Karen, the Emergency Room, and Choice.

Knowing I was serious, the team looked downtrodden the attending looking down, deep in thought. The other two gentlemen couldn’t even look at me, as what I can only imagine as a profound sense of shame started to slowly creep through their own bodies. They just froze. Everything changed from that moment.

So, I went on, can you please give me a moment to speak with her?

The residents proceeded to oblige her demands to have her IV removed.

Before I could even get one word, out, Karen started flipping out again, put on her clothes over her gown, and was out the door. Slight limp to her gait, from all the gunshots to her legs.

Lucky, kids, heal so fast, is what I’d like to think I thought, but I had no idea what was going on.

The fire stoked again inside Karen, and she was out the door, her mind blind with anger. What was going on in her mind was all the anxiety of a normal teenager, tossed in with monikers “the girl who got shot,” and now someone, anyone, listening to her only because she was “that poor girl.” She hated that sort of thing. As anyone would. Especially a teenager, whose sole concern was to fit in, be "normal."

I didn’t see what all happened or where she went, but you could hear a muffled commotion. As we approached the front desk of the ER, the door leading to the waiting room blasted open, to Karen’s shouts like a sonic boom which flung a nurse through who was fully sobbing, crying that she did not deserve this kind of abuse first thing in the morning. The muffled roar returned slowly once again as the hydraulic door slowly shut behind her. The door could not have closed any slower, to justify this poor nurse’s reaction to the verbal assault she just received.

I don’t recall being embarrassed. I just really feared “psych and security.” I’d seen it before. That’s traumatic, especially to a kid like her. I was trying to take in the situation and make sense of it. Yet, the responsibility also seemed to fall on me as they were informing me of all the consequences she was about to face and they were not going to give much time as she was on the pediatric side of the ER, with children all over the place. Why couldn’t I stay the guy they kicked out of the room and kept my mouth shut? It was all such a mess not having a parent or trusted guardian around.

So this is Hurricane Karen. Moving westbound inside one of the nation’s best university hospitals, leaving a trail of destruction

At some point, Karen was finally detained by security at the front desk. It was the natural thing to do. If you wanted to immediately ruin your morning. It also had the effect of escalating the fury of fight that was in her that now people, grown men in particular, had put their hands on her.

F4 to F5. Seek shelter. DEFCON, whatever. Sound the alarms.

So as they brought her back into the ER, a nurse weeping being consoled in the background, others telling me that they cannot have this and will have to do something as there are children in the ER and in the waiting room hearing the machine gun cadence of curse words and empty, though terrify threats.

The attending was informing me about Karen’s condition and what they were suspecting was causing her pain. I appreciated that she didn’t hold back and nerded out with me for a moment. I used to love that world. She made sure that I understood the consequences. I did. The words, psych, sedation and security were being tossed around as if that was the only way to handle this situation. I agreed. I was also in complete shock.

Though, I dug deep and remembered that I’ve had to deal with this type of situation involving explosive temperaments in my days at the shelter.

Rather than go toe to toe with her, I couldn’t do anything but to be compassionate. I mean what do you do in this situation? The kid has way more life experience than I do. Too much for any person. All I’d known of this kid, was of her being a really sweet person who is a victim of her circumstances. Another complete loser in life’s lottery. Though a possible winner with attention to nurturing her many talents. Which they were not at all.

She had to catch her breath at some point. So I took the opportunity in the lull of this thoughtful dialog, to speak.

“Karen. Language. Please.”

And I guess, I must have been a sad sight, painfully hobbling around on an old set of crutches, my face covered in sleep probably with a coupla bats in the cave. To where I seemed to have calmed her down.

“Will you calm down, if they release you to stand by me, while we sort this all out?”

She agreed, and ran behind me, placing me between her and everyone else. Kids.

Then she started up again, but now much calmer, but still yelling.

“I want to get out of here.” Over and over again. Hitting her hand, and then her phone against the table.”

I took the opportunity again.

“Don’t do that. You love that thing.”

It was a nice brand new phone. She’s a teen. She loves her phone.

