This article is part of an ongoing Stroke & Patient Advocacy series documenting Katina Rankin’s personal experience navigating Mississippi’s healthcare system.
By K. Monroe Carter/Permission Granted by Katina Rankin
The shift change had just begun at the Jackson hospital with the crosses when a nurse opened my door and asked softly, “How’s my baby? I know they telling lies on you in your chart. What happened today?”
I raised my bed, confused. “What do you mean? Besides asking questions about my medicines and what’s next for healing—nothing.”
She looked at me with the kind of honesty that only comes from someone who’s seen too much. “Be careful,” she said. “When some nurses make mistakes or can’t answer a question, they’ll label a patient as ‘angry,’ ‘unruly,’ or ‘belligerent.’ It’s a cover. Sometimes, they’ll even push sleep medicine to make their job easier—or to quiet patients who ask too many questions and lighten their load. Check your chart every day. Protect yourself. I’ll be back.”
And she was right.
Days later, I saw false information written in my medical record. Had it not been for that one nurse with courage—Mrs. Courage, I call her—I might never have known. She reminded me that integrity still exists inside hospital walls, even when the system itself has grown too comfortable in silence.
⸻
When Compassion Becomes Conditional
My first outpatient appointment confirmed what Mrs. Courage warned me about.
When I asked an office staffer where the restroom was, she pointed without looking up from her cell phone. Weak and still struggling to walk with a walker, I slowly shuffled in the direction she pointed. I overshot it—because the door wasn’t labeled. Another staff member, kind and attentive, guided me there after a wrong turn and down the wrong hall.
Wanting to help others like me, I politely told the first woman, “You may want to tell patients the restroom says ‘Employees Only.’ It could help someone newly released or with a disability.”
Her response: “I wouldn’t tell you to go to a bathroom if you couldn’t.”
When I explained my point again, she stood up and began yelling.
Moments later, another nurse came into my room. When she saw my mobile device, she told me I couldn’t record the incident. I told her I was recording myself—a patient documenting her own experience. That’s when she started defending the staffer.
And just like that, I became “the angry patient.” Or, you know what’s whispered—all too often.
Never mind that I could barely walk. Never mind that I was asking fair questions about policies, procedures, and respect. In that moment, the perception of my tone outweighed the reality of my pain.
And when did their recording policy trump state or federal law?
⸻
When Truth Becomes a Threat
Later, the nurse practitioner entered, avoided eye contact, and barely acknowledged the chart in front of her. She wrote mistruths in my record. She wasn’t even present for the earlier conversation—and she didn’t bother to write “per se.”
When I left a factual review of my experience in MyChart—prompted via text to do so—the next day I received an email: she refused to see me again, in accordance with the doctor (who wasn’t even in the office the day her staff scheduled my appointment).
Retaliation for telling the truth.
And what hurt most wasn’t just the unprofessionalism. It was the betrayal—from a doctor I once respected, a woman I believed understood what it means to fight twice as hard to be taken seriously, the one who was labeled “HBIC” by nurses. Instead, she let bias win.
⸻
This Is Bigger Than Me
This isn’t just my story. It’s the story of countless patients—especially women—whose pain is downplayed, whose records are rewritten, whose voices are silenced by bureaucracy and bias.
It’s the story of people who enter hospitals to heal, not to battle policies disguised as “procedure.”
It’s time Mississippi stopped pretending this isn’t happening.
We rank at the bottom in healthcare outcomes. That’s not just a number—it’s a mirror. It reflects our lack of accountability, our lack of oversight, and our silence when the most vulnerable cry out.
⸻
Change Must Come from the Capitol
To every legislator reading this: do more than listen. Act.
We need policies that protect patients’ rights—to record their own experiences, to access and correct false information in their medical records, and to report misconduct without fear of retaliation.
If you’ve ever felt dismissed, mislabeled, or mistreated while seeking care, I’m asking you to use your voice too.
Contact your state leaders:
SCreekmore@house.ms.gov
hbryan@senate.ms.gov
Ask for meetings. Tell your story. Tell mine. Tell the truth.
Because healing should never come with humiliation.
And to the nurses who’ve messaged me privately—I see you. I hear you. I know the system is broken for you, too. Be the advocate you wish you had. I have to be. Change starts with courage—and sometimes, courage looks like speaking up instead of covering up.
⸻
A Final Word Until Part III (Nasty Towels and Used Dishes)
Note: This op-ed is not an indictment of all hospitals or healthcare workers. Many serve with compassion, grace, and integrity every single day. But when misconduct, bias, and retaliation occur—and we look the other way—we all become part of the problem.
My mother used to say, “A hit dog will holler.”
Well, Mississippi—it’s time to holler.
Now, I’ll try to rest. My body needs to heal.
###
Katina Rankin is a stroke survivor, journalist, author, and founder of Katina’s Klassroom, a nonprofit literacy initiative in Simpson County, Mississippi, dedicated to empowering children and families through reading, equity, food security, and community healing.
#WhenHealingTurnsHostile
#MississippiHealthcare
#PatientAdvocacy
#HealthcareAccountability
#PatientRights
#HealthcareReform
#MedicalBias
#ListenToPatients
#HealthEquity
#DoNoHarm
