The Silent Crisis: How Abortion Restrictions Are Endangering Black Women’s Lives
As a Nurse Practitioner, I’ve dedicated my career to advocating for Black women’s health, recognizing the systemic barriers that place us at risk. I’ve witnessed the dismissal of our pain, the neglect of our needs, and the tragic repercussions of a healthcare system that fails to recognize us. But nothing has shaken me as deeply as what happened to my niece, Tyler. It made the crisis personal in a way I never anticipated—and it nearly cost her life.
Kara James
As a Nurse Practitioner, I’ve dedicated my career to advocating for Black women’s health, recognizing the systemic barriers that place us at risk. I’ve witnessed the dismissal of our pain, the neglect of our needs, and the tragic repercussions of a healthcare system that fails to recognize us. But nothing has shaken me as deeply as what happened to my niece, Tyler. It made the crisis personal in a way I never anticipated—and it nearly cost her life.
Three days after giving birth, Tyler called me with panic in her voice. She wasn’t feeling right; she was experiencing bleeding with unusual clots, accompanied by pain and exhaustion. Her doctor confirmed that a portion of her placenta remained inside her, but instead of doing a D&C (dilation and curettage)—a routine method to remove the tissue—they prescribed misoprostol, a pill intended to expel it. The instructions were unclear, and the medication didn’t work. Despite the continued bleeding, Tyler’s doctor advised her to wait. “We’ll check again on Monday,” he said. It was Thursday.
Tyler was terrified. “What happens if I die? What if I have to leave my baby behind because they won’t do what is necessary?” she asked. As her aunt and a healthcare provider, my heart broke, but my anger grew stronger. I knew exactly what was happening. Her doctor was stalling, frightened of the legal consequences in a state where abortion restrictions make even routine procedures like D&Cs controversial. This wasn’t about saving lives—it was about saving themselves.
By Sunday, Tyler’s condition continued. The clots were larger, she was still bleeding, and no one was taking her seriously. Her husband Mark took her to the ER, where they repeated the same tests and delivered the same message: Wait. She was not sick enough. It wasn’t urgent—yet. It was as if they were waiting for her to reach a breaking point, before they’d act, waiting for her body to fail before they believed her.
Monday arrived and her health was deteriorating. I could hear the exhaustion in her voice, and the fear that something irreversible had already begun. When the D&C was finally performed—ten days after the complication was first discovered—it was almost too late. Her blood pressure had spiked and the trauma of being ignored and dismissed left scars that won’t soon heal.
Tyler survived. But I can’t stop thinking about how close she came to being another statistic; another Black woman abandoned by the healthcare system.
This is the reality that abortion restrictions produce. It’s not only about banning abortion—it’s about restricting access to life-saving care. Doctors, petrified by fear of prosecution, are hesitant to perform critical procedures that are considered legally risky in today’s landscape. For Black women like Tyler, who are already three to four times more likely to die from pregnancy-related problems, these delays can prove to be lethal.
What should have been a routine procedure turned into a potentially fatal nightmare, not due to lack available care, but because the laws have created so much legal uncertainty for health care providers. This situation presents a tragic irony: in the name of “protecting life,” these laws ultimately endanger more lives.
The healthcare system has consistently failed Black women. From the historical medical abuses of the past to the ongoing maternal health crisis, we have faced disregard, ridicule, and mistreatment. The current abortion bans pose an additional threat to our survival.
Tyler survived, but how many more women won’t? How many Black women, who are already vulnerable, will suffer because doctors are too scared to intervene?
This issue extends beyond abortion; it’s about healthcare and the fundamental right to live. We must fight for a system that prioritizes the lives of Black women and supports policies that protect both patients and the physicians who care for them. No mother should fear leaving her children behind, and no woman should have to plead for the care she deserves.
A Call to Action
Tyler’s story is not an isolated incident; it’s part of a larger, silent crisis. I share her story to highlight the dangers posed by these abortion restrictions —not only for women seeking abortions but for all women in need of reproductive health care. We must demand change and legislation that protects women’s health, supports doctors who are working to save lives, and eliminates the systemic racism that persists within our healthcare system.
Black women should no longer suffer in silence. This struggle is one of survival, and it’s time to fight back, to protect our bodies, our lives, and our future.
Learn more about the health services offered through Planned Parenthood Los Angeles’ Black Health Initiative by visiting https://www.plannedparenthood.org/planned-parenthood-los-angeles/black-health-initiative. Tyler was not a patient and did not receive care at Planned Parenthood Los Angeles.
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Kara James, a Nurse Practitioner at Planned Parenthood Los Angeles since 2015, champions racial equity and anti-racism in her clinical care. In 2020, she spearheaded the launch of the Black Health Initiative to enhance holistic well-being in Los Angeles’ Black communities.
