In honor of this being Friday, I will do the Kip’s Krusader version of Jimmy Fallon’s “Thank You Notes.” And without further ado:
Thank you, caregivers, for holding conversations while transferring me to my wheelchair oblivious to the fact that certain “things” hang low during the transfer process.
Caregiver 1: “Oh, you say there’s a bra sale at Lane Bryant’s?”
I start feeling light-headed.
Caregiver 2: “Yeah, 40% off! Lasts till Saturday.”
A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead.
Caregiver 1: “Wow! That’s a great deal! Mine are worn out, the wire is coming out and everything – ”
My vent alarm goes off.
Caregiver 2: “Why is his face all purple?”
Caregiver 1: “And why are tears streaming down his face?”
I’m thinking, thank God, they finally noticed me. I look down at my crotch hoping they will interpret my eye movements.
Caregiver 1: “You need suction?”
My eyes say no.
Caregiver 2: “You need to be burped?”
What! Aw, come on, guys. Y’all know this one, we’ve only been doing this for three years. Again, I look at my crotch.
Caregiver 2: “Scratch your feet? “
No, no, no and NO! My ball sac is twisted like a pretzel and my ‘nads are squashed beyond recognition!!! Father, please forgive them for they have absolutely no clue as to what is going on… I look down at my crotch for a third time. Their eyes follow mine down and a look of clarity washes over their faces. Divine intervention has arrived. One hand reaches down and searches. It seems like an eternity. Come on, I’ve got a Caitlyn Jenner tuck job going on down there. Oh, for the love of God, what is taking so long. Finally, her hand finds purchase, she pulls… Ah! My vision returns to normal and my vent’s alarm shuts off. All is right with the world again.