Amanda D. Streeter and I recently became friends when commenting on the same post. I’m so honored that she wanted to share her story on my blog. That’s all I’m going to say because her words matter more right now.
Apologetically Black
You will hear black people say that they are unapologetically black. However, nowadays, we are having to apologize for the color of our skin. We are being gunned down by police, lynched, murdered by the healthcare system, judged, and stereotyped. While I cannot help that I was born AFRO-American, I never realized until I was older that it meant being discriminated against on my jobs, turned down from jobs, promotions, property, and healthcare. I am writing this not to gain empathy, but to raise awareness to the corrupt system known as good ole United States of America. The land where black people can be shot just because they are black. Do not come saying “Oh, why should their lives matter when they gun down each other”. While black on black crime is real, so is white on white crime. If you want to be statistical about it, more white people are killed by their own every day; but I will not go there. Let us get back to the problem at hand, systematic discrimination. No matter how you coat it, black people have and will always be judged by the color of their skin. We have attempted to peacefully speak up about the injustices of our race ever since I can remember, however, no one would listen. No one would HEAR us. So, we took matters into our own hands. We are ANGRY. We are OUTRAGED. We are TIRED. I can’t tell you how many countless conversations I have had about racial inequality, but because the other party is not open to change, they won’t listen. Talking to some people is like talking to a brick wall. We, as a race, have never been “free”. While we celebrate Juneteenth, we are still oppressed. We are still shunned just for the color of our skin. Nothing we can do or have done will change the way society views us. I am a college educated AFRO-American woman who is currently pursuing a dual degree. My husband is also a college educated man who is now a SR Software Engineer. You see, not all of us are “thugs”. As a matter of fact, more people than you think within the black race are educated, law-abiding citizens.
So how has being AFRO-American affected me? Well where do I start? Let us start with the first run-in I had with discrimination and being stereotyped. 2011, I was at a major chain supermarket minding my own business. I walked around and gathered the few things that I needed and proceeded to head to the checkout. At the checkout there was also an older Caucasian woman (maybe 60s-70s). I was at a safe enough distance behind her to give her privacy at the checkout. While waiting for my turn, I was scrolling through social media on my phone and came across something funny, so I giggled a little. I did not notice until the older lady started talking to me, that she was accusing me of trying to steal her pin number. She was covering the pin pad with her left hand and entering her pin number with the right hand. I apologized and told her that I was not and would not do such a thing. She became more confrontational with me as I tried to ignore her to not cause a scene in this store. I was embarrassed. I was absolutely mortified at the words that came out of her mouth next. This will be something that I will ALWAYS remember because this was my very first incident of discrimination. She said, “You little colored people are all thugs and thieves, you niggers need to go back to where you came from”. As tears came to my eyes, my mind began to race. I wanted to run out of there with my tail tucked between my legs, but the strength in me would not allow me to. I looked her straight in her eyes and said, “Ma’am, my name is not and has never been ‘nigger’. I did not attempt to take your debit card pin number, as I was minding my own business. You assumed that I was laughing at you for covering the pin pad, but I was looking at something funny on my phone. For you to accuse me, a black woman, of something so derogative and call me a nigger speaks the character that lives in you. You will never be like me, why? You have no heart. You probably go to church every Sunday and make a vow to love everyone, when you do not even love the black girl standing behind you in line. I will pray for you; I will lay down at the alter and I will leave you and your words there. I will not allow you to hurt me with your racist thoughts and words. It has no bearing over my life. God Bless”. When I got to my car, I cried. I was on my way to praise team practice, and I could not go because I was so upset, so angry, so confused. How could someone fix their mouth to talk to someone that way and not feel any remorse? I fell into a depression after that. I was scared to go in stores, leave my house, etc.
2015, I was at work taking a call from an angry customer. The customer called me out of name several times and it did not bother me. However, the call took a turn for the worst when the caller called me a nigger. While I attempted to keep my cool, something awoke in me, and I defended myself as I should have. After I got off the phone, my manager(white) called me into her office. She began yelling at me, telling me that I was wrong, and that I should have sat there and took everything the customer had to say. She told me that I did not matter, and that I am just there to warm the seat. I was one of 3 black people that worked there at the time. I filed a grievance against her, but of course HR took her side, and nothing happened. Again, I had to apologize for being…. well, black.
