Twice a day, Addison needs a therapy to jiggle his lungs. If someone were to walk in on us, it would look like I was beating up on the child. In a matter of forty minutes, he laughs his head off and then eventually cries and screams. But, we always start first with the laughs.

I always wondered what I do if I got one of those “things.” The big C. Or the heart attack; or the tumor; or the……..Well here we are. We got that THING. One of those dreaded words. Researching the underlying problem Addison has called pulmonary heart disease could throw me under a bus. My goodness reading the prognosis of this THING was more terrifying than jumping off a cliff into a gorge with a pack of wolves waiting for me. No one does well with this condition. It’s not curable; It’s a life long burden. Says who?

Then, I remembered I’d been through this before. After Addison’s surgery after birth, we discovered he had two cysts on his liver ducts. (And how did we live before Internet searches??!!) First I had to figure out what the heck the bile ducts were. These tiny cysts existed on two little tubes that drain the toxins the liver expels directly into the colon. I didn’t even know we had these parts were let alone that they could develop cysts. The doctors said: another surgery in four months. If we didn’t take them out, CANCER was guaranteed. There’s one of THOSE words again.

You’ll have to read about the whole account here, but in a nutshell, the cysts went away all by themselves. Perhaps I helped with diet. I have no idea what happened except that the doctor’s said they’d never in their life seen a case like this before. All cysts, they said, had to be removed surgically. Or they would become cancerous.

I do remember back then, in the time of cysts, we laughed a lot. Norman Cousins wrote a book called Anatomy of an Illness. This was a writer, peace advocate, and professor wrought with health issues. According to his write-up:

Cousins received the Albert Schweitzer Prize in 1990. He died of heart failure on November 30, 1990, having survived years longer than his doctors predicted: 10 years after his first heart attack, 16 years after his collagen (arthritic) illness, and 36 years after his doctors first diagnosed his heart disease.

I remember hearing about this book years and years ago. One of the main principles was that Cousin’s believed human emotions were the key to affecting health. He applied laughter as one of his main medicines. I applied nothing of this wisdom when I struggled through my surgeries and illnesses years ago. For some reason, though I hadn’t seen the book in years, the idea re-popped back into my head when “THAT D” word was mentioned in the hospital about Addison.

So before I begin the “beating on the chest therapy” I always start with a good laugh. Blowing on Addison’s round belly gets him going; then we move on to the ticklish crook of his neck; and round out the laughter with nuzzling my nose into his ribs. When he gets to that super silly part, I ask him to sit up and then ask: More? He nods and says more. And so it goes on.

We try to carry this philosophy of at least smiling, throughout the day. My brother is a pro at making goofy faces. A talent I learned from him. And I know I fail more than I succeed. I’m the first to snip at my daughter or swear when Addison’s diaper contents have just smeared all over my favorite pants and belt and shirt. Yet, I even managed to dance in the hospital to High-Five, about the only highlight of mine and Addison’s day. And it is contagious, for one day the nurse walked in and though conservative and timid in her laughter, she started singing and even did a little hand jive.

I am no longer falling off a cliff. Instead I live as though I am always free-falling through the air. I took the leap and now must walk the talk to stay afloat and not let the wolves get me in the end.

The photo above was taken a few months before we found out the cysts had disappeared.

Addison was about five months old.