“What’s he like?” I asked.

“Giggly,” the nurse replied. “But he’s nice.”

He had wandered into the ER to obtain a prescription for lithium. Though this chief complaint hardly constituted an emergency, it was a welcome diversion from the delirious patients who had either fallen from great heights, sustained multiple gunshot wounds, or inhaled excess amounts of sherm (PCP-laced marijuana that is thereafter dipped in formaldehyde—ick!).

He was a youngish man with close cropped hair, dark eyes, and broad shoulders. A tattoo of a colorful dragon wrapped around the entire length of his left arm, with the ferocious head resting at his shoulder. Dirt was under his trimmed fingernails and lightly dusted across his jaw. Reclining on the gurney, he smiled at me when I walked into the room.

After introducing myself, I inquired, “What brings you here today?”

“I need lithium—I’m in a manic phase and it’s exhausting,” he said before succumbing to a fit of giggles. His torso heaved with each chortle and he eventually toppled over onto the bed, holding his hand over his mouth in a futile effort to stifle his laughter.

“Okay,” I said, already skeptical about the authenticity of his laughter. “Tell me more about your ‘manic’ phases. What are they like?”

He propped himself back into a sitting position and began to tell his story, unsuccessfully trying to maintain a serious demeanor.

“I’m sorry—I’m trying not to laugh—” and then he lost it, crumpling into a jiggling mass of boyish resignation.

I bit the insides of my cheeks to prevent myself from smiling. His laughter was infectious.

And as the interview unfolded, I suspected that his laughter was genuine, particularly since it wasn’t appropriate. His story, though not tragic, wasn’t hilarious, either.

“So… other than the tonsil surgery, appendix surgery, and ankle surgery—any other surgeries?”

He was wiping his eyes, trying to recover from his last bout of laughing. I avoided looking at his face for fear that I would start giggling, too.

“No—I mean, isn’t that enough?” he answered before the BWA HA HAs overtook him. He turned his face away from me and laughed, lightly pounding the gurney with his left fist.

“Oh God,” he said between breaths, “I can’t stop laughing—I’m sorry—I’m trying not to—hee hee hee….”

My lips puckered in my lame attempts to prevent a smile from appearing on my face. We both looked ridiculous.

When I asked him for psychiatric history in his family, he coughed and was clearly trying to prevent his lips from curling upwards in an ear-to-ear grin.

“Yeah… my uncle…”

He took a deep breath, the left corner of his mouth starting to rise.

“… my uncle…”

He was starting to lose it, but he hadn’t given up yet.

“… he… he…”

He buried his face into his elbow, again trying to pre-emptively prevent the laughter from seizing his body. He failed.

“… he… hee hee… he committed suicide… hee hee… HA HA HA HA HA…!”

Keeping his face in his right elbow, he began to hit his left shoulder with his right hand, as if trying to pound his laughter into submission. He lifted his face up to take a breath and again tumbled into a chortling heap on the gurney.

And then, to my dismay, that’s when I lost it.

No, I couldn’t lose it when he was talking about his medical problems or his current employment; I had to lose it after he mentioned that his uncle committed suicide.

I laughed. I turned my head away and laughed. I covered my mouth with my hands and laughed. I looked down and laughed. I finally looked at him, still laughing, to apologize.

“I’m sorry,” I said, wishing I would stop smiling. “I know that isn’t funny—I’m sorry—”

“It’s… okay,” he breathlessly replied, still laughing while he rolled around on the gurney in giggling agony. “I know… hee hee hee… it’s not… hee hee… funny… I… I… HA HA HA HA… can’t stop… HA HA HA HA…!”

The Paging Gods took pity on me; my beeper began to quiver with its own laughter. I quickly excused myself—still laughing, he graciously understood—

—and, both annoyed with myself and perplexed with my ongoing reaction, I giggled all the way to the phone.

(Part of the ongoing Relationship Series.)