Waiting for my doctor’s office to call me back about an appointment for my aching knee, I dug out my aunt’s age-old quad cane and rickety walker. I tried to cheer myself up by making a sign for the quad cane that read: “My name is Pete. God pulled me out of the closet to help a lady be thankful.” I added a smiley face.
Then my 13-year-old grandson, Zane, came to visit. Quite the comedian himself, he made a sign for the walker, naming it Carl. “Pete needs a friend,” he said. “He can’t do this alone.”
Long after Zane went home, I still chuckled every time I used the cane and walker.
At my doctor’s appointment, a man in the waiting room told me he liked Pete’s sign. I said, “We have to laugh through the pain, don’t we?” He broke into a smile and nodded.
The doctor prescribed a knee brace. Zane said we should call it Jackson. But after several weeks, it was clear I needed a total knee replacement. Following surgery, an ice bag became my new best friend. I called on my grandson again for naming advice. “Oh, Granny, that’s easy,” Zane said. “Call it Chilly.”
With the help of Pete, Carl, Jackson, Chilly and Zane, how could I not laugh through the pain?
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