“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Yanna.” That’s what my husband always said to me whenever he thought I was overreacting to something.
When he went to dinner with his female best friend who also happened to be his ex-fiancé, he told me, “It wasn’t a date. We were just catching up. Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Yanna.”
When he stood me up to go drinking with his boys, and I waited on the couch to confront him as soon as he walked through the door, he rolled his eyes and said, “I’m a man. I can’t be up under you all the time. Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Yanna.”
When I went into labor at one in the morning, and he still wasn’t home, he yelled over loud, thumping music into the phone, “That’s just the radio. I’m in the car headed to the hospital now. I’m not gonna miss the birth of my first son. Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Yanna.”
One morning, I woke up to him screaming. I found him on the bathroom floor, naked from the waist down, holding himself. He said they were hurting. I took him to the urgent care clinic, and the doctors kept asking me if I had kicked him in the nuts. I’d always wanted to. Just to see if he was paying attention. But I knew he would just block my foot and say, “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Yanna.”
They sent us to the hospital so the doctors there could run an ultrasound. After all those doctor appointments he had missed with me while I was pregnant, he could finally feel how cold that gel was. They took him into emergency surgery when they saw that his left testicle has twisted into a knot, cutting off his circulation. If they didn’t fix it quickly, they would have to remove it.
He went under mumbling, “Don’t let them take my stuff, Yanna.”
They wheeled him into a hospital room an hour later. He was loopy and kept asking me to check, make sure they were both still there. I looked down at my watch and said that I had to go pick up our son from daycare.
Under heavy eyelids, he said, “You’re just gonna leave me?”
I shouldered my purse. “Untwist your balls, Danny.”
Thanks to LindaGHill for the perfect prompt for this week’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday: naught/knot/not. My little brother got emergency “twisted balls” surgery this past Tuesday. The poor baby is currently at home with his legs spread out, trying to let them heal. Despite the pain, I’m sure he’s happy they didn’t take his “stuff”!