"Here I am baby
Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I'm yours
(You got my future in your hands)
Here I am baby
Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I'm yours
(You got my future in your hands). . "
~ from Stevie Wonder's "Signed, Sealed, Delivered"
Do you have any idea how it feels to sit on your couch and see and hear an African-American woman (with whom you can fully identify) speaking to the entire world with such poise and eloquence? Of course, you do. Because, unless you were under a rock, you were watching when this one did.
Now.
Imagine seeing and hearing this in 2012 as someone who looks like her. Imagine knowing that in your own parents' lifetime that a woman just like her would have been publicly called "nigra" or "gal" straight to her beautiful face. Which means I would have, too. Publicly (not cowardly-privately as is still done to this day.)
Look.
I do have some political opinions. I do. But that's not the point of this. The point is that this shows some evolution. This. An era where Michelle Obama can take the stage baring her fit arms and shaking her beautiful hair (that you all have a better understanding of just how it got that way as readers of this blog) AND with Stevie Wonder (Stevie Wonder, y'all!) blaring in the background.
Wow.
Seeing her up there made me think of the day that I reflected on what it would have been like if I'd worked at Grady or been on the Emory faculty fifty years ago. If you read that post, you already know the answer to that: I wouldn't have been. Period. End of story. For one very simple reason that I happen to have in common with this woman pictured above.
And let's just be clear. This is not her first time on that stage. Yet something about hearing her last night felt pivotal to me. Especially as one who looks like her. And no, she is not the first black woman to stand on a stage at the convention for a major political party. Even this year.
But.
She is the first one to take that stage this year that happens to be one with whom we can identify. And by we, I mean me. But honestly? Probably a whole lot more than me, too.
Now.
Let me just go ahead speak on this as one black woman who happens to be closely connected to many, many other black women. This woman is one that my friends and me and most sisters that I know personally can truly see pieces of ourselves in. She is our homegirl, our sorority sister, our girlfriend in the hair salon, our mentor, our double dutch buddy in the neighborhood, our style icon, our fellow mama, and our college classmate. She seems to be the one that most represents us. And while I really don't spend much time tearing down those reality housewives-slash-reality baby-mamas, I am putting my foot down and saying dammit, those black women do not represent me or any of my sista-friends.
No, they do not.
So let them entertain you. And sure, we'll admit that they entertain us (but mostly embarrass us) a little bit, too. But those women? Not a single one of them makes me stand to my feet and say, "Now that's what I'M talking about!"
No, they do not. But she did. Last night she sure did.
But I digress.
Look. I know that there's a whole world full of Michelle Obamas out there. Sisters with their terminal degrees who love their husbands and fight for their kids and try to get their exercise and who, as the sistas say, "do the doggone thang!" every single day. There is also a world full of Michelle Obamas who don't share her cocoa complexion or her educational accomplishments or even her marital status, but who identify with her "realness" just like I can.
So as for yesterday? All of us were proud. Every last Michelle Obama was on her feet and snapping her fingers. The short ones. The tall ones. The old ones. The young ones. The black ones. The white ones. And all the ones in between. 'Cause yesterday she did the doggone thang. Which pushes us to do it, too.
(Insert finger snap here.)
***
Happy Wednesday.
Now playing on my mental iPod. . . what Mrs. Obama came strutting out to the podium to. YAAAASSSSS!
Here are ten quick randoms from my couch this evening. Monumentally unimportant. So please--know that before spending any significant amount of time reading them.
Here we go.
1. First up-- this. I was so overdue for a good flash mob. Mo and Ant -- thank you both for seeing to it that I got this little slice of YouTube sunshine.
OM-expletive-G. This flash mob made me almost as happy as the one Gary did for Bradon It's a Brad Brad World. Flash mobs are right up there with Key Lime pie for me. Seriously? If you are trying to decide if you should surprise me with a flash mob (or invite me to participate in one) at any time, please know that the answer is . . . .
DO IT.
2. How does anyone manage to eat bleu cheese? Or feta cheese? Without feeling like they are directly consuming toe jam? Please. Somebody, anybody tell me this.
*Sorry. Just threw up in my mouth a little bit.*
3. Yesterday I spent nothing less than two hours trying to hunt down the source of a motley crew of fruit flies that have decided to have a convention in my kitchen. I looked for fruit. I looked for old potatoes. I even checked out the bread. Nada.
A fruit fly takedown is serious business, y'all. Especially in the South. I get rather OCD about it all and go crazy trying to find a source. Which is funny because I am terrified that I will find some Stephen King looking fruit fly fest somewhere. Fortunately, I never have made such a discovery but did once get close with a renegade sweet potato.
Eeew.
4. Finally I got on the internet and learned about "drain flies."
And yes. Before you even say it, I had been pouring bleach down the drain but this is Georgia and our flies drink bleach with their breakfast. And then they belch in your face.