And I tried what I could to speak to her. I tried to explain to her. I even pointed at all the people she accosted, saying it wasn’t her fault, her fault, his fault, or her fault. Each of the dozen or so people who stood in the wake of Karen’s destructive path.

In the background to all this, there was now a serious effort to establish guardianship, because the staff was still genuinely concerned for her and wanted to proceed with providing her care, even if it required security holding her down, and then medicating her to a compliant or knocked out state. Similar to small children and their shots. Sometimes the kids go absolutely nuts. There was some issue, as she was technically under State guardianship, and they called DCFS who gave them permission to proceed with the doctor’s orders. They even called her mother, which further infuriated Karen. Then, Karen called her mentor, who audibly and fairly aggressively took Karen’s side. Which only made things only more confusing and worse. That brand new phone had quite the speaker on it.

Who even was this mentor? What was her relation to Karen that her opinion even mattered? Why wasn’t DCFS telling her to go away, and taking full authority. Still, the mentor, was so assertive, even through a speakerphone, that you couldn’t deny her authority, whatever it was. It was the mentor by the way, who bought her the phone.

It still frustrated the situation. Who had authority over this child and her body?

This inflated Karen’s sense of judgement and being in the right to where she started up again. With the cursing and yelling. All the while in the background, the staff was beyond annoyed, and I was losing my patience fear the worst.

So I finally just agreed with her.

“Yes. You’re right. Fuck this Place.”

The look on Karen’s face. I will never forget. Almost made it worth the whole experience. The complete change in attitude was also drastic. Actually from what I recall, there were many a mouths dropped.

I immediately, threw my head back towards the staff, and said, that I personally loved this particular university, magnificent campus and I used to regularly drop of my samples there (during my stint as a lab rat at a neighboring university). I don’t think the staff caught on to the second part of that.

Karen’s shift in demeanor was so drastic and noticeable. So I jumped on the opening, and asked Karen, if I could please ask the doctors if I could speak with her myself, would she follow along.

The attending just nodded anxiously. And we went back into the room, and I closed the door, leaving it just slightly open so she didn’t feel trapped.

In EMT school, we were taught to go down, take a knee, when it came to kids, as you wanted to be on their level as you did not want to be intimidating. Why not try this with Karen.

I painfully squatted on to the floor, at first trying to take a knee, but hips cracking and my knee wailing, I chose the option to sit on god knows what mixture of unholy germs from every different bodily fluid my mind could conjure splashing on that floor. Karen comfortably sitting on the gurney, this time looming over me like the Godfather at his large ornate desk awaiting the favor you are about to sell your soul for.

We spoke for at least half an hour if not more. It was pretty important as the pain which brought us to the emergency room, was not just at the site of one of her wounds, but it was also where her appendix was located. From the level of pain she was experiencing, or experienced, she could be experiencing appendicitis. The doctor’s reduced their wishes to a single x-ray to rule this out. She might be feeling better now because of the medication, but complicated with her previous surgeries, this could result in some sort of nightmare scenario.

I explained everything to her in full detail, as you would an adult. Maybe going a little overboard, but I like nerding out on kids. It’s kind of funny to me, and I guess that’s how I relate to kids through education or educational experiences. I also read that if you want kids to act like adults, to treat them like adults. Speak to them like they are adults.

Despite my best efforts and what seemed to exhaust all option of an actual dialog with Karen. She still refused, and wanted to get the heck out.

I was obviously frustrated, having given my best effort. So I just kind of let her have it and said. “You are very stubborn. I hope you use that stubbornness for something good one day, fighting for justice, peace and love.” And then I just gave in. I asked her to just remain calm, while I go hash this out with the doctors.

I told the doctors more about my background and that I would take the responsibility of watching over her. We had a back and forth, and I argued that it had been a while since she had any medication and so she should be feeling some pain. So we decided to wait it out for another hour, where we could then leave. Upon which I would watch her like a hawk, and would immediately call 911 if there was even the slightest hint of pain.