Fast forward to March 2015, I found out that I was pregnant with our now 4-year-old daughter. This was supposed to be happy time, but I knew that it would not be because I have type II diabetes. I knew that I was high risk, and that this would be extremely stressful. My first visit with the doctor, she tried to get me to drink a bottle of glucose soda to see if I had gestational diabetes when I told the staff that I had type II diabetes, and would not need to drink the glucose beverage. They attempted to say that I was not cooperating in the appointment, and that I needed to drink the drink for the appointment to proceed. I still refused. I told them that I would get a lawyer if I needed to because they were trying to harm me and my unborn child at this point. I was considered a brittle diabetic. That basically means that anything (not just eating) can have a negative effect on my glucose levels. After getting the medical director in the room, I explained to him that I had Type II Diabetes, and that I should not have to drink that beverage. He agreed (he had my side) and changed me to see another doctor. September of that year, I could not feel my baby moving for a few hours. When I checked my blood sugar it was almost 400. I called labor and delivery and spoke with nurse. When I told her what my levels were, she laughed and said, “well you shouldn’t be eating cake all day”. I was appalled, I tried to explain the situation to her and how I am considered a brittle diabetic, but she continued to make fun of me. I remember her name like the back of my hand. It was Tracy, and I would never forget it. I hung up and called my doctor. He advised that I needed to go to Labor and Delivery to be evaluated. I was scared. When I got there, Tracy was the nurse that checked me in. When I asked to speak with the charge nurse, she revealed that she was the charge nurse. I immediately got angry and demanded another nurse. She said that she was not getting anyone else to care for me. At this point I feared for my life and my baby’s life. She was trying to give me medication, and not tell me what it was, she refused to put me on the baby monitor and stress test. I threatened to leave and go to another hospital if she did not. When she walked out, I heard her say “that is just like black people, they always feel like they are entitled to something”. Once my doctor arrived, I told him immediately what happened. He was angry, probably angrier than I was. He placed me on the monitor, and indeed there was no heartbeat. My glucose level had gotten up to almost coma levels. They were preparing for an emergency c-section when the monitor picked up a heartbeat. That was one of the scariest moments of my life. The doctor got me stable, but he wanted me to stay for a couple of days until my glucose levels were lower. He told Tracy to prepare me a room, but she did not. After the doctor left, she left me in the delivery room, on that little bed with no cushion, no cover, no pillows, nothing. I cried all night. I was hurt, I was scared, and I was angry. I left a negative review for the hospital, and I was contacted by the administration of the hospital to apologize. Is that all I get? An apology? What if my baby would have died? What if I would have died?
Thought I was done? Nope, no way. There is one additional experience that I had this year that shook me to my core. In May, I started experiencing severe epigastric pain. I could not keep any food down, I was weak, and in so much pain. It got to the point to where I had to go to the emergency room. When I arrived, everyone was so nice and welcoming. However, my experience turned into a nightmare shortly after. Once they got me back to the room, they gave me a GI cocktail which did not help, I will still in pain, but they refused to give me any pain medicine. They then took blood and urine, and again refused to give me something for the pain. I was vomiting and crying for them to help me. They then sent me to get a CT done. Once the results came back, the nurse told me nothing was wrong with me, and that I needed to stop smoking weed. I do not do drugs, never have done drugs, and will never do drugs. So, it is understandable as to why I was so confused. I kept telling her that I don’t smoke weed and she continued lecturing me on how this is the cause of my problem and why they could not give me any pain medication. Fast forward 2 days, they make my records available to me. I found that I had several issues wrong. I had a ventral hernia, slipped discs in my back, and get this THREE KIDNEY STONES that were not mentioned to me in the ER. I immediately called and wanted to know why this was not mentioned. I was told that the findings were incidental and that they were not required to go over those findings with me. This made no sense to me. Period. I was flabbergasted. I went to social media and posted my experience tagging the hospital because I had been trying to reach their patient relations department for a week! Finally, the hospital saw my post, and reached out to me. I spoke with someone who initiated an investigation. I received a call from the Medical Director over the ER and expressed my complaint with him. He then said that my test results did come back positive for THC. I told him that he was lying, but he went on to explain, that after he looked at my current medications, he found that 2 of the medications that I was taking could indeed cause a false positive. He went on to say that he will be speaking with the staff and will get back in touch with me via letter. I received the letter and it was an apology of how I was treated, and that they have taken care of the NP who treated me so badly.
Being black is hard. Most white people say that we are still acting oppressed. That is because we are. We are still treated as criminals, thugs, 3/5 of a human, etc. We have been abused and treated like CRAP for YEARS. It is time to raise awareness to this situation in hopes that other women will come forward with their maltreatment by the healthcare system and racism. People are playing blind to the fact that racism still exists to this day, and it is not okay. To Shannon, thank you for giving me the platform to express my feelings and thoughts as well as to bring awareness to a sticky and sensitive situation.
Amanda D. Streeter