waaaaannhhhh...Embracing the whine

by Jenni Prokopy, the Editrix

Meet my husband, Steve. Would you like to know what Steve loves to say to me when I'm complaining about what ails me? WAAAAANNHHH. Loud and nasal, the sound reverberates through our home like a buzzsaw.

Now, before you decide that Steve is evil, let me explain. (I mean, can a guy who grins this much while riding a giant bee be all that bad?)

The whine is strategic. The whine is a carefully timed deflation device, applied with care.

The whole thing started a few months ago with Howard Stern. He hosted an "amputee beauty pageant" where ladies with missing appendages competed for a big cash prize. They all had amazing sob stories - some really terrible things happened to them. And as each competitor told the very worst part of her story, Artie Lang (part of the show's crew) would let out a big, fake whiny sound. "Waaaannnhhh, I lost my leg in a 10-car pile-up on the way to my kid's baptism. Or "Waaaaannhhh, my arm was chopped off in a columbine and my crackhead boyfriend stole my insurance settlement to pay off his bookie."

It was hilarious. The women laughed, Howard laughed, Steve and I (and probably most of the millions of other listeners) laughed. Every time Artie whined, it just sucked the air out of the desperate stories and cracked up everybody.

So a few days later, I was having a flare-up, and I complained to Steve. "Damnit, I am so sick of these stupid flare-ups. They suck! No one else I know has to conserve their energy as carefully as I do and I still have to take down days. This is so unfair. I had a great day planned with all kinds of fun stuff and now I have to cancel!"

Silence. Then, that sound. WAAAAANNNHHH. Just like that. I looked at Steve. He looked at me. We stared at each other for a moment.

And we both cracked up - holding your stomach, tears rolling down your cheeks, guffawing. And I felt a little bit better. Ok, ok, I had reason to be bummed out, angry, whatever. With the whine, he reminded me that I could choose to be a baby about the situation, or take it like the seasoned chronicbabe I am.

Years later, still learning new tricks

Steve's been with me since day 1. First as my friend, later as my romantic partner, he's supported me on my chronic journey. As I've run through a gauntlet of doctors, submitted to tests for everything under the sun, endured bizarre combos of medication that wreaked havoc with my mind and body, spent hundreds of hours in emotional and physical therapy - he's been along for the whole ride. I mean, nothing says love like a guy who will run out in the middle of the night and pick up suppositories for you. (Well, Ok, Vosges chocolates say it pretty well, too.)

He's been my shoulder to cry on, my errand boy, my rock. But this whole whining thing, the "making fun of the fibro" thing, is new for us. And I am here to say I love it. It's really the same concept folks use to get over stage fright: imagine your audience naked. Deflate the situation with humor.

Not everyone's a fan, though. The first time he did it in a crowd we got a few sideways looks. I'm sure that, to some, it seems cruel or dismissive. But whatever. Not only does it crack me up, I think it helps us as a couple, too - it takes the pressure off. I know that if something really bad happens he'll save the whine for another occasion. But until then, WAAAAAAANNNHHH!

Posted: 6/8/2005 in Coping | Also posted in: Relationships

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waaaaannhhhh...Embracing the whine

Years later, still learning new tricks