Chapter 10 - The Speech That Changed a Generation
A year later, I stood on a stage at the national American Medical Association conference, in front of 10,000 doctors from all over the country. Leo was three now, his arm fully recovered, playing soccer on a team with Mia, able to throw a ball harder than any other kid his age. Ethan was in the front row, holding our new baby girl—Lila Grace, born six months earlier, perfect and healthy, delivered via scheduled C-section by a team of female doctors who’d listened to every single one of my wishes.
The title of my speech was Listen to Her: Why Ignoring Women in Labor Is a Public Health Crisis.
I told them my story. I told them about the night I’d given birth, about the flatline, about Leo’s injury, about the eight dead patients, about the trial. I told them about the women who’d emailed me, thousands of them, with their own stories of being ignored, of being hurt, of losing their babies.
“Too many of us see patients as numbers, or as problems, or as inconveniences,” I said, my voice ringing through the auditorium. “Too many of us let our egos, our reputations, our own insecurities get in the way of doing the one thing we swore to do when we put on this white coat: do no harm. I was lucky. I survived. My son survived. But thousands of women aren’t so lucky. And it’s our job to change that. It’s our job to listen. To believe them. To fight for them. Even when it’s hard. Even when it means admitting we’re wrong.”
When I finished, the entire auditorium stood up, cheering, clapping so loud my ears rang. As I walked off the stage, a young female resident came up to me, tears in her eyes, holding a copy of my book The Flatline Moment, which I’d written the year before.
“Your speech changed my life,” she said. “I’m going to be an OB/GYN. And I’m never going to let a woman feel like no one is listening to her. Not ever.”
I hugged her, and as I walked over to Ethan and the kids, Leo ran to me, yelling “Mommy!” and throwing his arms around my legs. Lila Grace gurgled in Ethan’s arms, reaching for me, and Mia waved from where she was standing with Lila, who was now pregnant with her first baby.
I looked at my family, at the life I’d built from the ashes of the old one, and smiled.
Cameron was still in prison. Sophie was still in prison. Richard Hale was still in prison. St. Jude’s was gone, replaced by a hospital that actually cared about people. The Leo Fund had helped over 500 women across the country fight for justice. The Labor and Delivery Emergency Response Team I’d built had been adopted by 200 hospitals nationwide.
I’d lost a lot that night I’d given birth. I’d lost a husband, a future I’d planned, parts of my body I’d never get back. But I’d gained so much more. I’d gained my freedom. I’d gained my voice. I’d gained a love that was real, and kind, and true. I’d gained a life worth fighting for.
As Ethan leaned down to kiss me, the kids squirming between us, I thought about the beep of the monitor, about the three minutes I’d been dead, about the moment I’d decided I wasn’t going to let Cameron and Sophie win.
They’d thought that flatline was the end of me.
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But it had only been the beginning.
And the best was still yet to come.
