Nobody Knows the Trouble I’ve Seen: A Story of Self-Advocating as a Young Black Woman

Commentary by Gabriel McCrea. Photo by Elmater Pleasant.

When watching any media accounts regarding health disparities, it is always said that Black Americans have it worse, and Black women are on the bottom of the totem pole healthwise.So I might have to add as a black, female, teen, i don't even make it into the conversation.   I experienced being shrugged off when seeking urgent care, which could have impacted my health and future. At just 12 years old, I am already a competitive swimmer and golfer, and my feet are very important for both sports.

One day I was running through the house and slid across the floor. While running and sliding, my sock got caught on a small loose piece of wood and it went straight into my foot. My mom thought that it was a tiny splinter and that she could pull it out by using a needle and some rubbing alcohol, but I knew that it was not going to work. My mom didn’t know what I was going through while I sat on the sofa trying not to cry out in pain. After my mom picked at my foot with a sewing needle and poured peroxide on it, she finally agreed that this was an urgent care matter. I’m lucky to have one of those moms that trusts me when I say there is a problem, even if she doesn't see it herself.

When we got to urgent care, my mom signed me in and we waited in the lobby for about an hour and a half until we were called. When the doctor finally showed up after examining my foot, he highly suggested that we just go home and wait for it to obtrude out on its own. All he could see was the same small hole my mom saw. I really didn’t want to deal with the pain anymore and I asked if he could just take it out. The doctor said that he couldn’t see anything worth cutting my foot open for, and he suggested I just wait for it to work its way out. At one point he made it seem like I was making a big fuss out of nothing. He even said that at 12, I should be a big girl. I looked at my mom and said, “Mom I can't just go home like this.” You see, I am a mature young lady, and only I knew the pain I was in. I didn’t have to be kicking and screaming for it to be real. At that point, ‘Mama Bear’ really kicked in, and my mother explained to the doctor that she is not a loud person, but she was about to be. Finally, the doctor huffed and ordered an X-ray, and said that he couldn’t see the “splinter” but that if I wanted to go through the pain of cutting my foot open, (again with the scare tactics) he'd do it.

He told my mother he would numb my foot before cutting it open, but he didn't. While my foot was being cut open, I squeezed my mother's hand due to the intense pain. After he finally got the inch and a half piece of wood out, he said, “Wow!” It felt like hours dealing with the pain. Not just the pain in my foot, but also having to convince him I had it in the first place. After basically calling me a foolish child, all he had to say was “Wow,” instead of a simple apology. 

Unfortunately, my story is a common one shared by many Black women. As Black women, we are 2.6 times more likely to die from pregnancy-related complications than white women. For Black women 25 and older, pregnancy-related mortality is about four times higher. As long as Black women are told to go home and let their pain work itself and that they are just being silly, things won't get any better. It’s time for the medical profession and the world to take our pain seriously.

Gabriel McCrea is a 7th grade scholar at Friendship Online Academy.

Photo 1: My foot before the piece of wood was pulled out.

Photo 2: The “small” piece of wood that was 3 inches long.

Photo 3: The piece of wood after it got pulled out of my foot.