On multiple occasions I have dealt with being dismissed, having bad reactions to medical care and even being laughed at in a hospital setting by so called medical professionals in Arizona. 

Now I must admit that I faced issues in the past in medical settings before but nothing serious, just tricky veins every time my blood needed to be drawn but nothing out of the ordinary. I heard the horror stories told about black women and medical settings but held the hope that I won’t be affected. A quick google search of “black women and medical settings” really puts reality in perspective. The first flashing headline reads “WE ARE NOT TAKING SERIOUSLY” and I 1000% second that. There are 3 pivotal moments in my life where I feared for my life working with non-women and men of color in a hospital and or medical settings. 

According to Gemini Google’s automatic AI model that they force you to use every time you type anything into the search engine states “Black women in medical settings face significant disparities and mistreatment rooted in historical and systemic racism and sexism, leading to worse health outcomes and a notable mistrust of the healthcare system.“ so this will be the basis of this article. But first I must share the moment that the idea for this  article became a thought in my head. 

Blood On The Floor 

During my last hospital stay, I was admitted to labor and delivery for an emergency induction …. When the nurse on shift tried to set up my iv’s I was repeatedly stabbed in my right arm. While doing so, she casually talked about her night and how great it was to work with friends. She only left the room after noticing my blood literally squirting everywhere, stating that her nurse friend could “do a better job.” Because I am used to the anxiety around getting my blood work done. I lay back and disappear to a far away beach with my toes on the warm sand. 

Me getting prepared to be induced doesn’t even cross my mind because that would be just complete overload now would it. My lowered heart rate spiked back up once I heard those doors open. It was time to try again. This time I instructed them to try my other arm because most medical professionals have a better chance of getting after those veins. The friend nurse noticed the blood everywhere and thought it was an appropriate time for a quick little giggle. “Oh you made a mess”  guess who she was talking to ? Did you guess me?! I made a mess?! Yes indeed! They talk to each other for a little while, laughing and giggling every few moments. Until they both gave up. I always wondered what goes through the women’s mind when mistreatment happens but by experience I can tell you  dissociation is key. Eventually a male nurse came in and got my IV going but the lingering feeling of despair stayed around and so did my splatters of blood.

“Black women in medical settings face significant disparities and mistreatment rooted in historical and systemic racism and sexism, leading to worse health outcomes and a notable mistrust of the healthcare system.“ 

These disparities are 100% preventable. Access to care and quality of treatment has put a burden on experiences by many specific populations. These differences are systematic, not random, and are strongly associated with social, economic, and environmental disadvantage. Black American Women are more likely to experience serious psychological distress yet less likely to receive mental health treatment compared to white Americans. When access to care is offered , we often face misdiagnosis, delayed or inadequate treatment, minimization of symptoms, and provider bias which results in poorer mental health outcomes despite comparable or greater levels of need.

Before “blood on the floor” I went through a very scary experience where I had the nurses apologizing profusely and running out to buy gifts. The second complaint as follows 

Babe I’m Scared 

So short, but not so sweet during my first labor and delivery experience I was also scheduled for an induction. I really didn’t know what to expect, but I kept an open mind and relished in the fact that my partner was right by my side. My labor started off what I perceived to be normal. A couple contractions here and there. I wasn’t sure if I was gonna get the epidural or not but I wanted to just play it by ear. Everything starts off slowly a centimeter and a half one minute 2 cm the next three then five. But as my labor started to progress along, I felt a certain urge to push so I told my partner and  he paged my nurse. I informed her that I felt like my baby was coming. That I was in pain. Her response was no, I just checked you. You were only 7 cm and we had a little more time to go for me to just relax. I asked about an epidural and the response was that she’ll let my doctor know. I tried to settle down as much as I could, taking deep breaths, but my mind was out of this world,  I couldn’t focus. The pain is starting to take over and the room started to spin. I didn’t know what was going on, but the urge to push just kept getting stronger and stronger. At my mind’s peak the last thing I remember saying is “Babe, I’m scared. At this point I can feel my baby’s head coming out, but my nurse told me to relax.

Literally, three minutes have passed since my nurse left the room. Once my man heard me say those words he immediately paged the nurse. Tragically his sister passed away in a hospital setting so he was already predisposed to how women of color are treated. Thankfully, his urgency made the difference. The nurse rushed back in, followed by the doctor’s urgency and regret filling the room. One final push and my baby was here. In a room full of many sorrows and apologies. I couldn’t comprehend what was going on at the time. My first baby was in my arms after going through intensive labor nothing ever mattered. The silly black and white checkered onesie with the pink ruffles in the matching headband, just seemed like an act of kindness back then. I didn’t realize that I just experienced dismissive care and that my experience reflected a broader pattern of Black women not being believed in medical settings.

“Black women in medical settings face significant disparities and mistreatment rooted in historical and systemic racism and sexism, leading to worse health outcomes and a notable mistrust of the healthcare system.“ 

Historical and systemic racism and sexism directly shape Black maternal health outcomes through long-standing patterns of exclusion, neglect, and bias within U.S. medical institutions. Obstetrics and gynecology was developed during eras when Black women were routinely experimented on without consent, their pain dismissed, and their reproductive autonomy controlled. 

