On Friday, I experienced chest pains at work. I was sitting in my office (fake) working when, all of a sudden, it felt like the physical manifestation of a heatbreak. I lost feeling in my left arm and both of my hands. In true Black male fashion, I said that I was going to shake it off and drink some ginger ale. My director caught wind of me describing my symptoms to a coworker, and she called 9-1-1.

I was rushed to the hospital and I was pissed about it. The whole ride I kept thinking, “Nigga, you can’t die today. Do you know how many ribs you are missing for this bullshit?” Clearly, I have an issue with priorities (no I don’t.)

They did all of these tests and all I could hear was the cash register sound thinking about how much all of this is going to cost, even though I’ve been blessed with pretty decent insurance.

I was seen by a bunch of nurses and doctors. In between I did what any other millennial does while they’re waiting for anything: I took selfies.

A nurse walked in and asked me for my insurance information and medical history and all the standard questions you hate answering.

“Who’s your emergency contact?”

I drew a blank.

I have friends, a family network, that I’ve created for myself since the age of 18. As we’ve gotten older, they have their own families and I…I don’t.

I gave her my play aunt’s information and my eyes began to fill with water. The nurse left and said she was going to check on me in an hour.

At this stage, companionship is more important to me than it ever has been. I’ll admit, growing up as an only child conditioned me to be rather selfish and not “check-in” with others as I should and ought. It’s a difficult thing to break out of, but I’m working on it. In any event, who is the person I turn to for medical emergencies? Who contacts my family when I’m called home?

I often see people who are in their 30s, or even younger, dating people and it seems as though their settling from the outside looking in. And, perhaps I have it wrong. Maybe they aren’t settling, maybe it’s this idea that if you peel back all the bullshit, there’s someone who legitimately gives a fuck about you — companionship.

I got out of the hospital around 3.

I got ribs when I left.

3 Comments

  1. Semhar May 25, 2015 at 4:15 pm

    I worry about this all the time! Outside of my mom, may she live forever, who will I call? That is a really sobering question.

    Reply
  2. unicorn May 26, 2015 at 12:38 am

    Great post, as usual. Can totally relate to feeling that a lot of my peers “settle”. Hmm…maybe not. Glad to hear you’re doing well, andddd you got your ribs!

    Reply
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