I’m a mom. All I cared about at the time was to survive.Well, they left me to die.

The First Black Maternal Health Walk of April 11, 2025 conceived by community leaders and event architects Brooke Durrah and her mother Dr. Valerie Durrah in their Bedford Stuyvesant home a year ago, was officially launched last month at Brooklyn Borough Hall, a site for many firsts.

Among the historic addresses ever delivered in the hall was President Antonio Reynoso’s emotion-infused 2022 unveiling of his bold plan to attack grave disparities in maternal health services and resources for the underserved ( www.brooklynbp.nyc.gov/maternal-health-agenda/). The April event speakers’ stories, like Reynoso’s three years earlier, walked into the hearts of all attendees in the packed hall.

Testimonies delivered by women leaders from all walks of life who endured painful pregnancies, attacks on mental health, and lack of services were similar to those experienced by their constituents and followers, the women they lead.

Our Time Press, in a limited-run series, is presenting the testimonies of Black Maternal Health Walk women leaders. It will end next month with a story on experts’ solutions, also shared at the event. The series continues this week with Brooklyn Democratic County leader and State Assemblywoman Rodneyse Bichotte-Hermelyn sharing her remarkable story of tragedy, self-triage, and eventual triumph. (Bernice Elizabeth Green)

Rodneyse Bichotte-Hermelyn, State Assemblywoman (AD-42), Brooklyn Democratic County Leader

We’ve been hearing statistics about black maternal health care, and the injustices and inequities that cause black maternal loss, affecting far too many. And, you know, we hear these statistics, and they have been the same statistics. The United States, a developing country, is the third-highest country with the highest mortality rate. That’s an issue. Top third in the world? That’s a problem.

We’ve been hearing these statistics: it’s about eight or nine times more likely for a black woman to die than a white woman. What are we doing? How do we make people care? How do we make changes?

Many of you know about my story. In 2016, I went to the top hospital. I was doing everything I could. I was carrying two babies. I lost one in the middle of my journey. When I was having some pre-term issues and my baby was bulging out, the hospital turned me away. They did not want to touch me because of insurance.

They didn’t want me to be liable, so they told me to go home, make things happen, and just call 911. They did not know I was an elected official, and at that moment, I wasn’t thinking about being an elected official. I’m a mom. All I cared about at the time was to survive. Well, they left me to die. I was turned away. I was rushed, then by my friends, to a community safety-net hospital, where they did everything that they could to save my life and my baby. They stitched me up.

They had me upside down. It was a very painful process, both emotionally and physically. I didn’t know what was going on. Unfortunately, my son, Jonah, did not make it. I delivered him pre-term. He died two hours later, and that was that. And you know, I didn’t know what to do. The doctor called me from Colombia the next day after all of this had happened, and I asked, “Why are you calling me? You didn’t care. You pushed me out. Why are you calling?”

For a long time, I lived with this pain. I didn’t go to therapy. I had nowhere else to go, but I thought about an opportunity to help other people’s lives, and that my voice needed to be loud. I didn’t want my late son to die in vain. So, we wrote a bill that took four years in the name of my son, called The Jonah Bichotte Cowan Law, which was a bill that mandates hospitals to take care of women, any woman who is undergoing preterm risk. We can’t turn them away. And it was hard passing that bill for many years. And, in 2020, the bill finally passed. (Applause)

I know that you know, I didn’t want to sue. I wanted to write this law instead. I got admitted to Brooklyn Law School because I felt I was not only going to fight on the floors of Albany, but I would also fight in the courts. I wanted to fight for all the voiceless, all these people who don’t have a safe way or know their whereabouts in the court of law. During my very difficult journey in Law School, I graduated with a B+!

I went to work. I got married. I lost my mom. I was studying. I got pregnant and I had a baby. And yes, in the middle of law school, and then I was interning in the middle of law school, pregnant, gave birth, went back to my internship, a white a white male firm construction, and they had a room for me to lactate that is so I was able to come and breastfeed my son for a year and a half while in law school.

And, you know, I just think about my mom, who unfortunately didn’t get to see Daniel, but her spirit stayed with me, and I always hear her words, “You’re doing this not for you. You’re doing this not for Daniel, but you’re doing this for many!” So, I am happy that God gave me another opportunity in life to live and to give birth, after almost dying to give it. The three-hour blood transfusion was complicated, but I’m here. I’m here standing so that I can march with you. I can move with him, and I can help bring awareness to these issues. I thank Crystal, people like Crystal, who are also mothers and mouthpieces, to share our stories.

And so, I just want to thank Dr. Durrah for letting me stand before everyone. We’re pushing legislation in Albany as it relates to maternal care, as it relates to all the things that we need, like doulas, midwives, birthing centers and all of those things that make a difference. Like understanding when black women say, “I’m in pain,” they are in pain. When they say, “I’m bleeding,” you must address the hemorrhaging. We need people to listen!

We need to upgrade our hospitals so that we have resources that can quickly determine these things that we go through as women, from fibroids to other medical complications, and we also need to understand that we have to fund our safety net, the hospitals. And these hospitals that most of us go to need to incorporate cultural competency so that doctors, especially white doctors, understand when we say, “I need help, I’m in pain”, and that we should not be expected to take on pain and bear it.

So, again, Dr. Durrah, thank you so much. I want to thank all of you. Thank you, Reverend Karen Daughtry, for your prayers, your steadfastness, your strength in the Lord, and your words of God. Thank you all for being here. I look forward to seeing those babies grow. Thank you for bringing your babies. Thank you to the singer earlier, a beautiful violinist. My son wants to be a musician. So, thank you for that. We videotaped that. Thank you for your story. Love you all. (Applause)