The hospital’s fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting a pale glow over the sterile room. I sat perched on the examination table, my legs dangling above the cold floor. The thin, scratchy hospital gown clung awkwardly to my skin, leaving me exposed. My stomach pain, which had been gnawing at me for days, had brought me here. I wanted help. I wanted answers.

“What brings you in today?” the doctor asked, glancing up briefly from their clipboard. Their voice was calm but brisk, as though they were already anticipating the answer.

“I’ve been experiencing stomach pain,” I said, trying to suppress the frustration that had been building all day. “It’s been bad—really bad—for a few days now.”

The doctor nodded. “Hmm. Any other symptoms? Nausea? Vomiting?” I shook my head. “Just the pain. It’s sharp and constant.”

They continued to jot down notes, their pen scratching against the clipboard. Then they paused and asked the question that would change the course of my entire visit: “Are you sexually active?”

“No,” I said immediately, my voice steady and firm. The doctor looked up, their eyebrows raised slightly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I replied, more forcefully. “I’ve never had sex.”

Their skepticism was very clear, even as they tried to mask it behind a neutral expression. “We’re going to need to do a urine test to rule that out,” they said, their tone leaving no room for debate.

“But I clearly said I can’t be pregnant!” My frustration boiled over, and my voice cracked as I spoke.

“It’s standard procedure,” they replied curtly, already turning toward the door. “Let’s just make sure.”

Their dismissal hit me like a physical blow. It didn’t matter what I said. My words, my truth—they were irrelevant in that room. From that moment, I ceased to be a person with agency and became a body to be managed, a potential diagnosis to be ruled out.

Despite my protests, I was coerced into a transvaginal ultrasound, a procedure I did not want, did not understand, and was not prepared for. This experience left me feeling violated, both physically and emotionally,humiliated, and alienated. It shattered my trust in the medical system and planted a deep-seated fear of ever seeking care again. I was still a minor, barely sixteen.

From that moment, I ceased to be a person with agency and became a body to be managed, a potential diagnosis to be ruled out.

Through the lens of Critical Medical Anthropology, my experience can be understood as part of a broader pattern of systemic failures in healthcare. Using Chelsey Carter’s analysis of medical gaslighting and Emily Martin’s exploration of body fragmentation, I argue that healthcare systems too often prioritize institutional power and cultural biases over patient autonomy and well-being. I will examine how these dynamics played out in my experience and explore their broader implications for healthcare reform.

Carter’s article, “Gaslighting: ALS, Anti-Blackness, and Medicine,” provides an important foundation for understanding the systemic dismissal of patient narratives in healthcare. Carter defines medical gaslighting as a structural phenomenon where patients’ realities are invalidated through implicit biases, institutional norms, and hierarchical power dynamics. She highlights how marginalized groups, particularly Black patients, face diagnostic delays and inadequate care because their symptoms are dismissed or misattributed: “Gaslighting is experienced culturally, collectively, and interpersonally, creating a barrage of unrelenting experiences that make many of us question our very realities. Experiences of gaslighting have punctuated each of our lives uniquely, although those who are historically underrepresented and marginalized by society are disproportionately gaslit by those more privileged.” (Carter, 2022, p.235).

Carter’s work emphasizes that this dismissal is not just an individual failing, but a structural issue embedded in the culture of biomedicine.

The ultrasound technician was cold and impatient, her instructions sharp and devoid of empathy.

“Lie back,” she ordered, her tone sharp.

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest.

“I don’t think I want to do this,” I whispered, tears welling up in my eyes.

She sighed audibly, rolling her eyes. “This is necessary. Just relax and stop making this harder than it has to be.”

The ultrasound technician was cold and impatient, her instructions sharp and devoid of empathy.

Her words cut through me like a knife. I complied, feeling powerless and humiliated.

Emily Martin’s exploration of body fragmentation in Self and Body Image provides another lens for understanding my experience. Martin argues that medical practices often treat patients’ bodies as objects to be controlled, managed, and scrutinized, rather than as integral parts of their identities. This objectification creates a sense of fragmentation, where patients feel disconnected from their bodies during medical interventions.

