Women in healthcare are about more than medicine; they are about respect, dignity, and choice.
For a long time, medicine was a male-dominated field, and women aspiring to become doctors faced bias and barriers at every step. Medical schools often admitted fewer women, doubting their ability to handle the demands of the profession. Many were told to choose “softer” fields like nursing instead, as though they didn’t belong in operating rooms or research labs. Patients simply accepted that most doctors would be male.
However, the need for women in healthcare goes beyond fairness, representation or even battling medical misogyny. This matters for everyone, but especially for women, and even more so for mothers who need doctors who understand their bodies, their recovery, and the weight that comes with motherhood.
Through real experiences, we see just how invaluable women in healthcare are.
Oyindamola’s years of misdiagnosis
Over the last four years, I’ve been to hospitals an average of 50 times. However, the very first time I saw a female doctor was the first time I felt a sense of clarity about my health struggles. She was the first person to point out that a blood pressure of 153/90 was abnormal for a woman in her twenties.
Until then, my concerns had been brushed aside or explained away, mostly misdiagnosed. Her observation led to a series of tests and scans that finally helped me understand what was wrong.
My experience isn’t unique to me; studies show that male doctors often misdiagnose or dismiss female patients. They have also been said to dismiss the health issues of fat women, attributing them solely to their weight and advising weight loss instead of addressing the underlying conditions. Research also found that women with constant heart attacks are significantly more likely to survive if a female physician treats them.
Beyond misdiagnosis, certain experiences also stress the need for women in healthcare.
The discomfort of not having a choice
When I went for my first round of scans, a male cardiologist walked into the room and asked me to strip down to my underwear. I hesitated and asked, “Here?” He affirmed, and I did as instructed. I remember lying on the examination table, staring at a crack in the white ceiling to distract myself from the fact that a man was examining me. His hands moved my breasts in different directions and widened my legs to prepare me for the X-ray. Nothing intentionally invasive, but I’ve never felt more uncomfortable in my life.
What bothered me most wasn’t just the physical discomfort. It was the lack of choice. I should have had the option of being examined by a female doctor. I should have had the right to decide who saw me undress. While some people might say my health should matter more than choosing between a male or female doctor, what they miss is that safety, comfort and autonomy are part of health too.
For the second round of scans, I prepared myself mentally to face the same male doctor again. However, this time, a female cardiologist walked in. She gave me a changing robe, pointed me to a changing box, and told me to come out whenever I felt ready.
That simple act — giving me privacy, dignity, and control — was changing. I wondered, “Why didn’t I get this before?”
Since then, I have requested a female doctor for subsequent appointments when I had the option because I finally feel heard, respected, and comfortable.
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Patricia’s experience with hospitals
For the birth of my niece, I was my sister’s person. We were very anxious about her birthing process because they had a machine monitoring the baby wrapped around her belly. Then two female doctors walked into the room, looking nervously at the scan. They kept saying, “We are just keeping an eye on mum and baby.” I remember my sister voicing concerns about how she felt; she knew the baby was uncomfortable, and that something was wrong. The female doctor, midwife and the female nurses all listened to her and discussed her options at length. I felt relieved to be surrounded by women who could help my sister make the right decision. Their support and trust in understanding that my sister knew her body definitely helped save her and her baby’s lives.
At some point, the sounds on the machine started making a consistent beeping tune. The beeps that were once further apart became closer together. The medical professionals all came to check on my sister, discussed the next course of action and took my sister in for a surgical delivery.
The surgery was exhausting for my sister, who came out of it asleep and on a high dosage of pain medication. I took her little daughter, fed her, and rocked her to sleep. One particular female nurse had held my sister’s hand through the surgery and advocated for her needs. I know that without her support in the surgery, my sister or her baby could have had a more difficult time.
This experience reminded me why more women in medicine matter. When women are heard, believed, and cared for, the outcome of their hospital visit changes. Nigeria has the highest mortality rate in the world, with 75,000 women dying from childbirth annually. My sister and her baby are here today because women in that room listened, advocated, and acted.
Why more women in medicine matter
Representation matters. Women bring perspectives to healthcare that men may overlook, not because they are incapable, but because lived experiences shape how we understand others. In specialities like cardiology and surgery, women are still underrepresented in many countries.
Patients deserve the right to choose the gender of their doctor, especially in sensitive examinations and situations. More importantly, healthcare systems need more women in every speciality, not just to improve patient comfort, but to improve outcomes and save lives.
Although I don’t believe that only female doctors can provide good care. I’ve come across good male doctors too. However, I do believe that patients should have options, and those options start with representation. The more women we have in healthcare, the more likely it is that patients — especially women — will feel seen, understood, and respected. The more likely women who are pregnant and new mums get the safety and advocacy required to combat the mortality rate. And that is just as important as the medicine itself.
