Match My Hustle...

Ok. Time got away from me.

But consider this my holiday blog entry. Hope it holds you over until the New Year.

Before I go there, though,  I have a couple of things I need to get of my chest.

#1 F*** Publix

I wrote a letter to the Publix Foundation asking them for a donation so that we could put on a holiday dinner for my patients at the shelter. You know? Just to give them a respite from that grool that they get served everyday.

So a couple of weeks ago, I get a letter from their corporate headquarters telling me that due to the overwhelming requests that they had received just like mine, they would not be able to honor my request.

Cool. That much I can understand. But the letter goes on to say that my request also fell out the Foundation's funding priorities which are education and...

Wait for it....

The plight of the homeless and hungry...

Well damn. I didn't know it had gotten that hard out here in deez screets.

How homeless and hungry do you have to be, to be considered homeless and hungry??

#2  Jacking holiday decorations seems to be the new millenium hustle. The problem is that I can't see where it could be very lucrative. Plus, (and my faithful blog readers will say it with me) ain't nobody got time for that.  The time it took you to take all those lights and wreaths down could have been spent ringing a Salvation Army bell outside Wal-Mart for $8.00 an hour. And the plastic Black Baby Jesus you kidnapped out of his manger? I mean, why? WHY?!!!

Ahh. I feel much better.


But my real purpose for this entry is a little different than usual.

Its not so much about my patients.

Its more about my patience. And how its been tried by folks saying what they can't do and what they aren't supposed to do.

I want to take you back to April 11, 2012, Day 1 of the homeless clinic operation.

It was me and KB in one room the size of bathroom with 17 patients lined up in 3 foot wide hall waiting to be seen. We worked 14 hours that day. We scheduled the patients. Checked them in. Took their vitals. Charted their health histories. Ordered their medications. Picked their medications up. Delivered their medications . We picked up our own supplies. Stocked our own exam room. Cleaned our own exam rooms. Did our own referrals. Drew our own labs. Took our own labs out for courier. Called our own patients to give them lab results. Drove our own cars. Burned our own gas.

We went home that night and did it all over again...everyday for the next few weeks.

Just the 2 of us.

And we did it gladly.

Because someone had trusted us enough to give us the opportunity to build a thing from scratch. This was our baby. From the cradle to whatever grave it might eventually end up buried in if we failed, it was our baby.

So you have to excuse me if I become indignant and even a bit belligerent, when I hear someone say, "I can't do that."

Or "I don't do that."

Or "That's so-and-so's job."

Please excuse my over-inflated ego if I am offended to hear you say that a thing can't be done because it would require an extra bit of work on your part.

I voluntarily sacrificed a cushy role as a traditional healthcare provider, in an over-staffed, well-equipped office to run what some people would consider a losing race.

I'm in it up to my eyeballs. Bathing in it. Reeking of it at the end of a long day. Brainwashed. Sprung off it. Its cool, though.

Because I'm clear on what I'm doing here.
But I understand that you may not be.

So I give you permission to avoid the mistakes I made on the way to having this life consume me.

Don't fall in love with it.


Dismiss the idea that you might find your purpose in it.

Resist the urge to let its potential overwhelm you with hope.

But do me this one solid while you pass through here:

Understand what it means to so many others and respect it enough to always match my hustle....


You see, I consider myself to be an artist.

So I'm sensitive about my shit.

This message is meant for who this message will reach....
Towanna