By Rosemary Ajegwu
Growing up, my mother would always tell me to exaggerate my pain when speaking to medical professionals or else they will dismiss my pain and not provide care. When I was young, I thought this was unnecessary but now, I know she was right.
Recently, a survey from the University of Virginia showed that “a substantial number of white medical students and residents hold false beliefs about biological differences between Black and white people (e.g., Black people’s skin is thicker; Black people’s blood coagulates more quickly, that Blacks age more slowly than whites; their nerve endings are less sensitive than whites) that could affect how they assess and treat the pain experienced by Black patients.â€Â
Further, researchers found that those who believed these non-truths, “were more likely to report lower pain ratings for the Black vs. white patient, and were less accurate in their treatment recommendations for the Black vs. white patient.â€
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To add kerosene to this racist fire, research published by Plos One showed that Black patients are under-treated for pain. Co-author of the research and an assistant professor at Boston University’s dental medicine school, Astha Singhal, that “a Black patient with the same level of pain and everything else being accounted for was much less likely to receive an opioid prescription than a white patient with the same characteristics.â€
The implications for Black people are harrowing. When Black people report our pain, we aren’t given adequate care from health care professionals who specialize in an industry that ultimately decides the pace of our deaths. Â
I remember returning from boarding school in Nigeria not feeling well. Although my white doctor was aware of my overseas trip, my doctor insisted that I “only†had the stomach flu. Now, my father being a true Nigerian and a pharmacist disagreed with my doctor. He believed that I had malaria. The doctor was not convinced and sent me home.
Before leaving the hospital, my father bought me a banana to eat. I am not sure what kicked in but all of a sudden, I was throwing up and then I lost control of my body. My body was shivering from an intense fever—one of the clearest signs of malaria. I do not remember much from that day, but I ended up in the emergency room, was remained in the hospital for a week.
It turns out I did have malaria. Needless to say, my father was furious. This misdiagnosis is an infuriating one because there was no reason for my doctor to not believe the suspicions of my father who is from that place and who is also in the medical field. Once, I started sharing my story with friends, I heard more that sounded exactly like mine.
Unsurprisingly, there has always been a history of disbelief that Black people can feel pain.
Marion Sims, a true american devil, ran numerous painful experimental surgeries on countless enslaved Black women without using available anesthesia. So we know these incidents of misdiagnosis are not isolated.
From Erica Garner, Serena Williams, and the scores of Black women who are debilitated or dying during or following childbirth, the medical health care industry is a force of structural violence designed, guided, and reinforced by white supremacy and the anti-Blackness it fuels and feeds on. Â Â
Medical professionals are further ill-equipped at handling the mental health care needs of Black people. I remember lying to my parents about seeing a therapist afraid of the prayers and “you’re ungrateful†they would throw at me. My therapist was an Asian-American man, and instantly I was suspicious of how well he’d provide care. In my head, I knew this wasn’t going to go well but I tried to keep an open-mind.
When I told him that I have anxiety and depression, he tried to convince me that I was incorrect, even though I knew my symptoms and experiences. It was only when I started crying inconsolably, did he begin to see reason. Still, his treatment was subpar in that he recommended  I take pictures of a bunch of books in his office, read them, and get well soon. I left the room and never came back.
“Girlhood Interrupted: The Erasure of Black Girls’ Childhood” reports that in comparison to white girls of the same age survey participants see Black girls as needing less nurturing, protection, support, and comfort. Additionally, the NAACP has reported that Black women are imprisoned at twice the rate of white women and that though Black and Hispanic people are only 32% of the population, they make up 56% of incarcerated folks as of 2015.
It’s not hard to imagine that this number has increased given the unrelenting incarceration of Black women.  These stats in mind, it’s clear that the medical industry, police brutality, and mass incarceration have commonality in seeing Black people as unflinching non-humans incapable of experiencing pain or emotion.
These institutions which shape society relies upon characterizing Black people as thick skinned non-humans in order to justify our encagement, murder, and pain mismanagement.  The through-line between officers who say we are hulkish and impenetrable, to doctors who misdiagnose us and fail to provide proper care is a disturbing white supremacist one.
In much the same way society conditions us to see officers as well-intentioned protectors, we’re conditioned to see doctors as neutral, studied caregivers. But the modern medical industry is built on anti-Black eugenics, and thus it is unsurprising that these deadly foundations over-reach into the medical world of today.
We can’t trust white institutions to serve us, and thankfully there are tools we can use to better navigate the larger health care industry to the best of our ability. Dr. Joy Harden Bradford, founder of Therapy for Black Girls, created an “online space dedicated to encouraging the mental wellness of Black women and girls.†Therapy for Black Girls provides information about Black women therapists throughout the United States, while also listing podcasts and  forums for Black women to talk about their mental health.
On Twitter, I have seen quite a few threads promoting Black midwives and insisting on hiring them when giving birth, even in hospitals. Once again, Black people have to find ways to protect ourselves from people and structures that seek to do us harm. Black people have to constantly remind ourselves to not allow people outside of our bodies to dictate how we should feel or convince us that our pain isn’t serious: It is the difference between life and death.
Suggested Reading
“No Room to be Weary“—Da’Shaun Harrison, personal blog (April 15, 2018)
“When Mental Health Professionals Could Not Speak to My Experience, They Would Not Let Me Heal“ — Da’Shaun Harrison, personal blog (March 24, 2018)
Rose Ajegwu is a Prince George’s County-bred, Naija-bled Black, queer, and non-binary photographer, filmmaker, digital designer, poet/writer and engineer based in Boston, MA. They use their art to reflect upon Black Femmehood, Blackness, African queerness, culture, Black mental health, intergenerational trauma, male preference, and everything in between. Visit roseajegwu.com and follow @lowkoja
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