“Do you think I should consider freezing my eggs?” I posed this question to my grandmother and aunt recently as the reality set in that I’m about to turn 30.

According to medical science, the older I get, the fewer chances I have for pregnancy.

But as we approach Black Maternal Health Week, I find myself returning to that question, and my age isn’t the only thing giving me pause.

Black women’s bodies have long been at the mercy of harsh surveillance, financial instability and health inequities.

Because I have a Ph.D.

in maternal and child health, I am well aware that maternal mortality among Black women has been a persistent inequity since the 1930s.

In 2023, for example, the maternal mortality rate among Black women was 50.3 deaths per 100,000 live births and significantly higher than rates for white, Hispanic and Asian women.

And though there was a slight dip in 2024 (44.8 deaths per 100,000 live births), the statistics remain frighteningly high.

The higher rates of maternal deaths aren’t attributed to one singular thing.

Black birthing people are dying, regardless of income or education, because of multiple factors, including structural and systemic racism, provider bias, quality of linguistic and culturally appropriate care, and cumulative stress and weathering.

I was taught to name these as the social-structural determinants of health, focusing on how multiple levels of influence (i.e., individual, interpersonal, community and societal) can impact an individual’s health outcomes.

This knowledge has heightened my awareness and consideration of, well, everything.

Such rates should be enough to alarm us, but as each year passes and more Black women die, the numbers remind me yet again that this country, along with its medical systems, doesn’t prioritize me.

So, even as I wrestle with my readiness to give life, it is painfully clear that my own life may not be protected.

Because I study maternal health, I also know my autonomy is at the mercy of my geography.

Reproductive rights have been under attack in recent years in the U.S.

Abortion access is largely restricted in many places across the country.

Currently, 41 states have abortion restrictions in effect, with 13 of these having total bans.

This means my ZIP code literally determines the level of access I would have to reproductive care should I get pregnant.

And my socioeconomic position would dictate the kind of care I ultimately receive.

As I flip....