Heroes All Around Us

“Of all the forms of inequality, injustice in health care is the most shocking and inhumane.”
—Martin Luther King Jr.

Living in Chicago, Illinois, one of the cities and states with the highest number of confirmed COVID-19 cases and deaths, I find it painful to watch vulnerable populations fall victim to this virus in large numbers. Social determinants of health like poverty, lack of education, access to consistent healthcare, and violence in the community have existed here and in large cities across the country for decades—a perfect storm for a pandemic to have its way with those most at risk. COVID-19 has exposed our inability to work together in healthcare and in government to create programs, practices, and policies that address the needs of every person. The inordinate disparity in the deaths of Black and brown people due to this virus is something all of us should be outraged by. The social unrest that has exploded across the country during quarantine is not surprising and perhaps long overdue.

We often only see or hear pieces of the full picture, especially when it comes to the news. We’ve strayed far from the objective journalism taught during my undergraduate education. Every news station now has its own bias and agenda, so I was grateful when a Chicago reporter walking alongside protesters during the first few days of the riots shutting down our streets in May noticed a 25-year-old Black man anxious to share his thoughts. The reporter begged him to “keep it clean on air,” and the man said: “When I was eight years old, the police told me I wouldn’t make it to eighteen. I’m twenty-five. To that police officer, I say: fuck you!” As the reporter apologized to viewers, all I could think of was how badly that 25-year-old deserved an apology. I wondered who the police officer was 17 years earlier, and if he or she realized the impact those words had on this man, and many others who have heard the same life-limiting prediction.

It is sad irony that George Floyd’s last words were “I can’t breathe” during a pandemic that overtakes the body’s ability to breathe. COVID-19 has become an equalizer, taking the lives of over 140,000 Americans and pointing out how similar our basic human needs remain: to breathe, to live, to love, to feel safe, to have purpose. Every person needs to be heard. I heard that 25-year-old man from the streets of Chicago on the evening of May 31st. I heard anger but also triumph in his voice. Having only a minute snapshot of his life, I too built a narrative of who he was and is, and choose to picture the 8-year-old boy who survived many hardships to protest that night.

The theme for this issue is Heroes, in parallel with an open call for any health-related story. We added a special COVID section to document stories of the pandemic mid–publication cycle because our team felt a duty to honor these stories. There is heroism contained within every story in this issue; every contributor providing a hopeful example that we can overcome most anything we are forced to endure. Begin in the creative nonfiction by reading the poetic prose and resilience of emerging writer Rachel Stone in Thank My Lucky Scars. Feel the refined anger of rising fourth-year medical student and aspiring ER physician Brenda Arthur in Exhaustion. Brenda writes of bearing witness to the microaggressions experienced by her superhero father, an ER physician in New York City who triumphed over COVID-19 himself.

In the poetry section, read A Resident’s Obligation by Ajibike Lapite, a pediatrics resident, who reflects on how she and her colleagues view their once idyllic career choice before, during, and after COVID-19 took charge in emergency departments throughout the country. Hear Catherine Klatzker, a retired ICU nurse, read her poem View out My Window telling of the comfort nurses across the country are providing patients dying alone in ICUs. And retired rancher Liz Betz’s flash fiction piece, What She Wears, tells of the internal demons released when caring for a parent dying of dementia.

This issue also includes three short films, one by Italian filmmaker Daniela Lucato, who captures the increase in domestic violence associated with the quarantine in My Name Is Sami. And be certain to watch Empty America, the trailer for a longer work by producer Barry Walton, who, when his commercial work came to a halt with the rest of our economy mid-March, took his camera on the road from Detroit to Chicago to LA to New York, capturing our nation’s silent streets visually.

Those in publishing know putting this all together is a team sport. We had to say goodbye to Grace Jasmine, a wonderful member of our editorial team who is in pursuit of multiple writing projects. We wish her the best success and are grateful to have had her heart, soul, and talent with us for the time we did. To help complete this issue, Mark Larks, an MFA student, and Kat Kiefer-Newman, a previous contributor and UCR-Palm Desert MFA colleague, both selflessly stepped in to help edit our COVID nonfiction section during one of the most challenging times in all our lives. They are also true heroes to me.

Healing our nation is going to require more than a vaccine. It will require that every one of us look deep into our hearts and ask: Where do my biases lie? This question is so important, we made Bias the theme for our winter issue. Related, how can I hear what others are saying without judgement? And, how might I better contribute to the solutions needed for the future? The saying going around that we’re “all in the same storm but different boats” couldn’t be further from the truth, in my opinion. We’re all in the same boat, and it’s sinking. Everyone has to start working together to right the ship.

Will the story of 2020 end in further tragedy or great triumph? I’d like to believe the latter, but Martin Luther King Jr. and many others lost their lives fighting for social justice that has yet to be realized. I’d like to believe the expanding conversation among healthcare leaders on unconscious bias and systemic racism is permanent, the only end goal true health equity. I remain cautiously optimistic and committed to elevating these stories here at Please See Me and at the Center for Healthcare Narratives, both supported by our sponsor organization, MedStar Institute for Quality & Safety. And finally, it’s with deep gratitude that we announce the Maryland Humanities has awarded us our first grant, which will help us support writers and artist through our summer 2021 issue!

In peace and renewed health—

Tracy Granzyk

Tracy Granzyk is the editor in chief of Please See Me.