“You’re just young,” the doctor said at one point, their tone tinged with condescension. “Sometimes patients your age don’t understand the full picture.”

This patronizing remark encapsulates the hierarchical nature of biomedicine, where doctors’ authority often overrides patients’ agency. Critical Medical Anthropology highlights how these power dynamics are not merely interpersonal but systemic, rooted in the hierarchical structure of healthcare institutions.

As a minor, I was particularly vulnerable to these dynamics. My lack of medical knowledge, combined with societal assumptions about age and gender, rendered me virtually powerless in that room. My protests were met with indifference, and my autonomy was effectively stripped away. My experience goes to show the urgent need for healthcare systems to adopt more patient-centered approaches that prioritize listening, respect, and shared decision-making.

The emotional toll of being gaslit by medical professionals cannot be overstated. Sitting alone in that hospital room after the ultrasound, I felt a profound sense of betrayal. The very system that was supposed to help me had instead left me feeling humiliated and broken.

This patronizing remark encapsulates the hierarchical nature of biomedicine, where doctors’ authority often overrides patients’ agency.

During the ultrasound, my sense of fragmentation was overwhelming.

“Hold still,” she barked as I flinched in discomfort.

“It’s not supposed to hurt. Just relax.”

Martin’s discussion of body fragmentation provides important information for understanding this experience. She argues that medical practices often create a divide between the self and the body, reducing patients to objects of clinical focus. I felt this divide. My body was no longer an important part of my identity; it was a problem to be solved, a site of clinical intervention.

This fragmentation is not just an emotional experience; it has tangible 

implications for how patients interact with the healthcare system. When patients feel disconnected from their bodies and disempowered in their care, they are less likely to seek medical help in the future, perpetuating cycles of mistrust and health disparities. For me, this erosion of trust has had lasting effects. I now approach medical encounters with a sense of skepticism and fear, always questioning whether my voice will be heard or dismissed.

They are embedded in the training, practices, and culture of medical institutions, shaping how care is delivered and whose voices are valued.

My experience highlights the importance of examining how intersecting forms of oppression shape healthcare outcomes. As a young woman, minor and minority, I was subjected to biases that dismissed my credibility and agency. For patients from other marginalized groups, these dynamics are often compounded by additional layers of discrimination, such as racism, ableism, or socioeconomic inequality.

Critical Medical Anthropology emphasizes the need to address these intersecting forms of oppression in healthcare. By examining how systemic biases operate at the intersections of race, gender, age, and class, it provides a framework for understanding the structural roots of health disparities.

A strategy to overcome these power imbalances is to empower patients to advocate for their own needs in healthcare settings. This can be achieved through education initiatives that teach patients about their rights, the importance of informed consent, and how to navigate the healthcare system. For minors and other vulnerable populations, patient advocacy programs can provide additional support by ensuring that their voices are heard and their autonomy is respected. These programs can also help bridge the gap between patients and providers, fostering trust and communication.

Reflecting on my experience through the lens of Critical Medical Anthropology has revealed the systemic forces that shaped my encounter with the healthcare system. The dismissal of my words, the coercion into an unwanted procedure, and the alienation I felt are not just personal experiences but reflections of broader structural issues in healthcare. Using Chelsey Carter’s analysis of medical gaslighting and Emily Martin’s discussion of body fragmentation, I have seen how power dynamics, systemic biases, and cultural assumptions perpetuate harm in healthcare. These dynamics undermine trust, disempower patients, and contribute to health disparities, particularly for marginalized groups.

Ultimately, addressing the systemic roots of medical gaslighting and body fragmentation requires structural reforms in healthcare. This includes revising training protocols, updating diagnostic guidelines to reflect diverse patient populations, and implementing policies that prioritize patient-centered care. By addressing these systemic issues through cultural competency training, patient advocacy programs, and structural reforms, we can work toward a healthcare system that truly serves and empowers all patients. For me, sharing my story is a step toward that goal, highlighting the need for change and advocating for a future where every patient’s voice is heard and respected.

Works Cited

Carter, C. R. (2022). Gaslighting: ALS, Anti-Blackness, and Medicine. Feminist Anthropology, 3, 235–245.

Martin, E. (1992). Self and Body Image. Beacon Press.