The Money Diaries: “The Clinic”

Money Diaries: “The Clinic”

“Don’t say a word when we get out of the car. Ok?”
Money looked over at her foster-mother and nodded without speaking.
“Just look down, and walk straight to the door.”
“Ok.” Money agreed as she opened the car door.
As soon as they cracked the doors to Money’s brand new Infiniti M 35 the protesters began to yell.
“Abortion is murder!” An angry curly-haired man yelled with hate in his eyes.
“Miss. We can help you.” A middle-aged chubby woman said softly. We can adopt your baby. Can you please speak to us.” Her voice was desperate.
Money put her head down as directed and followed her foster mom, Ms. Netta, straight to the doors of the yellow building.
“You’ll answer to God for what you do today!” The man spat. “You’re a murderer!”
Money glanced back briefly to shoot him a look that could kill, and then without saying a word; she blew the man a kiss, and walked into the building allowing the door to slam behind her.
“Do you need me to walk up with you?” Ms. Netta asked.
“No.” Money’s voice was normally low, but in public it was barely above a whisper. “I can check in myself.”
Ms. Netta found a seat, and Money made her way to the registration window at the front of the room. Outside, she could still hear the man yelling. The window to the waiting room faced the street that he was standing on, and he was yelling in.
“To the girl who thinks this is cute…. One day you will have to sit on the Judgment seat of Christ, and then what will you say to him? Will you blow him a kiss!” He was outraged!
Money smirked at his hateful ass.
“To hate is to Murder, Idiot.” She thought.
As if he had a right to judge her. He obviously had no idea how to rightly divide his word, but now was not the time to argue religion with him. She had come for an abortion, and his hateful words surely wouldn’t stop her.
“May I help you?” The woman at the front desk had a friendly face.
“Yes. I have an appointment at 10:15.” Money said looking down at her Movado watch. She was 5 minutes early.
“What’s your name, Honey?”
“Money.” Money answered softly.
“Money?” The woman looked up to see what kind of person could be named Money. The woman admired Money’s face for a moment, and then said, “May I see your I.D.?”
“Sure.” Money said as she pulled her I.D. out of her Michael Kors wallet.
“Thank you.” The woman said as she looked the I.D. over to see if her real name could be Money. She handed it back after studying it for a second.
“Ok, Money.” She said. “Please have a seat and fill out these papers. When you are finished please bring them to the front.”
Money took the clip board and made her way to the seat Ms. Netta had saved for her. Of course the seat was right in front of the window, but Money tuned the angry man out. Every now and then she could hear him shout something religious followed by something hateful, followed by…
“Me and my wife will adopt your child! Just don’t do it!”
After filling out the paperwork, and waiting a few minutes, Money was called to the back for an ultrasound. She noted that the nurse never offered to show her a picture of the baby she was carrying, and that was fine with her. If she saw it; she may have changed her mind. She knew that wasn’t an option, so when the ultra sound was finished she made her way back to the waiting room.
When she came back out; she noticed the waiting room had filled up. There were about six groups there. One was a beautiful Spanish girl who was no older than twenty-five. She was accompanied by her friend, and they were both tapping away at their cell phones.
In the corner sat a sixteen year old white girl, who was with her mother and her young-looking boyfriend who was laying all over her. The mother sat there looking lost. She didn’t look any older than thirty maybe thirty-two tops.
Across from them was another young girl. This one was black, but she was only fifteen. Money could hear the family whisper her age as they talked her into college and a career rather than a baby.
Money looked at the women on the other side of the room. Two were alone; one was with her mother who looked a little old to be her mother. All three were white women who looked a little older than twenty-five year old Money. One was definitely a junkie.
A short while later; Money was called back to a second waiting room to await blood work, and then counseling. In the room she waited with both of the younger girls; the junkie and the other white girls who had come alone. She noted every waiting room had a stash of free condoms.
They all sat awkwardly looking at magazines or phones. Money was the only one looking straight ahead with no expression. The young black girl never looked up. She scrolled down her twitter news feed the entire time. Her parents probably directed her not to say a word to anyone. Money didn’t blame them. An abortion waiting room was no time to hold confession with complete strangers.
The white girl who was alone was the first to speak.
“So is anyone here taking the pill?”
“The abortion pill?” The junkie asked.
“Yeah.” She said.
“No.” That was the young white girl. “My mom is making me get the surgery.”
Money carefully considered the girls words, and felt a sting in her heart. Her mom was making her.
The white girl who asked the question looked over at Money. “Are you taking the pill?”
Money shook her head slowly. “Nope.”
“I’m so nervous.” The young white girl said.
Money zoned in on the young girl. She normally never spoke to strangers in public without them addressing her first, but she couldn’t help it.