I am 100% certain that people like Ms. Moon knew this already but did y'all know that putting a bunch of ice and dishwashing detergent down your drain and running the disposal gets rid of them?
Ummmm hmmm.
In yo'FACE Drosophila!
5. Hmm. What else? Oh, of course. Am I the only one who just adores Mrs. Obama?
Love. Her.
She is all that and a slice of Key Lime pie. And she wears clothes from H&M and TARGET. Seriously? Seriously.
6. Oh yeah. Speaking of First-ish Ladies. . . have I told you of my growing fascination with Duchess Kate? (Who clearly has excellent taste in friends.)
Yeah, I'm kind of digging Duchess Kate. She has that iconic style of her late royal mother-in-law, don't you think? Apparently when she wore this dress pictured above she totally crashed the website that sells it. No disputing it--the girl has style. And proves that you can look feminine and pretty without looking like a hoochie mama.
Which reminds me -- wasn't Princess Diana awesome? I loved her style both figuratively and literally. And she also looked fresh and feminine without looking like a hoochie mama.
Plus -- she OWNED that short haircut long before it was super cool to do so.
(And clearly I am partial to those who aren't opposed to whacking all of their hair off.)
No, I'm not British but I was sad when she died in that car wreck back in '97. Yes. This African American from Los Angeles watched her funeral in a stuffy call room late one night instead of reading her Harrison's Textbook of Medicine. I cried like a baby when Sir Elton John sang that remix of Candle in the Wind.
Lawd.
I think that Di would have approved of Kate. I also think Kate would have approved of Di's short haircut. And I approve of their non-hoochie-mama-ness.
Oh, and I love Elton John, too.
7. Speaking of fascinating women with short haircuts. . . . did you know that I secretly have a dream of being interviewed by Terry Gross on NPR's Fresh Air?
Not. Kidding.
I imagine her saying, "My guest today is Dr. Kimberly Manning, author of the blog 'Reflections of a Grady Doctor' and multiple New York Times Bestsellers. She is also a regular contributor here on NPR and on CNN and a professor of medicine at the Emory University School of Medicine. . ." (Can't you just hear Terry's voice?)
I'll let y'all know when she calls me. Or when her people call my people.
Oh yeah. Speaking of Terry Gross . . . . I just went back and laughed my head off at this old post on my friend Ann's blog. It was about how she's a little bit Terry and a little bit rock 'n' roll. Dang, I feel that way sometimes, too. Warning: You might have to be a Fresh Air fan to find the humor in it. Cracked me up. (Ann always does.)
8. I got my toenails painted sea foam green this weekend. In fact, it was this exact color.
I was so happy to be getting a pedicure that I told Cindy, the nice woman working on my feet, to choose whatever she thought would be cute--and that wasn't an extra fee (because clearly I'm cheap.) Then I fell asleep in that massage chair. She chose this bizarre color called "Thanks a Windmillion" which, at first, I was rather digging.
Today when I put on my taupe peep toe shoes to go to work, I looked down at those toes and immediately regretted it. This is the problem -- I let her choose a "flip flop color." Totally.
Thanks a Windmillion, Cindy.
9. I recently saw this man who had immigrated to the United States a few years ago and his main complaint was erectile dysfunction. Or as he described it "I cannot do thee do."
Anyways.
After some questions, my female resident and I learned that even though he had medical problems that could potentially explain this problem, it was likely related to some issues he was having at home. This man looked at us with a very, very straight face and said, "Our women are not like you American women. You American women want to do it, do it, do it all thee time." (NOTE: Please insert accompanying arm-pumping gesture here.) "You American women want it all thee time. Even when you get off of work. You wear thee negligees and thee high heels to get your man in the mood. Our women just lay there like a bump on a log and say, 'Aaaaahhh. Just come and get it.'"
0_0 0_o
Uuuuuh. . . . . .okay.
10. And last but not least, a few extraordinarily random snaps of Zachary and me on the MacBook photo booth (which he LOVES by the way.)
Yes, people. Admit it. This is exactly what you come here for. Heh.
Wards start tomorrow. Wish me luck and lots of F.P.s. . .
Honestly? I write this blog to share the human aspects of medicine + teaching + work/life balance with others and myself -- and to honor the public hospital and her patients--but never at the expense of patient privacy or dignity.
Thanks for stopping by! :)
"One writes out of one thing only--one's own experience. Everything depends of how relentlessly one forces from this experience the last drop, sweet or bitter, it can possibly give."
~ James Baldwin (1924 - 1987)
"Do it for the story." ~ Antoinette Nguyen, MD, MPH
Details, names, time frames, etc. are always changed to protect anonymity. This may or may not be an amalgamation of true,quasi-true, or completely fictional events. But the lessons? They are always real and never, ever fictional. Got that?
