I remember these words as if it were yesterday. Those memories are etched into my mind forever. I can’t forget them, nor do I want to, because I know that these experiences are not unique to me but happen all too often.
When my second child was four days old, I had her home with me, surrounded by family. It had been a busy few weeks because, for this pregnancy, I refused to give birth in the city where I lived and practiced. Instead, I received some prenatal care in a city an eight-hour drive away from where we lived at that time. Why? Because countless previous experiences had taught me that I would receive substandard care in the city where I had lived for decades, especially when it came to pregnancy and delivery.
After being away for over a week, we were finally home. I remember feeding my baby, burping her, and placing her on my lap. All was well until I realized moments later that my baby wasn’t breathing, her color was off, and she was stiff as a board. I panicked, and the fear was palpable. I screamed for my husband to come as I proceeded to do CPR on my four-day-old baby. Thank God she came back to us, and at that point, we made the decision to go to the hospital that we had tried so hard to protect our babies from.
My baby was admitted to the pediatric ward. It was a quiet ward, as there were not many children admitted just days after Christmas. My baby was placed in a crib and hooked up to monitors. It wasn’t long before the monitors went off—her oxygen levels kept dropping to critically low levels. This happened eight times during her admission. Her levels dropped to as low as 51 percent. I remember there were times when I would try to nurse my daughter, and her little body would go limp, and her eyes would roll back. Frantically, I would call for help from the triage desk, and they told me she was fine. The nurses even changed the oxygen monitor, citing that the monitor was faulty, but it wasn’t—the new monitor read the same critical readings.
I questioned the nurse, thinking to myself that this was not reflux, as they told me. The nurse said, “Your daughter is fine; her lips are not blue.”
To this day, these words haunt me.
I wonder how many other brown-skinned babies have been impacted because critical signs do not always look like those of white babies.
Some may say I overstepped my boundaries, but at this point, I didn’t care. I was already accustomed to taking the heat for doing the right thing for the patient. I called a fellow colleague, who happened to be a Black pediatrician. She was unaware of my situation and shocked that the attending pediatrician had not once been called during this ordeal. She was the one who called the attending pediatrician.
Between hearing, “Your baby is so cute” and “She looks fine,” I heard many reasons why my baby was just fine. Thankfully, my baby decided to seize in the presence of one of the nurses, and then they realized that, in fact, something serious was going on. Moments later, they decided that my now five-day-old baby needed ICU care and intubation.
My point is that we need to do better when treating all patients, regardless of skin color. As a society, we are only as strong as our weakest.
I’m inspired by the work of Chidiebere Ibe, a medical student and medical illustrator from Nigeria because he sheds light on necessary discussions in our diverse world. Known for his famous illustration of a Black pregnant woman with a Black fetus, Ibe’s work is a testament to his passion for both medicine and art. His contemporary illustrations of Black people are a crucial addition to medical textbooks and public health materials, bringing much-needed diversity and representation to the field. Chidiebere Ibe’s advocacy for equal representation, inclusion, and diversity in health care practice is vital in challenging and changing the status quo.
The fact is, a patient could look “normal” and still be sick. The fact is, a patient’s labs and vitals could be “within normal limits,” and they could still be sick. The truth is we should treat the whole patient and listen to them. If the patient can’t speak, listen to the people who know the child best—in my case, it was me, the mother. My baby wasn’t fine, and her lips were not blue.
My “baby” starts kindergarten this year, and I’m eternally grateful.
However, health advocacy starts with us, and our stories need to be told. Only by sharing our experiences can we hope to improve our systems and ensure that every patient receives the care they deserve.
Tomi Mitchell, a family physician and founder of Dr. Tomi Mitchell Holistic Wellness Strategies, is not only a distinguished international keynote speaker but also a passionate advocate for mental health and physician’s well-being, hosting her podcast, The Mental Health & Wellness Show. With over a decade of experience in presenting, public speaking, and training, she excels in creating meaningful connections with her audience. Connect with her on Facebook, Instagram, and LinkedIn and book a discovery call.
