It’s tempting to turn to the internet for medical advice when we feel something’s not quite right. But for many women, that feeling lingers, growing into more than just a fleeting worry or a quick Google search. It becomes a frustrating battle against a health care system that often minimizes their concerns, forcing them to become their own advocates. And they’re not alone.
Countless women report feeling unheard by their doctors, their symptoms misinterpreted or downplayed. This struggle is amplified by the stark reality that women’s health remains significantly under-researched. Delayed diagnoses, ineffective treatments, and a constant feeling of being dismissed have become the norm.
Despite these obstacles, women consistently demonstrate a strength that surpasses societal expectations. Perhaps this strength is deeply rooted in their roles as caregivers, the heart of their communities, and the glue that holds families together.
These are the stories of five incredible women who fought for their health, refusing to be ignored. Their experiences serve as a powerful reminder that we need to do better—to listen, to research, and to provide the quality health care that all women deserve.
Tausha Martinson-Bright
Spend a few minutes with Shakopee resident Tausha Martinson-Bright, and you’ll instantly feel like you’ve known her for a lifetime. She radiates positive energy, and you’d never guess the incredible journey she has been on to get here.
Her story starts with a single blood clot in November of 2008. Her persistent symptoms mimicked ordinary gastrointestinal issues and were diagnosed initially as a hiatal hernia. At 32, she was in great shape, so when her symptoms lingered, she knew something was seriously wrong. “I’m getting out of breath just reading out loud,” she remembers thinking. Martinson-Bright advocated for herself and persuaded her doctor to order further testing. This time, he examined her heart. Days later, in the middle of a movie with her daughter, her doctor called with devastating news: She had a blood clot in her heart.
No stranger to health scares, Martinson-Bright battled a severe case of valley fever meningitis at age 7. Her father’s resilient spirit helped counterbalance her mother’s worry during that frightening time. “I think that set me up to be the kind of person that’s like, ‘Hey, I can handle this,’” she says. This early experience instilled a deep inner strength that would prove invaluable later in her life.
The clot, caused by an inherited defective Factor V Leiden gene, eventually dissolved with blood thinners but left lasting damage. Two years later, a dangerous heart rhythm abnormality led to her needing a defibrillator implant. Martinson-Bright faced the reality that, someday, she would need a new heart.
Heart transplants are a lifeline for those who need them. But while thousands are performed in the United States each year, over 3,000 people remain on the waitlist. Even more concerning is the stark gender gap: Despite women accounting for over half (54%) of heart failure deaths, they are far less likely even to get their name on the transplant list (25%). This disparity underscores the significant inequalities in health care and the critical importance of women advocating for their own well-being. For Martinson-Bright, that fight became terrifyingly real on May 5, 2018. Already awake that morning, her husband, Gary, heard screams from the floor above. His wife’s defibrillator was firing as she went into cardiac arrest.
Provided by Tausha Martinson-Bright
Desperate to reach him, Martinson-Bright collapsed, tumbling down the stairs. Within moments of Gary dialing 911, the fire chief, who lived nearby, rushed in, followed shortly by police. They began CPR, a desperate battle to keep her alive until paramedics arrived. For over 12 agonizing minutes, she was without a heartbeat or oxygen.
Rushed first to the local hospital where her family was told to “prepare for the worst,” and then sent to the University of Minnesota Medical Center, Martinson-Bright’s life hung in the balance. Meanwhile, her loved ones filled the waiting room—over a hundred people came and went throughout that fateful day, an outpouring of support that stunned hospital staff.
She credits Dr. Jason Bartos, who stabilized her using the life-saving but risky extracorporeal membrane oxygenation machine (ECMO). She is extremely grateful to the entire cardiology team at the University of Minnesota Medical Center for the care she received. Surprising no one who knew her, Martinson-Bright recovered quickly and was back to work within a month. However, after further complications, she received the devastating news that she needed a new heart.
