Reflections on Childbirth and Racial Disparities

Nearly dying during childbirth is something I will never forget. Back when I was a freshman in college, I discovered I was pregnant during a physical examination while trying to enlist in the U.S. Navy. Fast forward eight months, and I found myself at the hospital, ready to deliver my baby. The doctor who was supposed to care for me, well, he examined me and couldn’t hide his disgust.

He raised his voice, asserting that my baby would be “too small,” as if my young Black body already fell short of his expectations. As labor progressed, I voiced my concerns that something wasn’t right, but they were brushed off. I was left alone in a stark room.

I’ll never forget the expression on my husband’s face when he entered that dimly lit space where I lay alone. He later described it as looking like “a murder scene.” Blood had gathered on the floor beneath me, yet no one bothered to check on me until he arrived.

Eventually, I gave birth to a healthy baby girl who weighed nearly eight pounds. However, I left the hospital in significant pain, later finding out I had an undiagnosed broken coccyx—an injury overlooked because my worries hadn’t been taken seriously.

That experience was 42 years ago, and I still vividly remember it. Today, it’s clear that this kind of treatment isn’t just a relic of the past. Black mothers continue to be ignored, questioned, and placed at unnecessary risk.

This reality was brought to mind recently when the White House unveiled its new plan focused on maternal health issues. The government website, moms.gov, claims to offer “resources, information, and help for new and expecting mothers.” Yet, it fails to acknowledge the mortality crisis that impacts countless women who share my background.

Just this week, Rep. Summer Lee (D-Penn.) confronted Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. about how anti-DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion) policies could hinder critical research on Black maternal mortality. She pointed out that without acknowledging the particular challenges Black mothers face, the crisis will persist. Instead of directly addressing those issues, Kennedy chose a broad, vague response about inclusivity.

The stats are alarming: Black women in the U.S. are still much more likely to die from pregnancy-related issues, most of which could be prevented. As maternal death rates began to decline nationwide in 2023, Black women remained more than three times as likely to face pregnancy complications compared to white women, underscoring the minimal progress that’s been made.

High-profile incidents have also highlighted this crisis. For instance, Serena Williams shared her near-fatal complications after her concerns were initially overlooked by medical staff. Earlier this year, Kashena Manuel gave birth in a hospital bathroom after being ignored during active labor. And Janell Green Smith, a nurse-midwife committed to advocating for Black maternal health, tragically passed away shortly after giving birth. These stories reflect the reality many Black women endure without receiving the attention they deserve.

It’s also worth noting that these challenges ripple through generations. My oldest daughter, whom I almost lost during childbirth, is now an adult. She chose to give birth at home, with a doula by her side, driven by the fear that a hospital wouldn’t provide the care she needed.

Then there’s my youngest daughter, who faced a serious complication after her delivery due to a spinal headache from an unnoticed epidural puncture. She ended up fainting at home and had to be rushed back to the emergency room.

As my youngest daughter looks forward to motherhood, I can’t shake the worry for her safety in a healthcare system that has so many biases. Sometimes, I even find myself wishing she could deliver her baby elsewhere, maybe even in another country where the risks feel more manageable.

Some might argue that hospitals are safe, yet laws like the WELLS Act, named after a Black mother who was denied care, and the Momnibus Act, intended to tackle maternal health disparities, exist precisely because hospitals have not consistently prioritized the protection of Black mothers. Legislation is important, but it doesn’t wipe out the human biases or fears ingrained in many Black women as they approach childbirth.

No mother wants to pass her fears on to her daughters; for many Black moms, the anxieties surrounding maternal mortality are rooted in reality and backed by undeniable data. My sincere hope is that future generations can inherit something different: a healthcare system that genuinely listens to, values, and safeguards the lives of Black women and their infants.