Nicole C. Lee

As the news swirled around the killing of Terence Crutcher in Tulsa, Okla., and Keith Lamont Scott of Charlotte, N.C., I decided that my day was too busy to go out. I had a lot of writing to do and my Northwest Washington home seemed the best place to do it.

I live in a beautiful multiracial neighborhood, filled with kids and farmer’s markets. It is an oasis for me from the grim realities of human and civil rights work.

In order to not disturb my writing flow midday, I decided to have lunch delivered. The delivery man, an older African-American, arrived on time with my order, but as I opened the door, it became clear that something was completely off with this transaction.

The first thing I remember seeing is the blood. There was blood all over the delivery man’s bag, down his arm, dripping onto the pavement on the porch. As I looked up at the man’s face and examined the rest of his body, I realized the blood was flowing out of the opposite arm of the one holding the delivery.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

“I’m so, so sorry. I’m just so, so sorry,” he answered.

Immediately, I ran to get my phone and called 911. By the time I arrived back to check on him, his blood was pouring all over the porch and he was turning gray.

I found out that he had just come from dialysis and couldn’t afford to take the day off. His fistula was bleeding uncontrollably.

“I have an emergency. I need you to come to my house immediately. My delivery man is bleeding everywhere. I don’t know how to stop it,” I blurted to the dispatcher, who took down all the information and gave me specific instructions as I tried to help stop the flow of blood with kitchen towels.

In the midst of exchanging information with the dispatcher, I said something that I did not expect.

“Please tell the first responders that we are black.”

“What?” the dispatcher replied.

“Please. I don’t want them to be … confused,” I stuttered.

As surprised as I was at what I was saying, I couldn’t take it back.

The ambulance arrived. The man, even after losing a lot of blood, was calm and eerily coherent. He continued to apologize for being a bother to me and the emergency personnel. The man was taken to the hospital without incident and has recovered.

After the urgency of this situation was over, I was forced to inventory everything that happened and my response.

In an emergency situation, all of us prioritize the information we are providing. For me, it was the following:

• His name.

• Is he breathing?

• Can you stop the bleeding?

• Is he still awake?

• Please tell them the person they are there to help is black.

In the midst of all of this key information for survival, it was also necessary for me to tell them that the people helping this man in danger were black. As concerned as I was about getting the man medical help, as a black woman, I also was concerned about how our help would judge us once they arrived. I had to be assured that when they found us on my porch, the responders would know that we weren’t the threat. They would know that we were, in fact, the victims.

For some, my concern that a 911 call could escalate into violence against me or the delivery man is an overreaction. However, incidents of brutality against injured black people seeking help or assistance happens far too frequently. Let me share a few examples:

On Sept. 21, in Baltimore County, Md., Tawon Boyd, 21, died after being beaten by police officers called to the scene because Mr. Boyd was feeling “disoriented.” According to the family’s attorney, 911 was called to get an ambulance to take him to the nearest hospital. Instead of a positive outcome to what could have been a survivable ailment, Mr. Boyd’s family now awaits an autopsy report.

The week before, in Hagerstown, Md., a 15-year-old biracial girl was hit by a car while riding her bike. Officials say she declined medical treatment, but what ensued next is inexplicable.

According to the video, despite her physical condition and potential injuries, the girl was maced by police and slammed into the car.

“All we want to do is make sure she’s OK,” one officer tells a bystander, explaining that the girl might have lingering brain damage from the collision. Not even a minute later, an officer can be heard telling the girl to “put your feet in the car, OK, or you’re going to get sprayed.” When the frightened girl does not immediately comply, the officers close the door and then spray their canisters into a crack in the window. The girl can then be heard shrieking in pain, saying several times, “I can’t breathe.”

While we watch a week of protests in Charlotte, three years ago, Jonathan Ferrell, a star college football player, was in a car wreck and sought help by knocking on the door of a house near the crash site. The police arrived and shot and killed him as he ran toward them, very possibly running toward them for help. There was no justice in that case, just a hung jury and no political will to retry the case.

In that same city, we watched Mr. Scott’s wife plead with officers, telling them he had a traumatic brain injury. Did that reality penetrate the officers’ minds as they pumped bullets into a man, moving slowly, backing away from police officers, who Mr. Scott may not have realized were police officers?

African-Americans who are in the midst of a mental health crisis face extreme uses of force by the police, even when authorities are informed of the issue prior to arriving. One such call was for Natasha McKenna, 37, of Fairfax, Va., who died after being restrained and repeatedly shocked with a stun gun. One of the last things we hear Ms. McKenna say is, “You promised not to kill me.”

Instead of rendering aid to them, all of these victims were met with force. At a time when they deserved comfort, they received malice, injury and, unfortunately, death.

There is a painful and insidious message being delivered to black people in this country and need help in an emergency: Living as a black person in this country means to never have needs or be vulnerable.

Even with a concussion, unstoppable bleeding or a mental illness, you have to have enough control over your faculties so you don’t scare someone into taking your life. “Careful compliance” is difficult enough in the stressful situation of being pulled over by a cop. How possible is it when you are injured or sick.

Because of this, you shouldn’t be surprised that some African-Americans talk about not using 911 when they are in crisis. They are worried that it could make a bad situation much worse. They can’t feel safe in crisis.

Moreover, despite the taxes black people pay for these services, more people are talking about creating community-based alternatives to calling 911.

Sadly, our society has normalized the fact that even under the most extreme conditions, African-Americans have earned their right to live against the founded or unfounded concerns of officers. In the case of my delivery driver, I am grateful the first responders were there to help and care for him. Yet it is equally disturbing and unacceptable that African-Americans cannot assume that in a time of crisis, we will be protected or served.

The writer is a strategist, adviser and coach grounded in human rights.