Over 100,000 people in the U.S. are awaiting organ transplants, but getting your name on the list isn’t easy. Fortunately, Martinson-Bright’s hospitalization expedited the process, and her name was added three weeks later. The expected wait time, however, was at least a year, exceeding the national average of four months, according to the Gift of Life Donor Program.
Waiting was the worst part for the vibrant 43-year-old. Confined to her home, she felt her once active life shrink considerably. “I would go up the stairs once a day, and that was to go to bed,” she recalls. Yet, despite the physical limitations and emotional toll, Martinson-Bright persevered, fueled by her strong faith. “Positivity is key when you’re going through these kinds of things,” she says. “God’s got me, and I’m going to make it through this. I’m going to be fine.”
Less than two months later, she was No. 34 on the transplant list when a phone call interrupted her family movie night. Her cardiologist, Dr. Tamas Alexy, delivered the incredible news, “We have a heart for you… You need to be at the hospital by midnight.”
Provided by Tausha Martinson-Bright
The shock quickly turned into a whirlwind of action. Martinson-Bright packed, texted loved ones, and rushed to the hospital to undergo a battery of tests. There, she met her surgeon, Dr. Massimo Griselli, who promised to personally inspect the donor’s heart. She remembers seeing Griselli give her two thumbs up, which she groggily returned as they wheeled her into surgery.
Despite a predicted two-week recovery, Martinson-Bright returned home just nine days after her heart transplant. Follow-up appointments decreased from three times per week to just once a year. “I love my story, but I also don’t want my story to define me,” she explains.
She knew little about her donor, only that they were younger. But soon, unexpected traits emerged—a craving for sweets and a tendency to cry more easily. She couldn’t help but wonder if these were traits of her donor, a subtle connection to the person whose heart was now keeping her alive. She would likely never know. A year and a half after her heart transplant, Martinson-Bright wrestled with the decision to write to her donor’s family, torn between a desire to express her gratitude and being acutely aware of their profound loss. Silence is common from donor families, and as of this writing, she has yet to receive a reply.
Now a passionate advocate for organ donation, she participates in the American Heart Association’s annual Twin Cities Heart Walk with her team, “Tausha’s Crew.” Each January, she celebrates the anniversary of her transplant, a transformative part of her life she will never forget. “The experience reminded me how fragile life can be, and now, I make a conscious effort to let go of worries and focus on what makes life meaningful,” she says.
Visit organdonor.gov for more information about becoming an organ donor.
Felicia Conner
Felicia Conner stood in front of a mirror, preparing to see her chest for the first time after opting for a prophylactic double mastectomy. “I don’t know if I can do it. I don’t want to do it,” she thought.
Conner was no stranger to the health care system as a board-certified chiropractor with a private practice in Bloomington, Minnesota. Still, waking up after her first surgery in January 2015 was a shock. “It was a little overwhelming,” she recalls. “I remember being really scared to take the bandages off and see [my chest] for the first time.”
Protecting her health was the driving force behind Conner’s decision to have surgery, a choice she stands by without regret. “I would do it again in a heartbeat,” she says. After questioning the potential for a link to breast cancer in her family, she explored her options for genetic testing. Most women who get breast cancer do not have a family history of the disease, but having a first-degree relative with it, like Conner, almost doubles their risk.
After bravely fighting breast cancer for four years, Conner’s mother, Jennie, passed away in 2011. The same disease took her aunt, Jonnie, just a year later. She had a feeling it wasn’t just bad luck. “Every woman in my family had breast cancer,” she says. The list also includes her grandmother and great-grandmother.
Despite feeling hesitant, Conner underwent genetic testing three years after her mother’s death, ultimately testing positive for a mutation in the BRCA2 gene. This mutation, discovered in 1995 by geneticist Mary-Claire King, placed Conner among a group of women facing significantly elevated cancer risks, including a 60% chance of breast cancer, compared to 13% of the general population. For those with BRCA2, the risk climbs after age 40, and their risk for other cancers, like ovarian cancer, also increases.
For Conner, who was 38 at the time, this surgery came with a sense of finality. She was finished having children, yet losing the option to change her mind weighed on her heavily. Her treatment began with a double mastectomy and expander placement, followed by breast reconstruction and a full hysterectomy three months later to proactively eliminate her risk of ovarian cancer.
