Bless the Blood: A Cancer Memoir

by Walela Nehanda

Overview

A searing debut YA poetry and essay collection about a Black cancer patient who faces medical racism after being diagnosed with leukemia in their early twenties, for fans of Audre Lorde's The Cancer Journals and Laurie Halse Anderson's Shout.

When Walela is diagnosed at twenty-three with advanced stage blood cancer, they're suddenly thrust into the unsympathetic world of tubes and pills, doctors who don’t use their correct pronouns, and hordes of "well-meaning" but patronizing people offering unsolicited advice as they navigate rocky personal relationships and share their story online.

But this experience also deepens their relationship to their ancestors, providing added support from another realm. Walela's diagnosis becomes a catalyst for their self-realization. As they fill out forms in the insurance office in downtown Los Angeles or travel to therapy in wealthier neighborhoods, they begin to understand that cancer is where all forms of their oppression intersect: Disabled. Fat. Black. Queer. Nonbinary.

In Bless the Blood: A Cancer Memoir, the author details a galvanizing account of their survival despite the U.S. medical system, and of the struggle to face death unafraid.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9780593529492
Publisher:	Penguin Young Readers Group
Publication date:	02/06/2024
Pages:	400
Sales rank:	41,920
Product dimensions:	5.50(w) x 8.10(h) x 1.50(d)
Age Range:	14 - 17 Years

About the Author

Walela Nehanda (they/them) is Black, queer, nonbinary disabled, cultural worker, poet, and author of Bless the Blood: A Cancer Memoir (Penguin Teen). They have been featured as part of Out Magazine’s Class of 2020 consisting of 100 “groundbreaking, ripple-inducing, and culture-shifting people in the nation,” alongside the likes of Janelle Monae and Andre Leon Talley. They have been featured and written for publications such as TIME Magazine, SELF Magazine and Nylon Magazine. Walela has performed, provided keynotes, and given workshops at various academic institutions including University of Iowa, University of Southern California (USC), University of California at Los Angeles (UCLA), Chapman University, Cal Poly Pomona, Claremont McKenna College, University of California at Santa Barbara (UCSB), and many more.

Read an Excerpt

Dear Reader,
This book encapsulates a time in which I experienced many things that people would consider disturbing, triggering, overwhelming, or uncomfortable. It is my intent to shed light on what often feels unbearable to talk about.
Sometimes, when reading heavy words, you may feel seen in a way that can be both comforting and painful. Sometimes, when reading heavy words, you may be made aware of realities outside of your own that can be both enraging and jarring. Either way, witnessing a heavy journey such as my own is a task in itself.
Please take care in the ways you need while reading my book.
If that means walking away from this book for a week, a month, a year, or forever—so be it. If that means throwing this book against a wall, please do so—it was built for it. If that means crying into this book—my words will hold your tears; this ink was made to be blotted.
If at any point you feel overwhelmed, please call a friend or loved one to vent, talk to a trusted person in your life, partake in some sort of self-nourishing activity to soothe your nervous system, or reach out to whatever network you have, big or small, for support. Be gentle, sweet soul, with your heart, your emotional world, and your bodymind.

Content Warning: cancer, hospitalizations, medical procedures, medical racism, microaggressions, macroaggressions, ableism, chronic pain, stem cell transplant, systemic violence, physical and emotional abuse, neglect, sexual assault, suicidal ideation, self-injury, disordered eating, financial trauma, social media, substance use, chronic pain, medication, weapons, racism, classism, depression, anxiety, PTSD, neurodivergence, homophobia, misgendering, transphobia, fatphobia, erasure, death of loved ones, grief & loss.


