By Michael Ashley Turner

Having physicians not listen to you
Not being taken seriously
Not having affordable health options
Having organizations want to use your story but not see representation of people that look like you on their social media

Coming into spaces and not being able to engage due to lack of diversity
Not being property educated on medical issues
Reached out to organizations to help bridge the gap between their diversity.

Appreciative to UOAA for meeting with me
Being misdiagnosed for years due to doctors not wanting to take the extra steps
Micro aggression that physicians have given me vs when I’ve been seen with a Caucasian friend.

It’s not every day that we enter spaces, especially in health and wellness, where Black and Brown people are truly represented and advocated for. I’ve had my share of experiences in medical offices and health organizations where I was not heard, not advocated for, and not taken seriously about what I had been experiencing for years.

For context, I was born in Chicago and now call Atlanta home, but in many ways my real “home” has been found through the journey I’ve taken with my health and career.

For more than 14 years, I lived with chronic digestive issues that shaped almost every part of my life. The experience was confusing, isolating, and exhausting. I went from appointment to appointment searching for answers while trying to explain symptoms that doctors often dismissed or minimized. Eventually my condition led to a total colectomy and ostomy. It was not until 2022 that I finally received a definitive diagnosis: Crohn’s disease. Hearing the words was difficult, but it also brought clarity after years of uncertainty.

The truth is that my story is not unique. Many people living with chronic illness experience long delays in diagnosis. For many Black patients, the path can be even more complicated. There were times when I felt that physicians simply were not listening to me. My symptoms were questioned. 

My pain was downplayed. The extra testing and deeper investigation that could have happened earlier often did not happen. Years later, I would realize that those missed steps contributed to how long it took to get the correct diagnosis.

There were also moments when the difference in treatment was impossible to ignore. I remember appointments where subtle comments or dismissive attitudes felt like microaggressions. In some situations I noticed a clear difference in how physicians communicated with me compared to how they spoke to a Caucasian friend who accompanied me. Those moments stay with you. They make you question whether your voice is truly valued in the room.

Access to healthcare has also been part of the challenge. Affordable medical options are not always available, and navigating insurance while dealing with a chronic illness can feel overwhelming. When you are already managing pain, fatigue, and uncertainty, the financial side of healthcare becomes another barrier that many people quietly carry.

I believe representation, access, and education should exist in every part of healthcare.

Beyond the exam room, representation matters in the organizations that claim to support patients. There have been times when groups wanted to share my story or highlight my experience, but when I looked at their social media or leadership spaces I did not see people who looked like me. Representation cannot stop at storytelling. It has to exist in leadership, advocacy, education, and the faces that are consistently visible in those spaces.

There have also been events and community spaces where I simply did not feel like I could fully engage because the diversity was not there. When people cannot see themselves reflected in a space, it can create distance even when the mission is meant to be inclusive.

One of the biggest gaps I noticed early on was education. Many communities, especially communities of color, are not always given the same level of accessible information about GI conditions, ostomies, and chronic illness management. When education is missing, people are left trying to figure things out on their own. That can delay care, increase fear, and make an already difficult journey feel even more isolating.

Because of these experiences, I began reaching out to organizations and advocacy groups to have real conversations about diversity and representation. My goal has never been to criticize for the sake of criticism. My goal has always been to help bridge the gap so that future patients do not feel as invisible as many of us once did.

I am grateful for the organizations that are willing to listen and engage in those conversations. One example is United Ostomy Associations of America (UOAA), who took the time to meet with me and hear my perspectives. Those kinds of conversations matter. When organizations open the door to dialogue, real progress becomes possible.

Through all of this, I have learned that our struggles can become the very thing that pushes us to show up for others. My journey has led me to advocate for people living with ostomies, GI conditions, and mental health challenges. I share my story so others know they are not alone and so that healthcare spaces can continue to evolve.

Illness changes your life. It forces you to ask hard questions about your body, your voice, and your place in systems that do not always work equally for everyone. But it can also create purpose. It can open the door for advocacy, education, and community building.

I believe representation, access, and education should exist in every part of healthcare. Patients deserve to be heard. They deserve to be taken seriously. They deserve to see themselves reflected in the spaces that claim to support them.

And most importantly, they deserve care that honors their full humanity.