دانلود کتاب چگونه یک ضد نژادپرست تربیت کنیم

She noticed. First once or twice a day. Soon, two or three times a day. It was March 2016. We lived in central Florida. Sadiqa had been pregnant with our child for twenty-three weeks. She did not have any pain. She did not notice any bleeding. But the discharge worried her. It was odd. It kept coming. Three days after it started, Sadiqa told me about it. I could tell she felt uncomfortable sharing. We live in a body-shaming society where even pregnant women are socialized to be embarrassed about their bodies. But as a physician, Sadiqa eased her discomfort by medicalizing its source, by observing and reporting her clinical symptoms as she would a patient’s. She called her obstetrician’s office not long after she opened up to me and told a nurse about the discharge, its increasing volume, and her increasing worry. “Any other symptoms?” the nurse asked. “No, not really.” “Well, I think it’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about. People have symptoms like that all the time.” Not Sadiqa. It was the first symptom like that she’d experienced during the six months of her first pregnancy. And she was not reassured by the nurse. Now she had a new worry: Is something wrong with me for thinking there is something wrong with me? she thought. Am I paranoid? Foolish? The world has a knack for causing women to question their sanity, and those questions fall especially heavily on pregnant women, and pregnant Black women perhaps most of all. The selfdoubt arises from what microbiologist Sasha Ottey terms “healthcare gaslighting.” In the end, Sadiqa listened to her body. But medical workers too often don’t listen to Black women.