You don’t dress up to go to the ER.
Imagine this: A man strolls into the hospital's emergency room in the wee hours of the morning, looking flawless. He’s clean-shaven with his hair perfectly in place. He’s sporting a stylish tie and his choice of colors for his tie, dress shirt, and trousers are bold, yet sophisticated.
You can't help but notice his caramel-colored shoes, a perfect match with his belt. He wears a badge on a lanyard around his neck and a crisp white coat is casually draped over his arm. He exudes charm and finesse, standing out from others in the space. Watching him interact, you sense an air of confidence about him, coupled with an endearing politeness and a graceful poise.
Then, she catches your eye. Perhaps you didn't see her at first. She looks unkempt and disheveled, with mismatched clothes and messy hair. Her light skin has a sickly pale hue. She rushes about, seemingly unaware of her effect on others, completely absorbed in her urgent need to be in the ER.
The man in question, that’s my black husband. Whenever we've had to visit the emergency room, he's been exemplary, both in appearance and behavior. On the other hand, I, a white woman and the other person in this story, typically look and act like an emotional wreck during such visits, even if I'm not the one requiring medical attention. This is a glimpse into our life with one white partner and one black partner. It's an ongoing contrast in privilege.
The first time I witnessed my husband dress up for a trip to the ER, I was confused. I was in severe pain and wondered why he was putting on nice clothes for what would likely be hours of waiting in the emergency room. Over time, experience revealed the reason. Racism is why he does this.
This particular ER visit happened just after my partner landed his first job as a medical doctor. It was an early, frigid morning, the sun hadn't even peeked over the horizon yet. I was in my first year of graduate school. We were just about to leave for the day.
Since the previous night, I’d been experiencing back pain that radiated to my chest. As a new graduate student in a program where I was still trying to find my footing, I felt I couldn’t afford to miss a class. I didn’t want to discover the implications of missing a day's lecture.
I sat on our bed as he gathered his things. Attempting to stand, a sharp pain forced me back down with a wince. He was aware of my physical misery from the previous night. The new doctor, after a mere glance, knew we needed to alter our plans. After convincing me to skip class, we headed to the ER.
Before leaving, we both switched up our outfits, each with our own unique priorities. I traded my usual laid-back grad school wear for something even cozier, preparing myself for an extended stay in what might not be the comfiest of environments. On the flip side, he went with a more formal outfit, donning a neat button shirt, sleek pants, and a matching tie. He looked sharp, while I looked a mess.
Despite not needing them for work, he also wore his white coat and hospital badge. He was employed in the large hospital system where we sought treatment. His clothing choice wasn't based on speculation. He had personally witnessed how black men are treated here, and noticed how their treatment is often less favorable when they show up dressed casually instead of professionally. Dressing up, he found from his own experiences, can make things just a little bit easier for a black man.
My husband can’t leave his blackness at home. He understands that dressing well increases his chances of being treated with respect and encountering kindness. At the very least, it removes one potential barrier that might prevent others from recognizing his humanity. As a white person, I don't face these same challenges. It's clear that I navigate the world with more ease.
Each time I felt the first twinges of labor with our three children, when our two-year-old fractured his arm, and when our precious babies had bouts of croup, he followed this routine. Every single time we found ourselves needing to dash to the hospital, he took a moment to change into one of his best shirts, pants, shoes, and tie. Though it might seem like an unnecessary delay, this step saves us time and energy in the end.
Welcome to the day-to-day of our mixed race family in the US. We find ourselves constantly navigating the choppy waters of racism and inequity. The noticeable contrast of white privilege is ever-present too. They follow us, even in an emergency.
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