Remarks as prepared
Delivered on Saturday, October 21, 2023
Good morning. It is an honor to be with you. And it is an honor to be invited.
I'll be honest: I'm getting used to being on this side of the podium.
I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis when I was twenty six. For years, I stayed quiet about my condition.
My husband always encouraged me to speak out. But it took time before I felt comfortable sharing what I'd gone through.
This past March, as First Lady of Maryland, I went public about my journey.
And this is my first time speaking at a conference of people living with MS.
We are here to share our experiences, celebrate our health, and build a better future for Black women with Multiple Sclerosis.
Today, I'd like to spend my remarks doing all three.
My story begins like so many of the stories in this room: With feeling unwell.
My vision was becoming distorted.
I was losing taste in my mouth.
My gait was off.
I started to notice these symptoms, but I thought I could figure it out on my own.
Sometimes we ignore our bodies.
Maybe it's fear of the truth.
Maybe it's a superwoman complex.
Maybe it's a suspicion that we'll be labeled by others.
But no matter the reason, I'm sure many in this room have hidden the truth about their health at one point or another.
That's what I did.
As my symptoms progressed, I hid them from my parents.
But you can only hide so much. I knew I needed help, and I finally called my parents to tell them.
They drove from New York to Maryland to take me to the hospital.
That should have been the end of the story. Go to a doctor and get treated.
But it was only the beginning.
This doctor didn't look like me. This doctor didn't sound like me. But he was responsible for figuring out what was wrong with me.
He examined my symptoms and said I was probably suffering from a nervous breakdown.
Look: We know our bodies. We know when something's wrong.
I went to that doctor ready to learn the truth about my health, and I knew that a nervous breakdown wasn't the truth!
My mother knew it too.
She pushed for me to receive further examination.
She made sure I took other tests that could rule out certain illnesses and lead toward an accurate diagnosis.
And because of her advocacy, doctors discovered I wasn't having a nervous breakdown. But I still needed an answer.
That journey brought me to Dr. Carolyn Britton, and my life changed forever.
When I walked into Dr. Britton's office, I felt relieved.
She looked like me.
She sounded like me.
And she saw me – not as a patient, but as a person.
I wasn't the girl with the Type A personality. I wasn't the girl with an overactive imagination.
I was not having a nervous breakdown. I was at the beginning of my life with MS.
Dr. Britton collaborated with me and my family to build a regiment of medication to stabilize my illness.
And my mother pushed for me to take a holistic approach to my health.
I worked with her to find strategies for keeping my stress down.
I worked with her to get the right diet that could boost my health.
I worked with her to increase my exercise–and I don't mean to brag, but I can hold my own in a tennis match!
Dr. Britton set me on the right path, and, together with my mother, she empowered me to take control of my illness.
After several years of taking medication, I made the choice to stop.
Today, I've been off medication for nine years, and my MS is in remission.
When I look back on my journey, I see the profound difference a good doctor can make.
That first doctor put me in a box.
I still don't know why.
Maybe it was my age.
Maybe it was my race.
Maybe he just didn't want me to have that diagnosis.
The reason doesn't matter. The outcome was the same: I felt overlooked and ignored. And my condition only got worse.
Dr. Britton brought me out of that box, and she gave me the tools to live freely.
But she didn't just give me the gift of good health. She gave me the gift of self-assurance.
When she confirmed my diagnosis, she sat me down and said, as only a doctor from Alabama could:
“Don't come in here with anyone else's illness."
It was a message I needed to hear, and it's a message I think about every day.
When we talk about attracting Black people to the health care industry, it isn't some social experiment.
Diversity among our medical professionals can be the difference between someone being healthy and someone being sick.
It can be the difference between someone being seen and someone being overlooked.
Today, an estimated 12% of the U.S. population is Black. But under 6% of physicians in the United States are Black.
The gap between the size of the Black population and the number of Black doctors has narrowed overtime.
But that gap has caused real damage.
For years, doctors were trained to believe that MS affected only white people.
Generations of Black men and women with MS were misdiagnosed.
But we know Multiple Sclerosis doesn't discriminate.
It doesn't see your race. It doesn't see your gender.
Only the medical establishment makes those distinctions.
Modern research tells us that Black people have MS at nearly equal rates to white people.
In fact, a new study from the University of Maryland suggests that rates of MS are largely determined by geography, not race.
But still, we live in a world where racial disparities in health care run deep. And we need to change that.
As First Lady of the State of Maryland, I've made the conscious decision to prioritize that work.
One of the best ways to strengthen the pipeline between our communities of color and our medical establishment is through education.
In Maryland, we are proud to have four beautiful HBCUs;
And each of them are investing in programs to connect students of color with jobs in health care.
The University of Maryland Eastern Shore, a historically Black university, is home to its own School of Pharmacy and Health Professions.
Bowie State University and Coppin State University, two historically Black universities in Baltimore City, both have their own schools that support advanced degrees in nursing.
And Morgan State University will soon be home to the first medical school to open its doors at a Historically Black College or University in decades!
Maryland is one of the best places in the nation to be a person of color building a career in health care.
And we have the right person in the State House, who understands the importance of this pipeline.
My husband is Wes Moore, the 63rd governor of the State of Maryland – the first Black governor in Maryland's history – the only sitting Black governor in the country – and only the third Black governor ever elected in U.S. history.
He recognizes the importance of diversity in medicine and health care – both as an elected official and as a person of color.
And he is dedicated to making sure that regardless of your zip code, your family income, or the color of your skin, nobody gets left behind.
His first budget included $422 million for Maryland HBCUs and record funding for Maryland's K-12 public schools.
In June, my husband also announced that nine Maryland nursing programs would receive $5.8 million to address the nursing shortage.
This funding will go toward six universities and three community colleges across the state.
I am proud to be married to a man who isn't just a visionary leader – but who is also an effective one.
And our work in Maryland has only just begun.
My husband's effort to advance diversity in health care is the latest chapter in a long tradition of Marylanders stepping up to break down racial divides in medicine.
And I'd like to end by telling you about one such Marylander.
At the start of the 20th century, the main hospital in our capital city, Annapolis, didn't accept Black doctors.
The hospital was open to all residents of all races.
But it had segregated wards.
Black women could not be admitted for maternity care.
And for generations, Black mothers were forced to travel to Baltimore or Washington, D.C. for hospital deliveries.
Dr. Aris T. Allen and his wife, Dr. Faye Watson Allen, moved to Annapolis during this time of medical segregation.
Instead of being defeated by it, they rose to overcome it.
They devoted their lives to providing medical care to the Black community at their joint private practice.
Together, they provided healing and hope to generations of Black Marylanders.
Today, we need to follow the example of Aris and Faye Allen.
Now is the time to push against the status quo and do everything we can to promote greater diversity in medicine.
For that single mom in her thirties who has difficulty picking up her son because parts of her body don't work the same anymore, it might be the difference between living healthy and living sick.
For that young girl who wants to play varsity soccer but feels too fatigued to compete, it might be the difference between feeling seen and overlooked.
And for that young girl in her early 20s, with double vision and an uneven gait, who was told she was “too Type A" – it might be the difference between being continually unheard and unseen and having the confidence to pursue a twenty-year career in politics and rising to become the First Lady of the State of Maryland.
I am so proud to be in your presence.
I am so proud to be a part of this community.
And I am so proud to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with you as we move forward, united in this work. Thank you so much, and God bless you all.