These foundations are carried forward into modern day healthcare systems, where implicit bias, underinvestment in Black-serving hospitals, and clinical practices built around White, male-centered norms persist. As a result, Black women are more likely to have symptoms minimized, concerns dismissed, and complications missed, No matter what your income, education, and insurance status are. This is not explained by individual behavior, but by structurally unequal care delivery for most to all women of color. 

Systemic sexism compounds this harm by devaluing women’s pain and intuition during pregnancy and childbirth, while systemic racism intensifies it for Black women specifically. Evidence shows Black women are 3–4 times more likely to die from pregnancy-related causes than White women, and more likely to experience severe maternal morbidity, often due to delayed response to warning signs. Studies and maternal mortality reviews repeatedly identify provider bias, failure to listen, and breakdowns in care as key contributors. Thus, Black maternal health disparities are a clear example of how historical racism and sexism have been institutionalized, producing preventable harm through systems that do not consistently believe, protect, or prioritize Black women during one of the most vulnerable periods of their lives (CDC Maternal Mortality Review Committees; NIH; ACOG).

But let’s discuss the very 1st time I realized that the medical system does not care about black people! 

Drugged, Dismissed, and Discharged

It’s 2014 and I’m laying in bed depressed after just finding out my baby lost their heartbeat. I’m scheduled for a DnC but my doctor told me it is a possibility that my body will just take care of things naturally and that’s just what it did. Laying there in a pool of blood. My aunt rushes me to the hospital where I go to finish carrying out a miscarriage. Heavy on disbelief and disassociation I waited  alone in an emergency room to be seen. Bleeding and in shock I’m sitting on the hospital bed frantic. To this day, I still cannot tell you what medication I was given, but the last thing I remember was being offered pain medication. I want to say it was morphine but I’m not 100% sure. All I know is shortly after taking the medication my mental state dramatically changed. Pacing around the room, planning on a way to flee but shocked into stillness. hallucinations, confusion, severe depression, anxiety, and agitation all in one didn’t do me any favors. When I was able to get a break in thoughts I immediately told my nurse. I was told to lay down and after that I have no recollection. Just a bloody diaper, discharge papers and a prescription for Percocet. I’ve never been so confused out of my mind ever in my life before. I blame my condition on the stress of the miscarriage but looking back it was just a foreshadowing of a systematic tradition that allows treatment of black women to be controlled by the puppets of a corrupt government and their policies. 

“Black women in medical settings face significant disparities and mistreatment rooted in historical and systemic racism and sexism, leading to worse health outcomes and a notable mistrust of the healthcare system.“ 

My experience illustrates how unexplained, poorly communicated medical treatment combined with dismissal of patient distress can directly lead to worse health outcomes and lasting mistrust of the healthcare system. When a patient experiences sudden psychological changes after medication and those symptoms are not clearly explained, documented, or addressed, it creates harm beyond the immediate event. Research shows that lack of informed consent, inadequate post-event explanation, and failure to validate adverse reactions increase the risk of trauma, anxiety, depression, and avoidance of future care. For Black women in particular, these experiences occur within a documented pattern of being less likely to receive clear communication, pain validation, or follow-up after obstetric and gynecologic events, which can worsen both mental and physical recovery (CDC; Institute of Medicine, Unequal Treatment).

Over time, experiences like this contribute to institutional mistrust, which is a measurable determinant of health. When patients feel disoriented, dismissed, or controlled rather than cared for, they are more likely to delay seeking help, underreport symptoms, decline medications, or disengage from the healthcare system altogether. Maternal mortality review committees consistently identify delayed care-seeking and breakdowns in patient–provider communication as contributors to preventable deaths, not because patients are “noncompliant,” but because prior harm shaped their trust. In this way, individual encounters rooted in systemic racism and sexism accumulate into population-level disparities, reinforcing a cycle where Black women face higher risk precisely because the system has repeatedly failed to protect, inform, and believe them.

Conclusion: We Are Not Disposable

These are not isolated incidents, misunderstandings, or unfortunate coincidences. They are the predictable outcomes of a healthcare system built on foundations that have never fully accounted for Black women’s humanity. When our pain is minimized, our voices dismissed, and our bodies treated as expendable, the message is clear: survival is not guaranteed, and safety is conditional. The harm does not end at discharge, it follows us home in the form of trauma, fear, and hesitation to seek care again.

Real change requires more than awareness. It demands accountability, transparent communication, informed consent, and care that centers Black women as credible authorities on their own bodies. Hospitals must confront bias in practice, not just policy. Providers must listen before they assess. And systems must be redesigned to protect, not endanger, those most at risk. Black women are not asking for special treatment, we are asking to be believed, respected, and kept alive. Until that happens, these stories will continue to be told not as warnings, but as evidence.

To my black woman. You are validated and understood by many people who look like you. Our love for our bodies or babies and our community keeps us going even when there are systems set up to go against us. To harm us all in the name of science, experimentations and unaccountable accidents. I stand with you. As I feel called to make a change in this aspect of life I hope you will feel the urgency of this too. Don’t be silent, don’t stand down. Use your voice, stand tall and stand up for all black women around the world that suffer from mistreatment when receiving Black maternal health care. 

A change will come and we shall be respected in all ways !