Deanna and I used to sit at my kitchen table laughing about all sorts of super silly and monumentally unimportant things. One day, we somehow got on the subject of women being hospitalized but without access to things most women deem important.
Wait. I take that back.
Not so much life-or-death important. But like, first world important. You know, like, if you were in the hospital and couldn't talk.
Yeah. That.
"I think everybody needs a girlfriend list," she said one day. "Like this list that one of your best girls knows she needs to quickly jump on the minute she hears about your unfortunate news."
Petty, I know. But dead serious.
Mmmm hmmm.
We settled on five of them that we considered absolutes for girlfriends going to see girlfriends in the hospital.
Like to hear 'em? Here they go:
5. Alcohol and cotton balls
Her: "Girl. If you been up in the club and got a hand stamp? It ain't a good look to have a big ass green star on the back of your wrist when your mama come to see you. I'm just saying."
4. Alternate underwear
Her: "Uggh. I heard folks in the hospital don't have on underwear half the time because they don't really have too many options available."
Me: "Yeah. They pretty much have two kinds -- 'you just had a baby so let me give you something to hold this pad' kind and 'underwear? BWAAAAAH HA HA HA.'"
Her: "Make sure I have some damn drawers, you hear me?"
3. A good toothbrush, comb/brush, and deodorant
Her: "Have you ever seen those hospital toothbrushes? And those little tiny combs? What do they think somebody with a bunch of hair is gonna do with that?"
Me: "Deodorant, too. I never really see deodorant in the hospital kit."
Her: "What the? Girrrrrrl. Bring that, too."
2. Nail Polish remover (and those same cotton balls from before) and some Vaseline
Her: "I went to see a friend of mine in the hospital once and the nails on her hands and feet looked so crazy. She'd been picking at it and I could barely pay attention for wanting to get the rest off."
Me: "And maybe some Vaseline to smooth on your hands and legs so you won't be ashy."
Her: "No! For your lips! That same girl had the crustiest lips I have ever seen. Add that to the list."
1. Tweezers and a good razor
Her: "Dude. Can you imagine being knocked out and waking up with a goatee on your face?"
Me: "Actually, I see it all the time."
Her: "Somebody better come pluck those hairs!"
Me: "I think this one is the most important of all, man."
Her: "Or shave 'em, you know, if that's your situation and all. Oh! And get those armpits while you're at it."
Me: "You'll really need the deodorant then."
Her: "Girrrrrrrrl."
*laughter*
These are the sorts of important things we'd discuss when hanging out. And you know? Since I'm working on the hospital service right now, I know that there's definitely some girlfriends slipping on their jobs.
Ha.
Oh yeah. We did add in contact lens case, solution, and glasses--but couldn't make that an absolute since so many folks got Lasik surgery now.
What else do you think needs to be on the Girlfriend (in the hospital) List?
It was a small gesture. I'd rounded that morning and raced from Grady Hospital to the football field as quickly as I could. I felt bad when his helmeted head turned in my direction; I knew he noted my second quarter arrival.
"Your mom works full time," I prepared myself to say. "People get sick and mommy takes care of them. Otherwise, you know I would have been there from the beginning."
Which is true because I would.
But the minute that helmet came off, all I saw was his eyes dancing and his face lighting up. No scathing glance or disappointed queries about why I wasn't there at kick off or lamentations of how some other kid's mom is always, always, always there from the start.
Nope.
Instead, he just pointed at my face and smiled big, wide and genuine. He called over his teammates and wanted them to see, too. "My mom is awesome," he said. And the best part is that I could tell that he meant it. Those nine year old boys ooh-ed and aah-ed and agreed with him, too.
Yep.
Funny. I didn't feel so "awesome" before that. Just an hour before I was wriggling into my jeans in the back of my minivan and swearing under my breath for forgetting my team shirt with his number on the back. I did have on the team colors, but still. I know how much it means to the kids when the moms come all geared up.
And so. At the last minute, I grabbed that sticker. A black under eye sun-blocker that had fallen from his football bag that I pasted under my right eye without much additional thought. But not before grabbing the white pencil sitting in my minivan console to scribble the number of my favorite player.
#4 ZACK
You know? Most games I saw from the first play. And even showed up with personalized shirts just for him. But there was something about that sticker. Something extra special about is mom showing up looking like she was just as in the game as he was that felt even more special for him.
When he brought all of his friends over and puffed out his chest? I sort of wanted to cry. Kind of like I was Kevin Durant's mom and like this was one of those moments that would make him someday say that I was the real MVP.
parable: n. a usually short fictitious story that illustrates a moral or spiritual lesson
The house was beautiful. I mean, just looking at it from the outside you could tell that these people weren't hurting financially. At all. The lawn was professionally manicured and the garden had this intentional spray of blooms welcoming every visitor. And, if that wasn't enough, there was the solid concrete lion that sat at his regal perch right next to the brick walkway leading to an enormous pair of doors. It looked like something out of a fancy home magazine.
We rang the doorbell and the chime totally fit. I imagined some person striking a xylophone to announce our arrival. All of it elegant and flawless. I looked over at my husband and smiled. He smiled in return and added, "Daaaaag. This joint is nice." I nodded in agreement.
"Heeeeey!!!!" That's what we all said in unison when the door opened and we saw our friends standing in the vestibule. Technically, these weren't our super close-close friends and admittedly, this was our first time in their new home. But we were certainly friendly with them since they were friends-of-our-super-close-close-friends. And you know? It was all good from the jump. We felt comfortable right away.
I mean, how could we not in a house like this one?
Of course, we got a brief tour of the home and oohed and aaaahed at every detail. They'd worked hard and, like a lot of people we know, had come a long way. (Although they appeared to have come further than most.) This home was unbelievable. It was thoughtful of them to welcome us for the evening when they heard from our mutual pals that we'd be passing through town.
Yep.
