This post was originally published on Dallas Weekly
By Marlissa Collier
Weeks ago, countless online communities were sent into shock when they received the news that the beloved beauty influencer Jessica Pettway had died at just 36-years-old. The mother of two, who’d begun building her online presence and brand on YouTube in 2013 would go on to be mourned by her hundreds-of-thousands of fans and would become a more recent poster child for yet another example of the struggles Black women experience in the U.S. healthcare system. For years prior to her passing, Pettway had battled a series of reproductive health crises. She would ultimately succumb to cervical cancer, but only after being misdiagnosed with fibroids first.
In an Instagram post shared just months before her passing, Pettway revealed to her massive following that in June 2022, she’d begun experiencing extremely heavy bleeding and fatigue. Months after the onset of her intense symptoms, which she’d refused to report to doctors, assuming the symptoms were just the consequence of a series of difficult menstrual cycles, Pettway’s husband would find her unresponsive in their home and would rush her to the hospital. After being examined, she was diagnosed with fibroids, a condition that impacts over 80% of Black American women before they reach 50.
For six months, Pettway and her doctors would be swinging in the wrong direction, unknowingly fighting the wrong fight. In subsequent online posts by Pettway, the beauty influencer explained that for months her case had been handled with status-quo treatment, though her symptoms remained extremely intense. Doctors and Pettway alike, still operating under the belief that her condition was due to fibroids, would remain perplexed by the string of hospitalizations, wherein Pettway would undergo almost a dozen blood transfusions to combat excessive blood loss. But in February 2023, after an eventual biopsy, Pettway would learn that she’d actually been at the mercy of stage 3 cervical cancer the entire time.
The misdiagnoses of the prominent figure raised eyebrows, reminding the country of a very real truth – that Black women in America are often in danger in the very place that should be able to find healing. From Beyonce to Serena, the country has had to listen as some of the world’s biggest stars have come out to share their stories of being under-considered, unheard, and untreated – also reminding the masses that fame and fortune do little to insulate Black women from healthcare inequities.
Earlier this year, following the death of Congresswoman Eddie Bernice Johnson, Dallas Weekly released a series of pieces exploring the challenges Black women have historically and continue to face regarding healthcare in the U.S. Serena, Beyonce and Congresswoman Johnson, who died of an infection after being exposed to bacteria that her son Kirk Johnson said was due to being left sedentary in her own urine and feces at a Dallas-area rehab center, showcase that education, name-recognition and means have limited value when it comes to the quality of healthcare for Black American women.
By now, it’s no secret that Black women in the United States face a disproportionate burden when it comes to healthcare equity. But that inequity is only intensified when it comes to reproductive health. Not only are Black women more likely to experience complications during pregnancy and higher rates of infant mortality, but they’re also more likely to suffer from conditions like fibroids and endometriosis. In Texas, Black pregnant individuals die from issues caused by pregnancy at rates that are between two and three times the rate of white pregnant individuals. The CDC also estimates that Black, Hispanic and Indigenous women have claimed a larger percentage of new cervical cancer diagnoses than any other group.
And it’s not just women. Black and brown girls are also impacted, as these reproductive issues tend to show up in the first few years of a young lady’s menstrual cycle. Mary Moore, a Dallas-area woman who has long fought a battle with fibroids said that she started developing abnormal menstrual symptoms at just 17 years old.
“I was diagnosed with four fibroids”, says Moore, who is now 36 years old. “My symptoms were heavier menstrual, fatigue, anemia, and severe pain in the pelvic area. The larger fibroid was also pressing on a nerve – causing pain in my legs and back.” Mary said that her experience with fibroids has meant a handful of surgeries, several blood transfusions and still means monthly disruptions to her day-to-day. “Some days you’re just so fatigued and can’t find the energy because you’re in pain.”
But, while it’s easy to pass the disproportionate impact of reproductive issues in Black women as something that just, well, the status quo, as doctors did with Jessica Pettway, this troubling disparity can’t be fully understood without examining the interconnected issues of healthcare access, food equity and environmental racism.
It’s in the Food
In 2013, a group of physicians and scholars authored a white paper, The Health Disparities of Uterine Fibroids for African American Women: A Public Health Issue, wherein the parallels between uterine fibroids and obesity were explored. In the study, it was found that not only are Black women more likely to live in areas that are considered food deserts, but that the limited access to fresh produce is so prevalent that it can be directly traced to elevated rates of reproductive conditions such as fibroids and endometriosis.