“Then why are you here?” Money asked. Her voice was still low.
“My boyfriend’s parents will kick him out if I keep it.” The girl said rubbing on her belly. “I want to keep it, but they won’t pay for college and they will cut him off.”
Money sighed, and then nodded as if she understood.
“Well. Make sure you are doing what’s right for you.” She said not wanting to preach. Who was she to tell someone how to live when she was sitting in the clinic for the same exact thing. The women went back to sitting quietly as they were called one by one to blood work and then counseling.
Money was the last to be called. She saw the young white girl crying as she made her way back out to the main waiting room from her counseling session. Somehow, Money was skipped over for counseling and was led back to the main waiting room to await the procedure; which was fine with her.
Back in the waiting room, there was a little bit of drama though. The waiting room was now packed. Mostly, there were white women of different ages, and one other black woman had come with her boyfriend.
“Ma’am. I haven’t seen your daughter, and you are not allowed back there. I’m sorry.” The friendly woman at the front desk was annoyed.
“Well, she has to be back there! She didn’t disappear!” This was the older woman with the other white girl who was a little older than Money.
Outside Money could hear the angry man say faintly, “Come out like this young woman here. She recognizes her wrong. She is a hero.”
“Ma’am. Please check out in the hallway. I asked the staff in the back if she is here, and they have not seen her.”
“I can’t believe this shit!” The woman was about to go off.
“Maybe she is outside.” The woman suggested.
“She wouldn’t go outside!” The woman yelled. “Plus I checked already!”
“She went out there.” Ms. Netta whispered to Money. “I saw her crying and she went out there to talk to that chubby lady. They probably want to take her baby, and they hid her.”
Ms. Netta was always extreme, but the girl probably was out there. Money shrugged and waited for her turn to go back to the room.
“Money.” The woman called when it was time.
Money handed her purse to Ms. Netta and walked slowly to the door.
“Money. What’s your last name?” The lady asked for security purposes.
“Jemison.” Money answered.
“Ok follow me this way.” The woman led her to a room down the small hallway and directed her to undress and wait to be seen.
“When I come back in. I will be with the doctor. He will turn on the machine. You will hear a humming sound. He will numb you, and you will feel a little pinch, and then you will feel some cramps. Shortly after, he will start the procedure and you may feel a tugging feeling. It will be over before you know it, and then you will have cramps. When we believe that you are ok to leave, you should be fine to drive if you need to.”
“Ok.” Money nodded and then took the white paper blank the woman gave her to place on her lap.
When the doctor came in; he said a quick hello, and went to work. The nurse talked Money through the entire procedure. When she felt the pinch from the shot to numb her, she clinched up.
“Relax.” The nurse said. “It’s ok… Tell me what you do for a living.”
“I own a mobile boutique.” Money answered through clenched teeth. The cramps had come.
“Wow. That’s neat.” The nurse said. “So, do you have to do a lot of traveling?”
“Yes. I travel mostly between New York, Baltimore and Philly.” Money answered. “Which is why I can’t have a baby right now.” She tried to explain herself.
“We all have our reasons, and we all know what’s best for ourselves the woman said.”
“Yes. Well, I didn’t mean to get pregnant.” Money felt the effects of the meds taking over because she was never one to tell her business to anyone; especially not a stranger. “I used a condom… I gave him one… he took it off when I wasn’t looking. I didn’t know ‘til it was over.” Money confessed.
“Well, Honey. He was wrong for that, and you may want to consider if he is the kind of person who you should allow in your future.”
Money was two steps ahead of her. “I changed my number the next day, and I will never speak to him again. I thought I could trust him.” Money shook her head. “But you can’t trust someone who has less than you, and nothing to lose.”
“All done.” The nurse said, interrupting Money’s thoughts.
“You talked your way right through that one.” The doctor finally spoke.
“How do you feel?” The nurse asked.
Money didn’t answer. She was too busy trying to stare at whatever it was the doctor was holding up in what looked like a small bag. She wished her eyes would focus in, but the meds had her feeling a little dizzy. Money had a feeling it was her baby, but she wouldn’t dare ask to see it.
She was led to the recovery room where she was once again sat beside the young white girl. The girl was quiet. She looked down as she ate the cookie the clinic had given her to feel better. Money never said anything else to her. There was no need. What was done, was already done.
When it was ok for her to go, Money and Ms. Netta made their way back to her car. Money handed Ms. Netta the keys and hopped into the passenger seat. She was relieved the protesters had packed up and gone home. They had gotten one, so they were fine she guessed.
Picking up her cell phone; Money “Googled”: 7 weeks pregnant… As soon as she read, “Hands and feet are emerging…” she quickly turned off her phone and threw it back into her Michael Kor’s bag. She reclined her seat, and closed her eyes for the ride home.

