I just turned 26, which means two things: I'm entering the last year of my "mid-20s," and more importantly, I have 30 days to get health insurance since my parental coverage is ending. Naturally, I went straight into adulting mode and got all my check-ups in one day before transferring to another healthcare provider. After those two back-to-back appointments, I got a somber reminder of what my identity and voice are worth in a typical doctor's office. In addition, I got to see what it feels like to be honestly heard by a doctor who was a woman of color.
I started my first appointment at 8 am. OBGYN. I thank my mothers for teaching me early to write down my questions before my appointment and document any pain and its location for reference. It was a revolutionary act to teach me that advocacy. Upon walking into my appointment, I was disappointed to learn that my previous doctor, a woman of color, had left the office, but I was already here, so I figured I might as well get this check-up over with. After my exam, I asked about something I had meant to ask since my last appointment.
Non-POC Doctor Response: Oh? Okay.
​I repeated my question just in case she didn't understand what I said was a question. She answered the same and concluded my appointment, and I walked out. At that moment, I considered that a routine appointment. She said everything was fine. Out of sight, out of mind. If it weren't for my next appointment in the afternoon, I wouldn't have noticed how silent my first appointment was. Around 2 pm, I went to my next appointment for a general check-up. When coming in, she asked how I was doing and how my boyfriend was and prepared to take my blood for testing. I asked my primary doctor the same question I asked the other doctor this morning.
Black Doctor's Response: Oh? Let's look at your imaging… I will ask them to look at this again
to ensure everything is normal. They might've missed something. Oh! I looked at your zip code. It might be good to double-check your immunity to measles. You know about the outbreak, right? I want to make sure.
​She asked me questions to gain more information and then asked more questions based on my experience. We worked together. We laughed. We chatted. I left. The stark contrast between the two appointments almost brought me to tears. I started questioning why I didn't push the doctor this morning to address my concerns. Then I remembered how easy it is to walk out of most doctor's offices with fewer answers and more "facts" that need to be accepted. I couldn't get specific tests done just because they were not usually done at this time of my life. I'm too young. I was being prescribed medicine because it would "stop the damage." What about the damage already done? Not addressed. Not important.Â
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I am used to not being heard, and after finally being listened to, I cannot go back to being satisfied with silence. Pregnant Black women are three times more likely to die from complications than white women. This is an alarming statistic, but the antidotes and funerals hit differently. I've heard too many stories (one from an ICU hospital bed) from women of color whose experiences were invalidated in the name of protocol or completely ignored. It becomes a fight every appointment; sometimes, we just tire of fighting.
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I encourage women of color not to accept silence as medical care. I encourage you to find a doctor or healer who sees your humanity completely and responds to your demand for quality care. Our livelihood depends on it.
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