I’m a nurse-midwife with a PhD who refuses to let dead women stay quietly dead.

I’ve been a midwife for a decade, and a nurse for over twice that. I know that death is a part of life. But when I lost a colleague, then a patient – two preventable deaths – I started taking names.

I’ve been called to remember people my whole life. And this is remembrance as resistance – making sure they get more than a line in a medical record.

If my delivery makes you squirm? Good. Dead women should make you uncomfortable. The fact that in 2025, women are dying from the same things that women were dying from in 1825? That should horrify you.

Nameless statistics won’t remember them. But we will.