A golden opportunity.

Couch kids in the morning are hard to leave!

The kids were out of school on Monday and Harry and I both had to work. I felt like such a loser considering that their school calendar comes out a year before yet I neglected to request that day off.

Uggh.

Fortunately, I have a wonderful older sister who lives in town and who just happens happens to teach in the same county. This meant that she was off, too and very, very lucky for us she was willing to spend her off-day with her nephews. Score.

But.

The issue wasn't the childcare as much as it was the missed opportunity. It was a gorgeous day and that day would have been a golden opportunity for me to go to the park or go for a walk with the boys. So I was bummed. Super bummed that I didn't get to spend that day with my kids instead of having to go to work. That morning when I woke up, I didn't want to go.

Not at all.

When I got to work, I was dragging and blah. I told my colleague Carmen M. how I was feeling. We always talk about our kids at the beginning of the clinic session and she gave me the empathy I was looking for.

"We have plenty of faculty here today. Maybe we can let you go," she offered.

It was a very sweet offer and I appreciated it. But my time is no more precious than hers and my love for my children no greater either. "I'm sure that we all have a list of things we'd rather do today," I replied, "but thanks anyway."

Blah.

Eventually blah got a little bit better. Like always, things picked up in clinic once I started seeing patients with the residents. It ended up being a good session because I not only got to work with Carmen, but also two other people that I don't work with regularly. And all of them are junior -- within their first two years on the faculty.

On this day, I watched them, my junior colleagues. They each had different styles and strengths. And each of them taught me something without even realizing it.

But especially, I paid attention to Carmen. We work together often, but on this day, I really paid attention. I watched her from the corner of my eye talking and teaching and explaining and role modeling. And it was really heartwarming to witness because Carmen and I go way back to when she was novice medical student on my team several years before. And now here we were shoulder to shoulder teaching together as faculty members in the clinic.

The beauty was that she is still every bit as altruistic and earnest as she was then.

At the end of that session, I bumped into Carmen as I prepared to leave. My morning had started out blah and being with her that day had done my heart good -- I wanted to tell her so. When I got ready to speak, I was surprised to find her face full of frustration and her normally chipper personality slightly less so.

"You okay?" I asked her.

She paused for a moment with glassy appearing eyes and then shrugged. "I think," she spoke carefully, "I think I just feel overwhelmed today. Like I'm trying to change certain things and. . . " She let out a big sigh to regroup.

"And what?"

"And I guess I feel like I don't make any headway. Like I'm not really having an impact."

I looked in her face and saw that she meant every word. Then I thought of all that she'd taught me on this day and all the days we'd worked together before including when she was a medical student. I put both of my hands on her shoulders and faced her.

"You've had an impact on me," I told her. I repeated myself for emphasis. "Carmen, just know that you've had an impact on me." And I said that because it was true.

We stood there in that hallway with our eyes locked and it spoke volumes. And it was good because for the first time that day I was truly glad to be at work instead of mad or indifferent about it.

And you know? I walked out of the clinic feeling alright. Talking to myself and saying things like, See? It was good that you were here after all. 

This is truly how I felt and it showed as I walked through the hall and toward the exit.

When I stepped through the door, the sun was shining extra bright and the sky seemed extra blue. I looked up and felt that sun on my face and that was good, too.

I took a few steps to begin heading to my office, head up, heart in a good place. My favorite personal anthem playing on my mental iPod -- "Golden" by Jill Scott.

"I'm taking my freedom
pullin' it off the shelf
puttin' it on my chain
wearin' it round my neck

I'm takin' my freedom
puttin' it in my stroll
I be high steppin' y'all
lettin' the joy unfold. . ."


So this was playing in my ears and was the beat to which I walked. Yes. Me, the sun, and good thoughts swirling in my head. Asking myself heavy questions about what I'm supposed to be doing when and how to be who I was born to be. Heavy questions, but in a light way. Feeling good and glad that I was in that hallway at that very moment with Carmen.

Yeah.

"Dr. Manning! Dr. Manning!"

A voice rang out across the pathway in front of the main hospital entrance. It was easy and familiar, not urgent or worried. I swung my head toward the sound and I saw an unfamiliar face.

"Dr. Manning! Aww man! I can't believe I ran into you!"

The very first thing I noticed was that the man speaking to me was riding in a wheel chair. But this was quickly overshadowed by his bright and genuine smile and the warm twinkle in his eyes. Walking beside him were two young boys very close to my children's ages.

"Hello," I responded. I was a little bit embarrassed because his tone suggested that we knew one another. And also because I was pretty far into my head with Jill Scott before he called my name.

"Dr. Manning, you don't know me but my wife. . . aww man. . .my wife is going to be tripping when she hears that I met you!"

And I smiled right back at him and looked over at those handsome boys. "Are these your boys?"

"Yes! I think my wife said she once sent you a picture of them?"

That's when it clicked. I immediately knew who she was.

"StaceSenior! Your wife is StaceSenior! Oh my gosh!!" I gushed.

He laughed out loud and nodded."Yes! My wife is Stacey!"

