My White Coat Feels Heavy

The Experience of a Black Medical Student in an Era of Police Brutality and Injustice

I woke up this morning ready to start the day. There’s a 74 degree sunny forecast for the beautiful Hope Valley neighborhood of Durham, NC. I predict I might hit the trail when I get done with clinic for the day. But who knows, this may just be ambitious thinking. I get dressed while some grits are cooking on the stove. The best part of this routine? Putting on the white coat. You know, the one that medical students proudly wore for the first time at the rite-of-passage white coat ceremony. It’s a moment no one forgets.

While eating, I pull out my phone to check the news. My heart skips a beat and my eyes swell up with tears. The story and video of George Floyd plays on my phone: A man from Minneapolis, MN was attempting to buy groceries with a counterfeit $20 bill. The police response to this non-violent crime resulted in an officer kneeling on George Floyd’s neck for 8 minutes and 46 seconds, killing him. George Floyd was 46 years old. He was handcuffed and pleaded for the ability to breathe. He was unarmed. He was Black.

It’s the moment when the bubbles of medical school and real life join one another. The former bubble is marked by tons of clinical exposure, state of the art research facilities, publications, conferences and awards. Throw in the low cost of living, great eateries and southern hospitality of Durham; and well, you’ve got yourself a winner! The latter bubble is responsible for my chronic levels of stress, fatigue, and the ongoing reminder that if caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, I too, could be the next news header. It’s with extreme difficulty that these two bubbles can be emulsified peacefully.

For the past four years, I’ve learned that you can easily spot out who the medical trainees are. It may be from our youthful appearing faces, steps with “extra pep”, or faces of confusion as we try to navigate the hallways and keep up with our medical teams. But one key of evidence tops them all; the bulkiness of “stuff” in the pockets of our short white coats.

But I believe my pockets are heavier than those of my non-minority counterparts. What’s sitting next to my Maxwell medical book are the stories of ancestral and present-day trauma within the Black community. The cries of Eric Garner’s last words rest alongside my stethoscope.[i] The desperate strides of Walter Scott press up against the soles of my feet when I’m standing in the OR.[ii] The sweaty imprints of Stephon Clark are visible when I pull out my cell phone to answer a page.[iii] The nervousness of Philando Castile sticks to my steering wheel when exit the parking garage after a shift.[iv] The adrenaline rush of Ahmaud Arbery fills my mind when I go for a jog every week.[v] The fear of Breonna Taylor fills my own safe haven that I call home.[vi]

My white coat does not simply serve as a symbol of knowledge, responsibility, optimism and hospitality. My white coat also serves as a pseudo-security blanket. Because somehow, society has made it hard for me to believe that a African-American, natural-headed Sista in lay clothes with an alto voice fits the immediate description of a physician. Little do people know, there are tears of sadness and frustration running through every seam of my white coat’s inner lining. This load is heavy to carry.

These stories, dash-cam videos and verdicts highlight the untimely deaths of African Americans, far too often. It’s the other pandemic that’s sending shock waves through my community, with residuals of hopelessness, disturbance and most dangerously, an ultimate acceptance of a “status quo”. However, one thing that I have (perhaps stubbornly) learned through my medical training thus far is this: I should not disassociate myself from the injustices that plague my community. In doing so, I run the risk of ignoring the social inequalities that will inevitably greet my patients after discharge. For it makes no difference if I pursue a career in primary care or that of a specialty. At the heart of my very being, I yearn for moments when I look in the eyes of Black patients, their families and friends with the hope that we will live in a world where stereotypes, stigmas, disparities of health, perceived threat and enacted violence will be no more. I yearn to provide a practice where the Black body is protected, advocated for and celebrated. And no matter how differently (or negligently) the world holds this same belief, we will not let such a conundrum defeat us. It is this hope that keeps me buoyed against the grim realities of our world.