That evening we had a delicious dinner and then sat around talking and laughing in their exquisite family room. The ceiling was two stories high and the walls were decorated with art from their travels all over the world. That said, we were super comfortable. Everything was so easy and laid back. The libations began flowing and the laughs got louder. We had a wonderful time.
Fortunately, no one had to drive anywhere. Our only destination was up the stairs to the bedrooms. Harry and I quickly buried ourselves in the heaping down comforters and fell fast asleep.
I'm not sure how long I was out before my unforgiving mother-of-two-babies bladder woke me. My head was still a little swimmy when I sat up on the edge of the bed and I had to remind myself of where I was. The heavy cloak of custom drapes was pulled tight. Even if there was daylight outside, it wouldn't have gotten into that room. I waved my hand in front of me but could barely see it. That room was pitch black.
There was a little nightlight on the stand next to me. I started to turn it on but knew that it might disturb Harry. That said, I couldn't see a damn thing in that room. I squinted my eye in the dark and tried to get my bearings on the direction of the bathroom. They'd pointed it out during the tour we'd had earlier but I still wasn't fully sure. I should turn on the light, I said to myself. But, again, I hated the idea of bothering my very light-sensitive husband from his slumber.
When I stood, the plush rug felt good on my bare toes. Even though I still felt a few of those champagne bubbles from earlier, I was mostly okay. I took a few steps toward the bathroom and felt like I was in a cave lined with high end carpet. The smell of lavender and jasmine wafted into my nose and though I had no idea from where it came, I imagined some elaborate candle collection on a nearby occasional table. Somewhere between the big inhalation I was taking and the door threshold, something sharp poked deeply into the ball of my foot.
"Ooooh aaah aaahh owie!" I whispered through clenched teeth. Whatever it was hurt bad enough to cause me to hop in place for a bit and then force me to walk on my heel only. I'm pretty sure I'd broken the skin but wasn't completely sure. By now, I had to pee so bad that I focused on that only.
I'm still not sure why I hadn't pulled out the slippers I'd packed. I guess it just seemed unnecessary in such a swanky house, you know?
Anyways.
Eventually, I got to what felt like a marble floor and heel-walked my way to the toilet. I tried to turn what I think was some sort of fancy dimmer light on in there but couldn't get it to work. I shrugged, flushed the commode and set back out into the darkness once more--still with my antalgic hobble and still with some slight giddiness from those generous glasses of Veuve-Clicquot. My eyes were now a little more adjusted so I could now at least see in front of me.
Suddenly, something flew across the floor in front of me. It ran straight over the top of my foot and disappeared into a dark corner. A massive cockroach? A small mouse? I wasn't sure. Either way, it startled the hell out of me--big time. To make matters worse, when I jumped, I stepped down on something slick and oily. Since my footing was already unsure, up went my legs straight into the air and WHAM! I landed on my back with a big thud. Not only did I knock the wind out of my chest, I also ended up knocking over some candles and lamps and causing a 3AM cacophony.
Whoops.
Lights came on and feet could be heard quickly thumping the floor in my direction. By the time I caught my breath and sat up, Harry and both of our friends were standing over me panting.
"Whoa! Are you okay, babe?" Harry said while reaching for my hand.
"I'm fine. I just slipped."
"Oh my God, girl!" My girlfriend looked at the bottom of my foot and then looked at the floor. She gasped and then looked at her husband. "Did you trip on something? What happened?"
"Uhhh. . .I'm not . . .uh. . . . I'm not sure. I think I slipped or was just. . .uhh. . .clumsy."
Right after I said that, out came that mammoth sized roach thing. It shot across the floor right next to my foot. Both of us ladies jumped behind the door while the guys ran after it with their shoes in hand. Harry's foot slid a little and he nearly fell, too.
We all winced when we heard a crackling sound under the smack of that shoe. I looked over at them and spoke. "Okay, maybe I'm kind of scary and just maybe that little guy is partially responsible for that spill I took."
"Little guy?" my girlfriend said. "Good heavens."
"Oh damn! It looks like this scented oil lamp thing leaked," her husband replied. He looked over at her and sighed. "Since no one had been in this bathroom, I admit I didn't even check again." Then he looked at me. "Damn, I'm sorry, KD. This is super embarrassing."
"Girl, you just missed the edge of that tub!" She clutched her chest and shook her head. "Kim, I had no idea there was oil in here or a leak in this thing. Good Lord. If I had known, I totally would have moved that thing or gotten rid of it altogether. And as for that bug? I don't even know what to say. You could've gotten really seriously injured. I'm so sorry."
"I'm fine. Bugs are stealthy and this is the south. And I also should have turned on the light."
"Your foot is bleeding. Looks like a cut on the side of it." Harry pointed at my right foot. I pulled it closer to inspect it.
"Oh man. Forgot about that. I actually stepped on something sticking from the carpet when I was walking to the bathroom. Felt like something hard plastic. But I thought it didn't break my skin."
"Girl, you are kidding me!" She reached down and picked up a piece of a broken Lego. "I'm going to fuss at those kids as soon as they get back from their grandparents' house."
"It's no big deal. I was kind of heel walking with this foot which is the one I stuck in the oil when our little friend showed up. Pretty much a Murphy's Law kind of thing. It's actually kind of funny."
"Not to me, Kim. I'm sorry, girl." Her usually olive skin was beet red. I felt terrible for her.
After that we were all awake. Our friends looked mortified no matter what we said. Over and over again they kept saying that they were sorry and had no idea that something was on the floor. Then they'd imagine that roach thing and fall silent. They handed me bandaids and towels and kept asking me if I was sure my foot didn't need stitches. I kept saying that it was no big deal and that sutures weren't necessary. I also said repeatedly that I wasn't upset.
Because I wasn't.
"Why didn't you just turn on the light?" Harry said to me later.
