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“Please. I’ve had a great life. Let it be me — not him.” A mother’s prayer, the type I’d never thought I’d have to offer. But I never thought that my son — my strapping, robust, energetic, smart, apparently healthy son, a 22-year-old junior at the University of Missouri — would be diagnosed with cancer. Who would have thought that waking up one morning with an aching chest would lead to the discovery of a life-threatening tumor?

I can’t even describe that time in our lives accurately. It went by in a blur — and not the fast paced blur you enjoy while you rocket along the roller coaster’s tracks, but a confusing, often terrifying inability to really understand and deal with what was going on. There were months of chemo. He had surgery. His hair fell out. The boy who could empty a refrigerator in the blink of an eye now wouldn’t eat — everything tasted metallic, and he had no appetite. And through it all, we wondered: would he ever have a girlfriend, a family, a life…

For two decades, I’d studied, written and spoken about the therapeutic values of humor. It was time to walk the talk. It was tough. I won’t kid you. Being funny can be hard work. At times, we had to make a conscious effort to laugh. And yet sometimes, if we would just let it”it would just happen. Humor was a saving grace for all of us.

There was a time for tears, but there was a time for laughter. Many times, actually.

My son has always been lucky in his friends. David’s roommates provided him with great support and camaraderie, dubbing him “Captain Cancer” — the superhero no one wants to be. One roommate, an artistic red-headed color blind Italian, begged to decorate my son’s newly bald head with colorful markers.

His co-workers were great. He and another bouncer had long been known as Tonto and The Lone Ranger. Following one of his treatments, a bunch of his buddies visited. Afterward, David announced, My friends just gave me a new nickname: Chemo-sabi!

Many patients long for humor during their healing process. Allen Klein, author of The Healing Power of Humor, surveyed patients who were terminally ill about their feelings about humor. A vast majority (80%!) wished to laugh more. They wanted more humor — from the people around them. They also wanted the freedom to use humor themselves.

Humor can be used proactively, to help heal both the body and the spirit. To do this, you can:

Play: We can create our own joy and wellness with play. Create a play list — ten or more items that don’t cost a lot of money that you enjoy doing. They can be simple, they can be personal, but they have to be fun. When you’re feeling down, do an item from the list. This will make you feel better.

Make sure you have a stock of toys”Magic 8 balls, Koosh toys, whatever makes you smile”available.

Surround yourself with pre-packaged laughs. Collecting funny books, magazines, movies and cartoons is a great way to keep the humor going. Ask people to tell you their funniest story or most embarrassing moment. Save jokes and funny stories. Spending time enjoying your collection can perk up even the toughest days.

Make Connections: Surround yourself with people who make you laugh. Spend as little time as possible with negative, downbeat folks who make you feel bad. Ask people to laugh — and do your best to make them laugh. One laugh leads to the next!

By the way, David has been cancer free now for 4 years. Hes engaged to be married next month. His courage, his gentle spirit and his sense of humor”hes my hero.

Learn more about the healing power of humor by visiting Karyn’s website. And if you’re looking for hysterical nursing humor make sure to check out the Journal of Nursing Jocularity