Nobody listened when I insisted my blood pressure was too high soon after my first son was born. 鈥淵ou people always have higher blood pressure,鈥� the nurse said, and sent me home.
Nobody listened after my second son was born and my blood pressure spiked again.
This time I knew exactly what was happening: postpartum preeclampsia. That抖阴ap what ultimately put me in intensive care for a week after each birth. I would not be here today had my father not demanded I receive the care I needed.
I told that story a few years ago to state policy makers who did listen. It helped convince them to create a program to reward hospitals that train personnel and create systems and processes to reduce the staggeringly high rates of maternal and infant death among Black women. More than $9 million was set aside for those improvements. Black mothers and babies across Colorado benefited.
At the Center for African American Health, that kind of systemic change is our mission. It抖阴ap the good work we鈥檝e been doing throughout Metro Denver for nearly 30 years. And with the existing safety net of services fraying as never before, our work is more important than ever.
We started in 1997 as the Metro Denver Black Church Initiative, putting grant money to work in local faith communities, combating health issues and providing after-school and other youth programs.
But widening health outcomes for Blacks and whites became too disturbing to ignore. Nationwide, Blacks have four years鈥� lower average life expectancy than whites and are twice as likely to die from diabetes complications as are whites. Though Blacks overall have lower cancer incidence rates, they are more likely to die of cancer. And nearly 11 of every 1,000 Black babies die in infancy. For white infants, the number is 4.5.
And maternal mortality among Black women is more than three times what it is for white women.
There is a tendency to dismiss those disparities as the product of greater poverty or less education. I’ve been fortunate; I have two Ivy League degrees and enjoy a successful career. Yet I came perilously close to being part of that last grim statistic.
In 2005, addressing these health disparities became our sole focus and the Center for African American Health has been growing ever since. In 2015, when I joined as CEO, our budget was $800,000. Ten years later it was $2.5 million.
Five years ago, we moved into our own building on north Hudson Street in Denver. There, together with the Boys & Girls Clubs, the Hiawatha Davis Jr. Recreation Center, Pauline Robinson branch of the Denver Public Library and other nearby organizations, we have become the beating heart of a community experiencing revival.
During the COVID-19 pandemic, the city of Denver partnered with us to get masks and other emergency supplies into providers鈥� hands.
More recently, we鈥檝e begun providing a free Tuesday evening acute care medical clinic. We connect people with insurance options. We provide food boxes, conduct fatherhood and maternal health classes and blood pressure management sessions. We make mental health referrals. We have a teaching kitchen and offer a variety of healthy cooking classes.
Our annual Health Expo in March drew 2,000 visitors. Our Barbershop Talks group draws dozens of men twice a month to share dinner together, volunteer, and go fly fishing in addition to talking about their health. At a recent prostate cancer screening, 126 men showed up. In the past we鈥檇 have been happy with 60.
In all, thanks to donations, service contracts and grants, we were able to touch 6,500 lives last year. But we know we alone can鈥檛 change health outcomes in an entire community. We need more partners and more courageous advocacy: the kind that makes health insurance accessible to everyone and health screenings more available; the kind that prompts hospital executives to accept that addressing maternal health disparities is a matter of equity.
That抖阴ap the kind of change we鈥檝e been working on for the past 30 years. And we welcome others who feel passionately about this issue to join us. There鈥檚 plenty of room in our tent.
Deidre Johnson is co-CEO of the Center for African American Health. A Denver native, she holds a Bachelor鈥檚 Degree from Princeton University and an MBA from the Yale School of Management.聽
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