"I didn't want you to get upset since you were knocked out asleep," I replied. "I didn't want to wake you up." He rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"Babe. I love you. I wouldn't have cared if you turned on a light, crazy woman. Besides, you didn't even know this house."
"Gotcha. Seems silly now. I should've had on my house shoes, too. Then I probably wouldn't have freaked out so much or slipped."
"Kind of a shock to see a bug in that house, huh?"
"It just affirms what we always say--anybody who hasn't seen one of those things in their home in the south is either lying or they just moved in."
We both laughed.
"Next time, turn on the damn light and put on some house shoes, okay?"
"Duly noted."
The following morning we were standing in front of our friends' home as we prepared to go to our next destination. For whatever reason, they still seemed embarrassed. Just before getting into the car, I paused and spoke. "You know everyone has those bugs in their home, don't you?"
"You don't have to say that. I'm so embarrassed, girl. We try hard to keep our home clean."
"Ha. Seeing one in your clean, new crib made me feel better about the ones I've killed in my house. They should pay rent, those big ones. It's a bible belt thing. If you figure out a way to never, ever see one, though, let me know." I looked around at their home again. "This is still the swankiest house I've seen this decade."
She chuckled and reached out to hug me. "You guys are always welcomed."
"Great. We'll be back for sure. And y'all can come stay with us, too, although we aren't as neat."
"Deal."
****
December 1 was World AIDS Day. In honor of that day, I was asked to talk to a group of people in a pretty traditional church that following Sunday about the importance of getting tested for HIV. And then, whatever that test reveals, making responsible decisions with the results. And, yeah, I've done that before in churches and other large gatherings, too. Almost always it comes out preachy and uncomfortable. I can always see peoples' eyes glazing over and body language getting squirmy. Kind of like a teenager who's getting admonished by a parent about something or other that they'd rather not hear about.
Yeah. Like that.
So. I decided to try something new. Instead of lambasting them with scary statistics, I shifted gears to do something that I didn't think church folk would mind so much. This time, I kicked it bible-style with a parable. This parable.
I had their full attention, too. It was awesome.
Then I closed with this. (Or something close to it.)
It's funny how similar HIV is to visiting that house. Just as that house looked spotless, people can look that way, too. We drop our guard when an outward appearance seems to scream immaculate and impossible of tarnish. Slack also gets cut to people that we don't know well when they're connected to people we do know well. You assume nothing could possibly be wrong.
Right? Right.
But the truth is that you can never just look at anyone or anything and know anything for sure, can you? So the best thing any of us can do is get to know what you're dealing with first. That said, we're all imperfect. So even though we know better, we don't always make the right choices do we?
Given all of that, there are still some ways to prevent accidents even when we're too impatient to know all the details. First, avoiding anything that affects your judgment is a start. Like maybe not having alcohol might have given me the sense to turn on a light or put on some slippers. And, just maybe, I wouldn't have felt the urge to pee so badly. Or even at all.
If I'd just turned on a light and worn slippers, I could have seen where I was going. And avoided stepping on something that hurt me. With something on my feet, though the bug would have still alarmed me, I wouldn't have been limping and I probably wouldn't have slipped. Especially since I would have seen that puddle of oil from the get go.
Knowing your HIV status and the status of your partner is like turning on the light. No need to guess where you're stepping. Or depend upon somebody else to protect where you've stepped. Because even the shiniest, prettiest, newest, richest and cleanest things have surprises. And sometimes even they don't know about those surprises, do they?
I guess the other thing that stops us from turning on lights is fear of what someone else will say. Like, when I was scared of waking up my husband so bumbled about in darkness. But, of course, we all know that anyone who loves you wants you to turn on the light. As a matter of fact, if they really, really love you, they'll turn the light on for you. Yeah, they will.
Then there's our friends who wanted to disappear after that whole incident. We'd discovered some blemish in their world. But little did they know that everyone has something lurking in a floorboard, a crawl space or crevice that jumps out sometimes. The kind of things that you pay people to come and spray but that still somehow exist in spite of that. That is if you realize there's something that might require pest control maintenance.
Hmmmm.
I wanted our friends to know that seeing that bug and slipping on that floor and cutting my foot on that Lego made us admire them no less. We were still just as impressed with their accomplishments, glad about our growing friendship and eager to return. And eventually they believed us.
We need to do that with HIV.
Our friends got a good exterminator. And he told them that because they live in the south and amongst a lot of trees, that there'd always be some tiny amount of pests hiding in there. But nothing that would likely bother them or anyone else.
Nope.
So I guess HIV testing is like turning on a metaphorical light. And seeing a bug when you do isn't the end of the world. It isn't. You just need to know so that you can get into care. Then yes, you'll live with a tiny amount of virus, but it will be so undetectable that it won't bother you or anyone else.
You feel me?
The most elegant homes can have debris in them and an unwanted pest or two. Just like the most amazing people can have HIV. But a lot can be avoided by just turning on the light. Or putting on some house shoes. Or avoiding anything that clouds your judgement. Or makes you greatly feel the urge to go.
What's up in your house? What's up with the houses you sleep in? Do you know your way around? Would you be surprised by a sneaky wood roach or not shocked at all? Are you scared to turn on the lights? And if so, why is that? Is it that you're with someone who doesn't care whether or not you crash into something? Or someone who doesn't even know that there is something to crash into? Or even worse--both at the same time?
How well do you know your own house? What are you doing to protect it? Do you inspect it regularly? Do you allow someone else to make sure everything is okay? If not, why is that? What are you afraid of?
Remember: Knowing isn't the worst thing that could happen to you. Even if you find something. Not knowing always, always is. So turn on the light. Look around. And if you still aren't sure? Or if you're still too scared to turn the lights on?
For Christ's sake--put something on your damn feet.
Latin, literal translation meaning: The thing speaks for itself.
__________________________________
The BHE and I got into an argument the other day. And, honestly, we don't really argue much. But on that day, we did.
