Elephants and Tea - One Herd - 17

Our Voices
that seemed plausible at the time. My skin
also became so itchy that I scratched open
wounds, and yet another doctor misdiagnosed
me with eczema. These symptoms
continued to worsen, but I pushed
through, convinced that at 25, I was in
perfect health.
On November 7, I went to the ER due
to shortness of breath. I got out of the car
and told my roommate to come get me in
an hour, thinking they would just give me
some meds for my bronchitis, and I would
be home soon. But that night, my life was
flipped upside down. An astute nurse insisted
the attending physician do a chest
X-ray. The results were alarming: multiple
shadows on my lungs. The hospital I was
at could not treat me, so I was transferred
to a larger hospital an hour away.
The moment I arrived, everything
changed. I was rushed in for multiple tests,
being pulled, poked, and checked everywhere.
It was a whirlwind. I remember the
doctor coming into my room at 2:00 a.m.
and asking, " Where are your parents? I
think it is best to call them. " I responded,
" I'm a grown man, why do I need to call
them? " The look he gave me sent shivers
down my spine. My phone had died, so I
used an " old school " landline phone to
call my parents' house. When she picked
up, I said, " Momma, I'm OK, but the doctor
wants to talk to you. " I will always
remember hearing my mother scream on
the phone when the doctor started telling
her what was occurring. That is when I
knew something was wrong. The doctor
had already told me, but it didn't register
until I heard her scream. That's when the
gravity of the situation truly hit me.
At the new hospital, I was initially misdiagnosed
with leukemia. Even as my mother,
a nurse, fiercely advocated for me by demanding
a second biopsy, I found myself
thinking that the physicians were right and
that she should stop before they started
treating me differently. I had worked in
an ER during my undergraduate years
and had seen firsthand how patients who
complained too much or asked too many
questions were often labeled as difficult.
When that label was attached, the level of
care could subtly shift-less patience, less
empathy, and sometimes even less attention.
I was terrified that if we pushed too
hard, I would end up being treated the same
way. But my mother, knowing what was at
stake, refused to back down. She persisted,
and this time, the diagnosis was stage 3b
Hodgkin lymphoma.
Being misdiagnosed felt like my life was
in the hands of healthcare professionals
who truly did not care about my outcome.
They saw me as a young Black male and
assumed I would agree to anything, not
realizing that I had a massive following of
educated healthcare professionals in my
corner, ready to advocate for me. Knowing
the history of African Americans in healthcare
and the persistent lack of equality in
every aspect of treatment, I was deeply
shaken. As a kid raised in Alabama, knowing
that the Tuskegee experiment existed, I
was terrified. Beyond the initial numbness
that lasted two weeks, I understood that I
would have to lean on my parents to help
me make decisions-decisions that felt
incredibly difficult to face at just 25.
My mother insisted-no, she forced me
to move back home to receive treatment
at a hospital specializing in Hodgkin lymphoma.
My parents, both deeply rooted
in healthcare, became my lifeline during
this time. They played a significant role
in helping me understand what cancer is
and the pros and cons of each treatment
option. When I felt like I did not have the
answers, I leaned on them. When I was
overwhelmed and wanted to give up, I
leaned on them. When the nausea was relentless,
and I could not see the end goal
through the pain, I leaned on them.
The month between diagnosis and starting
treatment was a blur. My new hospital
needed to stabilize me before beginning
treatment. The Monday before my first
treatment, my oncologist called to inform
me that I needed to donate sperm because
the treatment could leave me infertile. Being
sick and trying to give a sample was
one of the weirdest experiences of my life.
They put me in a small, cold room, wheeled
" Knowing
the history
of African
Americans
in healthcare
and the
persistent lack
of equality in
every aspect
of treatment,
I was deeply
shaken. As
a kid raised
in Alabama,
knowing that
the Tuskegee
experiment
existed, I was
terrified. "
ELEPHANTSANDTEA.ORG
ONE HERD ISSUE 2025
17
http://www.ELEPHANTSANDTEA.ORG
Elephants and Tea - One Herd

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