As we left, Karen, way ahead of me, already waiting for me outside of the entrance to the hospital by the time I got out of the room, I asked the staff to just let me know if they were going to call the police on us, as I’ve had a rough day and just wanted to be a little prepared if I had to deal with another interrogation or just to call the police now. They said they use their discretion in those matters as they do not want to deter anyone from coming to the emergency room.

Though they denied calling the police, thinking about it just right now as I am writing the first draft of this, there was a squad car and a couple officers hanging around an abandoned building directly in our path. It was unclear what they were up to as they even asked us if we had called in some odd call to that address when we finally crossed paths with them. Then they asked if we were okay and if we needed any assistance. I really appreciated that either way. Not the best of neighborhoods. Karen was having none of it.

A 15 minute walk according to Master Google, took nearly 2 hours. But that was my bad, being an old sack of broken bones. It was incredibly hot and humid as well. Though we did get to walk through a nice section of the campus. I got to tell her a little bit about the history of the school. And the rest was actually a good memory, with this whole bad “dad jokes” that I seem full of in an awkward spot, and eye-rolling kid reciprocation along our way. I thought it was great! I also got to hear more about her story. How she grew up near this area, and I was given the opportunity to hear a child’s perspective of the decrepit areas she was referring to. All I could do was to make stupid “dad” jokes, to keep me from crying.

I told her that I was proud of her for sticking up for herself, as I wish I’d done the same, as I wouldn’t have been so badly injured if I had stood up to authority and a broken medical system had I done the same. But, yeah, she kind of deserves the pass, or actually deserves the pass. That’s something you earn, and is not just given out. Plus she knew her body. This is what I relied on as well, when I initially evaluated her condition. I asked her, “you know the difference in the pains you are having?” I guess because I know the difference in the pains that I am having and no one friggin listens to me. Until I finally met some excellent doctors. A very rare breed. You have no idea. Or maybe you do.

What is missing in this picture, is the perspective from little Karen, who is nearly or actually an adult by now. I sigh as I say that, hoping for the best. Also missing is Lisa’s perspective as a CNA working with Karen at the rehabilitation center.

You see, this is not the first time this has happened. Lisa actually lost her job she was so proud of because of this. It was the best job she ever had, at one of the most modern facilities in healthcare.

Sexual assault, rape, and trafficking is more common than you would imagine among young African American women. Their numbers are significantly high, I’ve seen anywhere from 20-66% depending on the source, year and location. Which unfortunately makes sense, for any historically oppressed and disenfranchised group of people. Who in particular fear the very law enforcement that could actually help them. So I would reckon, there isn’t a lot of reporting.

I actually watched a documentary called Dreamcatchers (2015), named after Chicago’s very own Dreamcatcher’s Foundation, which won some awards at Sundance. It took me perhaps at least a dozen attempts to watch it, as it very difficult to watch. But this was also after my experience working and taking on leadership at a local homeless shelter, the second largest in Chicago at the time. I wanted to give it my best effort and even now really want to at least expose myself to these issues and perspectives that affect people’s lives that I inadvertently am completely intertwined with. Karen and I actually bonded over this, as she has met and received some mentoring by the Dreamcatcher’s Foundation principle organizer and leader Ms. Brenda Myers-Powell. Strange, how me watching some obscure and very depressing documentary years ago helped me to bond with this kid.

So at this other facility, the same thing would happen. The team of doctors and nurse (males among them) would barge into Karen’s room, first thing in the morning, flipping on the lights, and going through their caffeine fueled, ego boosted routine. And Karen would flip out.

The staff at both world renowned facilities were staffed mostly by European Americans, who have no idea of the cultural differences between the African- and European- American communities, nor the vast differences in socioeconomic status, which put healthcare provider and patient worlds apart, though they probably only lived mere miles apart.

Karen, would throw a fit, and they would get psych and security in there to sedate her, and then manage her healthcare and rehab. I know from my own experience volunteering many, many moons ago at a busy urban emergency room, that it is understood by the staff, that if a young kid is shot, that they may not be as innocent a victim as they appear. That’s the end of that one sided perspective.