Yep.
It wasn't about money. He hadn't left his shorts and underwear intertwined in a ball on the floor of the bathroom. Nor had he stared too intently at some strange reality television show like "Alone, Naked, Afraid, Bored and In the Wildnerness for No Apparent Reason" while I was trying to talk to him about something serious.
Nope.
It wasn't a kid argument. That is, one where I think we should do one thing and he thinks another. He didn't run late with something or interrupt some plan I'd had to join a girlfriend for much needed me time. Nor had he offered some backhanded compliment to one of the thirty-minute meals I'd prepared after racing home, checking homework, and situating school items for the following day.
But.
It was a bona fide argument. The kind where one person is incensed and the other just a little too indifferent or indignant which only makes things worse. And you know the worst part about this whole thing? We were both right.
Yep.
Let me explain:
A few friends were passing through Atlanta last week. These were some of Harry's old pals from Cleveland and he was excited that things would work out for him to be able to meet up with them. And yes, it was a school night and sure, both boys had their respective sports practices but it was all good considering the plan to link up wasn't until after the kids would be turning in for bed. Simple enough, right? Right.
Okay, so check it. That all goes as planned. The BHE goes to football practice with Zachary, I go to cross country with Isaiah and we all meet back up at home. I checked homework while he showered and got ready to head out. And that's exactly what he did.
The outing went well. Those guys yucked it up past midnight and Harry got home exactly around the time he'd told me he would. And upon his arrival, I turned over and mumbled over my shoulder, "Did you have fun?" to which my love replied, "Yeah. It was really great to see my friends." And that was good.
Yep.
And so. The following morning after the kids had gotten off, we were both sitting around the house having coffee since we both had later work obligations that day. In my more wakeful state, I asked more details of his evening and he obliged me. He was smiling and animated and happy. And since we both believe that this kind of time--that is, time away from your spouse and kids with your friends--is important, that made me feel good, too.
But then there was a shift. Harry wiped his face, shook his head and said, "But, man. I had something crazy happen last night, too."
And he uttered that in this light way so I sipped my coffee and raised my eyebrows nudging his story forward. Which he did.
"So I'm driving home, right? And it was kind of late like. . .I don't know. . .maybe 1? 1:30?"
"Not much after," I interjected. "I remember when you came in and I know I would have freaked if it was later than that."
"Anyways. So I'm just listening to music and driving. Next thing I know I saw a police car behind me. And, you know, I noticed it but was like whatever."
Now I was sitting upright. I placed my coffee down in front of me and cocked my head sideways. "Okay."
"Well. Even though I had met my friends out for a few beers, you know I'm not a big drinker. But even with my friends there, whatever reason didn't have one drink. I mean, not any alcohol--not a single drop. So that police dude turns on his lights to pull me over and I didn't even worry for two seconds since I knew I hadn't done anything."
"Were you driving crazy or texting?"
"Texting? Hell no. And that's you who drives crazy not me."
"So he pulled you over?"
"Yeah. Pulls me over at like 1 something in the morning. And, again, I'm mostly aggravated since I was tired and ready to get home."
"Was your seatbelt on?"
"My seatbelt?" He furrowed his brow at me. "Babe! Of course. Okay, so listen. Dude comes up to my window and gestures for me to roll it down. So I bring down the window and just look at him, saying nothing. Just staring him dead in his eyes and waiting to see why this dude was pulling me over."
"Oh Lord."
"Do you know what this man did? He comes over with this big ass flashlight and starts pointing it all into my car, flashing it all over the back seats and all that. And you know what the VERY FIRST thing was that this officer said to me?"
I gasped and put my hand on my chest. "What?"
"This man puts this light straight in my face and says, 'Do you have any firearms or weapons in this car with you?'"
"What?"
"Yeah, man. So I look at him like he's stupid and say, 'What? NO!' And he immediately keeps flashing that damn light all over my car and asks me some other crazy question. And I'm like, 'Look, man. Why did you pull me over? Tell me why you pulled me over so that I can go home.'"
"You said it like that? Like all funky and mad like that?"
"The FIRST THING this officer asks me is if I have a damn firearm? And I'm supposed to kiss his ass?"
"You sound crazy. Like somebody who wants to be on CNN tomorrow and who wants Al Sharpton down here talking to a crowd about what happened to you."
"Anyway." He scowled and shook his head.
"So why was he pulling you over?"
"He said that one of the little lights on the side of my license plate was out. You know, those little lights that illuminate your plate? Yeah, that. It was total bullshit."
"Was it out?"
"If it was, it was barely noticeable. He just saw me in my truck and thought he would pull me over and find something. And I was just sitting there looking at him like he was stupid."
I dragged in a big breath of air and winced because I know my husband and I know exactly how he was glaring at that officer. Which terrified me.
"Then he asks me how much I've had to drink. And I was like, 'I haven't had anything to drink at all. What are you even talking about?'"
So I'm just staring at him incredulously and trying to stay calm. He continues.
"Yeah, so I'm just waiting and he keeps flashing this light all up in the car and finally is like, 'Where are you coming from?'" And I say back, 'WHAT?' And he says it again all bad ass. 'WHERE YOU COMING FROM?'"
"Oh Jesus."
"I was like, 'Why?' And he says some shit about it being late or whatever. And I told him, 'Where I'm coming from is none of your business. I'm a 44 year old man and I can go and come wherever I want. I guess you thought by pulling me over you would find something but you won't. I haven't been drinking and I've done nothing wrong. So man, run this license and do whatever you going to do so I can go home. It's late and I'm tired of sitting here.'"
I stood up. "You SAID that?"
"Damn right I did. He was just effing with me and I wasn't having it. Then he says some shit about how I need to calm down or whatever. And I'm like, 'No, you need to run this license so you can find nothing and let me go.' Then he says he could give me a citation and he's trying to avoid that or whatever. And I told him, 'Man, do what you need to do. Give me the citation, don't give it to me, whatever.' And he's like, 'Well, I'm trying to spare you a $100 ticket.' Like he was doing me some damn favor."
