Just know: If I show up at the ER complaining of pneumonia-ish symptoms and you are unable to test me for the coronavirus because you’re all out of tests, I realize it’s not you who failed to plan accordingly – and I genuinely thank you for being there.

Please know: If you diagnose me as having contracted the coronavirus, with or without a test, I assure you I followed all federal and state quarantine guidelines – washing my hands to the bone – and even washing every grocery item with soap and water before letting it into my kitchen. There was obviously a germ with my name on it. Shit happens. I thank you for attending to me anyway.

Also know: If you admit me and need assistance getting me into a hospital bed, it’s because I have a pre-existing condition known as Chips Ahoy Polyphagia. I know it sounds disgusting but it’s actually quite scrumptious when clinically administered along with Chocolateus Milkus. I’ve come to terms with the fact that it’s a chronic condition, in my case, with which I will suffer all my days. I thank you for not judging me.

Just know: If I should wake up in the ICU in a fog, sweating like a hooker in church, and your kind eyes are the first pair I see, even if they are hidden behind layers of dirty, re-used, protective gear, I thank you for showing up and watching out for me.

Please know: If the need should arise that you must catheterize me, please understand that yes, I was born with a few good genes that caused this medical abnormality. Please don’t call in a parade of doctors to take a peek! No selfies. I thank you for your discretion.

Also know: If you must intubate me, and I begin to hem and haw a bit during the procedure, be aware that I’ve had a lot worse things stuffed down my throat (i.e. dental and medical devices), and my consternation is not directed at you, but at your fresh-from-medical-school intern who is blocking the wall-mounted TV screen during the final scene when Matlock reveals the killer. I thank you for moving him aside.

Just know: If I am denied a ventilator because the stupid in-law of the asshole-in-chief doesn’t know shit about how the government supplies the states, and the only ventilator not-in-use sits at Walter Reed Medical Center “on standby”, I do not hold you or your co-workers responsible in any way. I realize, as so many others are beginning to, that some Americans truly do live or die based on the votes cast in 2016. I thank you for fighting for me – and you and I can rest assured knowing that karma is a bitch.

And finally, please know: Should I die despite all your attempts to keep me alive, I died because that was the plan all along. I sincerely thank you for putting yourself and potentially your loved ones in harm’s way – in your never-ending attempts to save my life – and the lives of so many others. Once I’ve flatlined and you turn off the electrocardiogram, you may feel a hug. Me. And you may see a bright light. That’s my aura shining on you.

Oh and seriously, no selfies with my junk.