The Patient Is Wearing Lipstick: Emerging from the Shadow of Death

By Artisha T. Bolding

Have you ever thought about what happens when this life is over?

Hundreds of pills and thousands of dollars in doctor bills left a tired patient with more questions than answers as she lay in a hospital bed facing certain death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Author Academy Elite
• Release date: Mar 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9798885830058

Artisha T. Bolding

Artisha "Tee" Bolding is a disruptive thought leader and visionary of the T Bold Media Group. She is a celebrated coach and motivational speaker who is passionate about healing and carving out space for women to pursue their purpose. In addition to being featured on dozens of podcasts and television shows, she spearheaded compelling digital and print projects such as Journal For Your Journey, Induction To Power, Bold Journeyzz podcast, and the biblical devotional It's Time For A Heart Check.

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The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters.

He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness For His name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; For You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

Psalms 23:1-4 NKJV

Heavenly Father,

In the name of Jesus, God, we thank You first of all for who You are. Thank You for Your presence in our lives and Your favor on our lives. Thank You for covering us. Thank You for calling us. Thank You for protecting us and providing for us. Thank You for leaving no stone unturned concerning us. Everything we need You to be, God, You are. Thank You. God, I pray now that the words on these pages will bless, uproot, and heal souls all over the globe. God, You are just that big, just that mighty, and just that strong. Thank You for healing hearts and changing minds. God, I believe that You are calling people back to Yourself. I believe that You have carved out a path and that You have made it plain and clear. Though it be narrow, there is room for all. God, You wish above all that Your people prosper and be in health, even as their souls prosper. God, as they read, let them get more comfortable with their own story. Let them live a life of freedom and transparency. God, let them find their power, passion, and purpose in You.

In Your holy name I pray,

Amen

Part 1

Stumbling Through The Shadow

The plans God has for me are set

His thoughts toward me are good and not evil

I have a bright future and an expected end

God loves Me

It’s all about Love

God directs my heart

physical and spiritual

mental and emotional

Holy Spirit – My Comfort and Guide

Jesus – At the Wheel,

Brother and Friend

Guide, Advisor, Protector

God is amazing

I celebrate Jesus

The fullness of my being belongs to God

I worship Him with everything

Blood and Love

Love of Christ

Love Walk

Love Train

Love Chain

Love Shot

Love Bug

Love Power

Lover of my Soul

Jesus

1

Real Life, Not Sci-Fi

It’s not easy being a pretty girl on a construction site, especially one who loves bold lipstick. It’s sad to admit, but by the time my life began unraveling, I had become pretty obnoxious at work. I had one year in my position in the warehouse. I had received glowing employee evaluations, and was given supervisor privileges, but there was a problem – I had no supervisor title nor supervisor pay to show for it. Indeed, most days I was on a warpath. I was going to war with racism, sexism, and the status quo. In that setting, I think it is appropriate to say my lipstick was my carefully applied warpaint.

The days weren’t getting any shorter and I was beyond ready to repurpose my warpaint for a more delightful occasion. It was October, so I had some things to look forward to celebrating – my brother’s and sister’s birthdays and Howard University’s homecoming. Even so, for weeks I felt sluggish, was overtired, and had a hacking cough. I insisted to everyone at work and at home that it was not serious or contagious. I was convinced, given the season, that it was hay fever. My allergies seemed to get worse every year, but as time passed, I noticed my cough not only remained but increased. The cough was almost constant, and it hurt.

Before I continue, let me warn you that my descriptions are rather graphic, but hear me, they are in no way contrived. These vivid recollections are not sampled sci-fi scenes; they are my real life experiences. I describe them in detail because I need you to understand the severity of my situation so that by the time we get to my present-day, you can realize the extent to which God turned my life around.

Now let me pick up where I left off telling you about that worsening, constant, hurting cough. The slimy phlegm that accompanied it was no fun either. Many nights I was awakened from my sleep, hacking and trying to catch my breath. It became super gross. The stuff I would cough up honestly looked like it belonged in a baby’s diaper, but I was not going to cancel my trip to DC and my beloved Howard under any circumstances. That was especially so since I missed homecoming the year before. I also felt I owed myself extra time off that year because I worked on my birthday the previous year.