writer’s note: this here ain’t a john green novel
after cynthia parker-ohene
look, before we get started, imma let y’all know: this here ain’t a john green novel. i do actually smoke down the cigarette augustus waters puts between his teeth. i don’t believe in corny Tumblr metaphors about death. i will pick up that lighter. inhale marlboro reds to the chime of funeral bells and an IV beeping. this is not a romanticization of tragedy. no, there won’t be a nicholas sparks redemption arc reserved for me. i’m not an innocent porcelain angel like jamie sullivan from a walk to remember. do not expect me to perform infinite kindness or gratitude. notice black people do not exist in these worlds, but cancer exists in mine and theirs. again, this here ain’t a john green novel. you ’bout to step into my world. one of the misunderstood. this here ain’t for the hardheaded ego or faint of heart. i plan to fail any expectation you have of me. there’s no prophetic wisdom to sip in doses of stanzas like a prescription. i am not an inspiration. i am not the undesirable, ugly ghoul that society portrays the sick and black and disabled to be. welcome to my lecture on medical racism. i’m not here to make survival comfortable. i am indeed the bad cancer patient. i talk back and think after. i cuss. i hold glorious pity parties. i self-­sabotage. i am the catchall for assumptions. i am not your token negro. i will spit at the feet of those who spite me. i am not part of white men’s “robust” imagination where they thread plot lines about lives they’ve never lived. i do not want to be imagined by them. that’s why you’re here. reading this. there is no consent in the “theatrics of cancer.” there is no soft underbelly of the beast [america] for black folks. this book is a mess about time. and cancer. and time. and love. and time. and hurt. and time evading us all. no happy endings. it just. is. a witnessing.


Hopscotch for Leukemia Was Apparently for a Real Disease
“You have a white blood cell count of 660,000.
That is 600 percent more than normal. You likely have leukemia.
You will be getting admitted to the oncology unit” flatlines the room
The doctor darts out as quickly as he says the news.
He leaves a nurse trying to hold back her pity but failing miserably.
My eyebrows twist into a question mark devoid of panic.
I don’t know what leukemia is.
I haven’t even heard of it.
Mmm, well, except this one time at Montessori.
In elementary school, we were competing in a fundraiser for some poor, sick kids pictured in colorless pamphlets.
Eight hours passed to the metronome of hopscotching across my school’s pastel chalk concrete playground.
I was lighthearted back then.
Not whatever this is now—
my face slammed against the garage door of my mind.
A Google search illuminates me,
leukemia is: blood cancer
. . .
Cannnceeerr. . .???
ARE YOU BLEEPIN’
KIDDIN’ ME,
CANCER!?!

Editorial Reviews

★ 11/20/2023

In this strikingly intimate debut memoir, Nehanda delivers an unflinching account of living with leukemia as a Black, queer, nonbinary person. The poet conveys their yearslong experience with blood cancer, which they were diagnosed with in 2017 at 23, via beautifully rendered stream of conscious prose and biting poetry; “this is not a romanticization of tragedy,” Nehanda writes in an author’s note—“welcome to my lecture on medical racism.” The creator addresses the time during which they lived with their parents while undergoing treatment, depicting their strained parent-child relationship following years of physical and emotional abuse (“Abuse is their idea of parenting”), their dealings with bigoted doctors (“American Horror Story: Racist Hospital Edition”), and the monetary worries that led to their late diagnosis (“I didn’t go to the doctor for years/ ...anything,/ including a grave,/ was better than medical debt”). A forcefully crafted collection of poetic and narrative storytelling with devastating impact, Nehanda’s searing work candidly speaks to complex truths surrounding the emotional, financial, physical, and social realities of illness and medical racism in contemporary America. Ages 14–up. Agent: Katherine Latshaw, Folio Literary. (Feb.) ■

Publishers Weekly

Praise for Bless the Blood:

★ "Nehanda infuses queer Black disabled resilience and wretchedness into a poetic sinew that stretches, tears, and heals again and again...Shatters mirrors and windows to reveal the jagged shards of self-determination: 'gently volatile' and absolutely crucial."
—Kirkus Reviews, starred review

★ "A forcefully crafted collection of poetic and narrative storytelling with devastating impact"
—Publishers Weekly, starred review

★ “Nehanda is a gifted poet with a fiercely honest, achingly vulnerable voice. They reveal both the ugly and the beautiful, their anger (‘Concept: Coraline but Make It Black’) as compelling as their stunning love poems (‘Heaven Is at Grandma’s House’ is unforgettable) and odes (‘Nail Salon as Self-Care’)…Teens will recognize the inspirations for many of the poems, from bell hooks to Megan Thee Stallion, as they follow Nehanda’s journey to its cathartic, revelatory end.” —Booklist, starred review

★ "Nehanda crafts a gritty collection of poems and short essays that speak to the emotional, financial, physical, and social circumstances of illness and medical racism in America. ...Nehanda's writing is clear-eyed and lucid as it relates their numerous struggles and considers their own self-realization and determination to survive." —Shelf Awareness, starred review

