Dying and Humor

Nanny's skin is very sensitive and the least little touch gives her pain. I'm not sure how much of it is psychological since she complains that we are hurting her even when we aren't touching her.

When my mom and I were bathing Nanny and getting her ready for her doctor's appointment Tuesday morning, she was grumbling and moaning that we were killing her. Adamantly, she crossed her arms over her abdomen and assumed the corpse position and said, "Just go ahead and bury me!"

Mom and I both burst out in laughter.

"I think that's against the law, Nanny," I said. "Police arrest people who bury bodies while they're still alive."

Wednesday morning we were changing her diaper. Since she can't roll over to help us, this is a two-person task. I took Nanny's hand to help her find the rail on my side so she could at least pull to one side or hold on.

"You hurt my sore hand!" she yelled.

"I was being gentle, Nanny," I said.

"They stuck me too many times at the hospital. They made a sore on my hand."

"I don't see a sore on your hand."

"Take that sore and throw it away," said Nanny.

I pretended to grab the invisible sore and threw it out the window. "Now, it's gone."

"Okay, that's better. Thank you."

If it weren't for a good sense of humor, dealing with the dying process would be absolutely intolerable.

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