When asked what motivated her during the painful process, Conner doesn’t hesitate, “I can do this if my mom could do this… and she had it so much worse than I did.” Without her mother’s support, she leaned on her husband and her close friendships, but it wasn’t the same. “People that aren’t experiencing [it] themselves don’t have the same sympathy,” she says. “You can’t.”
Her mother-in-law, Cynthia, however, went above and beyond, driving eight hours through a winter storm without Conner knowing. “I can’t tell you… how much that meant to me, because I don’t have [a] mom anymore,” she says.
Photo by Caroline Yang
“I didn’t know I needed it.” With the support of her family, Conner recovered at home. But no one prepared her for the emotional struggles to come. “It’s like after having a baby where you have the baby blues, but on steroids,” she says.
Although initially reluctant, starting hormone replacement therapy (HRT) meant Conner could manage the intense symptoms of early menopause, an additional burden she was forced to navigate in her late 30s. “I had the worst hot flashes, and it was horrible.” HRT comes with its own set of side effects—“I was gaining weight like nobody’s business,” she recalls.
Despite taking proper care of herself with a healthy diet and regular exercise, Conner’s concerns about her weight gain were dismissed by her doctor, who placed the blame squarely on her. Determined to find a solution, she switched providers and used an alternative HRT approach.
Doing her own research led Conner to suggest adding progesterone to her therapy. After pushing through her provider’s initial hesitation, the results were transformative—“[I felt like] a whole new person overnight,” she says. To this day, she remains on the same HRT combination.
In many cases like Conner’s, the lack of comprehensive care is not the provider’s fault—influenced instead by insurance companies. “They’re seeing a patient every 15 minutes, maybe more, and they don’t have the time to sit and ask all the right questions,” she says.
Today, Conner says her experience has made her a better person, and she’s now passing on her health-conscious attitude to her four children, who are also at an increased risk for certain cancers. “It doesn’t hurt to get genetic testing done,” she says. And she’s proof that it can ultimately save your life.
Kristin Welsh
“There’s nothing worse than a bad day at the hospital,” says Kristin Welsh, a ninth-grade English teacher at John Marshall High School in Rochester.
In 2008, at 31 years old, Welsh’s life took an unexpected turn when she was diagnosed with Stage 4 nodular sclerosing Hodgkin lymphoma (NSHL). What began as a persistent cough, initially misdiagnosed as a sinus infection, ultimately led to a chest X-ray and the discovery of cancer.
“I just remember being in that bedroom, and I sat on the bed, and it was just like the floor went out from underneath me,” Welsh says, recalling the very moment a doctor delivered the devastating news. “I called my mom… and she instantly burst into tears.”
Welsh faces a challenging legacy: Multiple generations of her family, including her grandfather, who battled multiple myeloma leukemia, have been touched by cancer. Hodgkin lymphoma, in particular, has affected her grandmother, her mother, and herself. Her mother’s early radiation treatment, predating standardized protocols, led to health complications later in life.
She learned that while not inherited, Hodgkin lymphoma is one of the most curable forms of cancer. “My doctors were so helpful in educating me on my disease,” she says. “I was told that they do see clusters of [blood cancer] being passed from generation to generation in farm families in the Upper Mississippi Valley area, which is where my grandparents and great-grandparents farmed and lived.”
Weeks after her diagnosis, Welsh began ABVD chemotherapy, a treatment boasting a 90% success rate. She was, however, among the small percentage of patients for whom it was not initially effective—her cancer recurred six months later. She tried a more aggressive approach, including radiation, an autologous stem cell transplant, and more chemotherapy.
“I was feeling so sorry for myself,” she admits. Welsh found support close to home, turning to her tight-knit family, especially her mother. “She looked at her watch, and she looked at me, and she was like, ‘You about done feeling sorry for yourself because the world is moving on. It’s time for you to choose that, too,’” she recalls her mother saying.