First, Karen’s experience of incest-rape, and then just straight up rape and trafficking, is none of anyone’s business. Is she supposed to introduce herself as that? Then there is the blindness because of the completely different lives most European Americans and African Americans live and experience in this country.

No one ever asked her what her issues were. They were just telling her what they were going to do. They were just doing their jobs. But it was aggressive, seriously lacking compassion. On the other hand, they demonstrated extreme compassion because they wanted to ensure the health and safety of this 15 year old kid. There has to be a balance. It also can’t be so different between doctors. There has to be a standard of professionalism.

Imagine that. Going through all that she’d been through, a group of essentially aliens, not a single familiar or compassionate face among them, led typically by a man, storming into your room, barking orders at you. While poor little Karen, all shot up, is having some flashback that is profoundly ingrained in her from a very sacred part of her youth and development that was trampled on like a muddy floor mat.

Lisa, was just one of few African Americans on staff, she felt compassion for this miserable, broken, tiny creature, and actually listened to her. Now, Lisa is also street smart, and is no sap, but everything seemed to confirm Karen’s story. And Lisa has the perspective, where she has intimate knowledge of such garbage that the poor just come to accept as their reality.

Even with such organizations such as the Dreamcatchers Foundation. No one in power cares to address these issues. They don’t even have an experience from which to draw perspective from. It’s just another sad, tragic victim of the hood. Not even just another name. But another nameless statistic.

Lisa went above and beyond, becoming a thorn in the side of people who could care less for the lack of understanding and for the lack of the desire to understand. It’s just easy to label someone like Karen as a problem child, “who probably did something to get shot” in the first place. That is way easier to understand, than really getting what is going on in Karen’s life that extends all the way to the African American community, from historical oppression, from the day they set foot on American soil, to now, the lack of trust between the police who are meant to protect them, the laws that are jaw-dropping light on sexual assault and rape, and the institutions and bureaucrats including politicians who are meant to bring on much needed change.

Lisa was eventually fired from her job at that facility as she was a problem. I would love to get my hands on the document of her employment termination as they really stretch an obscure policy to fire her. It’s not just that they fired a firebrand, seeing her as an agitator, they lost someone who has the ability to connect with disenfranchised groups. Someone who such a renowned institution should want to have, if they want to stay the best.

Medicine is broken like that. Just because they are the best, does not mean there is still an unlimited ceiling for growth. And then, the best for who? Was it really the only option to traumatize this girl and then on top of that call psych and security on her, over and over again? When you could have just knocked gently. Had a female health professional gently wake her, and get her day going smoothly, gently, with a smidgen of compassion? They could have also simply asked Lisa what was going on. I did not fully believe or understand this sort of thing myself, until I saw it firsthand.

I really came to care a lot about Karen. How could you not. As we went through a pretty rough process of becoming DCFS guardians to her, getting grilled to the point where I thought we were all going to jail for not betraying a kid’s trust who was seeking shelter. The basic needs of any individual. Safe housing, food, clothing. A friggin shower for crying out loud. Love and attention, so she could just be a kid for once and not have to be the adult she was forced to grow so quickly into. Away from the cold sterile, heartless “systems” that only saw her as a liability and not as a fucking kid.

Though, I give a lot of credit to at least the DCFS guardian she was working with. It is a thankless job, and she took a lot of crap, kind of for no reason. She was just following the book, and doing what really was the right thing for the kid, without having to be a parent for the kid. Her mentor, was also truly awesome. I was a bit surprised when I finally met her, small stature, warmth beaming from her face and just had a genuine good-nature about her, which is so rare.

As she inspected me for the first time, she had that look, I am all too familiar with by now. It is not a single look per se, rather a dynamic expression on the face shifting from confusion to acceptance. Something like, “what the heck?” To, “okay, I guess I’ve seen it all now.” As for me, I have no clue either. Sometimes, all of these experiences seem to culminate and not only do I want deeper understanding, but I want what is going on to stop. I want it to change. How can anyone justify this?

