Black folks don't talk about our health; we need to

I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis shortly after the deaths of my father and sister. For the next three years, I suffered in silence.

My experience taught me two things: ❚ We are healthier when we talk about our health.

❚ Integrating physical and behavioral health care is a lifesaver.

Other than my mother, no one in our family knew my father had heart disease until he was lying on the floor, dead. We knew my sister had asthma, but we had no idea how serious it was. In the black community, we just don’t talk about such things.

To have your father and sister die within weeks of each other is a tremendous blow. My grief was deep. As I experienced depression, suicidal thoughts and wild mood swings over the next three years, I assumed it was my endless grief.

And then, in a small group at an MS event, I blurted out that I thought I was losing my mind. Another woman asked what medication I took.

Shortly after I was diagnosed, my doctor prescribed one of the commonly used drugs for MS. I asked no questions, and she didn’t say anything about potential side effects. I never drew a connection, and I never asked. I stayed silent, as I was taught to do.

But when I told this woman I’d just met what I was taking, she said, “That’s why you’re losing your mind. Those are the side effects of that medicine. It happened to me, too.”

I finally told my doctor, and she changed my prescription. I began seeing a therapist (another thing my community frowns on). I began feeling better. I am a stronger person now that I am taking care of both my physical and mental health.

Now, many years later, I work for one of the state’s trailblazers in promoting integrated care through clinics that provide physical and behavioral health care side by side. Like me, many people aren’t comfortable talking to their doctor about their mental health, so in these clinics we can immediately visit with another professional. Outcomes are better.

I constantly preach the importance of talking about your health. My background is in the African American community, but I know the same traditions against discussing such things exist in other cultures. It is a barrier that serves us poorly.

Sharing is healing. With everything I share, I am more empowered. Consider how much better those three years after my diagnosis would have been if I had told my doctor or anyone else how miserable I was. I could have returned to being a joyful person much more quickly.

There’s more to it. Looking at me, you wouldn’t know I have MS. Not every disability is obvious from the outside, so it’s easy to assume nothing is wrong with me. It is, and I have learned that everyone with a disability must find a way to cope. It’s hard, even impossible, to do that on your own. You need a network of supportive friends and professionals, including a therapist and a medical doctor.

You won’t find that network in silence. Sharing is healing.

Tina Brown is a community advocate for Arizona Complete Health, building and maintaining relationships with patients and providers to improve access to preventive care. She’s also a board member of Ability 360. Reach her at tina.m.brown@azcompletehealth.com.