I arrived at Piedmont Hospital one Thursday afternoon after a frantic call to my best friend informing her that I could no longer walk due to the severe pain in my lower abdomen. For six weeks, I had been dealing with chronic pain prohibiting me from walking, causing me to break out in hives on my hands, face and neck, making me allergic to foods that I had previously never been allergic to, causing my eyes to swell shut, just to force myself to sleep only to numb the pain for a few hours of relief.
I don’t know about you…But I am that self-diagnosing Black woman that will google herself to death, prescribing myself medications, assigning symptoms to potential illnesses, calling myself Doctor WebMD and being completely wrong but damn proud that I dodge another day at the doctor’s office. I am that Black woman that believes our medical system doesn’t care about Black bodies. Has historically and continuously uses, abuses, tortures us to infertility and castration. I am that Black woman who believes in whole foods, home remedies, deep powerful prayers, Sunday church, and aunties and sweet grandmas in the kitchen making that homemade soup served with a side of ginger ale to cure the pain.
There was nothing that 800mg of ibuprofen and Tylenol could do to break the midnight sweats and chills, that could get me to walk to the refrigerator without the fear of falling over and fainting, and nothing that could get me to clear the dizziness from my eyes to respond to an email. I had completely lost control of my body. All I could do was call Auri and beg her to take me to the hospital.
In any crisis, I always call Auri. And in moments of weakness, I always call my partner. In moments when I have no control, I always call my mom to get grounded. That Thursday, I called all three.
Auri dropped me off at the front entrance of Piedmont. My partner left work and met me at the entrance with his gentle and concerned eyes. He grabbed the wheelchair, eased me into it and whisked me down the hallway to the E.R. In my delusional state, they found me in the system as I had left my wallet and all of my personal items at home. I had nothing but a bag full of sweaters, a laptop, water and a big thermos of green tea.
My fever was 102.6. I was terrified. They hooked me up to an IV. Everytime I had to use the bathroom, I couldn’t do it without assistance. I was embarrassed. I was scared during the six hours we waited for the cat-scan. I remember the saline entering my veins and how it tingled uncomfortably as it made its way through my body. I remember the quietness when the doctors wouldn’t tell me how bad it was but kept reminding me that it was going to be okay. I remember the morphine they injected that gave me unbearable headaches. I remember how I couldn’t eat.
I will never forget how my partner never left my side, never lost his calm, wiped my tears, and loaded my computer screen with one of the anime shows we were binge watching to pass the time. I will never forget how Auri called me for updates every hour and how my mom took the first flight to Atlanta from Vegas.
I spent 4 days and 3 nights at Piedmont Atlanta.
I had a severe kidney infection caused by a UTI that got so bad that it traveled to my kidneys, causing inflammation all throughout my right side and a small abscess to form. The infection was so severe that it was in my bloodstream and I was considered a sepsis patient, unable to leave the 4 walls of my room unless I was ordered for tests. I was tested, prodded and pricked constantly. My blood was taken at odd hours, mostly between 3am and 5am. I was on a liquid diet until Saturday. My body resisted most medications. I got all of the side effects. IVs became unbearable causing my left arm to swell so bad that the IV had to move to my right arm which only caused more bruising. The last attempt was moving the IV to my hand so a baby needle could ease the antibiotics in. I felt everything. Everything hurt.
Despite the unbearable pain, what I remember most was how people treated me. I remember the kindness in the nurses eyes and their attention to detail; I remember the urgency to find the right mix of pain meds and antibiotics from the Attending Doctors. I remember the phone calls from friends and a worried Dad who told me to slow down and maybe I should cancel that flight next week.
I remember my mom washing and re-braiding my hair in the hospital bathroom. I remember how Auri gave all of my friends and family updates and even picked my mom up from the airport. I remember how my partner brought fresh foods and even planned a movie night for us on Saturday night so I wouldn’t be alone. He would sneak into the hospital bed just so I could feel his warmth, a healing energy. He wouldn’t leave until he knew someone else would be there and he always told me he would be back. I remember how safe, secure and protected I felt even though my body felt weak, bare and afraid.
I remember the team members who stepped in and stepped up. I remember the calls from concerned investors and peers. I remember the soup that appeared on my front porch from a dear friend who hated to see me in pain. I remember the beautiful check-in texts and for friends who honored my space when I didn’t have capacity to respond.
I also remember how people demanded more from me. I remember frantic calls from work. I remember the silence when I gave an update about my health and received no response. I remember how people take, take, take without any regard for life’s fragility.
In the cold season, when colds, flus and sickness dance freely in the sky, bouncing from household to household and school to school, when the air feels heavy and the world becomes heavy too, things all around feel like they are breaking, humanity feels like it’s splitting into two.
We live in a world where we have removed grace from our sentences, fail to remember the light of spring and take life for granted because of the urgency to finish something, to meet a deadline, to end the year, to fulfill an individual self-serving prophecy instead of serving the collective memory that people, when stitched together, can heal the world.