The Invisible Black Woman

Before I drove out of the parking garage, I took a long deep breath. I reminded myself it would serve no one if I had a nervous breakdown or worse, got in an accident because I couldn’t see my way clear. I said a prayer then took off.

As I was driving off, I decided to listen to some music to help calm my nerves. The universe must’ve known exactly what I needed because I hit play on Spotify and one of my all-time favorite songs came on. I looked up, whispered thank you, then put it on repeat.

Suddenly I found myself in full bargaining mode.

“I will give up literally everything if you just let him live.”

“Please don’t take him away from me. I won’t make it without him.”

“He’s such a good person. It’s too soon.”

“This isn’t how our story ends.”

And I chanted those last words on repeat. It just couldn’t be how it ended. We still had so many plans, so many things to accomplish, places to visit.

I remember going to church and the verse that reminded you that God wouldn’t give you more than you can bear. And as I drove just over the speed limit to the ER, I thought to myself that God had misplaced an inordinate amount of confidence in me. I wasn’t this strong. Abuse at work? Sure. An almost nervous breakdown that forced me to go on leave for months? Absolutely. Physical abuse and neglect at the hands of my alcoholic father? Yep. Coming face to face with the idea that I could lose my life partner? No. It was a bridge entirely too far and I couldn’t make heads or tails of why this was on the bingo card for 2024.

He’d just celebrated his birthday less than a week ago. And for the first time in several years, he was excited and looking forward to it in the days leading up to it. He came up to me in the kitchen days before with a twinkle in his eye and wrapped his arms around me.

“You know what, Babe?”

“What?”

“You know how I’m usually dreading my birthday?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I was thinking. This isn’t the end. This is the beginning. This is my chance to push and get after all the things I have been meaning to do.”

I gave him a big hug and a squeeze.

Neither of us ever looked up to our birthdays because of promises unkept and goals unaccomplished. This time, it felt different. We were only months apart so my birthday was just a few after his. It felt like this was our year to really make a go of things.

Then this happens and I thought was a horrible sense of humor life has to do this now. Just when we finally got to a place of anticipation and excitement for another year around the sun rather than dread.

And as I thought all these things, I burst into tears. Tears of anger, shame, and guilt.

Anger because it all seemed entirely unfair. How could this happen in the midst of everything else? Didn’t we already hav enough on our plate? Didn’t I? How could either of us have the mental capacity for another crisis?

Shame because I knew there were others in worse situations than we were. For all intents and purposes, he was still here—far as I knew. How dare I be angry that this was happening when others were going through way way worse?

Guilt because this was so damn preventable. Hubby had been showing symptoms of something not being quite right a few weeks after his last procedure. And maybe it was my deep desire to believe everything would be okay, that he wasn’t I the percentage that would develop complications, that we could just get a break for once. Maybe it was all those things. I insisted we go back to the doctor who performed the procedure for another scan. I knew enough to do that. They found nothing. So instinctively, I wanted to drag him to the ER. He balked at the idea. He was tired of doctors, office visits, appointments, tests, scans. Just tired. And I caved. Because I knew what it was like to be on the other side. The first half of our marriage it was me in and out of the hospital. I knew the toll it took. So despite that small sinking feeling telling me I should have insisted and took him anyway, we went home.

And as the symptoms crept up and ultimately snowballed, I kept calling the doctor’s office. They played Bennett. They told me if I had concerns to go to the ER. I had just spoken to them about an hour ago that morning before I decided enough was enough and we had to go to urgent care.

But I ran out of time.

Now the decision was completely out of my hands because I wanted to give him time to warm up to the idea. I wish I could have that time back. I would have insisted and not taken no for an answer. And now, said my irrational brain, I was being punished for my misguided decision. This was the consequence.

So I cried. As the music played in the background and I drove the longest 14 minutes of my life to the ER, I cried all the way there, not holding anything back. On some level, it seemed absurd, but I knew I needed to get it out. I wouldn’t get another chance to feel how I felt before I pulled myself together so I could be strong for him. Because if he saw me losing my shit, he’d know it was bad. So I let the tears fall all the way to the front entrance.

Right before I pulled up to request valet, I wiped my eyes as best I could, gave myself a once-over in the mirror, then pulled in.

A blind person on the moon could have seen I’d been crying. Yet neither attendant showed any care or concern. Not only were they callous, they were curt. It was as if I’d inconvenienced them by arriving. One waved at me exasperatedly because I hadn’t pulled up close enough to the curve. He went on to make gestures to insist I did. In my mind, I couldn’t make sense of it since the car would need to be moved, but I didn’t have it in me to argue. So I did as was requested.

When I got out of the car and approached the booth, the other attendant turned to me and said, “how are you doing today?”

It took everything in me to not yell back some choice expletives along with, “are you serious right now?” I managed to muster, very sarcastically, “just great.”

I handed over my keys, then went to the reception area.

“Hi, how can I help you?” a dapper gentleman in a suit said from behind the counter.

“I’m here for—my husband…”

The tears began to fall again. I felt like such an entirely hot mess. I was in such a public space and for the life of me, I couldn’t keep my composure. How the hell was this going to work if I was this emotional now? I was so irritated at myself for not keeping it together. Never mind that I had every reason to feel and be how I was in that moment. But when you spend as much time as we spend being strong for everyone else and holding everyone else together, you’ve got very little left in the tank for yourself—and it begins to manifest in ways you don’t see coming.

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry. Where’s your husband.”

I managed to say “ER, ambulance” in between sobs.

“Okay, here’s how you get there…”

He gave me directions on where to go.

“Thank you.”

“You’re so welcome. I hope everything turns out okay.”

I nodded then took the elevators to the emergency room. I took a deep breath, resumed my chant and pressed the button to go upstairs.

Just when I thought I’d have the elevator to myself, two employees got on wearing scrubs. I turned my head to hide the tears that were still falling down my face.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

All I could manage was to shake my head no.

The look on her face told me she wasn’t buying it, but she didn’t pry.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, I half-sprinted out toward the ER while wiping the tears from my face.

Now, the only words bouncing in my head as I went through the doors to the ER reception area was: “Get. Your. Shit. All. The. Way. Together.”