In a book that is at once Hollywood hilarious and personally moving, Teri Garr, star of such classic films as Young Frankenstein, Oh God!, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Mr. Mom, and Tootsie, for which she received an Academy Award nomination, writes about her life with the same wit and warmth that have won the hearts of fans for over three decades.

From sipping Cokes with Elvis Presley to hangin’ with the Beatles; from her secrets to succeeding in Hollywood without losing her sanity, to dealing with the fear, anxiety, and denial of being plagued by mysterious physical problems that eluded diagnosis for over twenty years—the insights in Speedbumps, while always couched in Garr’s trademark humor, are honest, heartfelt, and often profound.

Chapter 22—Keep Your Chins Up

After the publicity blitz surrounding my announcement that I had MS, my job as a spokesperson for Serono went into full swing. It turned out to be one of the greatest jobs I ever had. I attended MS seminars called MS In Balance, where a doctor would explain the scientific data about MS, after which I'd give my hilarious (yes, you heard me) thirty-minute speech about living with MS. For the first time in my life, I got to play myself all the time. And the character of me was going to need a lot of expensive costumes.

I loved the idea of trying to make even a small difference in someone's life. Hopefully, my stories would help other people with MS connect, and make them smile. I thought I could show what a difference a positive attitude could make. I thought people could benefit from that. In conjunction with drugs and medical treatment, a positive attitude and a sense of humor go a long way. In fact, more and more, science is discovering this to be true.

As I stood at the podium to give my first speech, I looked at the crowd of people in front of me. More women than men, old, young, in business clothes and in jeans. Slender canes punctuated the rows of chairs like exclamation points, and there was a scattering of wheelchairs. This crowd had its own appeal. They were real people-people from all walks of life. But there was more than that to this crowd. These were people who shared something very personal with me. They all had MS, or were there to support their friends and loved ones who did. I'd been to a few MS events in the past, but this time it really hit me. All the craziness of my body wasn't my own singular nightmare. These people knew what I'd been through. They weren't all shooting movies while they struggled with their symptoms, but they were filing law briefs and having children and waiting tables and paying bills and trying to make their lives whole as they fought their own armies of symptoms. I know it's a cliché, but I wasn't alone.

I hadn't known what to expect in giving my first talk. Would I feel exposed and vulnerable? No. It felt nothing like that. It felt like I was conquering years of mystery and misdiagnosis. The first time I gave the speech, I knew it had worked. I was making a connection with this audience, my MS peers, or "my peeps," as I like to call them. There are certain things that might sound shocking to a civilian audience (non-MSers), but with these people there was a real, honest camaraderie. We could laugh about tripping on the corners of rugs and similar mishaps. Not only was I making people laugh, I was feeling better myself. I think it was because I didn't have to explain myself to them. They understood me, and I understood them. This stage performance wasn't about acting, it was about truth.

In my speeches, I tell the audience that when I meet scientists and researchers who are working on a cure for MS, I always tell them to leave no stone unturned. I quote Norman Vincent Peale and say, "You should always shoot for the moon, because even if you don't get there, you get a lot of other good stuff along the way." (Look, they were researching high blood pressure when they discovered Viagra. I'm sure a lot of you men are happy about that. And I'm not unhappy about it.) I wrap up my speech by thanking people for coming and telling them I hope to see them on the way to the moon.

My body had given me a great life, and now it was time for my mind and my spirit to return the favor by sharing my feelings with others. But it was more than that. For all my life I'd loved being onstage, and it was about more than being the center of attention. I wanted to perform, to do what I did best, to use my voice and body to tell a story, and, in doing so, to engage the people who watched me. The skills I had learned as an actor came in handy in my new career.

“The driven comedian tells (almost) all…[and] she’s as dizzily funny as ever.”—Entertainment Weekly

“Garr sticks to the truth whether it’s hysterically funny, or, at times, heart wrenching. Read this book, it’s a lesson in courage.” —Mel Brooks