Laughing in the hospital
Laughing in the hospital
No medication will fight off my grandfather’s sense of humor
Writer’s note: This post was first published on Medium’s “Tickled” on May 14, 2020 and will now be permanently housed on Substack’s new “Tickled” column.
I was 15 minutes too early for visiting hours, and I sat in the waiting room tapping away on my smartphone. I was there for the long haul, wanting to be with my grandfather for as long as I possibly could. Although the hospital was the last place I wanted him to spend his 95th birthday, I still brought a birthday card and planned to make the best of the situation. By the time I was allowed to go upstairs to his room, I was beaming.
I hate hospitals though. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve been in one since birth (if you don’t count the fun and energetic stroke survival meetings I’ve been to with another family member). I hate the smell. I hate the look. I don’t even like the furniture. But I was going to fake my way to making this a good time like I’d done every single year on his birthday.
I knew him as the man who gave odd honeymoon advice about White Castle, flipped his eyelids up while talking to me, and chased me up his attic steps yelling “Rat! Rat! Rat!” while tickling my ankles with his fingertips.
But I knew something was off when I arrived in the room and he didn’t greet me with a big hug and cheek kiss. He wiggled around a couple of times. I said, “Happy birthday” and his response was, “Ain’t nothing happy about it.” Now this was the kind of snarky response I was used to, but I was confused about what his body was doing. He looked like he couldn’t sit up.