And the BHE was saying all of this like people getting beat down in slippery stories in the news wasn't happening. So I felt my blood boiling and my heart racing. "Harry!" That was all I could think to say. He went on.
"So I told him, 'If my light is out, I'll get another light and prove that I did and get this waived. So I can do that or get it changed without that. It's up to you. Either way, I'm ready to go and you don't have a reason to hold me here. So do what you plan to do so I can go. There's nothing else to find.'" And he stood there with his chest all poked out like I was supposed to be all nervous and I just sat there still staring him dead in his eyes like, 'And?'"
"What happened after that?"
"He let me go. And I left. That was some bullshit."
I sighed again. I mean, because it was. And because he was right to be irritated and insulted by that entire exchange. But, as his wife, I need him around. Badly.
"You could have been killed, you know. Arrested, taken to jail, killed."
"I'm not sorry. He was foul."
"But you have a family."
"I am a man. A grown man. And yes, I'm a black man but still. You think if our next door neighbor got pulled over around here that somebody would make the FIRST question about whether he has FIREARMS? I wasn't speeding, I wasn't reckless, I was just DRIVING. You better be glad I didn't tell him to kiss my ass."
"You sound proud and crazy!" And I said that even though I 100% agreed with his position.
And so. We argued. About me demanding that he forgo his dignity to remain safe for his family. Which is really an awful thing to ask a man to do, isn't it?
Yeah.
Yes. I recognize that there have also been assaults and killings of officers by citizens. I know that they, too, are at great risk of harm in that line of work and in no way endorse such activity. I'm willing to agree that, just as we should stay on guard, they should, too. But within reason.
My upstanding citizen, grown man husband was pulled over, insulted and harassed. In his own neighborhood. Why? Well. As they say in legalese: Res ipsa loquitor. That is, "the thing speaks for itself."
Yes, it does.
I'm mad that I have to demand my husband coil into a passive blob of jello to potentially save his life when someone has done something pretty much equivalent with spitting into his face. And worse, that I will be forced to expect the same of my two sons if I want to keep them from being beaten or shot to death just for being who they are at the wrong time.
Harry was right. This was some bullshit.
The thing is this:
No matter what was happening at that moment or no matter what the impetus for that officer pulling my husband over, it bothers me that I can say with near certainty that it wouldn't have gone this way for any person regardless of phenotypic appearance. And again, as much as I'd like to argue that his race had nothing to do with any of this, in my heart of hearts I know otherwise.
Yep.
So this. This is just one of the things that many people in this world will never, ever have to argue with their husbands about. Or their sons about. Nor will they ever even have to think about it. I mean, not as it applies to the immediate welfare of their husband, brother, children or grandchildren.
Nope.
And so. If someone asks me what I think about all of this and how it affects my family? I'll simply say this:
Res ipsa loquitor. That is, the thing speaks for itself.
The thing being that this is some bullshit indeed.
Photos by our friend and family historian, Angus Wilson with www.nileimages.com
It's so good lovin' somebody
And somebody loves you back
To be loved and be loved in return
It's the only thing that my heart desires
Just appreciate the little things I do
Oh, you're the one who's got me inspired
Keep on liftin', liftin' me higher
So good, good lovin' somebody
And somebody loves you back
It's so good needin' somebody
And somebody needs you back
We can build a world of love, a life of joy
Make our goal each other's happiness
I will do for you anything that I can
Oh, everyday I wanna do a little more
Do a little more, just a little bit more
It's so good, good lovin' somebody
And somebody loves you back and that's a fact
It's so good wantin' somebody
And somebody wants you back
Said it's so good
Oh to be loved and be loved in return
It's the only thing that my heart desires
Just appreciate the little things I do
Oh, you're the one who's got me inspired
Keep on liftin', liftin' me higher
So good lovin' somebody
And somebody loves you back and that's a fact
It's so good needin' somebody
And somebody needs you back
Said not 70-30
Not 60-40
Talkin' 'bout a 50-50 love
Said it's so good lovin' somebody
And that somebody loves you back, yeah
Said not 70-30
Not 60-40
Talkin' 'bout a 50-50 love, yeah
~ Teddy Pendergrass,
When Somebody Loves You Back
I remember sitting up talking on the phone to my sister JoLai one evening late into the night. She'd been dating this guy who was mostly nice and who was probably a decent human being from my recollection. But what mostly stands out in my memory is that too much stuff was complicated and fuzzy when it came to his actions toward my sister. Especially given the amount of time they'd been going out. So even though he was mostly nice and probably a decent human being? I'd seen enough to tell her my honest opinion when she asked.
"It shouldn't be this hard," I said. By this point, I'd lived through the sticky parts that she was tipping through in single hood. I'd finally made it to the mountain top to see the promised land of what it feels like when someone is genuinely, deeply invested in building something with you. So I knew for sure that even if a guy wasn't an assassin and even if he went to church and ran errands for his mama, that didn't excuse his indifference when it came to dealing with my sister's heart.
Nope.
And does this mean that the person is awful? No. It just means that they aren't the one. Period. End of story.
"This is too hard," I told JoLai. "There's too much to understand and too much that requires a disclaimer. You're too good for this. You deserve a man who is checking for you. And this dude isn't checking for you. Not like he should if he really wants to be with you."
And that was all I had to say. My sister knew exactly what I meant by that term. But maybe you don't, so I'll explain.
Okay. So checking for somebody means you're concerned about them and it shows through your actions. Girls around the way used to say, "Chile, please. I ain't even checking for that dude." Which meant that you weren't even giving him a second thought. (Even if that wasn't true.) Or we'd say, "Dang, nobody can say that dude isn't checking for her!" Which was a high compliment to the person whose significant other was never ambiguous about his or her allegiance to their mate.
