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Black Meets Blue

July 28, 2012



I read somewhere that 33% more black woman
Die of breast cancer then do white women, but where are their voices? You normally don’t know what a black woman died of until you are at the funeral and ask. I have also read that the reason you find nothing from black women is because they are at the bottom of the economic level and have little or nothing to say, so does this imply, that if you were making upward of six figures a year that you would have something to say? These readings have infuriated me and given birth to this blog.

When I became diagnosed with this dreadful disease I choose to keep it to myself and my inner circle; honestly because I didn’t want anyone to feel sorry for me and I didn’t want to hear anyone tell me how sorry they were, particularly the people I knew didn’t have a whole lot of love for me. These would have been the people, who would have shown up at my funeral, who had lost care for me a long time ago with hypocritical words on their lips. The few chosen people in my life who have had the privilege to know me; know that death changes nothing and if I disliked you in life, why would your death change anything?
My soul mate gave me a metaphor: There was a man who wanted to know which one of his neighbors was his friend, so he cut up one of his livestock, put it in a bag with blood sipping and told his son to go to each man pulling the bag and say “my father has killed a man, what must I do”? The first man said he didn’t know what to tell him and closed the door. The second man as he reached out and grabbed the bag and pulled it into his house stated to the boy “and tell your father I still disagree with our last conversation twenty years ago”…..enough said about friends, they can be closer than your kin. God bless you if you have a friend.

There are some effects of this cancer treatment that transcends all ethnic groups and then there are those things that only effect woman of color ~ just call me little girl blue ~ upon taking a second look at myself, I discovered I was turning blue. The bottom of my feet and the inside of my hands, yes I was more than concerned and they sent me to a dermatologist who didn’t have a clue and told me to watch it. Time progressed and there came a morning when I woke up and discovered my tongue and fingernails were a dark blue. I cried and thought my body was losing oxygen. I was admitted to the hospital and it took another week for the medical community to find out, sometimes this happens to people of color. So much for: information, technology, communication and continued education. I was then asked by my black oncologist if I would mind showing my blue parts to certain medical staff on the floor and I refused.

As Always Thank You For Stopping By ~ Talk To me

Renée 1

  1. As I was starting to move into research mode I was quite taken aback with the near absence of women of color in advertising, publications, stories. I can’t wrap my head around this. But you, dear woman, you seem to be a human rainbow!

  2. Just a small voice in this space and time, who wonders what her legacy will be ~

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