Heal the Sick with Laughter
Side effects may vary
By Melanie Gopnik
Healer and YouTube Influencer
(as soon as my channel gets un-canceled)
"Laughter is the best medicine!"
That's not just your grandmother’s excuse for refusing a shingles booster. It's science!
Laughter is an over-the-counter-remedy that you can get for free in the pharmacy of the Universe. It doesn't just improve your mood. It improves your immune system. By activating and relieving your stress response, you can suppress illnesses. Don't just take it from me. Ask AI.
It's kind of a long-term thing. So, start laughing it up now, and then remember to thank me in 20 years, when you DON'T have a cold. Or colon cancer.
How do I know all this? I am a certified laughter yoga leader. Or I'll continue to be, once my license gets un-suspended.
Everything happens for a reason. Being on a break from my practice gives me time to work on my writing–like blogs, inspirational Instagram poems, and most recently, this deposition statement.
The universe works in mysterious ways
I didn't start out as a laughter yoga leader. I always knew I wanted to heal people. But medical school didn't work out. I had a hard time with the sight of blood spurting all over the place, especially because it was usually my fault.
Dental school…more or less the same thing. I felt bad about all those poor people screaming in agony with the suction device in their mouths, or trying to say "I'm suing!".
One of my instructors recommended massage therapy because it didn't involve me holding sharp metal objects. But cold clammy flesh stimulates my gag reflex, so after I almost threw up on my first patient, nooo thank you!
I kept searching for a profession where I could heal people without rupturing their arteries or touching them. When that turned up crickets, I started feeling sorry for myself, inhaling Ben & Jerry's and googling "funny cat videos" to cheer myself up. That's when an ad flashed on my screen with the magical words "Laughter. Yoga. Leader"! Yes!
It was like when Moses got the Ten Commandments, but less prescriptive. I discovered my path, my true calling, the thing I was placed on this planet to do!
First I had to complete the rigorous training training course. Quite frankly, it was brutal. I powered through the two six-hour sessions which, (thank you, Universe!), included one-hour lunch breaks. And then all that reading! Three pamphlets. And one of them had really small type–like for those little Apple airpod manuals!
But I DID IT! And in no time I opened my storefront clinic and proudly taped my Certified Yoga Laughter Leader and Instructor (CYLLI) certificate to the wall.
…and even more mysterious
I put a cute, chubby, laughing Buddha right by the entrance to my clinic, next to the plastic bonsai tree (I am not great with plants). I had the luxury of paying attention to every visual detail in my clinic so that it would make patients feel welcome and at ease, since the Universe in its wisdom gave me an abundance of time: two and a half months with no patients.
Nothing worked to bring people in–not my meditations and chants for manifesting money or the coupons for a free trial session that I left in the other two stores in the mini-mall. Maybe that's because the nail salon customers couldn't pick up the coupons with their three-inch nails, and the cannabis dispensary patrons couldn't STOP laughing.
Just as I was starting to question the Universe, I had my first walk-in! Well, Roger was more of a roll-in, as he was riding one of those Rascal scooters.Those things don't corner very well, and he knocked over the laughing Buddha that I shelled out $150 for on Etsy. Plus, the Rascal wheels made ruts in my Flower of Life sacred geometry rug ($500 on Rugs.com).
But then I reminded myself: Big Picture! This man had a permanent scowl. I could tell he was in pain. I thought, "I can help this sentient being! It's my spiritual duty!" But first I made sure he didn’t Rascal his way backwards into my zen water fountain ($200 on Lamps Plus!).
"Tell me, Roger. What brings you to my clinic?" I asked.
"Rent. You're three months behind."
"Ah," I chuckled nervously. "You're the building manager. Namaste! Did you ever get my messages about the toilet making weird noises? I left, like, three…"
"Yes," said Roger. "But you won't have to worry about the noisy toilet if you don't pay up. I need three months' rent right now, plus late fees."
I smiled and suggested maybe we could work something out.
"Yeah, sure." said Roger, looking around the clinic. "Start loading all this fancy-shmancy stuff in my Hyundai outside. That blobby statue will look good next to the piranha tank in my living room. Oh and that fountain that makes that tinkly noises will go good in my bathroom. I got a prostate thing, and sometimes I can't…"
"Um, Roger, actually, I was thinking that in lieu of the rent I owe, I can give you unlimited free sessions, you know, until I start getting regular paying patients."