When someone is checking for you? It isn't grey. It's pretty obvious. And no--those on the outside aren't so much the ones who should be convinced. Those in the relationship should.
Look man. The bible says it beautifully: Faith without works is dead. (James 2:17) In other words, I don't care what a person is saying-saying-saying if it is not commensurate with what they are doing-doing-doing. And especially if they don't seem particularly pressed about how I'm feeling-feeling-feeling.
Does this even make sense?
Either way, I had to bring back this old slang term for emphasis. And I'm glad I did because she got what I meant.
"You'll see. And one day, it will be super obvious."
She cried when I said that. And honestly, I'm not sure if it was because she believed it was true or because she was afraid it wasn't. My guess is probably a little bit of both.
Yeah.
Just a few months after we lost Deanna, JoLai met someone. A wonderful man named Joe. A really sweet guy with kind eyes, a tender smile, and a deep and throaty laugh so robust that it automatically made others around him laugh, too. And after those first few dates that she told me about, it was as clear as day. This dude was checking for her. Nothing about it was confusing.
Nope.
And sure. I know that there are relationships that start off lumpy and bumpy and then smooth out. I get it that people evolve into things sometimes, too. But I admit that I'm a real subscriber to the Malcolm Gladwell "Blink" theory when it comes to people. That is, almost always, your immediate discernment is spot on. And as I look back on my own unlucky dating history before Harry, I know that had I just gone with what I felt very early on about my interactions, I'd have saved myself a lot of grief.
Yup.
This man was checking for my sister. Right out of the gates he was. And not in a creepy way either. Just in a way that suggests deep interest and desire to grow this thing into something more. Not layer upon layer of excuses or what-had-happen explanations. Just actions that speak for themselves.
Yep.
So it evolved and continued. Until it exploded into this wonderful partnership and love.
"I know what you mean now," JoLai said. "This is what it is supposed to feel like."
And I replied, "Yes. Yes. Yes."
Early this year, Joe asked JoLai to marry him. And she said yes.
He even asked this guy first.
Yep.
Last week, on a Thursday actually, our immediate family stood around them in an intimate circle as they spoke heartfelt vows to one another. All of our feet bare in Florida gulf coast sands under the canvas of a near setting sun. My brother singing, one of our best friends as the officiant, and nieces and nephew there to lay down a broom for them to jump at the end.
God, it was perfect. So perfect.
And easy. Easy. Because it doesn't have to be that hard. Not when somebody is truly checking for you.
Nope.
Now sure. Life is complicated when you're grown. But not the kind of complicated that should excuse someone from their convoluted reasons for not calling you back or where they seem unsure about spending time with you or defining the relationship. No ma'm and no sir.
Sweet Joe, my sister's new husband, was once married before meeting JoLai. From his first marriage came two beautiful children, both in middle school. And yes, this, a blended family, will be a process that they'll all work at together. Which is perfectly reasonable and normal.
Because, again, life is complicated when you're grown ass people.
But what isn't okay is ignoring what is obvious just to not be alone. Sitting up trying to convince yourself that it's just fine for someone to act like they aren't hungry for you to be in their life and to have your presence. And I use the word hungry because I liken it to when someone offers me food when I'm not feeling rumbly in my tumbly.
Which is:
"Meh. I guess I could eat."
And that? That is how a lot of people treat hearts and love. Like "Meh. I guess I could eat." Take it or leave it. Either way, I'll live.
And OH, I wish I had time to talk to somebody about how even eating a little of what you don't really want just spoils your appetite for what you do want.
Or just makes you overeat.
Whew! Preach, pastor!
I mean, I would talk about that if I had time. I sure would. But I don't. So I won't.
Mmmm hmmm.
So yes. JoLai is now married to a man who is checking for her. And you know what? She's checking for him, too. And we could not be happier for them.
Doesn't she just shine?
And you know what? It rained cats and dogs that morning and the night before. Then the sun just opened up and burst through those clouds. Which was special since that is exactly what happened 22 years ago on Will's wedding day and exactly what happened 11 years ago on my wedding day.
We decided that it's good luck. And that that downpour was just Deanna's tears of joy and that thunder and lightning was just her letting us know she was sho' nuf' there.
We got the message, Deanna. Ha.
JoLai reminded me of the words the BHE spoke several years ago when talking about finding the right person:
"Look man. You open the door and it's either sunshine or it's not. It doesn't take all day to figure it out. It's either sunshine or it's not."
Which is so very true, don't you think?
Anyways. Damn, it was beautiful. Every single second of it. It was.
Sigh.
You know? I doubt I can think of a more deserving soul of true love than JoLai. But my guess is that somebody reading this is just as deserving but I just haven't met you yet. Or worse, you just don't realize that you're deserving. So today I'm sharing that word I spoke to her with whomever needs it.
It shouldn't be that hard. And it's either sunshine or it's not. And we all deserve sunshine. You included.
Yeah.
And look. This is a testimony. It is. JoLai's story and my own. Neither of us were lucky in love. But we were always deserving of something special and true. If it happened for us? It could happen for anyone willing to love themselves enough to expect someone to be checking for them.
Yup.
I'll leave you with the song that's playing on my mental iPod. Mr. Teddy Pendergrass sings the ultimate song about how awesome it is to be mutually checking for each other.
So good, good lovin' somebody
And somebody loves you back
It's so good needin' somebody
And somebody needs you back.
True dat.
If you actually have a true love, savor it. And if you've been slacking off at checking for that love of yours. . . and we all slack off sometimes. . . ..just vow to do better, okay? Because it's so good, loving somebody when somebody loves you back.
Friend: "What on earth is this photo that you just texted me?"
Me: "That's my new whip!"
Friend: "What I saw in that picture was not a whip. Please tell me you didn't."
Me: "I got a minivan."
