Leonard Nimoy died before I got the chance to tell him the two stories I’d been saving to share in person; stories that proved he’d reached the pinnacle of success. Of course, by the time I’d collected these testaments, he’d already reached his pinnacle of success and certainly didn’t need me to remind him. Still, I regretted never sitting down with him to tell him he’d become more popular than Ingrid Bergman.
With this lesson in mind, I’ve decided not wait to tell Chuck Lorre how he saved my life. Time is short. Leonard Nimoy taught me that. Chuck Lorre and Bill Prady are the co-creators of the Big Bang Theory television series. I hereby offer my sincerest apologies to Bill Prady for not falling in love with him, too, but as my story unfolds you will see that I only had room in my damaged brain for one name at a time, and L-as-in-Lorre shows up before P-as-in-Prady. Several years ago, I did not have a nervous breakdown, contrary to what some people say. Kaiser says I had bronchitis, which ended up looking like a nervous breakdown. Basically, I got sick and my adrenal glands got confused and wouldn’t stop producing adrenalin. The doctor of the day refused to prescribe enough Xanax to deal with the situation because they don’t give Xanax to old people any more. Instead, he prescribed antidepressants to help lessen my anxiety. It turns out one of the side effects is increased anxiety. I called the results convulsions. The doctor of the day said I did not have convulsions. I merely shook like I had DTs, couldn’t walk, couldn’t talk, couldn’t eat, and couldn’t think. So there I was, a skeleton, with a brain that couldn’t hold a thought and a nervous system that couldn’t tolerate stimulation. Therefore, watching television was out of the question. All I could do was memorize the cracks in my bedroom ceiling, which was a new adventure each day because I couldn’t remember looking at them the day before. Eventually, I was able to sit up in bed, hugging my knees, and stare at the walls instead of the ceiling. Meanwhile, my children took turns staying with me, and they encouraged me to try to watch a comedy or two. The only thing that seemed remotely tolerable was Big Bang Theory. Reruns were playing at 5 pm. One show a day, Monday through Friday. BBT was my favorite show. I was convinced the producers had traveled back in time and stared through my living room to get ideas for each episode. The first season of BBT was the story of my life. I owned Klingon Boggle, as well as a Klingon dictionary. I went to the Renaissance Faire in costume. I was there when the designer of the time machine from the Time Machine told about its construction. Further, I had lived for 23 years with my own version of Sheldon who just happened to also work at CalTech. BBT was my life, only funnier. My recovery began the first night I was able to watch a rerun all the way through. The real sign of recovery was when I started chuckling. Out loud. For the next umpteen weeks, I would stare at the walls until 5, watch BBT, then go to sleep with the satisfaction I had survived another day. Big Bang Theory was my therapist. Chuck Lorre was the one who taught me how to laugh again. He doesn’t know this. That’s why I’m writing this love letter. I managed to crawl back to work for a short while and during one of my breaks I logged onto Chuck Lorre’s Vanity Cards site. We had recently survived another annual firestorm in Southern California. Chuck Lorre’s Vanity Card of the day described our four seasons of the year, ending in Fire…as in the leaves of the trees outside his window had just burst into flame. I burst out laughing. I laughed out loud until tears were streaming down my face. I hadn’t had a belly laugh like that since before I convinced my ex-husband to take his guns and go live in a trailer in East Texas. I couldn’t stop laughing. Chuck Lorre was the catalyst that revived my sense of humor. (In case you are wondering why my co-workers didn’t interrupt my laughter, by that time the only co-workers who were left each had a building to themselves. It was sad.) Chuck Lorre understands why life is funny in the same way I think life is funny. I decided I should marry him. Then I read he said he had anger management issues, so I revised my plan. By now, I’ve watched so many reruns of so many seasons of BBT, I can quote the scripts. I’m convinced there is a BBT punch line for every situation that can possible arise. Sometimes I quote the lines. Mostly I don’t because my family is getting tired of hearing them. For me, having BBT playing in the background while I crochet yet another afghan is almost as good as Xanax. It’s very soothing. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I absolutely put down the crochet hook whenever a new episode is aired. It’s just that I can now record 30 reruns seven days a week, plus Young Sheldon, so I can afford to listen and not look. I may never get to meet Chuck Lorre in person to tell him how he helped me survive and retrieve my sense of humor, and how I will always be grateful to him even though he doesn’t know I exist. If I do meet him in person and start babbling about my personal gratitude he may feel like calling security. So I’m going to leave it to you, Gentle Readers, to reach out to him and tell him there’s a woman out there who thinks he’s pretty swell.