Home > Marriage > Emotions > It's Okay to Laugh
It's Okay to Laugh
By Lynne Pleau | posted 9/12/2008
 2 of 3
He was being so sincere, but so funny. And it was frustrating! Here I was trying to have a good cry, and I kept snorting laughs between sobs.
When my hair started coming out in clumps, I had it shaved to the length of Scott's crew cut. I was on the verge of tears, but Scott just rubbed the top of my head and started calling me "Mini-Me."
He also told me every day how beautiful I was. I never believed him, of course. But he got points for trying. One day I looked in the mirror at my bald head, bleary eyes, and bloated face, and realized, I'm Mrs. Potato Head! I was about to burst into tears yet again, when my ex-naval officer, crew-cut-wearing, engineer-by-training husband came sliding into the room, rocking out on an air guitar and wearing my blonde wig, which was bouncing around his shoulders.
I laughed so hard I nearly wet my pants.
It was kind of difficult to take my appearance seriously after that.
All in God's time
Over and over, we saw how God had his hand on our lives through the cancer. We gained a wealth of experiences. We celebrated everything. We went out to dinner before I started chemo, and we went back to the same table at the same restaurant when it was all over. We went to Walt Disney World to celebrate my recovery. And when my hair started to grow in, we even celebrated my first case of "bed-head."
In God's amazing timing, one week after my radiation ended, Scott's employer transferred him. My hair was just beginning to grow back. It was just long enough to get away without wearing a hat around people I knew.
It was a hot South Carolina weekend, and I was wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and no hat. After all, we were only house hunting, right? Our realtor took us to Sunday brunch where we met several of our prospective neighbors—all of them dressed up. I was so embarrassed, I asked Scott later, "What do you think they thought of me, the way I was dressed?"
"I wouldn't worry about it, honey," he said. "I don't think they ever got past the hair."
That husband of mine. He has his trying moments (like the time he glanced at what I was wearing and asked if I'd been the victim of a closet explosion). But the day I came home from my first follow-up and told him, with quivering lower lip, that I was going on an estrogen-blocker, that my skin would lose its softness and I was likely to really start aging, Scott said without missing a beat, "Well, it's about time you start to look older!"
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