Friend: *yelps* "Wow.You have got to be shitting me."
Me: "Nope."
Friend: "No way. Dude. Seriously. You really went and got a minivan?"
Me: "Yup."
Friend: "OMG."
Me: "It's so tricked out, too."
Friend: "Lord Jesus. You know I love you, right? But you lose like 375 million cool points for this move. No. That's 375 trillion."
Me: "That's quite a cool point deficit."
Friend: "Uhhhh, yeah."
Me: "But see . . here's the thing: The woman behind the wheel defines what cool is. Not what wheel she's behind. You feel me?"
Friend: 0_0 *silence*
Both of us: **HYSTERICAL LAUGHTER**
Me: "You're a hater."
Friend: "I'm never meeting you out anywhere again. Especially if they have a valet."
Me: "Alright now. Don't ask me to pick up your kids. Or you. I mean it."
Friend: "Uhhhh. . . . Don't worry."
Ha.
I need new friends, man.
****
Yeah, so I got my swagger wagon today. Sure did. Yahoooooo! I told the BHE what I had in mind and he and the kids went to go pick one out.
Have I ever told you how car dealership negotiations give me the willies? Oh. Well, they do. So God love that man for doing that and those sweet boys for being all excited about listening to pitches and spiels and reviewing bells and whistles and all that. I didn't even want to be test driving anything. I just wanted to show up, try it once and roll out.
Which is exactly what happened.
Well. As I dreamed about way back in 2011 with this post (and also this post), it is as awesome as I imagined. Automatic doors, rear entertainment system and even a real, legit AC plug outlet in back--I kid you not. Super, duper rad, man.
Let the record show: I will never get out of my car to open the door for a child again. Like, ever.
Oh, and man or lady at Publix who asks if I'd like help with my groceries? That's a yes. Because I'm gonna post up in my captain's chair talking to my husband on the bluetooth phone while my non oppressive amount of groceries gets loaded into the surprisingly vast amount of cargo space available with just the push of a button.
And don't even get my started with the keyless entry, y'all. Chile please.
What can I say? I am a marcher to my own trial subscription of Siri XM Radio. Hate if you wish. But don't be jealous when you see me rolling past you in the carpool lane looking all zen. With my grey hair, my minivan and my laptop charging in the back through a bona fide plug.
I love this city. Snapped this while walking during a very wet March of Dimes March for Babies.
I'm not fan of walking or running or doing much of anything in the rain. This former premie trucking ahead of me put it all in perspective though. She wore her superhero cape with pride. And stayed in front of me the entire time.
Yep.
Went to Toronto at the end of April for the Society of General Internal Medicine meeting. I'm a fan of Toronto for sure. Pretty strong photo of the CN tower taken from a cab window if I do say so myself.
It was awesome to see some of my favorite people like Kevin S. and Natalie L. I love seeing people I haven't seen in a long time and catching right back up as if we never left each others' sides.
I didn't know Natalie was coming. I saw her from the side and pretty much stalked her feet since she was on the other side of the poster presentation row from me. Was sure it wasn't her. Leaped for joy when I learned that it WAS her. Yay!
Our BST Mode (Bite Sized Teaching Mode) conference was presented as a poster at SGIM this year. The poster was put together by one of my favorite residents, Jennifer S. She rocked it!
That Jennifer.
This woman makes me better. Jennifer will be one of our chief residents at Grady next year. I have never been more excited to work with someone in my professional life than I am about Jennifer (and her co-chief Lucas) next year. It is going to be an outstanding experience and we are going to do some transformative things. I am SO happy to be connected to her.
This is Joe. He's a former chief resident of the Profesora in Pittsburgh and is now in Seattle, Washington at University of Washington. I met him during my visiting profesora-ship at University of Pittsburgh back in 2010. I re-met him when he stopped me in Toronto and then had the pleasure of learning from him during one of his workshops. It was awesome.
This beautiful, brilliant young woman is only an intern yet she presented at SGIM like a seasoned faculty. Also one of the Profesora's current trainees, I beamed in her direction just as Shanta would were she there. Yeah, so that was a highlight.
Something about drinking Canada Dry while in Canada just seems right to me. So I did. A lot.
Dude. It was snowing in Toronto. My Grady BFF Lesley was silly enough to react with me in this lovely selfie.
Snow. In April. What the -expletive-?!
Does your mom have an avatar that frolics on FaceBook AND sends you text messages like this one? Hmm. Well mine does. So there.
Hey. Tell your mom to do better.
Ha.
My boys get along very well. They fuss, of course, but mostly they are always in lockstep. They couldn't be more different, either. I love this and count it as a true blessing.
There's this company called King of Pops that has these popsicle carts all over Atlanta selling gourmet ice pops. We love them. It's finally warm enough for them to be out for the season. This was a snap of us after having the first of many King of Pops experiences this summer.
I don't know how to use chopsticks. But I always try for the first five minutes of eating sushi or ramen. Then I give up and use my fork. Or my fingers.
Yes, I've had multiple people try to teach me, too. I think I have a brain glitch that won't let me master it. Kind of like when your brain won't remember how to get to certain places by car no matter how many times you go. Does this happen to you? Or is it just me?
Sometimes we laugh at Grady. Sometimes we cry. But sometimes? We dance. Love this place.
I worked late the night I took this photo. This sign was sitting in the lobby and I really appreciated it.
Okay. So here's something super awesome. This delicious cake was made from scratch by one of my graduating students, Jennifer D. She is (obviously) gifted in the kitchen and loves to bake. But beyond that, she is--hands down--the most thoughtful human being I've ever met. And this is saying a lot considering I know some really, really thoughtful human beings.
So this cake. Yeah. Okay, so it is a dark chocolate-espresso-banana-nut cake. And that is significant--let me tell you why.
