This Black Maternal Health Week, we are spotlighting the postpartum crisis facing Black mothers in America. For too many Black women in America, surviving childbirth is only half the battle. The most dangerous phase of pregnancy doesn’t end in the delivery room—it begins in the weeks after. The postpartum period, often dismissed as routine recovery time, is where medical neglect often escalates—and where Black mothers are most at risk.

According to the CDC, more than 80% of pregnancy-related deaths are preventable, and a significant portion happen up to a year after delivery. Yet many women leave the hospital with nothing more than a generic packet and a scheduled six-week check-up, as if their bodies didn’t just undergo one of the most physically and emotionally demanding events imaginable.

For Black mothers, that six-week gap can be deadly. Studies show that Black women are three times more likely than white women to die from pregnancy-related complications, and many of those deaths occur long after the baby is born.

Take the case of Dr. Chaniece Wallace, a 30-year-old pediatric chief resident at Indiana University School of Medicine. In October 2020, she was admitted to the hospital with high blood pressure and underwent an emergency cesarean section due to preeclampsia. Despite her medical expertise and access to care, Dr. Wallace suffered complications including a ruptured liver and kidney damage, leading to her death two days after giving birth. Her case underscores that even highly educated Black women in the medical field are not immune to the systemic issues contributing to maternal mortality.

Too often, doctors dismiss the physical pain or emotional distress of Black women as overreactions or normal recovery. Postpartum hemorrhaging, infections, high blood pressure, and even depression are minimized until they become emergencies. And even then, care is often slow, uneven, or riddled with racial bias.

Some experts argue that hospitals still treat childbirth as an endpoint rather than a process. Once the baby is out and breathing, the urgency evaporates—especially if the mother is Black. Doctors focus on infant health and assume that moms will self-monitor their recovery. That assumption can prove fatal.

Dr. Jamila Taylor, president of the National WIC Association, has spoken out on this issue in her congressional testimony: “The invisibility of Black women that occurs at the hands of health care providers and the health care system is rooted in bias, discrimination, and racism.”

Part of the problem is that postpartum care in the U.S. is notoriously limited. The standard model involves a single check-up six weeks after delivery—if that. In many other countries with far lower maternal mortality rates, mothers receive regular visits from nurses or midwives in the first few weeks postpartum. They are monitored for physical and emotional changes, educated on warning signs, and provided with wraparound support.

But in the U.S., the system often fails to even record postpartum deaths accurately. A 2021 report from the CDC found that nearly 30% of maternal deaths had no identified cause listed on death certificates. This lack of data transparency makes it harder to design targeted interventions and hold hospitals accountable.

Solutions do exist. Expanding Medicaid coverage for a full 12 months postpartum, as some states have begun to implement, is a critical step. So is increasing funding for community-based health workers and Black-led maternal health initiatives that focus on culturally competent care.

Organizations like Black Mamas Matter Alliance and The Loveland Foundation are working to fill these gaps by providing advocacy, mental health resources, and direct services to postpartum Black women. Their work proves that when Black women are centered in maternal health efforts, lives are saved.

Policy changes are also key. Congress has introduced the "Momnibus" package, a collection of bills aimed at addressing maternal health disparities. The legislation includes proposals for improved data collection, grants to diversify the perinatal workforce, and funding to tackle social determinants of health like housing and nutrition.

But these changes are slow-moving. Meanwhile, lives hang in the balance. Until hospitals stop treating postpartum care as an afterthought—and Black women as expendable—this crisis will continue. The medical establishment must acknowledge that birth is not an endpoint. It’s the beginning of a complex, vulnerable chapter—one that demands more than a 15-minute follow-up visit weeks later.

Families, communities, and policymakers must demand better, because every Black mother deserves to live to see her child grow up. And that should never be up for debate.