In these dark moments of training, I call on leaders of medical education to voice authentic statements of empathy and assistance. It’s been approximately 25 days since Ahmaud Arbury’s case drew national attention, 16 days since Breonna Taylor was killed in her home, 4 days since Christian Cooper was threatened while bird watching in Central Park and 4 days since George Floyd was killed in police custody. Yet, many of my Brothers and Sisters, myself included, have yet to receive any condolences or statements of comfort from administration.

I hope that those who hold such offices would remind us of the mission of your institution and point out the clear contradictions that lie between your mission and the injustices at hand. Help us normalize lament and create a holding space for whatever emotions we may be feeling. Create concrete plans in which your administration will dedicate substantial levels of training to address the interpersonal and systemic manifestations of racism within your clinics, hospitals and research labs. Consider participation with local town hall meetings or partnership with national legal efforts to protect vulnerable populations. These non-exclusive recommendations are birthed out of the simple belief that if you think about the health of patients as being “in vacuum” to the hospital bed, you’ve neglected the most impactful components of their health and well-being. Let’s simply link our humanity with one another and act upon it.

Like many, I will one day take the official Hippocratic oath with one of the most poignant phrases to “do no harm”. I urge leaders and peers to reflect on the ways in which their words and actions seek to disregard the invariable dignity within all human beings. You may actually do harm when you minimize the pain of a Black patient, utter a micro aggression to a Black student, clutch your purse while walking next to a Black man or expect that a Black trainee will not be affected by such traumatizing events.

So, how do I press on? I press on despite chronic grieving. I press on with the unshakable faith and prayers of my family. I press on with the cast-iron home-cooked meals of my grandmothers. I press on with the help of my advisors who can only imagine what this unique experience must be like. I press on with the simple but inter-culturally “nod” among other minority students that fill my heart with a sense of visibility, acknowledgment and solidarity. I press on with marching. I press on with putting pen to paper. I press on with studying late at night in the library to perform well objectively, even if I will ultimately find myself staring at a wall or feeling numb with emotion. I press on with speaking out when it neither easy or convenient. I press on with mentorship for the next group of minority medical students. I press on with God.

In the meantime, I will anxiously run over to the student bunker, take off the white coat, grab a cup of coffee and peer at the phone screen for updates about the growing list of racial tragedies that seek resolution. I wait in anticipation for justice, in hope that it’s not excessive optimism.

Kirsten Simmons is a 4th year medical student at Duke University School of Medicine. She is also completing a Master’s of Theological Studies at Duke University Divinity School as a Theology Medicine and Culture Fellow.

[i] Baker Al, et al. “Beyond the Chokehold: The Path to Eric Garner’s Death.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 13 June 2015, www.nytimes.com/2015/06/14/nyregion/eric-garner-police-chokehold-staten-island.html.

[ii] Blinder, Alan, and Chris Dixon. “Michael Slager, Officer in Walter Scott Shooting, Gets 20-Year Sentence.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 7 Dec. 2017, www.nytimes.com/2017/12/07/us/michael-slager-sentence-walter-scott.html.

[iii] Del Real, Jose A. “No Charges in Sacramento Police Shooting of Stephon Clark.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 2 Mar. 2019, www.nytimes.com/2019/03/02/us/stephon-clark-police-shooting-sacramento.html.

[iv] Smith, Mitch. “Minnesota Officer Acquitted in Killing of Philando Castile.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 16 June 2017, www.nytimes.com/2017/06/16/us/police-shooting-trial-philando-castile.html.

[v] Fausset, Richard, et al. “Ahmaud Arbery Shooting: A Timeline of the Case.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 8 May 2020, www.nytimes.com/article/ahmaud-arbery-timeline.html?auth=login-google.

[vi] Andrew, Scottie. “The FBI Has Opened an Investigation into the Shooting Death of Kentucky EMT Breonna Taylor.” CNN, Cable News Network, 21 May 2020, www.cnn.com/2020/05/21/us/breonna-taylor-death-police-changes-trnd/index.html.