My husband Barry is the guy who never loses his keys.  Never forgets the tickets to Fenway Park or the theatre.  Remembers the names of every business associate, former student, waitress or bartender.  Knows where all the confirmation numbers are.  And always has his cell phone with him and “on.”

Except for the past few weeks.

Barry has had a couple of things happen.  One, he hurt his back a few weeks ago.  Second, he hurt his back again a couple of weeks ago.  He has been in agonizing pain as we have tried to figure out what’s going on.  He hasn’t been laughing as much as usual, which is very different around here.  He hasn’t been sleeping well, which wears on the mind.  He hasn’t been able to move all that well, which is devastating for a very active guy.

We’ve seen a series of physicians.  He’s had an MRI and x-rays, a couple of procedures and physical therapy.  But still I wait for his laugh to return.

Today Barry had an appointment with our family physician, who I will describe as an angel because he is one.  He is young, brillliant, kind and compassionate.  He had received copies of the physicians’ reports, etc., and he listened very intently at the saga of Barry’s back.  Hip.  Groin.  Knee.  Leg.  Toes.  Then, after an examination, a diagnosis, a couple more medications and referrals to a couple more places, Barry and I left his office.  We stopped for lunch, and I could see a bit more of a twinkle in Barry’s eyes.  This happens, of course, when our emotional and psychological sides almost meet up with the phyiscal.  I could see that glimmer of new hope.

When we arrived home, Barry organized the prescriptions and referrals.  He made a couple of phone calls, and then he got ready to head back to work.  (Yes, he has been trying to work even in all of his pain… this is one of the responsibilities of owning your own business.)   But as he headed to the door, he didn’t have his car keys, his cell phone, his glasses or any of the paperwork that he had just organized.

I looked at him and said, “Honey, I didn’t know you have sciatica of the brain.”

I was serious.  Barry thought it was hysterical.  He started to laugh, and then laughed so hard that I thought his periformis muscle was going to bust.  I guess all the pain and opinions and procedures were just trying to escape through laughter.

Barry was back, and back in a good way.  I could have cried with happiness to see him laugh like this.  And then I remembered… isn’t laughter always the best medicine. I am all too happy to be his little comedienne, even if I wasn’t even trying.

Now… better days to come!