Dark chocolate, coffee, coffee-flavored things, nuts and banana-with-chocolate are my absolute favorite dessert-type-thingy flavors. Never, until this cake, had I ever had them all combined into one delicacy.
This cake is literally at the very top of the top three desserts I've ever had in my LIFE. Partly because it was simply delicious. But also because it wasn't lost on me that she'd carefully thought about these flavors and remembered what I liked. Moreover, she showed me the recipe and it was a lot of work. A lot.
One of the kindest gestures anyone has ever extended to me. I appreciated this cake so much.
Not only is she an elegant pastry chef, she is also gorgeous, driven, and kind. Orthopedics is lucky to have her joining their ranks in July.
Here's some cool shots from one of my favorite races of the year--the Atlanta Women's 5K. I was trying to get under 30 minutes for my time but missed it by 20 seconds. I still had an epic time, though--and stopped to smell the roses with friends, colleagues and students.
It was such treat to run into my SG Delta advisee Amaka at the finish line. Love seeing my students doing healthy things.
And my colleagues, too. Took this fun snap with my fellow Grady doctor, Natasha T. Good times, man.
Had an amazing time in D.C. at the Society of Hospital Medicine meeting. Added bonus? The BHE joined me. Awesome sauce!
His beard is a new thing. It has given me an insane crush on him. Doesn't he look hot?
Good heavens.
That beard is giving me LIFE, chile. LIFE!
This was one day when I was in my local Target getting a bunch of random things from a list and learned that the item at the top of the list--wine--was no longer being sold there. The Target associate told me that "Target stores in Atlanta have opted to stop selling wine and alcohol."
Say WHAAAAATTT?
I sure went to the Target corporate FaceBook page to let them know that I didn't approve of this little change. I mean . . . this mom needs to be able to get zip locks, tweezers, ground turkey, a bathing suit cover up, Swiffer refills, cabernet sauvignon, and some capri pants all in one place.
Turns out that THAT associate didn't have her info straight. My other local Target still has the vino row--yahooo! There were so many moms over forty on that aisle that we could have held a book club right then and there.
Bwaaah.
I sent this pic to my BFF to let her know that one of our favorite cabs was on sale. Not to mention the extra 5% off you get with the Target debit card.
Mmmmm hmmmm.
Yeah. So I'll never be shopping at that other Target again. I mean, unless I'm desperate and already have wine.
Ha.
Oh snap. Another thing about Toronto that also hurt my heart more than the snow in April was the fact that they closed all of their Target stores. I talked to the cab driver for twenty miles just about that. I kept saying, "But WHHHYYYYYY????"
He had no idea what I was talking a-boooot. #nevergoingtoliveintoronto
Ha.
I used to joke my mom nonstop about her 757 trillion pairs of readers stashed all over the house and in her car. The eyeball gods must have heard me. I am typing these whilst wearing some leopard print readers and can picture at least four pairs in various parts of my car as we speak. And two more in my bathroom. And six in various purses.
Yup.
Our graduating students had their senior banquet yesterday. Totally one of my favorite events of the year. Am I blending in as a medical student? What do you say?
Loved seeing my two favorite newlyweds, The Lockwoods. Wink.
My sole survivor from SG Beta, Mara. She had a research detour and is on her way to Hopkins to do Anesthesia. Wow!
With my SG Gamma advisee Courtney C. and my adopted advisee Maureen M. Two of the strongest girls I know--literally and figuratively.
Oh, this one. Erica U. She just has my heart and knows it. It has been a dream being her small group advisor. I will miss her so much that every time I think of it I tear up a bit.
Oh! And this:
The senior class votes on a bunch of class favorites and awards. One of the most coveted is the "Ultimate Power Couple Award." How exciting was it to see two of my favorite students and power couples, Erica and Lauren, win this year!
Yes. All of that stunning beauty, sass, and brainpower is captured in one amazing duo. I was proud to see one minor difference not stand in the way of this acknowledgement. And sure, those awards are all in fun for the most part. But to me, this was significant and kind of a big deal. Yeah. So go, Emory, man.
Plus I love them both so it gave me an excuse to stand up, clap and hoop with my fist in the air.
Ha.
Last week Michelle Obama asked America to wear their college shirts for the day to inspire kids to reach higher. And so I did.
Here's me watching Zack play flag football. He told me I looked like "a cool mom" and not "like a regular mom." I'll take it.
My best friend Lisa left her designer shades in my car. To torture her I took a series of very obnoxious photos whilst rolling around the streets of the ATL with them on my face. With my Delta ring prominently displayed. Did I mention she's an AKA?
Ha.
I love hanging out with my favorite 10 year old boy. This was taken way back when he was only 9.
I was famished this day and my friend Lesley M. caught me scavenging in the break room. This random pasta was there along with lonely stalk of broccoli. Pathetic, yes. But surprisingly filling.
Ha.
I was so thrilled to pin and sponsor my BFF Lisa D. as a new member of Jack and Jill of America last weekend. Finally the Delta and the AKA get to belong to the same organization and attend the same meetings. Woo hoo!
Such a fun day at our annual mothers' luncheon. Which, thanks to me and a few others, erupted later into a selfie-palooza. Ummmm, yeah.
It helps me to stay connected to community service organizations like my sorority (Delta Sigma Theta) and Jack and Jill. It's definitely a crap ton of work. But it's so meaningful and makes a difference. Plus I think it makes me better at the other things I do.
Had another event right after the mothers' luncheon and didn't have time to change out of the all white attire. I simply added some red accessories and. . .voila! A new look. Well. . sort of. Hell, at least I was wearing my own shades.
Ha.
Wow. I'm just realizing that I know some ridiculously attractive people. I'm just saying.
Sheesh.
Punctuated that day by meeting up again with my best friend. That late afternoon was spent with Prosecco and tapas on a bustling intown restaurant patio with some excellent conversation and people watching.
I think that just about catches us up. What have y'all been up to?
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?
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