Who Hates Black People More?

Who Hates Black People More: Racist Whites or Other Blacks?

Go ahead and answer this question quickly if you want to. If you say racist whites; you should ponder that answer and look at some hard truths. Who is it that calls black people Nigger more? Yes, white people invented the word, but do you know who uses it more?
“Yo my nigga, what’s good?”
Now, please count in your mind, how many times you heard a white person call one of their kind honkey or cracker… Don’t worry, I’ll wait.
Here’s something else to think about. Have you ever been riding in the car, assuming that you are a black person, and seen one of your people ride up in an even nicer car beside you? What has your response been? I can promise at some point in your life (if you were in a hooptie) you hated on that person in the nice car. If a white man pulled up in that same car, it’s expected. If a black man pulls up in that brand new $60,000 whip it’s almost always a negative thought.
“He thinks he’s better than everyone. He ain’t nobody.”
“He probably can’t afford the payments anyway.” Or “Look at that drug dealer.”
Why can’t it be, he worked hard, saved his money, paid cash and he deserves nice things.” Or “I’m glad to see one of my kind representing us well. I will be glad when I get there.”
With the Trayvon Martin trial, I was so proud to see blacks coming together for a cause. I believe all of us felt the slap in the face from the justice system as that group of white women revealed to us how they felt about our black men. They didn’t believe that taking the life of a future black leader merited any time to be served in prison.
At first I was infuriated, but then I started thinking about the thousands of black on black murders committed in our cities. We kill each other all of the time with no remorse. You know what’s scarier? The thousands of witnesses that see these murders, but don’t tell what they saw. The old lady who saw the murder from her bedroom window, but is too afraid to tell; never considering that they are telling their community that the lives of the young men being taken aren’t worth taking the risk of telling.
I know that this is a controversial subject, and I am not saying that white people love blacks, but what I am saying is that they started the divide and conquer concept with blacks and now we are submitting to it as if Martin Luther King and Rosa Parks didn’t risk their lives for us to live better.
Slave masters sold the men off to other plantations, and men today are still leaving their families with no protection or covering that only he can give. Slave masters made the men fight and hate each other (Ya’ll saw Django) and we are still doing it today. Why are we submitting to this?
Let us stop being crabs in a basket. Let us stop hating the person who saves money by calling them stingy. Let us stop saying that every successful black person is a part of the illuminati. Maybe they worked hard to get where they are. Why does it have to be that they needed help from a group of rich white men rather than they followed their dreams, and achieved their goals?
Let’s start by loving ourselves. Love our black skin. Love our History. Love each other.
-Loyalty amongst Brothers

Teens and Weed: How Bad is It?

Jemison (Ny Giants)
Jemison (Ny Giants)
Teens and Weed: How bad is it?
While scrolling down any of the latest social network news feeds; it is not uncommon to come across a post that reads, “I love gettin’ high!” Or, “I smoke weed for breakfast.” What’s astonishing about these quotes is that most of them are posted by our future leaders; our fourteen, fifteen and sixteen year old children. Seeing these quotes makes one wonder how a teen could feel so comfortable posting such things about drugs when their friends or parents could be watching.
So when it comes to Teens and Weed: How bad is it?
Michael Jemison, The founder of the L.A.B. (Loyalty Amongst Brother’s) movement and also a former NFL player, agrees that this is a good question. When asked how much of an influence smoking weed had on him not playing in the NFL today; his answer is simple.
“Smoking weed didn’t take away any of my abilities to play ball. The drug never made me a weak player. It was the effects weed had on my life off of the field that caused problems.”
Michael started smoking weed at just thirteen years old, and became one of those people who woke up and smoked first thing in the morning. He will admit that smoking relaxed his mind and made him not care about the stresses of life as an athlete. The down side was in abusing the drug. Smoking all of the time made him “zombie- like” in that he was too laid back, and lazy.
While playing football professionally, Michael was tested and failed several urine tests which were positive for marijuana. He was placed on probation, but after more failed urine tests he was released which led to a series of bad decisions which ended in four years in a Pennsylvania State Prison.
“Was I addicted to the drug? Yes, looking back I can say that I was. I was addicted to not caring, and not stressing.”
When asked if he would smoke weed again he says that he really doesn’t see the point. He finds other ways to deal with stress; ways that don’t involve the consequences of smoking.
“I can’t sit here and bash every teen that smokes,” Michael says, “Because I was a teen who smoked, but I will say that in abusing marijuana I didn’t realize that the drug ended up using me.”
Theresa Glenn