I Saw the White Light Of Death, Part II

I began to hallucinate as OxyContin dripped into my vein. I could not decipher my sister’s voice from the nurses.

Our brother cried when I called him. He said he would give you a kidney. He’s on his way. Ms. Pickett, the doctor prescribed epinephrine because your organs are failing. Katie and Kyle are taking the first flight out. Aunt Amirah and Sis are on the way.

A stinging pain shot through my right hand as I removed it from beneath the sheet.

“Poopie, my hand hurts.”

My sister stood by my side. “It’s swollen. I’ll let the nurse know. Maybe the IV is coming out.”

Within three minutes of examining my hand the doctor was called. We were shocked to see that the fingers on my right hand had blisters that caused my hand to swell three times its normal size. The doctor was even more curious when the nurse examined my entire body only to find a second degree burn on my chest.

“So, how did this happen?”

We listened as my sister gave a recap of how I fell out of bed and landed on a surge protector. Given that I could not move to call my mother, I laid on the surge protector for seven hours. I could not feel my hand or chest burning as I drifted in and out of consciousness. Upon finding me on the floor, my mother removed the surge protector which was lodged between my hand and my chest.

We were speechless as the doctor explained the severity of my burns.

“Ms. Pickett, you are lucky but very ill. If you would have laid on the surge protector for another hour you would have been medivacked to our burn unit. You could have lost several digits.”

I silently thanked God for my mother and sister. Five more minutes or a missed call would have been a tragic end to a freak accident. I drifted back to sleep as the nurse administered pain meds for my blistered hand.

My phone pinged constantly. I asked my sister to answer it and tell whomever calls that I have been hospitalized and will get back to them as soon as I can. I fell back to sleep wondering how I could still pull off the largest book talk of my career. It had morphed into a show when I hired food and alcohol vendors along with a violinist. I dreamily smiled thinking about how the strings of a violinist would bring drama to my readings.

I didn’t know what was going on with my body, but the doctors had to figure it out fast. I was three weeks away from my event. Traveling to Atlanta was going to take a miracle.

My sister and mother took turns watching over me until my children arrived from Chicago. My daughter in-law is the daughter I never had. She looked worried as she raced in and threw her purse on the couch before cupping my face and smushing my cheek.

“You had me worried!”

I managed a faint smile. “Y’all look so beautiful and handsome!”

My son smiled and hugged me. “We look a mess but we had to get here as soon as possible.”

We talked about how the doctor said I wasn’t out of the woods yet. I recall asking the charge nurse if she would make an exception and allow my grandchildren to visit although they were underage. Her eyes welled with tears when I explained my request. If I were to transition, I wanted to lay hands on each one of them before leaving this earth. And yet, I understood when my son and daughter left them with their maternal grandma. They could travel faster and cheaper without them.

My heart ached as they prepared to leave after two days. My daughter lightened the mood as she shook a banana at me.

“I’ll kill you if you don’t eat!”

What felt like three days in the hospital was actually seven. My daughter was the first person to mention Atlanta.

“You’ve got to rest and get stronger. The kids need you. Whenever someone came into the room, Aunt Felicia shushed them and told them not to mention Atlanta. She said you aren’t going and you have to cancel.”

I don’t recall responding as I drifted off thinking about the outstanding vendor invoices.

My son Facetimed me the next morning. He cautiously asked how I was feeling before the other shoe dropped.

“Mom…you have to cancel Atlanta.” I sighed.

“I can’t.” He nervously rubbed his beard.

“Mom, there is no way you can do this. You’re not strong enough.”

“Kyle, please don’t talk to me about canceling. I have supporters traveling from several states. People have bought airline tickets. They’ve booked hotels. I’ve paid several thousand dollars in vendor deposits. I need this! I’m tired. I was ready to let go. The fact that God didn’t take me, lets me know that He is not finished with me. I am here for a reason. I just don’t know what it is.”

He shook his head.

“But how are you going to read erotica and be all seductive?” My eyebrows furrowed before laughing out loud.

“Oh, you must have forgotten who I am.” He looked confused.

“You’re looking at me now.” The color had not returned to my skin. I had on thick reading glasses and my hair looked like Don King.

“I am flying one of the baddest make-up artists in from Las Vegas. We prayed and claimed this two years ago. And…drumroll…I am booked with the fabulous ass friend to the Real Housewives of Atlanta, stylist Dwight Eubanks to ‘snatch this wig’. They are going to pull me all the way together!”

He tried not to smile as I pointed at him with my bandaged hand and swung it dramatically.

“The show must go on!”

For the next two weeks, I lay in bed struggling to work with my left hand. Vendors and special guests were shocked to learn about my accident. They were floored upon hearing that I was not canceling the event.

My mind raced as I came up with several solutions. My physician recommended I not fly indefinitely. Think Monika, think! I woke up the next morning with rapper Cardi B on my mind. I once read that, like most New Yorkers, Cardi doesn’t have a drivers license so her father drives her to many of her stateside events. Bingo!

My brother was contemplating moving to the West Coast, but was in between gigs. I offered to rent a van and pay him to drive my mother and I to Atlanta. He had previously lived in Georgia for years so he was familiar with the area. One of my mother’s best friends since grade school lived on the outskirts of Atlanta. She was excited to host us.

I gave my brother one simple requirement. He is a handsome man standing at six feet tall with dread locks that hang below his waist. He chuckled at my request that he tie his dreads into a man-bun. Lord…how was I going to keep the gay men and transgender women away from him?

My Atlanta event would not have been possible without my brother. I have traveled to other events after relapses in the past but this one was different. I cheated death.

I was anxious as my mother dressed me for the event. My make-up artist, Janae Moore, is like family now. She surprised me: after applying all of our make-up, she helped me prepare and stayed for the show.

I thanked my brother as he instructed me to place my hands around his neck as if we were dancing. I was nervous as he swooped me up like a rag doll and lifted me from my wheelchair into the van.

The event space was breath-taking as my brother wheeled me in. I met the vendors and set designer as I took in the sheer beauty of the moment. Thank you, Father God. I did it! When no one thought I could. I did it!

The red carpet was magnificent as floor to ceiling white sheers billowed through the aromatic space. Guests enjoyed an open bar and catered food as the beautiful violinist, Joya Bravo, played while sauntering throughout the room. I felt protected as my brother wheeled me around the room at the set designer’s command.

Monika M. Pickett on the red carpet at her If Only For One Night event in Atlanta.

We need Monika on the red carpet! Is she ready for her interview? Monika needs to be onstage!

Again, my brother gathered me into his arms and placed me onstage on a velvet chaise. The light was blinding as I peered into the shadowy audience. My heart pounded as Mimi Faust, formerly of Love & Hip Hop introduced me.

I could not begin the show without sharing my testimony. My supporters needed to know what it took for me to be there. I needed them to hear it but most importantly…to feel my gratitude. I cried tears of joy as I thought of the lyrics from Whitney Houston’s song, I Didn’t Know My Own Strength….

And I crashed down, and I tumbled but I did not crumble.

I remain steadfast in my faith as I continue to surrender to God’s will. I don’t know what His plans are for me but because I have seen the White Light of Death and am still here to tell it…I know His plans are magnificent.