Verified by 
Doctors: our young, Black disabled patients and their families are stressed. To say that 2020 has been a difficult year would be an incredible understatement. We're seven months into a pandemic that has claimed over 210,000 American lives, upended our economy, and that shows no sign of stopping as we barrel towards flu season.
On top of that, our country in the midst of a long overdue reckoning with racism. Between the staggering inequities revealed by COVID-19 and the epidemic of police brutality, Black Americans in particular have had a difficult year. Police violence disproportionately kills disabled Black Americans. That fact, that reality, causes our young patients and their families a considerable amount of emotional distress.
Doctors: our young, Black disabled patients and their families are worried. Since the pandemic started, I've made a point to spend a few minutes of each clinic visit on current events and emotional health. Nearly all of my patients and their families say that they're struggling in one way or another. But on top of problems with home-based education; limited access to occupational, physical, and speech therapy and other support services; and general concern about virus prevention, my Black patients and their families are also worrying about how to keep themselves safe from those who are meant to protect them. Most of my patients are autistic. Elijah McClain, a 23-year-old Black, autistic man who was killed by police in 2019, described himself by saying that he was "just different." My patients are "just different" too. The problem is that, all too often, these differences are perceived as threatening. This makes Black autistic people and those with other disabilities particularly vulnerable during interactions with police. Tragically, too many of these interactions turn deadly.
Doctors: our young, Black disabled patients and their families know the facts. Half of people killed by police are disabled. Many of those victims have an intellectual, cognitive, or developmental disability (including autism) or a mental health condition. We've heard their names: Keith Lamont Scott, Ezell Ford, Marcus David Peters, Tanisha Anderson, Freddie Gray, Sandra Bland, Elijah McClain. We've heard their stories. With each new story, each name, each hashtag, Black disabled people and their families are stressed, worried, and traumatized. And many wonder if they or their children could be next.
Doctors: our young, Black disabled patients and their families are trying to tell us something. "Who's supposed to help us?" "What if I'm pulled over?" "Everybody around here knows how he is but if you don't know him..." My Black patients and their families are all saying the same thing. I took a little extra time to check in with my patients after the grand jury decision on Breonna Taylor's case came out and again after the death of Jonathan Price. Each Black family seemed to feel the same way. Some had trouble sleeping. Some were restless and irritable. All were anxious, sad, and unsurprised by the injustice. All were worried about their children. "I tried to teach him how to talk to the cops," one parent said. "But what good is that if they shoot him anyway?"
Doctors: our young, Black disabled patients need us. Police violence is a public health problem. It has real, lasting effects on Black people and their mental health. At a minimum, we have to acknowledge the fact that our patients deal with acute on chronic stress, anxiety, depressive symptoms and more after each police killing. We have to know that these killings, much like racism itself, have significant negative effects on our patients' mental and physical health. We must take this into account each time we make a treatment plan. We can advocate for our patients in and out of our clinics. We can listen to Black disabled advocates, amplify their stories, work towards community-based solutions, and use the influence that comes with being a physician to demand meaningful change. We should listen to our Black disabled patients and their families. Our attention, care, and actions can make a difference. And show that our Black, disabled patients and their families, that their lives, matter.
