Kanwal’s Story: When Women Speak, Do Doctors Even Listen?
When women speak, do doctors even listen?
This was the question I asked myself as I lay on the floor of a parking garage, unable to move —again. I had lost count how many times I found myself in such a situation.
The first time, I was at work when I experienced intense cramps that sent me crashing to the floor. Luckily, I worked in a medical center, so my colleague walked me over to the ER. Once I got there I was told, “You’re just having a panic attack,” given some fluids and shown the door.
Then it happened again. This time it was at a large public market in New York City. Again, it started without warning and caused be to become debilitated. Someone called an ambulance, but before it arrived, an Uber did. For this I was grateful; I didn’t have the money to pay for an ambulance bill. My friend lugged me into the Uber and got us to Urgent Care five blocks away. Again I told the doctor what happened, and this time I told them I had been seeing blood in my stools. So they checked for hemorrhoids, found none, and with a shrug of their shoulders told me to see my primary care doctor the next time this happened.
Then it happened again. And again. And again. Overtime, the stress of not knowing when I would experience another attack became so severe that my body started deploying yet another tactic to show me something was wrong by breaking out in hives, constantly.
That brings me back to the parking garage - that became my final straw. I felt the pain start in the pit of my stomach and then suddenly it seared right through me, like the strike of a knife. I was petrified that I was going to lose control of the wheel and collapse in the drivers seat. I saw a parking lot to my left and immediately pulled in to stop the car. I threw open the door and collapsed down to the ground. This time no one was around to help me.
I lay on the dirty gray pavement, with my face covered in sweat and tears, my body in a pile of my own bodily fluids. That was it. I was going to die alone, in a pile of my own shit. Beyond the debilitating pain and fear there was so much humiliation, anger, and frustration. What was the point of trying to get medical care again if no one was going to listen to me? I worked at an elite medical instiution, with access to some of the best doctors in the world. Yet, no amount of accolades could get me access to the care I needed.
With all this privilege, if I still couldn’t get the care I needed? hat did every other woman do? What about women like my grandmother? She was a farm worker who immigrated to America. She did not speak English. She did not read or write. She died in 2014 from lung cancer, despite never having smoked a day in her life. Did her doctors ever listen to her? Could her death have been prevented? Had she felt as helpless, ignored, and frustrated as I felt right now?
Finally, I forced myself to crawl back up, open my car door and call my husband to come get me. By the time he arrived, I had made a decision: I was done staying silent. It’s time for change..
Together we can make health & care better, for EVERY woman.
💜 Kanwal L Haq