Despite coughing and losing my breath, despite pains in my chest, I did just like Ludacris said – jumped in the car and drove for hours. I had to make sure I didn’t miss homecoming at Howard. In the weeks leading up to my trip, I had been very sluggish, and my sleep had not been consistent, so I definitely needed someone to ride shotgun with me. I was excited that my niece Destinie wanted to join me, as she was a senior in high school and looking to make final decisions regarding additional schools to which she should apply. Not to mention, she’s an excellent driver. On the road to DC, there were times she feared she would have to pull to the side of the road so that I could relieve myself of the phlegm in my chest. Unfortunately, green gobs of gunk were the norm those days.

We spent eight and a half hours on the road, stopping at several gas stations and McDonald’s on the way, but we finally made it. The year was 2017, and it was quite a big deal for me to be present at one of the most celebrated events on the Black American social calendar. It was also the 20th anniversary for my close group of girlfriends and me. We had all entered Howard young and spry in 1997, so we made plans to celebrate by going to events, parties, the football game, and of course Yardfest. Homecoming’s Yardfest is the Coachella-style piece of the celebration. It’s an outside festival with a huge soundstage, a jumbotron, and shoulder-to-shoulder vendors. Walking onto campus, I first smelled the jerk chicken from the Caribbean food vendor. Then my nose was tickled by the aroma of fried fish and chicken from The Family food stand. We exchanged hugs and smiles as we greeted other homecoming family members, some drinking tropical drinks from pineapples or large frosty cups. There was even one girl who had Chinese food with shrimp, and I wondered what other new treasures lie ahead. The Alumni Center had a booth where, like every other year, they wanted us to update our contact information. I had to fill out change-of-address information almost every time I visited to Howard. To say I moved around a lot would be accurate. There was also art, jewelry, t-shirts, hats, purses, and more. Serious spending happens surrounding these events.

My friends knew how I got down whenever I made it back to DC, and homecoming was like that to the 10th power. Things were a little different that time around though, not because I wasn’t feeling well, but because my niece who was a minor was with me. I wanted to really party, but I didn’t want to dump my niece off. Dang it! Luckily, my brother stepped in and ran interference for me. The girls and I decided on a throwback combo that Friday night– Ben’s Chili Bowl and a bar crawl. As if we had exchanged a memo, each of us showed up dressed in all black and denim. It was like old times, only with more curves and less recklessness. I step on the scene rocking cute flats and thick hair. My thick red curls matched my big red lips and made my ensemble complete.

I think it was a couple of years after graduation when my love for the sport of people-watching really began to become clear. So, that weekend was exhilarating for me on multiple levels. The music that night was okay, but the views were fantastic. It felt so good to see my girls and know they were doing well. It just felt right to be surrounded by groups of beautiful people with sun-kissed skin and kinky-coily hair like my own. It was all good vibes. I definitely did more looking, nodding, and smiling than anything.

The next day we all met up on campus for more festivities on the yard. We were all wearing Howard paraphernalia and taking lots of pictures. The lines for the food were long, but the conversation was good, so it helped the time pass by and again, I was taking in all of the sights. I was gazing at the barely there outfits some of my young sisters were wearing. I was also scoping out some of their specialized gear, especially with the Howard insignia and my sorority, Zeta Phi Beta. For some of it, I could only imagine the high price tags. But I couldn’t be mad at any of them because that was the place to show up and show out. Then I remembered my brother. Where was he? He was supposed to be on duty today. He always looked so handsome in his uniform accompanied by that big grin he always wears. I don’t think he had any idea that I was just as proud of him as he was of me. Wouldn’t you know it? Officer Smith showed up just in time to pay for lunch. Of course, my brother snagged a few bites off my plate before he went back on patrol, but that was still a win for me.