"Free sessions for what?”
"Laughter therapy."
I handed him a brochure. He glanced at it and snorted.
"OK. That's not a thing. Pass. I thought you were like a fortune teller or something. What's the make and year of your car? And how many miles? Please, God, don't let it be another Hyundai! Getting parts for those is a pain the…"
"ROGER!" I blurted out. "I see that you're UNHAPPY! Let me help make you HAPPY, Roger!"
I don't know what made me explode like that. Was it because the Universe made me a compassionate soul, sensitive to all human suffering? Or that I couldn't stand the thought of taking the bus? Either way, it did the trick.
"You got 20 minutes, lady. Knock yourself out.”
This was my moment to shine!
Turning the frown-er upside-down
"OK, Roger," I said with a big smile. Let's get started. It's better if you stand…"
Roger rolled his eyes. "This better be worth it. I only stand for the National Anthem and to get my Funyuns off the top shelf in my pantry when I can't find my grabber."
I helped him up. We started with some stretching and deep breathing, which definitely annoyed him. It was time to start laughing!
"Here we go, Roger! Now clap our hands in time with me and chant: HA-HA-HA-HO-HO-HO-HA-HA-HO-HO-HO…”
Roger just stared at me.
"I’ll clap my hands if I really have to, but is the ‘ho ho ho’ stuff necessary?”
“Oh, um, it's like the whole point of the therapy,” I said.
“I only laugh if something is funny.”
“Just try it! Come on! HO-HO-HO…”
“Is it like role playing? Are you insinuating I look like Santa Clause or something? 'Cause that would be rude.“
"I'm just trying to get you to laugh, Roger."
“If you want me to laugh, amuse me. Or hand over the keys to your car.“
Uh-oh! The training pamphlets explicitly said that I didn't need to be funny to be a successful yoga laughter leader. Or maybe I missed that in the teeny-tiny type. But I had to do something. I tried a few jokes. He'd already heard the "Priest, minister, and rabbi in a bar" one, and found the "teamsters/lightbulb" joke offensive for some reason.
So, I switched to Plan B: Physical comedy. Also known as making a complete fool of myself:
Stuffing cotton balls in my cheeks and pretending to be Don Corleone. But he'd never seen The Godfather.
Armpit farts. Those usually killed in middle school. He rolled his eyes.
Pouring water on myself and yelling “I am a ficus!” He looked at his watch.
Plan C! I showed him a funny cat video on my phone. Who doesn't laugh at cat videos? Answer: Roger, since his beloved cat Choppers recently died from kidney complications, just shy of his 13th birthday. As Roger shared this with me through his tears…
I went for the nuclear option:
I pushed him down on the wicker-rattan sofa with the hemp fabric cushions, pounced on him, and started blowing raspberries on his jiggling belly. I figured he was either going to have me arrested or start laughing.
He did the latter, first giggling like a little girl and then guffawing like a little girl on nitrous oxide. Eureka!
I thought “Now we’re getting somewhere!“ I blew two more raspberries and then started tickling him. Roger was in stitches.
I had done it! I had brought the healing power of laughter to this miserable human being! I could practically feel him releasing neuropeptides! This was the beginning of a better, healthier life for this man! I wasn’t a failure after all! My heart swelled with pride as I continued tickling him relentlessly. He continued laughing uncontrollably for about 12 seconds.
Then he fell dead.
According to the coroner’s report, the cause of death was a ruptured aneurysm "... accelerated by excessive laughter."
I was grateful to be cleared of manslaughter charges. It was the Universe‘s benevolent way of giving me time to focus all my time and energy on this wrongful death lawsuit brought on by Roger's next of kin.
I guess the lesson here is that, as with any medical treatment, you should know the risk and administer the treatment with care–be it laughter, oxytocin, or full frontal lobotomy.
I still wish I could give people the gift of healing, but I keep getting messages from the Universe that the best way I can help people feel better is by avoiding them as much as possible. Or wait, that was in the cease-and-desist order from the judge.