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One woman's lifelong journey to discovering how positive humor can unite kindred spirits.
In Almost Home, Humor Therapist Jacki Kwan illustrates how positive humor has the power to ease the weary body, rekindle the fallen spirit, and unite people in ways never imagined possible.
Touching and informative, Almost Home recounts Kwan'Ã¢â‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¡--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¬--†â€™Ãƒâ€šÃ‚Â¢'‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¾--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¢s journey to bring laughter into her life and the lives of others. Through the process, she illustrates how humor is the portal to our spirituality and how it transcends language and cultural barriers, enabling strangers to form spiritual connections with one other.
Backed with solid research and heartwarming stories of the many nursing home residents who benefit from her work, Kwan demonstrates how Humor Therapy brings that 'Ã¢â‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¡--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¬--†â€™ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã‚Â¦'‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã¢â‚“spark'Ã¢â‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¡--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¬? of life back to those who are suffering.
Almost Home is an inspirational and potentially healing book, as it lays the groundwork for people to embark on their own homeward journey to a more satisfying, spiritually enriched life.
When the day of the surgery arrived, I had no idea what would happen to me or whether or not I'Ã¢â‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¡--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¬--†â€™Ãƒâ€šÃ‚Â¢'‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¾--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¢d wake up with all my parts still intact. As I laid on the gurney in the cold hospital hall, a million thoughts raced through my head. I was terrified of surgery, but I had no choice. Thoughts of my two beautiful children, Jenifer and Brian, and my husband Alex, dominated my mind. I was terrified that I may never wake up from the anesthesia 'Ã¢â‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¡--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¬--†â€™Ãƒâ€šÃ‚Â¢'€šÂ¬Ã…Â¡Ãƒâ€šÃ‚Â¬--¢â‚¬Â¦ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã…" a point my anesthesiologist husband told me was unlikely. If that did happen, though, how would my family get along without me?
I was also fearful of the possibility of having a total hysterectomy. How would I handle it if the very essence of my womanhood was suddenly gone? One terrible scenario after another played itself out in my head. Needless to say, I was a terrible patient. With each awful thought my blood pressure rose and my pulse quickened until the nurse on duty begged me to relax. Easy for her to say! I could have used some humor to lighten the situation.
Try as I might, I could not calm myself. I prayed that they'Ã¢â‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¡--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¬--†â€™Ãƒâ€šÃ‚Â¢'‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¾--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¢d wheel me into the operating room soon and put me under. I didn'Ã¢â‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¡--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¬--†â€™Ãƒâ€šÃ‚Â¢'‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¾--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¢t know how much longer I could handle the stress of my impending surgery without driving myself crazy or at least into a state of hyperventilation. Finally, after what seemed like hours of lying in the cold hall but was actually only a few minutes, an attendant wheeled me into the operating room. The anesthesiologist started my IV, and my eyes inadvertently closed.
As I lay there, I felt the mechanical nature of the procedure take place: Roll the patient over, undo the hospital gown, cover the patient with a sterile robe, thrust the patient'Ã¢â‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¡--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¬--†â€™Ãƒâ€šÃ‚Â¢'‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¾--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¢s legs into the stirrups. I knew that they weren'Ã¢â‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¡--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¬--†â€™Ãƒâ€šÃ‚Â¢'‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¾--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¢t supposed to do any of these activities until I was asleep, so I decided I needed to let them know immediately that the anesthesia hadn'Ã¢â‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¡--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¬--†â€™Ãƒâ€šÃ‚Â¢'‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¾--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¢t taken effect yet. I tried to open my eyes, but they wouldn'Ã¢â‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¡--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¬--†â€™Ãƒâ€šÃ‚Â¢'‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¾--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¢t respond. Just then, my mouth opened, but not because I made it happen. Someone was shoving an airway into my mouth. I felt the cold plastic descend into my windpipe and my airway close around it. I heard the doctors and nurses talk about the procedure and the tools and the possible 'Ã¢â‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¡--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¬--†â€™ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã‚Â¦'‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã¢â‚“first incision.'Ã¢â‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¡--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¬?
I wanted to yell, flail my arms, kick my legs, or do anything that would let them know I was still awake, but it was too late. They had already begun the curare drip, which prohibits bodily movement during surgery, and my entire body was paralyzed even though my brain and senses were still wide-awake.
So there I lay 'Ã¢â‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¡--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¬--†â€™Ãƒâ€šÃ‚Â¢'€šÂ¬Ã…Â¡Ãƒâ€šÃ‚Â¬--¢â‚¬Â¦ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã…" awake and fully conscious 'Ã¢â‚'‚Â¬Ãƒâ€¦Ã‚Â¡--¢â‚'ƒâ€šÃ‚Â¬--†â€™Ãƒâ€šÃ‚Â¢'€šÂ¬Ã…Â¡Ãƒâ€šÃ‚Â¬--¢â‚¬Â¦ÃƒÂ¢Ã¢â€šÂ¬Ã…" but unable to stop the doctors from cutting me open and possibly killing me. Fear overtook every inch of my body.
Library of Congress: 2002100148
Book Publisher: Cameo Publications
No. of Pages: 160
Paper Weight (lb): 60#
Acid Free Paper: Yes