The Black Conspiracy, coming out, and faith

I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned this, but I have stupidly medicine-resistant hypertension. So, about a year ago, my family doctor-- after trying all the common meds in her bag-- shipped me off to a cardiologist for more expert treatment. Thankfully, Heart Doc was just what I needed; he fixed me up with a cocktail that keeps my BP under control. Best of all, I was upfront with him about TTC, and he made sure that my meds were fairly safe for pregnancy, should I be so lucky to achieve that state.

I had an appointment last month with Heart Doc, and something happened to me that's never happened before: I had the uncontrollable urge to "come out" about TTC. To everyone. Now, you might think this a bit weird, but let me explain.

I am (mostly) black. As a black woman who moves easily between different cultural and racial scenes, I have noticed what I call "The Black Conspiracy". You see, black people behave differently amongst fellows than with others. When one black person is alone with another black person, there is an automatic assumption of likeness, that the other person has common experiences and knowledge that make you compatible on a level that "others" can not comprehend. It can also lend a (often false) feeling of intimacy, leading some to feel they have the right to be very personal in their speech and commentary.

I see TBC in action at least once a week. If a (white) co-worker was in the office, then (black) visitors would be on their toes, super-professional to the nines. If I were the only one present, there would be an air of "we're in this together" wafting off of them. I can't tell you how many times I've been asked by total strangers about my religion, which church I attend, if I'm married/single, and whether or not I have children... all within the first 10 minutes of a so-called business meeting. But it would never happen when a white co-worker was around.

I've tried to tell my non-black friends about TBC, but I don't think they believe me. They think it's a joke that I'm making up, that no one would automatically assume fellowship to such a degree. But I'm telling you, it's so very true!

Now back to Heart Doc. Heart Doc, as well as 99% of his staff, is black. Since I only go in about every 6 months now that my BP is well controlled, they don't have the instant recollection of me that I get at my RE's office. You know, where you walk in the door, and the MAs and nurses all know your name, your treatment schedule, and that you're there for a cd3 baseline u/s. That just doesn't happen at Heart Doc's. Every time I go to Heart Doc, there's a sort of re-introduction that takes place.

So this last visit, I was doing the oh-so-lovely weigh in & temperature check with one of the MAs when TBC kicked in. I was asked if I had children, which I still can't figure out how checking my weight would lead the MA to ask me that (oh yeah, TBC). At this point, I'd been seriously, under-doctor's-care, trying to conceive for 3 years, and I think I'd had enough. It was time to start coming out, and if I sounded a little rude, then so be it. I told the MA that I didn't have children, but that I'd been trying for a long time. She smiled sweetly, patted my arm, and told me to have faith in the Lord.

I was still trying to process that as she led me to a room. Then a nurse came in to check my BP, and I'll be damned if she didn't ask me about my marital status and children, too! Again, I blurted out a quick summary of the state of my uncooperative reproductive organs, this time making sure that I pointed out that I was single. Honestly, I was wondering what kind of reaction I would get. I got a sympathetic smile, and more reassurances that the Lord would provide, but that it would be in His time.

The nurse left, and I picked up my novel to read a bit, knowing it could be anywhere from 5-15 minutes before the doctor actually his face. Surprisingly, Heart Doc came in right away. He did another check of my BP, and we did the usual 'chat about my habits, conditions, etc.'. I was taken aback when, as he read over notes on my chart, asked me how my TTC was coming along. This was the first time since I'd been in the office, that it felt okay.

See, Heart Doc is a rare gem amongst doctors, in that not only is he good medically, but he is also very caring and personable. He has never made me feel as if I was wasting his time, no matter how many questions I have. I've even gotten flustered before, saying that I must be taking too long with my questions; his response was a kindly reassurance that I could take all the time I needed, and that it was okay.

So when Heart Doc asked how it was coming along with my RE, my hard-nosed "I'll show them" attitude cracked. I was very close to tears as I told him how hard it's been, trying month after month, year after year. How much I fear miscarriage if I ever get pregnant. How afraid I am that my hypertension will get out of control in a pregnancy. All the things I keep bottled up inside, he managed to get out of me with one kind, sincere question. It's a little blurry, but I know there were some hugs in there, too.

Of course, TBC had to kick in before it was all over. Religion is a big part of TBC, because most black people assume that all other black people are Sunday-go-to-meeting folks just like themselves. It's never a question of, "Do you go to church?" No, it's always, "What church do you go to?"

So, before I left Heart Doc, I got a last hug, and a reminder that God has a plan for us all. That I had to keep faith and hope, and try to find out what His plan was for me. And for once, I didn't bristle at "God" talk. I could definitely deal with what Heart Doc was saying.

See, Heart Doc didn't hand out platitudes about everything being okay, or that it would happen one day if I kept praying, or anything like that. Without coming out and saying it, he acknowledged that I might not have children, that it might not happen, but that it didn't have to be the end of everything. Rather, that I might have to figure out what I'm supposed to do if I can't be a mother.

I feel that religion is a personal, private thing. I am spiritual, but not particularly religious, if that makes any sense. So it bothers me when people pepper every other sentence with what I call "God" talk. I mean, are you trying to rack up brownie points or something? Is there a contest, where the winner is the person who can say "Jesus", "Lord", or "Have a blessed day" the most times in a day? I guess I find it somewhat offensive, as there are so many other faith systems out there, to continually throw your own beliefs in other's faces.

Despite all that, I felt good about the visit. I came out to two people, had an impromptu therapy session with a third, and got prayed over. The last was a little weird, but actually felt kind of good in a "going against my own grain" kinda way. Who would've thought that a doctor's visit could turn into church?