According to nutritionists, this lack of access to healthy food creates a nutritional deficit that can negatively impact overall health and lead to deficiencies in essential vitamins and minerals crucial for reproductive health. Folic acid, for example, helps prevent birth defects, while iron deficiency can increase the risk of anemia during pregnancy.
Plus, food insecurity itself is also a significant stressor. The constant worry about obtaining enough food can take a toll on mental health, which can further impact reproductive health. Chronic stress disrupts the body’s hormonal balance, potentially leading to irregular periods, increased risk of miscarriage, and other issues.
Sadly though, food access and equity doesn’t seem to be improving in Black communities, as corporate grocery chains, with the growing pressure to place profits over people, are wary of investing in areas that fail to meet shareholder revenue and margin requirements. In fact, earlier this year, South Dallas experienced yet another grocery store being shuttered with the closing of the neighborhood’s Save-a-Lot, driving the neighborhood further into food insecurity, all but helping to guarantee the perpetuation of health issues connected to lack of decent nourishment. Similar to South Dallas, the areas Black women tend to reside in are often flooded with fast food and convenience stores, offering cheap, calorie-dense options with little nutritional value.
It’s In The Air
If food inequity weren’t enough, there’s environmental racism – a form of institutional and systemic racism that has led to a hard-to-ignore disproportionality when it comes to the locations of landfills, waste disposal, manufacturing facilities and additional toxin emitters. This form of ecological apartheid exposes Black communities to a higher burden of environmental toxins – toxins that studies have linked exposure to with an increased risk of reproductive problems like uterine fibroids, endometriosis, and infertility.
A study published by the journal Human Reproduction looked at the levels of three distinct air pollutants between the years of 1997 and 2011. The study looked at 22,000 premenopausal Black women living in the area who’d been exposed to ozone and found that there was a 35% increase in the risk of developing fibroids. And what is ozone? Simply put, it’s the main ingredient in smog. Ozone is developed by chemical reactions between other pollutants emitted from cars, factories, refineries, chemical plants and more. And where are these things more likely to be located?
It’s in the Healthcare
In 2022, Health Affairs published an article articulating that racism “runs through” the sexual and reproductive health of Black women, pointing out that the history of racism in the U.S. has influenced both the availability and use of reproductive services by Black women. From financial disparities that have affected a woman’s ability to pay for reproductive healthcare, to a lack of trust in healthcare institutions, prompting Black women to seek, many times to no avail, a care provider of the same race, Black women’s reproductive health has been at the mercy of America’s tendency to overlook and purposely disenfranchise them. “As a black girl who didn’t have the best insurance providers or access to many OB/GYNs, I was sent to a primary family doctor. And of course the first answer they will give you is ‘let’s put you on birth control to regulate your menstrual’, Mary Moore said when asked about the quality of healthcare she received at the onset of abnormal systems.
So, what’s the fix? Addressing these long-standing disparities along with food equity and environmental racism requires a multi-pronged approach. But first, the U.S. would need to deal with its baggage. The country has never been truly honest about how discrimination has played a role in laying the foundation of current systems – systems that allow for things like food deserts and the smog-covered neighborhoods that just happen to plague areas overwhelmingly inhabited by Black and brown people. A good, honest look at self would potentially help the U.S. see that there are underlying issues – work that needs to be done from the root.
Though, with things like critical race theory and DEI programs under attack, the opportunity to explore the country’s history and heart may be slipping away. Even so, if the country refuses to look at how its history has impacted the reproductive health of Black women, it’s worth noting that the reproductive health of all women is on the line. In fact, on average, today, more than half of white women are prone to developing fibroids before 50.
The overturning of Roe v. Wade and constant griping about a decreased birth rate should, in theory, warrant more concern about the overall reproductive health of women in the United States. Obesity is at an all-time high as Americans are now being offered more “food-like” products than actual food, and health conditions triggered by an ever-deteriorating environmental crisis are on the rise. So, exploring the link between food quality and access, environmental wellness and reproductive health isn’t just good for Black women, it’s good for the entire country.
The post A Tangled Web: Food Equity, Environmental Racism, and Reproductive Health in Black Communities appeared first on Dallas Weekly.