The impact of stem cell transplants on women’s bodies can be devastating, sometimes resulting in premature menopause or the loss of fertility. Welsh, aware of these risks, chose not to freeze her eggs before the transplant.
Despite immense physical, emotional, and financial challenges, including losing her home, Welsh never lost hope. She moved in with her parents, who provided her with around-the-clock care. She recalled losing her hair during treatment as particularly difficult. “My hair is so much a part of my identity,” she shared. “I didn’t feel like I looked human.”
She used humor to cope, but the mental and emotional toll was heavy. “It was not easy,” she confessed, “And you don’t know who to talk to about that stuff because nobody knows what you’re going through.” Welsh’s lifelong struggles with anxiety only intensified after her diagnosis, escalating into debilitating panic attacks. “People don’t realize when you are the one with the diagnosis, it’s like you’re spending your time making everybody else feel okay,” she says. “That’s exhausting.” She notes the health care system’s prioritization of cancer treatment often neglects the mental health needs of patients facing serious illnesses.
After a second recurrence in March 2010, Welsh was diagnosed with refractory sclerosing Hodgkin lymphoma, meaning they hadn’t found the right combination of medications to wipe out the cancer completely—all available treatment protocols had been exhausted.
Feeling defeated, she questioned her doctor, wondering if this meant her condition was terminal. “Well, aren’t we all?” Her doctor’s reply felt dismissive but only fueled Welsh’s determination to fight. With the connection of a family friend, she sought a second opinion. “And just like that, my faith was restored,” she says.
Photo by Caroline Yang
Accompanied by her uncle, Welsh made the five-hour drive to Omaha, Nebraska, where she met with Dr. James Armitage, a leading expert in lymphoma, who reassured her there was hope. “He was like, ‘I can’t guarantee you’re not going to get hit by a bus today, but the likelihood of you dying of lymphoma anytime soon, I think we can get you on the right track,’” she says.
She returned to Mayo Clinic to begin a new treatment plan with hematologist Dr. Thomas Habermann. There, she underwent a 22-month oral chemotherapy drug study while simultaneously pursuing a graduate degree in education.
A few months before her cancer recurred for a fourth time, she began a long-term substitute teaching position at John Marshall High School. During her first year, Welsh underwent biweekly chemotherapy treatments before finishing in April 2014 and beginning phase two of the study. She continues to teach at the high school today.
While her treatments have kept the cancer under control, they’ve come with severe side effects, including an autoimmune response that shut down her pancreas and triggered diabetic ketoacidosis. Welsh now functions as a person with Type 1 diabetes. The treatments also left her with vascular scarring and eliminated the option of receiving live vaccinations.
Welsh has been disease- and drug-free for four years, visiting her doctor every three to six months. She has shared her story for The Lymphoma Research Foundation, advocating for greater awareness of the mental health challenges that accompany a cancer diagnosis.
Her journey has been one of resilience, a strong faith in God, and the unwavering support of her family and medical team. “Reflection is a great thing, and it provided me maturity and perspective that I didn’t have prior to being ill,” she says. “This is just a defining chapter in my book of life. It’s not who I am.”
Amanda Bergstrom
“You wouldn’t even know that I have it,” says Amanda Bergstrom of lupus, an autoimmune disease she was diagnosed with in her late 20s.
The St. Paul resident’s struggle with chronic pain began in her teens as a competitive gymnast. By 14, she was overusing over-the-counter pain relievers to mask injuries and inflammation—at times, taking up to 16 ibuprofen a day. “I could barely feel my legs, but that was the point. I didn’t want to feel them,” she admits.
When injuries forced her to quit gymnastics, a sport to which she previously dedicated 35 hours per week, Bergstrom felt lost and angry. “I was really in a bad spot, really, really, really unhappy. I was nothing. I was just a shell of myself,” she says. A coach, noticing her tension, encouraged Bergstrom to find ways to relax. The concept was new to her. Years later, she would discover that stress was a significant trigger for lupus.
