You: “They stay talking’ ‘bout how everybody could get that shot if they want it. All they got to do is walk in.” *making air quotes* “But that’s some bullshit.”
Me: *listening*
You: “That AIN’T all you got to do.”
You folded your arms in a huff.
2/ You: “Like, you go up in there and it AIN’T straightforward. ‘Specially at the regular pharmacies.”
Me: “No?”
You: “I mean, not if you ain’t good with filling a bunch of stuff out on line. Plus you got to have certain information.”
I stayed quiet. You went on.
3/ You: “I mean yeah, it IS some folks who dead against that #COVIDVaccine—but it’s a whole bunch of folks that would get it if it wasn’t so got-damn hard.”
*silence*
Me: “So, like what would be best? In your opinion?”
You raised your eyebrows and laughed.
Me: “I’m for real.”
4/ You: *looks side to side* “Real talk? Y’all need some backpacks with little fridges in ‘em. And a bunch a y’all just need to roll up on folk and say, ‘Aye, l got that #COVID shot.’”
You’d really thought about this.
You: “Or it could be like a food truck. But with shots.”
5/ Me: *nodding* “I like that. But what about the second dose?”
Your eyes widened and you gave an animated hand clap.
You: “Okay! So y’all could be like, ‘Boom, we gon’ be at the same place in 3 weeks—but be there for like. . . a week, you know? To get everybody.”
6/ You: “But the MAIN thing is somebody got to be filling out the information for people. ‘Cause, shit, even if you been to school sometimes stuff like that make you say eff it.”
I gave a slow nod.
7/ You: “To be honest? That’s why I ain’t got it. The hassle when I was trying to fill out all that shit. Like, what’s easy to one person is hard to somebody else.”
Me: “That’s real talk.”
You: “Damn right it is.”
8/ You: “They need to be on the hustle like them folks registering people to vote. I’m dead serious.”
Me: “I know you are.”
You: “That’s how I got registered to vote. A random dude with a clipboard.”
*silence*
You: “Tell the truth—I got some good ass ideas, don’t I?”
7/ Me: “You do.”
You: “Tell #Fauci ‘nem to holla at me.”
*laughter*
Me: “Jokes aside—I love your ideas. One of my colleagues told me of something like this. Not with backpack fridges but mobile—like you said.”
You: “Did it work?”
8/ Me: “I think they did vaccinate a good number of people.”
You: “I’m telling you—that’s it right there.”
Your face became serious.
You: “People think we the ones that don’t give a shit about our bodies. But that ain’t true.” *pats chest* “I care about ME.”
9/ You: “It’s just easier to SAY I don’t. Then you ain’t got to find a way to reach me.”
*silence*
You: “Kind of like calling somebody and hanging up after the first ring.”
*silence*
Me: “Damn.”
You took a big drag of air and looked to the side.
10/ Your eyes rested on the oxygen spigot. Then you squeezed them tight in frustration.
You: *teeth gritted* “Man. I woulda took that shot. I’m for real.”
I blinked behind my foggy goggles and felt sweat trickle down my back under the PPE I was wearing.
You became tearful.
11/ Me: “I believe you.”
I swept a tear from your cheek, let out a moist cough into your fist and shook your head.
You: “Anyways.” *coughs* “Tell your folks what I said about them backpacks.”
Me: “I promise.”
You: “But don’t be frontin’ like it was your idea.”
*laughter*
12/ Me: “Alright then, friend. Let’s see how you do with the oxygen being
lowered.”
You: “Okay.”
I walked to the door.
You: “Hey—and thank you for listening to what I had to say.”
Me: “And thank YOU for trusting me with your good ass ideas.”
*laughter*
And that was it.
13/
Reflecting on the complexity and the heterogeneity of the unvaccinated. And what it will take to reach those who are open to being reached.
I placed my stethoscope upon a quiet chest recently. Flashed a penlight into eyes where pupils did not respond.
My fingertips rolled over the curve in the neck where a carotid pulse would normally offer up a reassuring thump--but felt nothing.
Nothing.
2/ Just cool, quiet skin.
This patient was severely ill. The family and patient had chosen a "Do Not Resuscitate" order to allow a natural transition. So, once it became imminent, no one fought it.
No code sirens.
No cacophony of ACLS.
Just a peaceful acknowledgment.
3/ The illness was far too mighty and swift to allow a transfer to hospice after leaving the ICU.
The family stood vigil for those first few hours. Then exhaustion set in. When it happened, no family was in the room.
1/ Mostly I have remained quiet about #twitter verification and (what I like to call) Black physician #verifygate.
Partly because I'd like to believe that verification starts with how we feel about ourselves.
But I'll also admit it's a form of self-protection.
You know?
2/ I also think of how, historically, there are so many examples of successful people who look like me who do or don't get the metaphorical blue check for their work.
So you say the thing we always say:
"You don't verify me. My community verifies me."
Right? Right.
3/ But then, if you have enough time, it creeps into your thoughts. And, even if it doesn't really mean anything, you think about it.
You know?
And listen. Since I'm generally not a person who likes to be upset, I will instead shape this into a case.
Them: "You need to steer clear of Ida."
Me: "Which one is Ida?"
Them: *head gesture* "The one talking to our attending. She's legendary for going off on interns."
Me: *swallows hard*
Them: "Look. She even checks attendings."
I looked.
2/ Ida's hands were animated as she talked. I noticed the way her biceps bulged at the meeting of her scrub sleeve when she moved her arms. Her head was up and eye contact deliberate.
3/ It startled me when they both erupted into laughter. It was warm and respectful. The attending said something else and she said something back. Both gave knowing nods.
And that was it.
Them: "Most of the nurses here are cool. Not her, though."
Me: "I just. . .I think I just think of the worst thing that could always happen, you know? Like. . .someone counting on me and me alone to know everything."