According to the Minnesota Department of Health, a staggering 95% of maternal deaths in  our state were preventable. In Minnesota, the maternal death rate for Black parents is 2.3  times higher than the state average. For American Indian parents, it is a stunning 12 times  higher.

My birth story is about trauma, not death, but it started with the same mistakes that cost  other Black and American Indian parents their lives.  

In August 2025, I checked into the hospital to give birth. I entered expecting the joy of a new  beginning; I left with the trauma of a system that failed to see me as a person. 

While in triage, the hospital was so severely understaffed that my doula, not staff member,  had to hunt through the unit herself to find a birthing ball while I waited in pain.

The most terrifying moment wasn’t the physical pain; it was the realization that I was being  ignored. A provider entered my room and began insisting I had hypertension. When I  corrected her, she dismissed me, doubling down on a diagnosis that wasn’t mine. It was  only after I forced her to look at my chart that she realized she was reading the medical  history of the wrong patient. 

Related: Black Maternal Health Caucus pushing for change in new Minnesota legislative session 

When a provider refuses to hear a Black woman correcting a fundamental error about her  own body, the danger that was “preventable” becomes “probable.” 

My husband and I made the difficult, informed decision to proceed with an urgent cesarean section for our baby’s safety. After we consented, the medical team went silent for hours.  We later learned the delay was due to an emergency elsewhere, but instead of  communicating, the provider returned to inform us they had unilaterally changed my plan to pursue a vaginal birth. They called this the “gift of time,” but in reality, it was a violation of my patient autonomy and a total disregard for the decision we had made for our child’s safety. 

In clinical terms, the “Decision-to-Incision Interval” (DII) refers to the time between when a provider and patient agree to an unscheduled C-section and when the first incision is  made. While no international standard exists, medical literature suggests that DIIs over 75 minutes can lead to poor maternal and neonatal outcomes. My C-section took hours of  silence and confusion. 

When I filed a formal complaint, hospital leadership told me my experience was being used as a “safety story” for staff training. But Black mothers are not “stories.” We are patients who deserve to receive the standard of care we are promised. 

I want to be clear: the failure was not with the frontline nurses who provided exceptional  postpartum care. In fact, it was a midwife of color, on the day I was discharged, who finally  offered the validation I needed. After I requested to speak with a supervisor to ensure my  story was heard, she sat with me, cried with me, and was the one who insisted I file a  formal complaint. Her empathy stood in stark contrast to the system that had ignored me  in my greatest hour of need. 

If we want to change the 95% of preventable deaths, we need more than apologies and  “safety stories.” We need policy. 

First, we must pass my bill (SF 3768), which will require all state-regulated insurance  companies cover the full cost of doula services. During my stay, it was my doulas from  ÀBĪYÈ Collective who were my only consistent advocates. They were the ones who noticed  the gaps in care when the hospital was stretched too thin. Doulas are among the most  effective tools to improve labor and delivery outcomes, yet they remain a luxury many  cannot afford. 

Second, we must pass the Quality Patient Care Act (SF 2775). My experience with  understaffing wasn’t just an inconvenience; it was a safety risk. When nurses are  overworked and stretched across too many patients, communication breaks down and  errors become inevitable. We cannot have “health equity” in birth centers that are  understaffed. Minnesotans deserve to have safe nurse-to-patient ratios defined in law,  which will protect both patients and nurses. 

Related: Building trust with parents skeptical of institutional health care is one key to lowering maternal death rate and ensuring happier moms and babies

Resources like Irth (as in “birth,” but without the “B” for bias) are also critical. Irth is a  “Yelp-like” platform for Black and Brown birthing people to review their care. It turns our  individual experiences into data that can no longer be ignored. We need more Minnesota  hospitals to be brave enough to join Irth’s hospital improvement plan to actively root out  bias. 

Let’s stop turning Black trauma into “safety stories.” Let’s fund the advocates who keep us  safe and pass the laws that guarantee safe staffing levels in our hospitals. Our lives depend on it.

Sen. Clare Oumou Verbeten represents District 66 in the Minnesota Senate.

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