letter to my doctors because ima a Black Womxn in ameriKKKa

I wrote this down because every time I have ever brought up pain to a doctor—and I normally don’t, because of what I’m about to share with you—the doctor become suspicious,  distrustful, the eye contact stops, the condescension ensues, and I’m treated like a drug seeking criminal. Unconscionably, these doctors never look into my medical records to see if I have any herstory of being an addict or being on narcotic pain meds or to check for any red flags. It’s just a racially biased assumption that’s made every single time. And it’s not just with me, it’s with my Black family members, my Black friends, my Black uni chums, Black neighbors, and with Black strangers, etc. It’s something Black people talk about amongst ourselves, and it’s a reality that we are forced to go through throughout this country—and most likely throughout all European colonized countries. 

And you might ask, how do you know all Black people go through this? Well, obviously, I don’t know every single Black person throughout the diaspora, that live in colonized nations; however, using my herstorical experiences, using my critical thinking skills, and thinking back to all the conversations I’ve had on this matter with other persons of African Descent, throughout my lifetime about how we are not believed and how we are regarded with suspicion at every turn, I have to come to the conclusion, that this is a systemic problem. 

And this racially systemic propaganda is something that stems from my Ancestor’s enslavement, that persists to this very day. And amazingly (but not amazingly), this existential problem is not taught in medical school. During my ancestors enslavement our bodies were used to perfect surgeries, without anesthesia. The propaganda was put forth that Black people do not feel pain the way other humans do. Of course those in power that espoused this inhuman propaganda knew that it was a lie, because they were using our bodies to perfect surgeries, as we were tied down or held down, writhing, screaming, wailing in the most unimaginable pain, they clearly knew that we were feeling the pain of being operated on without anesthesia.

I hated answering that questionnaire that your office had me have to fill out prior to coming to this appointment. It leaves no room for explanation or nuance. It leaves no room for understanding or explanation of what it means to be a Black person having and living with severe chronic pain, or, for that matter, having any health problem or crisis in this country and every other colonized country in the world. To not be treated as other humxn beings are—no patience, compassion, benefit of the doubt, no innocent until proven guilty, no justice. No peace. 

The reason that I show up, using my body and mind for work and creation and innovation , in the face of severe chronic pain—the way most all Black peoples do; that probably would leave many other, non-Black people,  debilitated—is because I am a black person, a black womxn, living in a white supremacist, systemically racist, colonized country. 

Black people are not afforded the grace to complain.  We are shamed, treated with suspicion, and very rarely believed. We are made to feel as though we should be grateful, accept what you are given, and “Stay in your place, now.”  How dare we be vocal and explicit in what we need. Every single time, not sometimes, but every single time I have broached the subject or had the courage to say that I am in pain, I have been received unkindly with suspicion, condescension, dismissed, and thus silenced and shamed.  By every single doctor. And there are only a few, because then, as a black person, your trained to take what you get, be grateful, and shut your mouth. 

Of course I show up for work. Of course I do my best to create joy for myself when I can afford to—which is rarely at this point. My favorite activity is to go to the movies, I like to eat out too; but I’m not able to afford those activities right now in my life. I love and need to do my art—which is writing, collage, drafting floorplans , photography and digital, artistic editing; I love to read; as a person with goals to be a tv writer, a director, and development producer, I love watching tv shows. All of those activities are incredibly painful for me to do. Housework is debilitatingly painful. Sitting too long is immensely painful. So is laying down, and standing, and walking. Thank God for Ambien, because without it I sleep 3 to 4 hours a night.

I am in so much pain, all over my body, that I cannot sit still. I have pain in my finger joints, my wrists, 3 different kinds of pains in my right foot, and now it’s starting to amp up in my left foot (the pain causes me to limp). I have torn meniscus’s in both knees—which also causes me to sometimes limp I from pain. Since 1996, I have the most tremendous pain in my upper back, at the top of my spine. The pain radiating and sometimes sharp. In the last year and a half a began having a most severe sharp pain when I turn to look to my right. The pain is fast, all one movement. It begins on my left side, bottom of my skull/brain, shooting up to the left, top of my skull/brain. The pain is so sudden and so great that it causes me to scream, close my eyes, and stop moving until it dissipates. Three years ago, I began have excruciating pain in lower back and bottom spine; and I have balls or knots in my upper buttocks that I cannot touch from the amount pain touching them,  causes.

The pain is always there. For years. It feels worse and worse and worse. Or maybe it’s the same and I just can’t live this way anymore. Or I don’t want to, anymore. I don’t, or can’t be bullied or shamed by doctors anymore. I can’t do it anymore. I’m desperate.

Do you understand what I’m saying? Are your racial biases rising within yourself right now? Are you feeling defensive right now? Are you feeling like I am lying right now? Tell me what you’re feeling by what I am reading to you right now.

How can you help me? I do not want to get addicted to narcotic pain meds. I’ve things to do.  I don’t want to be an addict. But I cannot live with this pain everyday, every second of the day, anymore. I have done it long enough. How can you help me? What are your suggestions? What should I do? I’m looking into homeopathic remedies however I’m poor. Homeopathic, natural pathic remedies cost money. I already walk a lot. I’m trying out kickboxing to strengthen my body—was a deal on Instagram for 3 free sessions, and I’m trying it out.  I started soaking my feet in epsom salt. A couple years I invested in a shiatsu massager thing on Amazon. These things help soothe the pain a bit in the moment, but nothing stops the pain. 

I now take Aleve in the morning, but it doesn’t stop the pain it doesn’t even ease it. I don’t even know why I’m still taking it. My neurologist put me on Gabapintin, but I a side effect of rapid weight gain. I was bulimic from 12 to 26 years old and I cannot be overweight. I am miserable when overweight. I began throwing up my food to cope with my dad sexually abusing me. I began taking Cimbulta—at my request because I’d done research that it helps with pain. But the side effect of no orgasms was too great a lose in a life that has, already, so little pleasures. 

What else can I do? What are your suggestions? I need help? I feel like I’m losing hope and I wanna slit my wrist because I’m in that much pain. Am I going to commit suicide, no. But it makes me just want to die so that I don’t have to live this way with this level of pain on a daily basis, every second, of everyday.