In the wake of mounting tragedies and impassioned advocacy, the conversation around reproductive rights and Black maternal health in America has reached a fever pitch. Two recent stories—one from the heart of Texas, the other from a rally in Indiana—underscore just how high the stakes have become for women, especially women of color, in states with restrictive abortion laws and strained maternal health systems.
In Texas, the families of Porsha Ngumezi and Brenda Yolani Arzu Ramirez are left grappling with grief and outrage. Both Black women lost their lives following pregnancy complications that, according to medical experts and their loved ones, were preventable had they received timely, appropriate care. The circumstances of their deaths, detailed in a Dallas Morning News investigation published August 18, have ignited calls for accountability and reform.
Porsha Ngumezi, a 35-year-old Houston resident with several blood disorders, began bleeding heavily at just 11 weeks pregnant in April 2023. She rushed to the hospital, where she passed what was likely the fetus in a restroom and continued to hemorrhage. Despite her dangerously low blood pressure and her husband’s urgent pleas, hospital staff delayed a dilation and curettage (D&C)—a standard surgical procedure to remove fetal tissue and stop severe bleeding. Instead, they opted for slower-acting medication. Nine agonizing hours later, Ngumezi gasped for air and went into cardiac arrest. She died shortly after.
Medical professionals who reviewed Ngumezi’s case were blunt in their assessment. “Delay in care, delay in care, delay in care,” Dr. Deborah Bartz, an associate professor at Harvard Medical School and reproductive medicine specialist, told the Dallas Morning News. “Not offering the care that was needed, and ultimately, not listening to the patient, and then the patient’s husband, as it related to what her symptoms were.”
Ngumezi’s husband has since filed a malpractice lawsuit, seeking justice for a death he believes was entirely avoidable. Experts say her case is emblematic of a larger crisis: Texas’ near-total abortion ban, including the Texas Heartbeat Act of 2021, has left doctors fearful of legal repercussions even when lifesaving procedures like D&C or dilation and evacuation (D&E) are medically necessary. Under the law, private citizens can sue anyone who performs or assists in an abortion after a fetal heartbeat is detected, typically around six weeks, and collect at least $10,000 in damages.
Dr. Karen Swenson, a former OB-GYN interviewed by the Dallas Morning News, didn’t mince words: “Do I think the law could have contributed to this? Yes, because I think doctors are terrified.”
Brenda Yolani Arzu Ramirez’s story is chillingly similar. In November 2021, Ramirez arrived at a Georgetown hospital five months pregnant, showing clear signs of severe infection. Her baby had died in utero. Her OB-GYN recommended a D&E and arranged for her transfer to a larger facility. But there, doctors chose a prolonged vaginal delivery instead. While Ramirez labored, her infection escalated to septic shock. By the fourth day, she was in multi-organ failure. She briefly rallied, but a seizure ultimately stopped her heart. She died at 33, leaving two sons behind.
Dr. Bartz, reviewing Ramirez’s case, was unequivocal: “As soon as she hit the door for the second hospital, she should have had a D&E.” Yet, as the Dallas Morning News highlighted, few doctors in Texas remain trained or willing to perform such procedures, fearing legal risk under the state’s abortion laws. Ramirez’s prior history of pregnancy complications, including preeclampsia, should have put her in a high-risk category and prompted immediate intervention.
Despite mounting evidence that restrictive laws are delaying essential care, Texas officials have not investigated maternal deaths from 2022 and 2023. Lawmakers passed the "Life of the Mother Act" to reassure doctors that abortions are permissible to save a patient’s life, but critics argue it falls far short of providing real protection. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) reported in 2024 that over 80% of pregnancy-related deaths in the U.S. are preventable with timely, appropriate care. Yet, Black women remain three times more likely to die from pregnancy-related causes than white women—a gap driven by systemic inequities in healthcare access and quality.
These sobering realities echo far beyond Texas. In Indiana, the fight for reproductive rights and maternal health is playing out on stages both political and personal. On August 21, Indiana Fever WNBA players Kelsey Mitchell and Brianna Turner traded their usual postgame press conferences for a sea of green—the color of abortion rights—at a reproductive rights fundraiser in Carmel, Indiana.
“We’re a league for women, we play across different states,” Turner told the crowd of about 200, according to Mirror Indy. “And our rights change depending on the states we’re in.”
Indiana, the first state to enact a near-total abortion ban after the Supreme Court’s 2022 ruling overturning Roe v. Wade, remains a fierce battleground. The event, hosted by the Indiana Reproductive Freedom PAC, highlighted the disconnect between public opinion and legislative action: a poll conducted by the group found that 64% of registered Hoosier voters support legal abortion in all or most cases. “It’s really just a fringe minority of people who staunchly oppose abortion,” said PAC founder Liane Groth Hulka. “But through gerrymandering, they control the vast majority of seats in the legislature.”
Mitchell, a star guard and recent Eastern Conference Player of the Week, shared a deeply personal family story. “My sister ended up getting pregnant on the team,” she said, recalling her college basketball days at Ohio State University. “She was able to get an abortion.” Mitchell, who also advocates for birth control access through the WNBA’s “Level the Court” initiative, addressed Fever fans directly: “When life happens or something happens to me and I end up getting pregnant, you still want me to be an athlete, right? At the end of the day, I have to go through all these hoops to get the care I need, but you want me to perform.”
Turner added her own perspective, speaking about supporting a teammate through an abortion. “That was obviously her right,” she said. “It shouldn’t be a stigma. It should be something that’s just health care.”
The event also spotlighted the urgent need to improve outcomes for Black mothers in Indiana, a state with the third highest maternal mortality rate in the country. Ariana McGee, CEO of Navigate Maternity—a local tech company working to make pregnancy safer for Black mothers—warned that recent public health funding cuts by Governor Mike Braun and state lawmakers have only worsened the crisis. “If mothers do not have access to prenatal care, postpartum care and screenings prior to pregnancy, how do we expect women to come into pregnancy healthy?” McGee asked. “We can’t. Preventative care saves lives and cuts costs.”
Navigate Maternity’s toolkit and app, prescribed by about 45 Indiana doctors, equips pregnant people with devices to monitor their blood pressure and weight in real time, sharing any abnormalities with their doctors. “We have potentially saved over 200 families from heartbreak in our state,” McGee said.
As the stories of Ngumezi, Ramirez, and countless others make clear, the intersection of abortion laws, maternal health, and racial disparities demands urgent attention. While advocates and families push for change, the consequences of inaction are measured in heartbreak—and lives lost—that didn’t have to be.