"A recommended purchase for teen memoir collections ­because of the powerful writing and storytelling." – School Library Journal

"The importance of Nehanda’s debut memoir cannot be understated... This book should be in every classroom library, and in the hands of anyone fighting to survive." —The Poetry Question

"Bless the Blood is unlike any book I’ve read before. In a voice that’s utterly electric and completely new, Walela Nehanda explodes the tidy narratives of the typical illness arc. Equal parts prose and poetry, memoir and manifesto, this book rejects every trope of what it means to be sick and disabled. When in the throes of illness, it’s so easy to feel helpless, but Bless the Blood pulses with a power that’s contagious. Reading this book gives me the energy to take it on." —Suleika Jaouad, New York Times bestselling author of Between Two Kingdoms

"Walela Nehanda’s Bless the Blood: A Cancer Memoir cuts deep into the pain, everyday details, dysfunctions, dreams, and desires of being sick and disabled. Nehanda’s depiction of the medical industrial complex is spot on. ...A haunting and powerful read." —Alice Wong, Founder and Director, Disability Visibility Project

"With this stunning collection of poetry, journal entries, prose poems, vignettes, notes to self, notes to all the rest of us, it becomes clear that Nehanda's gift with words also serves as their lifeline to living with leukemia. Their refusal to sugar-coat, sanitize, sterilize, normalize, etc. is what makes this book genuinely more uplifting to me than most all illness and disability narratives. This reality, so masterfully delivered and coming from a young queer Black nonbinary person, makes it the only real successor to my beloved Audre Lorde's Cancer Journals I have ever encountered. Whether unpacking medical racism, economic hardship, or everyday ableism—whether investigating family bonds, community efforts, and the grace of our ancestors—Bless the Blood goes all out and truly deserves its own section, shelf, category." —Porochista Khakpour, author of Sick: A Memoir 

From the Publisher

03/01/2024

Gr 9 Up—Nehanda, a Black, disabled, nonbinary poet, recounts being diagnosed with leukemia at age 23 and navigating the healthcare system, their estranged family, and their relationship with their fiancé in this searing debut memoir in verse. They have a way with words, and the poetic way they share their pain, how their family has mistreated them, and how Black people are treated by the healthcare system make for a powerful read. Some passages are written in prose and recount various times in their life, such as coming out and being kicked out of their home, while verse parts explore the burden they felt their sickness was on everyone around them. They also explore what it means to be disabled in an inaccessible world. The prologue touts this as not like The Fault in Our Stars because of how raw and real the author is, and they hold up to that promise. Nehanda is also inspired by Black artists such as Whitney Houston and Audre Lorde. This work runs the full gamut of emotions, and readers will be captivated by the author's poetry, heart, and pain. VERDICT A recommended purchase for teen memoir collections because of the powerful writing and storytelling.—Molly Dettmann

School Library Journal

★ 2023-11-17
A young Black nonbinary activist copes with the enormity of a cancer diagnosis and medical racism, while facing the deep pain and deep love of the life they’re trying to save.

Upon being diagnosed with leukemia at 23, Nehanda embarked on a devastatingly steep learning curve about the cancer poisoning their blood and the pieces of their life and self that cancer had thrown into stark relief. Nehanda swiftly found that the casual bigotry, emotional abuse, and neglect they’d dealt with all their life were potently envenomed by ableism and might together kill them faster than the disease ravaging their body. Yet, as their struggles connected Nehanda more deeply to elders and ancestors, they were able to dig through the detritus of others’ expectations and harms and connect with themself as well. Told in a collection of poems and short essays, the book opens with warnings that readers won’t find a John Green novel in its pages and that the author-narrator will fail readers’ expectations—ghoulish and inspirational alike. Nehanda infuses queer Black disabled resilience and wretchedness into a poetic sinew that stretches, tears, and heals again and again, unspooling the mundane trauma of trying to survive as Black, fat, queer, trans, and disabled despite (and to spite) systems built to hasten their erasure. This memoir is kindred intersectional storytelling that searingly responds to Audre Lorde’s call in The Cancer Journals.

Shatters mirrors and windows to reveal the jagged shards of self-determination: “gently volatile” and absolutely crucial. (writer’s note, reading list) (Memoir/poetry. 14-adult)

Kirkus Reviews