by Kenya Martinez
“You’re having a boring pregnancy.” These are the words my OB/GYN said to me the week before I was hospitalized for Eclampsia. I was 29, a transplant from NYC living in Atlanta. My husband and I had been married for several years. We were so excited to be new parents and were really looking forward to adding to our family.
At a routine appointment during my 22nd week, my blood pressure was elevated. My medical history included treatment for high blood pressure and a recent elective surgery. I complained of chest pain and shortness of breath.
- Per a 2021 NIH study postpartum cardiomyopathy (disease of the heart muscle) and the blood pressure disorders preeclampsia and eclampsia were leading causes of maternal death for Black women, with mortality rates five times higher than those for white women. Pregnant and postpartum Black women were two to three times more likely than white women to die of hemorrhage (severe bleeding) or embolisms (blood vessel blockages). [1]
Throughout my pregnancy I complained of nausea. The Dr’s office performed a sonogram, but nothing else. I was sent on my way. My OB/GYN had over 30 years of experience and never referred me to a specialist. I trusted him.
I was still having trouble breathing during my 25th week. But, now it felt like a foot was poking me in my upper ribs. I called the doctor’s office and they suggested I come in. When I got on their scale, I’d gained 30 pounds in three weeks. They instructed us to go straight to the hospital.
The hospital discovered the baby wasn’t receiving the same amount of blood to their body, from my last visit. They admitted me to the hospital. I was told I would stay there until I delivered, with the goal of staying pregnant as long as possible. I was terrified. The doctors went from saying everything is ok, to telling me I had an extremely high risk pregnancy.
Exactly one week after being admitted to the hospital, I woke up from a nap and saw flashes of light running across the room. I was asked periodically about having these flashes. I knew I was having a seizure and called the nurse. They rushed me to the operating room and in my 26th week, I gave birth to a 1 pound, 4-ounce baby, via an emergency c-section. We were lucky the baby survived.
- Black women have the highest fetal mortality rate in the US, 10.41 per 1000 births, by comparison our white counterparts had a rate of 4.71. [2]
After delivery, I was placed in what I later learned was referred to as a maternity death ward. It only had three rooms and was strictly limited to visits from immediate family and clergy. While heavily sedated I watched and heard my roommate crash and die. I am still traumatized thinking about that time and how close to death we were.
I got better and was moved to the ICU. There I got to see my baby for the first time. My husband captured those first moments in pictures, my eyes were blood-shot red. The blood vessels in the back of my eyes burst during the seizure. Those pictures are evidence of how sick I was. I was released after two weeks, but our baby stayed in the hospital for another 5 months before they came home.
Leading up to my seizure, there were clear warning signs my pregnancy was high risk. Sonograms were performed, but nothing else despite complaining of chest pain. I later learned all of my symptoms were typical of pre-eclampsia. As an outspoken Black woman who read her mom’s nursing textbooks while I was in elementary school, I wholeheartedly believed my voice was enough.
Because of, being gaslit during my pregnancy has led to my continued distrust of the medical community. In recent years, anytime I’ve been ill, I am overcome with anxiety when seeking treatment.
Compounding my fears, over the past 6 years I’ve lost three members of my family, all Black women from what I believe were treatable conditions.
- Young African Americans are living with diseases more common at older ages.
- African Americans are more likely to die at early ages from all causes.
- Most likely to be unable to access healthcare because of cost.[3]
Despite all of them working in the healthcare industry and consulting with their personal physicians regularly, they struggled to get access to regular care. All of them were on Medicaid, because by the time their conditions were discovered, they were unable to work. My cousin died at 33, from a highly treatable autoimmune disease with a low mortality rate. My aunt passed away two years later at 54 from complications from a routine surgery and finally my mother died at 64 during the pandemic from kidney disease. She was waiting to be placed on the transplant list. These women were born in separate decades, all with unique abilities and attributes who I deeply miss each day. Had they been white women, would their health concerns have been taken seriously when they first started having those initial symptoms?
[1] National Institute of Health (2021, August 12). NIH-Funded study highlights stark racial disparities in maternal health. https://www.nih.gov/news-events/news-releases/nih-funded-study-highlights-stark-racial-disparities-maternal-deaths
[2] Center for Disease Control and Prevention (2021, October 26). National Vital Statistics Reports Volume 70, Number 11. https://www.cdc.gov/nchs/data/nvsr/nvsr70/nvsr70-11.pdf
[3] Center for Disease Control and Prevention (2017, July 3). African American Health: Vital Signs. https://www.cdc.gov/vitalsigns/aahealth/index.html
Kenya Martinez is the mother of two teens with disabilities and a caregiver to her disabled adult sibling. A native New Yorker, she grew up surrounded by friends and family who learned differently. Her journey to advocacy began the moment her first child was born and developed a visual impairment. During this same time she started providing advocacy services for seniors and young adults. In 2014, Kenya went back to school and received her degree in Media minoring in Public Policy, graduating Magna Cum Laude from Georgia State University. Kenya is the current Chair for her district’s Special Education Community Advisory Committee and serves on the African American Task Force. She was appointed as a Family Advocate for the Self Determination Program by the State Council on Developmental Disabilities. Kenya enjoys spending time with her family in Sacramento, loves watching movies and TV, and is a big Star Trek and Hip Hop fan!