I chuckled to myself when it dawned on me that I was calling her by a blogger sign-on name. "Oh my gosh! Yes, Stacey!"

And I just stood there smiling all goofy and giddy-like because his wife--not him but his WIFE--reads my blog and thought enough of it to tell her husband about it. And then have him remember enough to recognize me from across a courtyard.

StaceSenior. Yes! She comments regularly and has become what my friend Sister Moon calls a "dear virtual friend." (Which makes sense because I consider Sister Moon one of those, too.) Stacey doesn't have a blog of her own but reads mine. Reads all my quirky stories and streams of consciousness faithfully which I totally appreciate.

Man.

I was so glad to be in that place at that time. I said it out loud just so I wouldn't forget it.

"I'm so glad to be right here right now!"

"My wife is in the car waiting for us. I just had to stop up here to pick something up. Can't wait to tell her we met!"

"In the car? Where?" I pressed.

"Right over there," he answered while pointing. And wouldn't you know he was pointing exactly where I happened to be going.

So we headed that direction and I chatted with Stacey's sons while her husband rolled beside us tickled at the fact that he had indeed found, in all of the giganticness of Grady Hospital, the crazy gradydoctor-lady who authors the blog she affectionately calls "the little blog that could."

"There she is right there!" he announced while pointing at a woman sitting behind the wheel of a sedan.

I tip toed beside the car and then knocked on the window startling her. I stuck my face near the window and she laughed loud and hearty.

"StaceSenior!" I exclaimed.

"Dr. Manning! Hey!"

And just like that we hugged each other. And that was natural and right and genuine.

I told her that I didn't even realize after all this time that she was in Atlanta which made me just as excited to see her as she was to see me. We chuckled and chatted and hugged once more before I left. Her husband watched with a happy smile and those adorable kids stood by politely.

And it was good. All good.

When I got home, my sister was there and my kids were in great spirits. They love being with her and it showed. They had done math and read books and cleaned up and messed up all over again. And I was glad that they had.

In bed that night I reconstructed my day. Not wanting to go to work. Being there with my junior colleagues and especially Carmen M. Seeing a former medical student flourish into someone I now call my fellow Grady doctor. And standing in that hallway long enough with her to exit that door when I did and meet Stacey's husband and kids. Then getting the added treat of seeing a virtual friend in the flesh and not finding it the least bit awkward. And lastly being reminded that it takes a village and that my sister Deanna is one of the very best parts of ours. Every moment a golden opportunity.

Yeah.

I fell asleep strumming my freedom and reflecting on living my life like it's golden. Because I was exactly where I was supposed to be that day.

And it was good.

***
Happy Tuesday.

And on my mental iPod. . . my personal anthem. . . .

A Tale of Two Gradys.

Segregated Grady Hospital during the Civil Rights era (aka "The Gradys")

Today is January 15, 2012. My name is Kimberly D. Manning and I am a medical doctor. I received my medical degree from Meharry Medical College in Nashville, Tennessee. For the past ten years, I have had the honor of teaching Emory University medical students and training Internal Medicine resident physicians at Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta, Georgia.

And I am a black female.

Fifty years ago today the date was January 15, 1962. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was somewhere blowing out thirty three candles on his birthday cake. During that time, the vast majority of black physicians in the United States were educated at either Meharry Medical College or Howard University School of Medicine--both historically black institutions. In January of 1962 more than a quarter of the population in Atlanta, Georgia was black.

And Grady Hospital was segregated.

"White" Grady and "Colored" Grady. Known by most during those times as "The Gradys"; this plurality serving as the perfect descriptor for these separate but not-so-equal hospitals within one hospital. Yes, in 1962, Grady hospital was segregated.

Fifty years ago today.

Not only segregated. On January 15, 1962, there were no black physicians with staff privileges there. None. As a matter of fact, during that time there were approximately 4,000 hospital beds at hospitals in the Atlanta area. But physicians who looked like me could only practice in less than 500 of them.  438 to be exact.

Fifty years ago today.

If an African-American patient that I cared for as a primary care provider was hospitalized fifty years ago today, yes, they could be admitted at Grady. However, I would have to give up all patient care privileges at the moment they hit the door. Because, you see, while black people could receive care on the segregated C and D wings of the hospital, they could not receive that care from physicians of their same race.

No, they could not.

In January of 1962 there were groups picketing in front of Grady Hospital. Groups like COAHR and others in the community inspired by a thirty-three year old preacher who had become the face of the Civil Rights Movement. The same preacher who preached around the corner from Grady Hospital at Ebenezer Baptist Church. So there they stood. The Committee for the Appeal for Human Rights withstanding hateful stares and venomous words. Young people bravely holding up signs criticizing the inequity of the care offered to "negro" patients at Grady Hospital -- and also the fact that black physicians weren't allowed there. 

Fifty years ago today.

Other than it being just wrong, there were other problems with that whole no-black-doctors thing. See, just like it is now, Grady was the hospital that served the indigent patient population in Atlanta. And just like now, many of those patients were black. With segregation like it was, many of those folks were cared for by black physicians in the community. And back then, your primary doctor was usually who cared for you in the hospital, too.

