Choice, Compassion, and Courage

There are moments in history when one woman’s decision quietly changes everything. Elizabeth Blackwell made one of those decisions. Born in 1821, she became the first woman in the United States to earn a medical degree, not because the world was ready or doors were open, but because she believed women belonged in the rooms where life, death, dignity, and healthcare were being decided.

She didn’t step into medicine to make a statement. She stepped into it because she saw suffering, especially among women and children, and knew compassion wasn’t optional; it was essential. That choice helped set a larger truth into motion: the growing presence of women in healthcare has consistently moved the system toward more compassionate, human-centered care.

A group of women meditating outside

Healthcare has always been about choice. Whose voice is believed. Who gets listened to. Who gets agency over their own body and their own care. Elizabeth Blackwell didn’t just challenge a system; she humanized it. At a time when medicine was cold, clinical, and overwhelmingly male, she brought something radical into the conversation: empathy. She believed patients were people first, not cases. Stories mattered. Circumstances mattered. Choice mattered.

When women lead in healthcare, compassion isn’t a side note; it’s the standard. Overall, the increasing female presence across medicine, nursing, research, and leadership is reshaping healthcare into something more attentive, ethical, and humane. Female leadership doesn’t weaken medicine; it strengthens it.

As more women step into leadership roles across the medical field, a broader and more compassionate outlook takes root. Women leaders are more likely to value collaboration over hierarchy, communication over command, and long-term wellbeing over quick fixes. This does not make care less rigorous. It makes it more complete. Female presence in medicine expands the lens through which health is understood, bringing greater attention to social context, mental health, disability, family dynamics, and quality of life. Care becomes less about managing symptoms and more about supporting whole lives.

This shift is not accidental. Women often lead with compassion by nature and intuition sharpened through lived experience. We are practiced observers. We notice patterns, pauses, and what is left unsaid. Those instincts allow female leaders in medicine to anticipate needs, ask better questions, and respond with care that is both informed and humane. As women take on more leadership roles in the medical world, we are also able to shine a brighter light on women’s health. Issues once minimized or dismissed are finally being taken seriously, and healthcare moves closer to a truly person-centered model.

I was reminded of this when I read an article about how the speculum was only just redesigned with women’s comfort in mind. A basic medical tool used for decades, and only now someone asked if it actually needed to hurt. That realization was not shocking; it was painfully obvious. If something that fundamental could go unexamined for so long, imagine how many other parts of healthcare could be improved simply by welcoming women and other underrepresented voices to the table. That redesign wasn’t revolutionary technology; it was perspective. It was listening. It was someone finally saying lived experience matters.

Choice in healthcare is not just about treatment options. It is about being heard, being trusted to know your own body, and having professionals who see autonomy as sacred rather than threatening. For too long, the system has operated as though decisions about people with disabilities can be made without us. That approach undermines dignity. We are not bystanders in our own lives; we are the main participants. We live in these bodies. We understand what feels right, and we deserve a say in every decision that affects us.

An older woman holding a sign saying Our life, our decision

Young people with disabilities continue to face damaging assumptions. Some assume we cannot understand medical information. Others assume our families or providers must make every choice for us. Still others assume we should quietly accept whatever is decided on our behalf. These assumptions erase us. They remove autonomy. They strip away independence and confidence.

This conversation is about more than medical treatment. It is about identity, freedom, and control.

There is also space for humor. When a doctor asks whether I am drinking enough water, I sometimes want to say, does coffee and Coke count? That moment of honesty reminds us that people with disabilities are whole human beings, carrying flaws, strengths, humor, and determination, and our healthcare must reflect that reality.

As professionals, you have the ability to set the tone. You can choose whether a healthcare interaction is dismissive or empowering, whether a patient leaves feeling invisible or valued. The difference often comes down to a single decision: whether you listen. I once had a doctor pause mid-appointment and tell me I could teach his medical students. I joked that I would need a syllabus, a coffee budget, and a promise no one would talk over me, but the moment mattered. In that room, I wasn’t a case study. I was the expert in my own body, and that is what happens when providers listen long enough to realize the patient is often the best teacher in the room.

a doctor who is a woman holding a stethoscope

Elizabeth Blackwell understood this long before it became common language. She opened doors not so women could simply wear white coats, but so healthcare could be transformed from the inside out. More humane. More ethical. More compassionate. More just. She didn’t just change medicine for women; she changed medicine for everyone.