7 minute read
Community News
Community Healing
by Rodnisha Ford
Iam tired of the U.S. healthcare system failing Black people.
Gnawing our way through the wreckage of our mangled bodies born of trauma, we have nowhere to turn in times
of pain. Tired and unwell, we desperately seek an outstretched hand to save
us and soon realize that no hand
will ever come. Sink or swim, live or die, this defines the treatment of Black
bodies in healthcare.
My disdain for such historically horrific treatment of Black
people, especially Black women, has always grown silently, attacking white supremacy within the comfort of my mind. In 2018 my silence bloomed into passionate fury as I questioned the inaccessible rates and blatant disregard for Black communities within
the health spaces around me. That year I worked at a holistic mental health office
where practitioners preached wellness for everyone but blatantly shunned Black people seeking aid. In one incident, I remember being told to stay on high alert of a “potentially dangerous man” that had found his way into the office. I saw the young gentleman in question and realized that he was simply a Black man. When asked what
he needed, he shared that he just moved to LA from Brooklyn and was looking for help. He wasn’t a threat. The office in that this “healing space for everyone” didn’t have a healing space for Black people. It didn’t have a healing space for me.
That same year, my mother, only 53 years young, was hospitalized and fighting for her life. Doctors labeled her predicament as “complications during surgery", but failed to mention that the
complications were due to an unrelated mistake made by the surgeon years prior during a previous surgery. Doctors overlooked and covered up this fatal error. Rooms over, another family grieved a loss at the hands of the same surgeon. At this moment, I realized that my mother’s doctors did not sufficiently educate themselves or any of their patients on potentially safer alternatives to harmful and, in some cases, unnecessary surgery. Even worse is the doctors’ lack of
accountability, and the hospital's steadfast commitment to cover
up fatal mistakes at the cost of Black and Brown bodies. This
is the nature of the healthcare
system that led to my mother’s life hanging in the balance. By the time we had medical records and staff stories put together, all the pieces spelled out neglect. On the table they saw a Black woman and deemed
her unworthy of life. A few months later she died, and a part of me did too.
In the midst of my grief and despair, I completely dismantled my archaic mindset and shifted into a new perspective. I moved out of the United States and
found solace in Thailand to take time to heal my own body, mind, and spirit. I vowed not to work for anyone other than myself as I create holistic healing spaces for Black and Queer communities. I began to understand that due to lack
of access to information and
resources, Black people are stuck in a healthcare system that is determined to keep us unwell. I acknowledge that this simply will not do anymore, so I launched Creative Wholeness
(creative-wholeness.com), a holistic health and wellness organization determined to cultivate self expression and creativity as a way to decolonize our healing spaces. Through this work, I offer one-onone health coaching, group wellness sessions, and intensive workshops that are designed to help address counterproductive behavior patterns and restore our mind-body connection. Using an integrative and trauma mindful approach, I teach basic practical tools that help sustain wellness by utilizing our body’s natural ability to restore itself. I operate through a holistic framework rooted
in acknowledging all aspects of physical, mental, spiritual, emotional, and social needs as they influence wellness. Preventative care is the ultimate
goal—it keeps us healthy and out of reach of the healthcare
system’s death grip. Our existence is revolutionary; it is only fitting that our healing is as well.
There is no more time for
games; the Revolution is now and we are standing on the front lines. This movement
is far bigger than my desire to stay comfortable, so I am here—climbing through the grit in order to inform and heal our
people. I work to give access to resources that a white
supremacistt system tries to keep us from. I fight to keep us alive. The movement lives in me
as my mother’s legacy lives on. I stand for all those who don’t
yet know that they can, and I will not stop until Black, Brown and Queer folx are reconnected with a holistic sense of community wellness on all levels of mind, body, and spirit. Because we fucking deserve it.
Rodnisha Ford
Freelance Writer
r.l.ford13@gmail.com
blackgirlwrites.com
She/Her/They/Them
LETTING GO
of the Life I Thought I Would Have
By Monika M. Pickett
Ipride myself on being a “glass half full” versus a “glass half
empty” kind of person. But as I’ve aged, that belief has been continuously tried and tested, stretched beyond my imagination. I admit it, I felt sorry for myself. I thought God had forgotten about me as I mourned a life I had always dreamed of but never seemed to attain: A wife to grow old with; loyal friends who wouldn’t betray me; the blessings of good health and wellness.
Being diagnosed several years ago with a chronic illness for which there is no cure changed my life forever and permanently challenged my expectations around wellness. I no longer recognized myself. I felt gutted as my selfworth was shattered. As I look back, I know that it was my faith that carried me through the darkest hours. But it hasn’t been easy.
This past Thanksgiving, I was alone in the hospital after a third surgery within forty-five days. My visits with family and friends were limited due to the Covid-19 pandemic. Hopelessness set in as I drifted through a fog of drug-induced hallucinations. Day by day, I began to waste away, both mentally and physically. This couldn’t possibly be my life. I prayed and asked God to continue to give me the strength and guidance to endure. I willed myself not to not give up.
I once read that no matter what you’re going through, being kind to someone else will make you feel better. One evening, I saw stress and fatigue on the face of one of my nurses as she administered my medication. She looked surprised when I inquired about how she was holding up given the influx of Covid-19 patients. She told me that she and the other nurses were terrified for themselves and their families. She confessed that she felt guilty because she hadn’t spent a lot of time in my room. She stated that I rarely rang my call button and that I was one of her best patients. Her eyes teared up when I responded. What right did I have to become inpatient when she could not refresh my ice immediately because she had a patient who was coding? Who was I to become belligerent simply because my coffee was lukewarm?
Her face softened when I shared that I had been a medic in the Army. She became engrossed with my recollections of working in a field hospital. I know that “code blue” means a patient is in cardiac or respiratory arrest. I know that “code white” means a patient is combative or violent. I recognize the alert of trauma upon hearing the whirring of a helicopter in the middle of the night. My ability to empathize put things into perspective. No matter what I was going through somewhere in the world, perhaps in the next room, life was worse for someone else.
Each day, I became stronger. My willpower was strengthened by thinking of someone other than myself. As infection spread through my limbs, I realized how blessed I still was. The thought of someone possibly losing their limbs in a traumatic accident calmed my anxiety as well as my spirit. By the grace of God, I’ve healed from many traumas, some that I never speak of to anyone. I will not abandon hope by mourning the life I thought I would have. If I remain obedient, God will give me a life better than I ever dreamed of. Sorrow will be restored with a joy that makes me understand why things had to happen the way they did.
UNTIL THEN, I AM EXACTLY WHERE I’M MEANT TO BE. Monika M. Pickett is a veteran of the United States Army. She is the author of the #1 International Best-Selling novel Pretty Boy Blue, Second Edition, and its sequel The Darkest Shade of Blue, available on Amazon. Pickett is an advocate for the LGBTQ community. For more information on Monika M. Pickett, please visit, MonikaMPickett.com
Monika M. Pickett