Unless, of course, you needed to be admitted at Grady. Regardless of your wishes, that nice black doctor of yours would likely have been called a "boy" and sent on his way.

Or "gal" or "nigra" had it been me.

Fifty years ago today.

I guess it was good that there was at least the "colored" Grady. I mean, it could have been worse. In addition to Grady, at least there was Hughes Spalding Hospital (the colored hospital) across the street. Across the street. Yeah. So fifty years ago today, your negro doctor caring for you across the street from Grady couldn't come to care for you there. No, he or she could not. Oh, and if you weren't poor enough to be considered "indigent"? That made it even more complicated.

All that was going on on this day in 1962.

In January of 1962, my father was a freshman in college at Tuskegee Institute. He had graduated from high school in Birmingham, Alabama that previous year and, like many black folks back then, was the first person in his family to go to college. But also like many black folks back then, he wasn't the first smart person in his family.

No, he was not.

My paternal grandmother valued education. She celebrated my father for his academic achievements and applauded his decision to get higher education. Like me, my father excelled at science and things involving interpersonal skills. He enthusiastically told his counselor in 1961 that he wanted to major in Biology and go to medical school. Unfortunately, that counselor discouraged him. Shot down that dream quick, fast and in a hurry telling him that it was too much of a gamble. If a black man is going to go to college and he wants a job, he needs to go get an engineering degree.  And let go of this pipe dream of being a doctor.

"What if you don't get into medical school? Then what?"

Going to college was already a big deal. And it wasn't like there was a doctor in the family for him to call for advice or to counter with, "But what if you do get in, son? What if you do?"

Yep.

So fifty years ago today, on January 15, 1962, my gifted-in-science father was struggling in math and engineering classes at Tuskegee Institute where it would take him more than six years to graduate. Because that's where the world was back then. Race and gender clearly dictated decisions and created ceilings made of a hell of a lot more than glass.

Me? I chose to go to Meharry Medical College because it was a good fit for me. Not because there was no other option or other place willing to let me fit. But had I thought of medical school on January 15, 1962, my medical education story would be different. It would have been Meharry or Howard or bust.

Or perhaps, for a woman, nothing at all.

Fifty years ago today.

Today I'm reflecting on how far things have come on what would have been Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.'s eighty-third birthday. I am imaging a life for me in his world, a life at Grady Hospital some fifty years ago. And what I am realizing is that I wouldn't have had any kind of life there. At least, not as a doctor. And damn sure not as a teaching physician at Emory.

Oh, did I forget to mention? 1962 was also the first year Emory University integrated its student body. 1963 marked the admission of the first black student in Emory's School of Medicine-- a young man named Hamilton E. Holmes. As for the faculty part, I'm not sure when that part fully changed. I do know that Dr. Asa Yancy Sr. was the first brother-faculty member appointed at Emory which technically took place in the late 1950's (even though he still couldn't get privileges at Grady.) Something tells me that it probably took a little more time to get some sister-doctors on the roster.

But that's just my guess.

So yeah. A lot has gone down in fifty years. So instead of posting the "I Have a Dream" speech or even discussing some of the annoying criticisms that have come up about Dr. King after his death or talking about President Obama or even ranting about how black history should be discussed in more than just the winter months . . . .I am simply sitting here quietly feeling thankful. Thankful that I am right here right now and not fifty years ago today.

And even more thankful that people like Dr. King and my daddy were there.

Sometimes I feel angry that the doors open to me were shut in my father's face. But when I see how proud he and my mother are of their children and what we have become, I feel a little better. And when I listen to his stories of growing up poor, black, and one of eleven children in the epicenter of the Jim Crow era--and I see what he has become--I feel proud, too.

Proud. Proud of where I can go and what I can do. Thanks to all of them taking a whole lot for the team some fifty years ago today.

Kind of makes me wonder what I'm doing for the team.

Hmmm.

See? This Civil Rights thing was more than just a notion. A whole lot more. Me? I get to be a Grady doctor. And no, not in the figurative sense--in the literal sense. I literally get to be a Grady doctor because somebody wasn't afraid to be spit at and hosed down and hit across the head with a brick. I get to be a Grady doctor because some surely terrified individuals put themselves in harm's way on Freedom riders' buses and some peaceful young person in my own father's neighborhood got attacked by German shepherds just for standing up. Because of them I get to be where I am right now. A doctor. At Grady.

Man.

So to all who lived through it, I say thank you. For every time you had to stand there and hear someone call your grown-ass father a boy or a nigger or your beloved matriarch a gal or a nigra, thank you. To those who bravely went against the grain when it would have been much easier to hunker down in some false sense of pink superiority, thank you, too. Because I know that there was a lot more moving in that movement than just black folks.

Yes, there were.

Today is January 15, 2012. My name is Kimberly D. Manning and I am a medical doctor. I received my medical degree from Meharry Medical College in Nashville, Tennessee. For the past ten years, I have had the honor of teaching Emory University medical students and training Internal Medicine resident physicians at Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta, Georgia.


And I am a black female.

***

Happy Birthday, Dr. King.

My son, Isaiah. . living the dream.

***
Now playing on my mental iPod. . .with gratitude.