It is beyond a joke. Women have a certain humour that men don’t usually enter into. A fascinating New Zealand linguist called Jennifer Hay towards the end of the last century published research that showed how women are more likely than men to share funny personal stories to create solidarity. 

Recognising, understanding, and appreciating the funny side of things through conversation and sharing is part of ordinary life for us, perhaps more than men.  Women as old as me can see instantly how true this has been for all of our lives.  And nowhere is this clearer than when you become a carer for someone with dementia.

“Joking” and laughter are sensitive issues here.  Any “joke” about dementia is forbidden in my presence, unless it is told by a person with dementia. They have a “get out of jail free” card from me.  And believe me as a dementia professor I get more jokes about my specialist area, dementia, than all the cancer professors in the world put together will ever get about cancer. Delivery men who would joke that they “nearly forgot the address” at the dementia centre wouldn’t make jokes much about a lump in their testicles when delivering mail to a cancer professor, even if he was male, though testicles are inherently ridiculous and open to many jokes when healthy. But jokes are not the same as telling funny stories.

Use of humour to share personal information

In my experience of carer’s groups, women often use humour to share personal information about their situation. Professor Hay’s thesis on gender and humour also shows that the ability to laugh at yourself and be open and honest was valued highly by women’s groups.  I’ve said in many places that finding a carers’ group to support you is incredibly valuable for information sharing.  It means you can fast track through the system because others can tell you where the blind ends and closed doors are.  They can tell you about the helpful people.  There will be benefits and support that you didn’t know about from anyone else but them.  The men who are there will be gracious and kind, and the male carers will cry almost as much as the rest of us.  But their presence according to the research does make a difference in how women use humour for mutual support.

So at the risk of being highly controversial I want to suggest that there’s such a thing as a women’s dementia  carers’ support group, or even a girls’ night out from the generic group.  I already know, having visited it once, that there is value in a men’s group.  They do tell jokes about women.  They talk a lot about sport and other side issues that are safe.  They don’t laugh at themselves or allow themselves to be open about their anxieties.  In fact, when one man broke down in tears while describing his attempt to acquire some continence products for his wife, the cohort wrapped round him like a bodyguard, and once he was steady again, they moved away from him and started again to tease him about his failing football team.  The cultural relevance of gendered responses has not been sufficiently explored.  In fact, men are more vulnerable because existing carer groups may be predominantly female. 

In conclusion, I’d like to add that the humorous stories told by women in dementia carer groups reflect an ability to be open and honest, rather than cool and witty.  There’s never any teasing. Quiet expressions of admiration, support and gratitude are common, coming from women who themselves have almost been crushed by their circumstances. It’s awe-inspiring. Read the original research if you don’t believe me!