Lupus is an autoimmune disease marked by chronic inflammation that is more common in women, particularly those of child-bearing age. While the exact cause of the condition is unknown, research suggests that genetic, hormonal, environmental, and immune system factors might play a role. Because of its unpredictability, people with lupus often experience a range of secondary symptoms in addition to the primary disease.
In her early 20s, Bergstrom began having persistent, unexplained fevers and stiffness in her joints. “I couldn’t really make decisions. I didn’t feel like I could leave the house,” she says. I just couldn’t deal with anything.” A coworker, Emmy, recognizing similar symptoms from her own experience, urged Bergstrom to see a rheumatologist.
Within a few days, Bergstrom met with her general practitioner, who initially dismissed her concerns, convinced she had Lyme disease instead. “It was really frustrating,” she says. After the test returned negative, Bergstrom insisted her doctor refer her to see Dr. Barbara Segal, the same rheumatologist who diagnosed and treated her coworker’s lupus almost a decade before.
Because lupus affects everyone differently, finding the right treatment often requires a trial-and-error approach, combining lifestyle changes and medication to manage the disease itself, while also addressing triggers, flare-ups, and secondary symptoms.
Segal’s calendar was booked solid, the next appointment a distant three months away. “I don’t have three months. I’ll be dead,” Bergstrom pleaded. Her symptoms were escalating rapidly—even simple tasks like opening doors were now agonizing. Fortunately, they managed to squeeze her in.
Segal confirmed Bergstrom had lupus nephritis, a form of lupus affecting the kidneys. She also told her it would be an incurable, lifelong condition. While relieved to have answers, Bergstrom’s low tolerance for pain led her to isolate herself as she struggled with the initial stages of treatment and medication side effects. “I became very withdrawn very quickly, because I didn’t want anybody to see me like that,” she said. “I just didn’t want anyone around to see how bad it was.”
“There was a point where I couldn’t get out of bed at all,” she recalls. “I was sleeping 16 hours a day. I thought I was about to quit my job. I thought I was going to lose my job. I didn’t have anyone.”
Like many women with autoimmune disorders, Bergstrom experienced a range of symptoms: unexplained hair loss, discoloration in her fingers, and persistent eye redness. “I was scared to wash my hair. I didn’t know if I was going to be bald,” she explains. “That was one of the hardest things.”
Segal started Bergstrom on a treatment plan, including a low dose of prednisone and hydroxychloroquine, an antimalarial medication commonly used to treat the condition. While assured that her case was mild, Bergstrom struggled to reconcile that with her reality. “[Segal] knew the future for me, even though I didn’t,” she says. “I didn’t believe her.”
“I remember feeling very cynical about everything and everybody,” she recalls. “I just was, like, a really awful [person] to be around. I just, I hated everything. Nobody understood it.”
Over the next two years, Bergstrom’s health gradually improved, and she hasn’t experienced any lupus symptoms in 12 years. Reflecting on her intense struggle gave her a new perspective on self-care, she explains.
Segal helped Bergstrom recognize the role stress played in her condition, something she had dismissed her entire life. “Every time she would ask me about my stress levels, I would be like, ‘I’m not stressed. What are you talking about?’” Her doctor explained that many patients were just like her—high-achieving individuals constantly pushing themselves to the limit.
Growing up in a chaotic home with rigid expectations created a constant undercurrent of stress in Bergstrom’s life. Armed with the knowledge of its impact on her health, she began exploring ways to manage it. She discovered yoga, guided meditation, and Zumba, which she now teaches. “I fell in love with it,” she says.
Though her lupus is now under control, her diagnosis is always with her. Today, Bergstrom proactively manages her condition to avoid flare-ups and long-term complications. She is forever grateful to Emmy, her coworker, whose suggestion led her to diagnosis and healing.
Maria Pomerleau
Maria Pomerleau’s story is one of those sliding-door moments—where an unexpected conversation and a 5-year-old X-ray completely changed the course of her life.
The path leading Pomerleau to her diagnosis was long. The Cottage Grove resident began noticing symptoms in 1999 after losing her first child, a son, to stillbirth. She was in debilitating joint pain. “I couldn’t even support myself to sit, to walk, or to transition between the two,” she says.
