When Your Funny Bone Breaks

I think my funny bone is broken too. My mother suggested I should write more humorous blogs. Like I thought I used to. Because life was hysterical. Until it wasn't. But I still tried to find the funny in my health challenge. Today I'm supposed to blog about yesterday's testing. But yesterday was only morgue style funny. When it is so dark, the only laughter comes after you soiled your britches. And even that isn't funny. Even you tried so hard to find the humor in it.
Yesterday was an "unheard-of" moment in medical testing. I underwent an Electromyogram of all four limbs plus upper and lower spine. It is when the doctor inserts needles in various areas of your body. One at a time. Then sends an electric current through them while asking you to move that particular muscle. It is kind of like slamming you finger in a door, keeping there, and staying still while someone gives you a manicure. You know, so you don't mess it up. I have an idea for our government. Use Electromyograms instead of water boarding and you will get all the information you ever want to know.

My friend Debbie went with me. I held her hand. Screamed uncontrollably at the jolts that sent me to this week's Super Moon. It is going to be a lovely moon by the way.
My mother would have never made it through my agony so I made her stay home. My husband is on location, so learned of my adventure through my groggy reflection during our nightly chat. I believe I slurred a few words for effect.

My eyes flooded with tears at the very touch of the doctor's fingers against my skin - like a burn massaged with a Brillo pad.

The results will come back soon. Perhaps they will make me smile. Or tickle my funny bone.

I really don't want to bore my readers with continuing coverage of my water boarding. So I'm thinking about writing a blog from the perspective of the squirrel that lives outside my window. Or the raccoon. Or the two sexually active humming birds. Perhaps the dogs next door. Or even the bobcat that haunts our hillside. I'm sure they would have a lot to say about the sloth that lurks in my bedroom window at night. My mother would like that. All I want to do is make her happy. So we can fix my funny bone.

Until then I will channel the crying clown. A reddened nose and ashen face who's mission is to expose life's absurdities so others don't feel so alone in it all. Because in the end, we are more alike than not. So bare with my random blogs of the human condition. As I branch to the trees outside of my room. And become one with the beasts to discover if they might have a funny bone too. So my mother can see there is still more to me than a sloth with a lisp. And a funny bone that still has potential, even if it may have a limp for a little longer than we had imagined.