throughout the whole thing.  I looked forward to bus time. That’s a good sign. Chin up and keep smiling. Humor is powerful.  I don’t want people to make fun of me, or laugh at me of course. I want those around me to laugh with me and celebrate that I am still me, regardless of what BC has done to my physical body. I am not going to say it is easy and a cake walk, but I am saying that there are different ways to cope with some situations you may never in a million years have dreamt of having to deal with.  Humor is one of them. Overall, regardless of BC, I am still Donnanne, and I am still Mom.  When life gives me lemons, I ask for vodka and make myself a drink!