Though unfortunately in the end, the deck was just stacked way too high for Karen, and this stupid TicTok, social media bs, just feeding into the worst of our nature, especially for a child. We eventually lost her.

I was so proud to send her off on her first day of high school. I wish I could have walked to her to school, just a 15 minute walk away, but around a 3-4 hour round trip for me. I should have just done it. I reckon if it was my kid, I’d have made the sacrifice. The guilt is not just in my head, but I feel the failure in my whole body. She disappeared once it was discovered she didn’t ever make it to school. But understandably so, she even told me, that she didn’t want to be “that girl” who got all shot up. Plus, from all the school she missed, she would have been entering as a 15 year old freshman. Not bad, but on the older end. Just more unwanted attention.

I all but begged DCFS not to make going to the first day of school the sole priority. She hadn’t even settled down yet in our home. She was starting to. Finding her place in our odd little family/friend unit there. I had extensive experience as a tutor and promised I would catch her up while also teaching her the value of self-study. Her mother was holding onto her school uniforms until the very last minute as some sort of power play, because at this level in life, the kid is more worth her value in the financial support they get from the government, rather than as a fucking human life. But the kid need school uniforms, and no one had any money. The money was already been doled out to the one person Karen did not trust who was a part of all this drama. Karen didn't even have her school clothes until the very last minute. That's how unprepared we were. I can only imagine Karen's level of anxiety.

We were not ready for school. Boots on the ground, even I could see, this is not the way you take school, your education. The true and only “great equalizer” in society according to President Obama. The thing I value so much, and put so much of my life’s effort into. I even asked the DCFS case worker, if that statistic of making it to the first day of school being associated with higher graduation rates was a direct or correlative association. She was uncertain. But all of the emphasis was, for better or worse, get her to school the first day of school. Not on her, and her needs.

Eventually, Karen put up a façade, that I see a lot in the African American community, mere words and no action, saying, “I gotta go to school.” And a tough façade, she put on a dedicated face.

She ended up running away from us, to hang out with two boys she met on TikTok and on her way to school.

I had to leave as my physical situation was deteriorating. And I tried to reach out to Karen, just trying to tell her to try and enjoy being a kid and to love herself.

The last message I got from her was,

“I was just ganged raped the other day I just got out the hospital this morning”

“So I really don’t care about any of that anymore”

As I was speaking to the doctors in the Emergency Room about Karen’s situation that day. The reaction from the doctors was bringing them back down to a true sympathetic nature. They were standing there arguing with a 15 year old. The actual words coming out of their mouths were, “you don’t have any control over your own body.”

To a kid like Karen.

And the guilt that came over them. The men in particular, educated, probably have highly educated and strong girlfriends, fiancés, or wives, and consider themselves to be liberal in supporting women’s rights, even feminists or egalitarians. The female attending, probably for the first time hearing and questioning the way she should approach issues like this as she is definitely a symbol of women’s rights and achievement. Probably the first time she was called all sorts of curse words too.

Why do we expect the most from those who have the least?

I would love to see any of the vast number of people who I know and see and unfortunately have to see on the news or read about, who are against body freedom, reproductive freedom. Some of them are actually very good people, just completely misguided and have no more than one perspective on this matter.

I would love to see anyone, from your sell out politician, bigot media host, your adamant religious who seeks to be the very living definition of compassion, Jan6 terrorist, any pro-life protester to straight up pro-life murdering terrorist, come down and force someone like Karen to have her incest-rape baby. That’d be one for a Vegas octagon showdown. As for me, my money's on Karen. She would rip their faces off. I would too.

For me, as I completely spontaneously uttered those words, “I don’t think telling a girl like Karen (with all that she’s been through) that she has no control over her body is the right way to go about this,” I knew, that I was not just Pro-Choice, but beyond that. Pro-Love.

You don’t just bring life into this world. You take care of it. All of it. Society is not your Sunday's best. It's all the rest of the days and the rest of your ways.

*This story is entirely a work of fiction.