Her lower back and hips ached constantly, and the inflammation extended to her fingers, wrists, and ankles, which were often swollen and tender, impacting her mental health and ability to work. “It took me to really low depths,” she recalls.
For a decade, Pomerleau endured this relentless physical burden, unable to pinpoint what brought her symptoms on or made them go away. Doctors offered temporary relief
with steroids, pain medication, massage, and physical therapies, but nothing lasted. Frustrated, she turned to Facebook to vent about her discomfort.
After class at her dance studio, a seemingly ordinary conversation with one of her clients took an unexpected turn, changing everything. She had recognized Pomerleau’s symptoms and urged her to get tested for the HLA-B27 gene. “I think you have ankylosing spondylitis,” she remembers the woman saying before briefly describing her own experience with the condition, a chronic inflammatory disease mainly affecting the spine.
Ankylosing spondylitis (AS) causes vertebrae to fuse, making the spine less flexible over time. This often results in a hunched posture, which is why it’s sometimes called “bamboo spine.” While there is currently no cure for AS, treatments are available to help manage symptoms and slow the progression of the disease.
Symptoms of AS often differ between women and men. For instance, some women first notice symptoms in their neck rather than their lower back, which is more typical among men. This variation, combined with the underrepresentation of women in research, contributes to delays in diagnosis. Additionally, some AS medications may be less effective for women.
Pomerleau learned about AS online and realized that her childhood bladder infections, persistent ringing in her ears, and fungal nail infections could all be connected. “I always dismiss that as part of my dance career, and having loud intermittent blasts of music,” she says. “But maybe it wasn’t simply that. It could have been related to my disease.”
About 6.1% of Americans carry the HLA-B27 gene, first linked to autoimmune conditions like AS in the early 1970s. Today, genetic testing has become a standard diagnostic tool for suspected AS cases. “I was at home. I was on MyChart, and they said the test was positive,” Pomerleau says, remembering the exact moment she learned she carried the gene associated with AS. She was referred to a rheumatologist whom she met with a few months later.
She was disappointed by the impersonal process of receiving her diagnosis. “I wish it were different,” she admits. “Maybe I need[ed] to be held by the hand a little bit more… given how much pain I was in.” Chronic pain costs the country over $600 billion annually, affecting about 21% of U.S. adults, yet many never find the underlying cause.
Provided by Maria Pomerleau
The rheumatologist confirmed Pomerleau’s diagnosis based on a 5-year-old X-ray. While she was relieved to have answers, she couldn’t help feeling angry, wondering how much irreversible damage had occurred over the past 13 years. Unfortunately, the medications available at the time increased her risk for multiple sclerosis and non-Hodgkin lymphoma, conditions present in her family history.
Even when she found an approved medication, the cost was daunting, at over $3,500. Fortunately, a patient assistance program made Pomerleau’s treatment accessible, but her job change and an insurance switch created a gap in her treatment, leading to increased stiffness, fatigue, and irritability.
The pandemic forced her dance studio to close, allowing her to prioritize her health. “That actually gave me the time to make my health a full-time job,” she says. Pomerleau respects her physical limits and has made significant lifestyle changes, including dietary adjustments. “If it’s in a box, I tend not to eat it,” she says.
Pomerleau actively challenges the stigma surrounding invisible illnesses. “I haven’t found quite the solution yet,” she jokes, “other than being outspoken about it and, dare I say, making people uncomfortable in speaking out about it.” She refuses to let others dismiss her pain or minimize her struggles. “I wonder if I wouldn’t have become that kind of strong without having had the illness.”
Now, she incorporates assistants into her dance classes and focuses on written choreography instead of physical demonstrations. Traveling for her role as an adjudicator requires careful planning, ensuring she has extra time for both preparation and recovery.
Despite the daily challenges of living with ankylosing spondylitis, Pomerleau maintains a lighthearted attitude. “I try not to live with regrets or be mad… because guess what? That’ll bring on a flare in itself,” she laughs.
