We flew up to Oregon this past weekend to see Mamacusa and The Love Muscle. Now, I’ve flown enough times to know that, in the event of an aeronautical disaster, the best strategy is to chug your alcoholic beverage, dramatically clutch your carry-ons that have invariably shifted during turbulence, and in the calmest way possible (so as not to upset your neighbors), scream bloody murder. So, needless to say, I rarely pay much attention to the monotone drone of whichever flight attendant has drawn the short straw and has to read the emergency instructions…usually a fantastically boring piece of literature in and of itself.
But on Friday afternoon, as I sat in between two strangers several rows behind The Brit (who sat between two other strangers) on a packed flight, our lead flight attendant commanded our attention with one simple thing: his humor.
“Welcome ladies and gentlemen…I have something personal to share with you today. Today, I have the extreme pleasure of being able to fly with my beautiful and lovely wife, Julie.”
Julie, slightly embarrassed, smiled sweetly at the passengers from her position in the aisle.
“And now my beautiful wife Julie, together with my ex-wife Jennifer, will demonstrate the safety features of this Boeing 737 for you!”
The entire plane laughed (some, I won’t say who, may have even snorted), and, as if we were a single head attached to one neck, turned simultaneously toward the back of the plane to get a good gander at Jennifer. Well accustomed to the gag, she was smiling sweetly back at all of us. (And if it wasn’t a gag, the guy had definitely made a lateral move.)
He kept going, “In the event of a loss in cabin pressure, four oxygen masks will descend from the ceiling. First step? Stop screaming. Second is to put on your face mask. Third is to resume screaming.” See? He’s in the know.
“In the event that this flight becomes a cruise, simply reach under your seats for your life vests. There should be enough for everyone. Should we remain airborne for the anticipated duration of the flight, please do not smoke in any of the lavatories…and do not tamper with or dismantle any of the lavatory smoke detectors or webcams as this is a federal offense.”
Later, as we were landing, the wheels of the plane just touching down on the runway, “Whoa Nelly! WHOOOOOOOOAAAA Nelly!!!” he screamed into the intercom. He followed this with his best imitation of the clip-clopping noises of horse hooves, getting slower and slower as the plane broke harder and harder. Then, as the plane docked at the gate, ”We’d like to be the first to welcome you to the beautiful, wonderful, world-famous entertainment capital of the United States: Portland!”
And here I thought it was Boca Raton, Florida this whole time.
Our flight crew made the trip up a funny one, which is always a good thing…especially considering that it seems like planes have been crashing into things and/or landing in the Hudson River these days almost as often as they’ve been landing safely. If I was going to die, I’d rather die laughing at the thought of my last ever piss going viral on youtube via aircraft webcam. At least I wore cute panties.
The weekend visit was a good one, though brief. TLM is thinner than when I last saw him but then again, so is Mamacusa. TLM’s excuse: no stomach. Mamacusa’s: the little-known Cardio-Rectal Nerve of Exasperrhia, an anatomic anomaly that shows a predominance amongst hispanic mothers and wives. I’ve written about this before. All it takes is the slightest bit of emotional upset and voila! Throw a husband diagnosed with stomach cancer in there and she gets many, many voila’s. The upside of all of this? They’ll both look great in tomorrow’s professional photo shoot.
All humor aside, considering the circumstances, Mamacusa and TLM are holding up well. TLM is recovering from his February gastrectomy and has been, just in the last couple weeks, working solid food back into his diet. For those of you wondering how one without a stomach goes about eating, the anatomic connections have gone from this (pre-surgery):
To this (post-surgery):
So, simply put, his food just goes straight through to his small intestines now…something that takes a body a bit of time to adjust to. Among the many small miracles that I witness daily in my work, though, is the ability of the human body to adapt to what we subject it to. Even more miraculous than that is the strength of the human spirit. And boy does TLM have spirit. Cancer hasn’t robbed him of even an inch of it. And while we all grasp at the few straws of control that any of us have in this…while I comb the traditional medical literature and call in favors to med school friends, TLM reads books & searches the internet for alternative medicine options, Mamacusa busies herself with her newfound religion of dutifully counting/calculating/cataloguing TLM’s caloric intake (for his nutritionist)…we all keep our spirits lifted and hopeful. Hopeful that there’s a miracle out there with TLM’s name on it.
So if you have a religion…next time you pray, or chant, or meditate, or yogatate, or levitate, (or even flatulate…beggers can’t be choosey)…send my peeps some positive energy.
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