Moments later, my happy place briefly transitioned to an eye-rolling place as talk of the tailgate area began. Yuck, no thank you. I was in no way excited about the prospect of getting bumped into, sweated on, or flirted with in a sea of wall-to-wall people in an area enclosed by fences and chain links. I don’t consider myself claustrophobic, but that whole scene was causing my blood pressure to rise. Perhaps it was due to a similar scene more than 15 years prior where this very group of ladies and I were trampled just a few blocks up the street. That time we were attending another local cultural event and a fight broke out. Everyone panicked and began to push and run. Unfortunately, I made two big mistakes that day. The first was wearing a skirt and slides, and the second was tensing up instead of running away from the crowd. As a result, I found myself on the concrete repeatedly being stepped on. Thankfully, some friendly strangers helped us up and we made it safely to the car. I definitely did not want a repeat of that. So, while some of my group braved the tailgate sea, I decided to spend my time shopping and grabbing more yummy treats. I said, Ta ta for now, to my friends so they could go fight that crowd and smoke and endure their voluntary confinement.

As some of us meandered along, one of my girlfriends bought edible marijuana brownies from a strange lady on the street. The same street where homeless people urinated. The same street where pigeons waited for people to drop a piece of chicken or a few grains of rice. The same street where the police pointed guns in young men’s faces and yelled to them to get on the ground. The same street where drug addicts inserted needles into their veins and dropped blood on the concrete. The same street where drunk party people vomited. The same street where young girls were trafficked for sex. The same street where young kids waited on buses to try to get home. The same street the neighborhood Rottweiler pooped on. Yep, that very street! Though I didn’t partake of her purchase, the remainder of the weekend is a blur. It was almost as if I was under the influence of something stronger than fried shrimp, chicken, and retail euphoria.

Unfortunately, the sun, the shopping, nor the sustenance helped dry up the fluids that were floating around my chest. Everyone around me was quite concerned, but I downplayed it because I just wanted to enjoy myself. For a few days I didn’t have to think about my pending divorce, which I had spoken about to very few people. I didn’t even have to think about material requisitions, packing slips, or working 10-hour days. I just wanted to have a good time. However, after coughing up a very scary glob of gook in his guest bathroom, my brother (in his fatherly way), encouraged me to take some medication and make sure I saw a doctor when I got home.

The ride home was a slow dredge. Destinie was tired, and so was I. Thankfully, the last leg of the trip was uneventful, but I had to do much more driving than I had anticipated. On the ride back, there were no excitement endorphins to help me coast through. I just pictured my bed with my comfy pillows and directed my efforts in their direction. On a wing and a prayer, we made it, and I breathed a very labored sigh of relief.

Coming down off the high of one of the major events on my social calendar was very sobering. Returning to the sleepy little town of Augusta, Georgia, was lackluster, except for the fact that I still had that ridiculously unyielding cough. I was slightly distracted by my birthday plans, however, and I was delighted to still be sporting the beautiful wine-colored curls I had installed before my DC trip.

All roads led back to the hair and the lipstick. Like many in my community who look like me, hair and makeup are a pretty big deal. Though I am not one to apply a bunch of foundation or do a lot of contouring to my face, hairstyle and lipstick choices are huge for me. So, when I was preparing to travel to DC, which was just before my birthday, I made a special trip to the salon.

The hair salon escapade is quite memorable, and because life is just a series of hilarious and ironic circumstances, I made a fun discovery in the parking lot of that auto warehouse turned beauty and barber shop. Flash back to that moment: A certain black car caught my eye, not because of the make and model. After all, the Dodge Charger is one of the car mascots of the ghetto, especially if it’s black or red. What caught my eye, in particular, was the license plate on the ride. It read Stallion. I only knew two non-famous people who referred to themselves as Stallion – a guy I went to high school with and a lawbreaker whose file I managed when I worked as a bail bondsman and bounty hunter. This could have brought on an entirely different type of tension headache, not just the kind that comes from tight braids or weaves.

After a quick phone call and Facebook search, it turned out that indeed the tattooed princess that loves to fight was about to do my hair… for the second time. The first time was great because we were perfect strangers and both the work and the price were good. This time, I didn’t know what would happen. Would my