Laughter is the Best Medicine

I’m a big fan of laughter. I don’t think there’s anything better than a good ole’ deep-from-the gut, tear-causing, snort-filled, can’t-catch-your-breath laugh. It’s like a clean rain washing over you, erasing anything that’s ailing you. I have a pretty boisterous laugh, which is recognizable to some and annoying to others; however, it’s always honest and from the heart.

Not too long ago, I wrote a post about how smiling, even if you don’t really mean it, can lift your mood. Laughter, likewise, also has physical, mental and social benefits. According to the website, helpguide.org, “Laughter can reduce stress, anxiety, and depression, strengthen your immune system, and diminish pain.” WebMD adds, “We change physiologically when we laugh. We stretch muscles throughout our face and body, our pulse and blood pressure go up, and we breathe faster, sending more oxygen to our tissues.” I’m going to add another benefit to the list – it can help reduce cancer, or, more accurately in my case, the number of tumors one has.

Yep, you read that right. Many readers of this story will find it amazing, some might find it unbelievable, some might think it’s – well, gross. In fact, if you’re squeamish, be forewarned.  As for me, I found what happened to me when I was laughing miraculous and pretty funny – well, that is, after I got over the initial shock.

My story begins shortly after Thanksgiving. I had developed a cough and had started wheezing when I breathed. The doctors were concerned and sent me for tests, which confirmed that I had a tumor inside one of the smaller bronchi and it was blocking almost the entire tube. I was sent immediately to a thoracic surgeon who said it was a serious situation and that the question at hand was not if my lung would collapse from the blocked airway, but when. Surgery was scheduled for two weeks later during which he would attempt to place a stent in the tube to open it up so air could get through. Where’s the humor, you ask? Wait, it’s coming.

Less than a week later, on a Sunday night, I started laughing about something – hard! That led to a coughing fit. I coughed, and I coughed and I coughed, and – SQUEAMISH ALERT – I coughed up something and spit it out. After I screamed, I realized I had coughed up the tumor blocking the bronchi. Once I got the coughing under control and got my wits back about me after being scared to death, I noticed I was breathing like normal again, and I thought to myself, “Ann, this could only happen to you.” In fact, when I Googled the topic, I found only two instances where this has happened. I called both my oncologist and surgeon the next morning; both agreed it’s rare but such a thing can happen.

The surgeon still wanted to perform a bronchoscopy on me, just to see that everything was alright. That procedure was performed about a week ago and went well. He saw the “stub” of the tumor that was left and got rid of it, and since I was breathing normally again, there was no need for a stent. This episode taught me two things: Laughter is indeed the best medicine, and, more importantly, miracles come in many disguises and often in the most unexpected ways. Merry Christmas everybody!

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