The Invisible Black Woman

The good news from Dr. Farouk had put us on cloud nine. We were so ready to go home, especially after everything we’d been through in the last few days—learning that hubby was insulin resistant had added a new layer of stress. Now, with discharge in sight, we were feeling antsy, watching the clock and waiting for things to move forward.

There was just one downside to the day. Hubby’s nurse wasn’t exactly what you’d call pleasant. I’m not sure if it was the stress of the job or just one of those days, but she definitely didn’t seem like she enjoyed being there. Every interaction felt like we were inconveniencing her, and to be honest, her attitude wasn’t helping the cause. For the life of me, I will never understand why people who hate people get into jobs that require interacting with people every day.

While we waited, someone from the nutrition team came in to speak with us. A soft-spoken woman entered, clipboard in hand.

“I just wanted to go over some general dietary guidelines now that you’re managing insulin resistance. Being insulin resistant means focusing on lifestyle changes along with the medication. Your meals should follow the plate method: half vegetables, a quarter lean protein, and a quarter whole grains or complex carbs.”

Suddenly I felt like I was back in elementary school.

She emphasized the importance of foot care as well, which made sense seeing as though that’s how this whole ordeal started—a story for another day.

“Make sure to check your feet regularly and avoid walking barefoot. Nerve damage can occur if blood sugar isn’t controlled, which can make it difficult to notice injuries. By the time you realize something’s wrong, it could be harder to heal.”

As the nutritionist left, I noticed movement in the hallway and thought I saw hubby’s nurse.

“I think I just saw her. I’m going to let her know you’ve got discharge orders.”

I stepped into the hall, catching up to her as she rounded the corner.

“Hi, just wanted to let you know he has discharge orders.”

Y’all, she gave me a quick look up and down and said, “okay.” Then she kept on walking

I stood there stuck.

“Well, that was pointless,” I told hubby when I walked back into the room. “I told her you had discharge orders, she said, ‘okay,’ then kept on walking.”

Hubby sighed and shook his head.

I decided to see the charge nurse about it, hoping for a better response. I went to the nurse’s station, only to find the charge nurse on the phone. I stood there for a moment, debating whether to wait it out, but eventually decided I’d come back in a little while.

An hour later, we were still waiting. I was so done.

After what felt like forever, I went back to the nurses’ station, but of course, the charge nurse was gone this time. I went to the unit secretary instead.

“Could you page hubby’s nurse?” I asked, doing my best to keep my voice calm and steady.

When the nurse called back, the secretary picked up the phone, and I could hear the conversation from her side.

“One of your patient’s family members wants to see you.”

Based on her side of the convo, I could tell hubby’s nurse was asking why I wanted to see her. The unit secretary’s tone seemed about as annoyed as I was. I got the distinct feeling this nurse wasn’t anyone’s favorite colleague.

After hanging up, the unit secretary gave the phone a side-eyed look. “She said she’s on break.”

We exchanged a glance, and without saying a word, we both started laughing. We said a whole lot without saying a damn thing.

I love me some us.

I decided there was nothing left for me to do but head back to the room.

Eventually, hubby’s nurse strolled back into the room, looking straight indignant. I swear I think she took her time on purpose. She had his discharge papers in hand and began rattling off instructions like she was reading from a script at an auction.

“You’ll follow up with the cardiologist on the 19th. Here’s the address for the clinic. Make sure to call and schedule your primary care appointment as well. Tylenol is over-the-counter. You’ll take one tablet of Flexeril twice a day for muscle spasms.”

We just nodded along. I figured we could ask the pharmacist if we had any questions.

“You’ll be taking metformin. You already know the dosing for metformin. The anticoagulant, Eliquis, will need to be taken again tonight—two tablets now, and then one tablet after five more days.”

She kept rattling stuff off and we just kept bobbing our heads.

“These are educational materials—signs of stroke, heart failure, and managing your blood sugar and blood pressure. Just go through it when you have time.”

She asked if we had questions, we both shook our head no.

“Okay, bye.”

And then she was out.

I had already helped hubby pack up his things, so we checked the room over one last time to make sure we hadn’t left anything behind. Hubby signed the forms and then we were off, out the room door to the elevators.

We got a much warmer goodbye from Precious and the rest of the staff at the nurse’s station on our way out. They were all smiles and waves and telling us to “take care.”

We slowly made our way down the hallway, since hubby was still getting winded—but of course, he refused the wheelchair. I decided not to fuss at him since we were walking pretty slowly and his symptoms looked to be pretty mild. Plus as much as I had babied him, I figured he needed a win.

The only thing that mattered is we were headed home—and absolutely nothing felt better than that.