Black Girls Sing of Freedom, a poem
"I'd tell her it's OK to be loud...it's OK to challenge and to bring all of you into these spaces where no one looks like you..."
This began a list of things this Black OB-GYN resident said she would tell a childhood version of herself. During our session, she had relayed multiple stories of challenges she faced as a Black physician, as well as stories of the experiences of her Black female peers and colleagues.
These experiences, which she described as highly impactful and demoralizing, demonstrated how Black women interact within a system they aspire to be part of that "knocks them down at every turn."
Often this knocking down came about through interactions with White healthcare team members. She related how they would often question the expertise of her and other Black physicians--even veteran physicians with many years of experience--in ways that they did not treat physicians of other races. Yet often it was her who was reprimanded for speaking out about this treatment. "How am I supposed to show up to work as my best self when I have to worry about their hurt feelings instead of the health and safety of my patient?"
Reflecting on her medical school application essay, she recalled that initially she wanted to practice medicine in a specialty directly working with children. During medical school, however, she realized that the best way for her to help children is to save their mothers. When I asked her what her own childhood self would think of her now, she replied, "I think she'd be proud of me."
Listener Poet Yvette Perry
Health4Equity OB/GYN Residents Project
April 2023
Black Girls Sing of Freedom
Texas-Bama girls,
Negro nose with J-5 nostrils:
It’s alright
G’on and be too loud
too Black and too proud
It’s alright
to have “tone”
and a stance all your own
It’s alright
Speak unapologetically
whenever you have need to be
It’s alright
to keep on going through
for all of those who need you to
It’s alright
Fill up with your faces
those small, frigid spaces
It’s alright
to still be scared
though you know you’ve prepared
It’s alright
Deflect their white tears,
their ridiculous fears
It’s alright
to weep your own cries
drowning out all their lies
Black girls, sing
(and keep it Trill)
of future unreached
but fought for still
Your voices roar
from every hill
Black girls,
sing of freedom
“Everything that could have gone wrong went wrong,” she said. She held her baby in her arms as she shared their birth story. Her daughter spent three weeks in the NICU, and she was there every day.
“I was at a birth recently and thought: This is why they are so afraid of us. They can’t control this” She sat on her couch with a mug of coffee. She is a queer, femme, mother of two who has worked in reproductive health for over two decades.
Interspersed with the joys and worries of being a gramma, she recounted her own grandparents – challenges and opportunities of caring for them, grief of losing them, gratitude for being loved by them, and the everyday experiences of now living in their home.
What is pain without a diagnosis? This is what occupied this patient before she even received her breast cancer diagnosis about a year ago.
She told me that she picked her battles more and was trying to be less of a people pleaser.
He ended up talking about his son, who is now his daughter. Another part of his experience of continual growth and soul-opening.
Her values and perspective on life had changed as she considered ways to spend more time with her husband.
“When I see an old dude who’s optimistic, living his life, I always stop to talk to him to try to find out what he has done.”
This nurse was considering leaving a position where she spent many years due to issues she experienced and witnessed at her hospital.
Many of the people he worked with had to develop a new identity in the context of their caregiving responsibilities. “It’s as if they need to become a new variant of themselves.”
“We’re taught to enter a room with a specific goal... with assumptions... with a hypothesis about what may be going on with the patient.”
She believes that most of those who have connected with ACS began with a personal connection, but then, according to her, “you evolve, and you shift.”
With her background in counseling and psychology, she works to bring people together and support patients.
Although at times she becomes discouraged about the inequalities in the world, she is determined to do her part by making sure everyone has access to quality healthcare.
This person radiated gratitude and hope. She shared that she discovered she was expecting a son just before receiving a lung cancer diagnosis at the age of 31.
She had an epiphany as a child — that love could heal the world. Now, as a seasoned physician, there’s still a part of her that believes in the power of love, but not with the same idealism she once held.
He talked about recently speaking with a patient who experiences migraines: she is seeking the truth, he is seeking the truth to find a way to work with her, wanting to give more than a diagnosis and prognosis.
To her, the surgical world has felt like “a wheel that keeps spinning,” a seemingly endless pursuit towards an undefinable goal.
While she kept an open mind throughout medical school, the field of OB/GYN ticked off all the boxes for her.
“The historic traumas of African-American women — all African-Americans — lead us to not be the first people at the doctors, nor the first to get surgery.”
“Sometimes I feel so helpless,” said this resident, reflecting on all of the challenges faced by the young patients and their families whom she served. Over the last several days, she has become increasingly overwhelmed by events in the news and has questioned her ability to make a difference in the world.
“It’s hard to watch the decline and sometimes hard to visit but it weighs on me not to,” she said. Her father had always been an elaborate storyteller and an alive, vibrant man with a big voice.
The Good Listening Project was honored to once again take part in the annual KNN conference in Minneapolis this year. Jenny closed the session by writing this harvest poem that captured the voices and sentiments shared.
After a history of crippling endometriosis, this woman had an arduous, ongoing struggle with her healthcare community for the right to have a hysterectomy. She was finally granted approval at the age of 29. “It had been like pulling teeth, but finally I felt free,” she told me.
Her childhood was infused with Hawaiian-Polynesian music and dance, taught to her father by his mother. Today, her life’s work is to connect the unbelievable discoveries of molecularly focused pre-clinical research directly to the patient experience of treatment.
She is a single mother born to a single mother and had to grow up fast. She is juggling a sticky work situation, her own anxiety and depression, and being away from home and her kids.
I was invited to create a group poem for forty participants at the Arts in Healing luncheon, hosted by the Inova Health Foundation in partnership with the board.
What does it mean for people living with Sickle Cell Disease to be seen, heard, and understood? For this person, it meant finding – and using – her voice to advocate for herself and for others.
“I’ve experienced a lot of big losses,” she said. “I want to be a beacon of hope and light, keeping the flame lit for cancer prevention.”
