Mending Broken Hearts

28. Courage

Me: But I'll be fine.

That was a lie. I was never going to be fine. Yet, it was a lie that I was good at convincing others of. Just like the last time. Except then, a woman who I thought I loved walked away because unlike me she had the courage to pursue what she desired. Now, I was the weakling who couldn't control anything in his life.

Tumhari kismet mein khushi hai hi nahi, Omar. Maan lo yeh baat. Even my conscience mocked me. For once, I was inclined to believe it. (You are not destined to have any happiness, accept it.)

I had started to put my phone away when it pinged again.

It was the 7 am COVID update email for all the residents, sent by Madi. Out of habit, I opened it, skimmed through the main news updates and policy reminders, and quickly got to the bottom of the email - to the 'secret' message she said she always left for me. Usually, those messages made me smile. Today, I simply stilled at the words she had quoted.

"I already know what giving up feels like. I want to see what happens if I don't." – Neila Rey

Hang in there guys, don't give up. Tomorrow always brings a fresh start and renewed hope.

Stay safe.

Sincerely, Madiha Ahmed.

"I do know what it feels like to give up," I muttered to myself. The question was, what would happen if I didn't?

*******

The rest of my shift was spent suturing and bandaging people who had been at the overnight protests that had broken out against police brutality, along with those that came in with signs and symptoms of COVID. Dealing with others who had problems way bigger than my own, helped me forget the gut-wrenching pain inside me, just for a little while.

Given Chicago's own struggles with over-policing and discriminatory policies, I wasn't surprised to see the protests stemming from the death of one man in another state reverberate through our city. The nationwide movement touched even the healthcare systems that were starting to acknowledge how their policies and practices marginalized minorities, particularly people of color.

Though, starting to was the key point. 

"My heart goes out to all these people," my attending said, as he examined the arm of a patient whose wound I had just sutured. "But I wish they would stay peaceful. Even we had a kneel-down demonstration against racism outside the hospital. Everyone remained calm. I don't understand where all this anger in the protesters is coming from."

The patient, a young African-American man, immediately replied in a polite but firm voice, "Doc, I don't think you realize what a privileged statement that is. Staying calm is not easy when there is literally, and figuratively, a gun being held to your head all the time. Anger is not an emotion we are born with, it is a product of years of subjugation and dehumanization."

"People like me..." he gestured to his own dark skin, before returning his gaze to my light-skinned attending, "value your support, but please, let it not be a mere token gesture. Kneeling with us holds no meaning if you rise and leave everything unchanged, because any disruption to the status quo inconveniences you."

My attending remained silent, and after an awkward pause, he shifted the conversation to instructing the patient on how to care for his bandaged arm. Then, he excused himself from the room. I, on the other hand, couldn't help but be struck by the patient's resilience and articulate expression despite the subtle racism he had just experienced.

"I am sorry about that," I told him when we were alone. "You'd think doctors would know exactly why there is so much anger in the Black community."

"We're used to it," the young man smiled. "All I can hope for, is that our generation is more aware, more willing to question, and more courageous in the face of injustice."