Systematic Barriers: A Story
When my classmates asked me about my winter break this year, I told them that it was fun. Outside of getting appendicitis. They sympathized with me: “Oh no! That must have hurt a lot! And you got it on vacation too?”
It’s true, I did indeed develop appendicitis while staying at a suitemate’s house in California. My parents were frantically on the phone with my surgeon, making sure I would be OK to fly home the day after the operation. It was all very busy and sudden. But in the end, my surgery went well, and I flew home to Chicago the next day (although a bit nauseous).
The next week, an elder at my church died following a stroke. My mom was heartbroken. She told me, “I just saw her last week and she was doing great!” Details soon spread about the passing of this beloved woman, a grandmother. Apparently she had suffered a minor stroke, but she did not go to the hospital. The woman insisted that she was fine, that she could brave it out. Two days later, she passed away.
The incident made me think about the privilege I experienced during my time in the hospital in California. First, there was money. I’m privileged enough to have good health insurance, so I knew right away that when my stomach felt like someone was twisting it, I could (and absolutely needed to) go to the hospital to get it checked out. Not everyone can afford the high cost of surgery or even the emergency room, which I learned was a barrier to my mother’s elderly church friend getting help.
Second, there was my citizenship status. I am lucky to have become a citizen of the United States when my mom passed her citizenship test in 2012. Because of this, I felt safe and welcome in the hospital. The church elder possibly would not have experienced this ease because of her undocumented status. The closest clinic that serves undocumented populations was an hour away, and she had no mode of transportation outside of her children, who were at work.
Third was language. I am privileged to have grown up speaking English. My anesthesiologist asked me about my time at Yale, and we connected over having both lived in Connecticut at some point. To her, I could have been her daughter’s friend at school. But for the church elder who cannot speak English, engaging with a doctor in that way would be close to impossible. One-third of U.S. hospitals do not have interpreters on standby, and even if there were one, I imagine it can be difficult for someone feeling vulnerable to communicate about the illness to a doctor who sees that person as a foreigner.
I know that the church elder’s story would have been different if she had the proper support to address her health needs. As future policymakers and medical practitioners, we must make a concerted effort to lessen the barriers to health care so that we can help more people.
When I came back to Yale, I decided I would join HAVEN Free Clinic, a student-run primary care clinic that partners with Yale to provide the New Haven community with access to comprehensive, high-quality health care free of charge. People are dying due to lack of health information and the prevailing systematic barriers to health care. It might take a while for the system to change, but we can continue to push for progress. In the meantime, I’m glad I can contribute a small share by supporting a clinic for underserved populations.
