Behavioral Health & Recovery Services Blog

Isn’t it true that “everyday life” teaches us lessons we didn’t know we needed to learn?  Or, that there are events that happen as a part of our daily lives that shine a light on things that need to be seen?  I think so.   Recently, I’ve had the opportunity to spend a lot of time with a healthy, vibrant, joyful 76-year-old with no major health problems, my mother*, a Black woman who, as a teenager, migrated with her family from the American South to East Palo Alto in the 1960s.  Lately, she has been experiencing pain and other symptoms that are far outside her normal daily living experiences.  The symptoms were starting to take a toll on her emotionally.  She asked me to “sit in” on a virtual Doctor’s appointment with her.  When she described the pain and swelling, she is experiencing, the Doctor asked her several follow up questions which Mom answered succinctly without much elaboration.  Based on Mom’s answers and her upbeat, cheerful tone, the Doctor suggested compression stockings.    That would have been the end of the appointment.  Instead, Mom has two upcoming medical procedures that are going to improve her life both physically and psychologically.  So, what happened? Why does she have two medical procedures instead of compression stockings? After all, Mom reported her experience.  The Doctor who has a good relationship with Mom, listened closely and did an assessment. What had happened was, the Doctor was not aware of Mom’s deft use of African American English and code-switching.  Since I had seen the swelling and knew her actual level of discomfort, I asked Mom some additional questions and asked her to share her answers with the Doctor. Once the Doctor heard the additional information, she insisted that Mom come for an in-person visit.  The result of the in-person visit revealed two significant problems which would have otherwise been missed.

Consider this. Several years ago, a local Black psychiatrist was called to the emergency room of a Bay Area hospital. The ER staff did not know what to do to support or contain a man absolutely overcome with grief. His grandmother had been shot by a stray bullet, just a few houses down from her own home, and now, she lay dead on a gurney in the ER, despite the efforts of determined physicians. The Grandson was not screaming or shouting epithets or kicking over furniture. He was not violent by any definition. He was doubled over weeping, rocking back and forth, and humming amazing grace. ER staff had alerted security because he would not leave his grandmother’s side. He continued to weep, rock and sing. He was not going to leave her. The psychiatrist went to the emergency room, was briefed by the staff, and left them to be with the young man. He stood and watched from a distance for a few minutes and understood exactly what he was seeing. Grandson was expressing grief in the only language that he knew–the gospel music of his home and community–and rocking his body for comfort. In the aftermath of that trauma, he needed to be exactly where he was, doing exactly what he was doing.