How Rachell Dumas Turned Nine Pregnancy Losses, Medical Dismissal, and Survival Into a Blueprint for Advocacy

Some stories don’t begin with a title or a résumé. They begin with a moment — a moment when your body is sounding an alarm, and the people who are supposed to help you treat it like background noise.

For Rachell Dumas, that moment didn’t happen once.

It happened again and again — across appointments, emergency rooms, pregnancy losses, postpartum complications, and dismissive conversations that demanded she prove pain before she could receive care.

She is a registered nurse with advanced training. She speaks the language of medicine. She understands charts, protocols, and systems. And still, she found herself in the same position too many Black women know intimately: trying to survive a system that doesn’t always believe you deserve to.

“I had a different lens when it came to what patients go through,” she told me. “Once I became pregnant and started that journey, I experienced racism in the healthcare system — being dismissed, being medically gaslit.”

Then she said something that should stop all of us cold.

She had to fly from Atlanta to Dallas to save a pregnancy — because her concerns weren’t being taken seriously at home.

That experience wasn’t just traumatic. It was clarifying.

Because sometimes pain doesn’t just break you — it reveals what has been broken all along.

A Turning Point That Should Never Have Happened

In 2020, Rachell was pregnant with twins. She was bleeding. She went to the emergency room, followed up with her OB, and later returned with severe pain — “10 out of 10,” she said — vomiting, sick, and certain something was wrong.

She describes being sent home. Dismissed.

Then she lost one baby.

Later, on the day of her gender reveal, she woke up wet, went to the bathroom — and lost the other baby.

When she returned to the hospital and told the doctor what happened, the doctor questioned whether she had even been pregnant.

From Personal Pain to Public Purpose

Rachell has been a nurse for nearly a decade, but her experience as a patient transformed how she understood medicine.

“Now I started to look at what patients go through from a patient’s lens,” she explained. “People can’t always speak the medical jargon to advocate for themselves. They know something is wrong, but they don’t always have the language — and they don’t know what they don’t know.”

That gap became her mission.

It’s why she founded A Light After Nine, a nonprofit supporting not only mothers but entire villages — families navigating pregnancy loss, infertility, and maternal trauma through education, advocacy, and community.

Because loss doesn’t land on one person.

It lands on relationships, identities, bodies, and futures.

And too often, people are expected to carry it quietly.

HEARD Was Born When Even Her Degrees Didn’t Protect Her

After giving birth to her son, Rachell thought the medical trauma might finally be behind her.

It wasn’t.

Six months postpartum, she woke up with vision loss and stroke-like symptoms. She went to the hospital, explained what was happening, and says she was misdiagnosed with a stomach bug — sent home without vision.

So she did what too many patients are forced to do: she sought care elsewhere.

At another ER, she was placed into stroke protocol and diagnosed with a rare brain condition — idiopathic intracranial hypertension — caused by fluid building up in her head. She later underwent two brain surgeries.

Even as a nurse. Even with medical knowledge. Even speaking the language.

She still had to research, advocate, and fight for her own care.

Her conclusion was simple and powerful:

If she had to do all that, what happens to the patient who doesn’t know where to start?

That’s why she created HEARD, a patient advocacy platform designed to help people document concerns, communicate clearly with providers, and escalate when they feel dismissed or unsafe.

“Patients cannot do these things and don’t have these resources,” she said. “So I created HEARD to level the playing field.”

The Real Problem Isn’t the Patient

When I asked why so many patients feel unheard, Rachell didn’t blame the people already suffering.

She named the truth.

“It’s not really a patient issue. It’s really the provider issue.”

Patients become exhausted. After repeating symptoms again and again without being believed, many stop trying. And healthcare systems aren’t always designed for clarity or compassion.

Her advice was practical and powerful:

Bring someone with you. Someone who can listen, take notes, and help repeat your story back when you’re tired.

She also addressed an uncomfortable reality — medical jargon still influences who gets listened to.

That’s why platforms like HEARD matter. They help patients translate lived experience into language the system respects.

A Personal Question, and a Grounding Answer

As a 28-year-old Black woman who hasn’t had children yet, I asked what many women are thinking but don’t always say out loud: I’m afraid of not being listened to. I’ve considered home birth, a doula — anything that feels safer.

Her answer started before pregnancy even begins.

She emphasized preconception care — thorough checkups, labs, understanding your baseline health — so issues are identified early instead of discovered during crisis.

Then she said it plainly:

“Get you a doula as soon as possible. The research shows having a doula improves healthcare outcomes… They bridge the gap.”

A doula helps interpret, advocate, communicate, and hold steady when your body is doing something entirely new.

Because pregnancy can be beautiful — and exhausting.

And no one should navigate it alone.

Trauma-Informed Care Looks Like Preparation, Respect, and Listening

When I asked what trauma-informed care should truly look like, Rachell described something simple — and radical.

Know your patient before entering the room.

Make appointments meaningful.

Ask about mental health, financial stressors, and support systems.

Include partners and families instead of sidelining them.

Above all, listen and believe your patient.

It sounds basic.

And yet it is the piece most often missing.

What Needs to Change: Research, Access, and Affordability

Rachell’s vision for maternal health equity bridges policy and humanity.

She highlighted the need for inclusive research — because when Black patients aren’t represented in studies, treatments may not reflect our realities.

She also spoke about coverage gaps and rising costs. When care becomes unaffordable, patients delay visits — and delayed care often turns preventable issues into emergencies.

Affordable healthcare isn’t a luxury.

It is how we reduce harm.

It is how we keep mothers alive.

Sometimes the Best Support Is Silence

One of the most powerful moments in our conversation came when I asked what validation looks like during grief.

Her answer wasn’t a script. It was honesty.

“Sometimes we don’t have to say anything,” she said. “We just need to share silence with people.”

Because even well-intentioned words can miss the mark.

Instead of performing comfort, she encourages presence. Accountability. Listening without needing to fix.

A Legacy Measured in Lives Saved

When I asked what legacy she hopes A Light After Nine and HEARD will leave, her answer was expansive.

“I hope that billions of people are able to save their lives, or save the lives of others through advocacy.”

And then she spoke about her son — a three-year-old toddler whose existence reflects resilience, survival, and purpose.

Before we ended, she reassured me:

There are more positive birth stories than negative ones.

But the negative ones are loud, harmful, and devastating enough that preparation, advocacy, and supportive care are non-negotiable.

“Advocate for yourself,” she said. “Get that support… and leave if they’re not paying attention.”

There was no fear in her voice.

Only clarity.

And clarity, in this moment, is a form of power.