The Lioness Rises: When Healthcare Systems Threaten What Matters Most

In the spirit of transparency that defines this newsletter, I must confess something: I’ve lied to you. Not intentionally, but through a fundamental misunderstanding of my nature. I told you I was a GOAT, and while Michelle Obama and I share a January 17th birthday under Capricorn’s sign, recent events have revealed my true identity. I am not the mountain-climbing goat. I am the lioness.

And someone just threatened my cub, my most precious treasure.

The Letter That Changed Everything

This weekend, I received correspondence from Letha S. Kramer, JD, Senior VP at Carle, delivered through attorney Renee L. Monfort. The message was simple: “Dr. Durrant is at it again. Here is her post on LinkedIn, and I think we should take action against her.”

And while I appreciate all who enjoy my writing. The intent was clear—intimidate me into silence.

But here’s what Ms. Kramer fundamentally misunderstands: fear-based leadership never achieves the desired response. As Chief of Risk Management, if she possessed evidence to refute my claims, she would present it. Instead, she’s threatening legal action based on a document I signed under duress, while unpaid, seeking only to escape Carle’s toxic environment.

That document’s power relies on my compliance. But compliance requires belief in the authority behind it. Our recent political landscape has demonstrated that even the Constitution cannot demand adherence without buy-in. Whatever Carle has certainly doesn’t carry constitutional weight.

The Lioness Emerges

I was once asked to identify the most dangerous animal on Earth. I said humans, but I should have been more specific. The most dangerous creature is a mother whose child is threatened.

Every woman risks her life to bring another into this world. For Black women in America, that risk is magnified—we face a maternal mortality rate of 49.5 deaths per 100,000 live births, more than triple that of white women (19) and Hispanic women (16.9), according to the CDC.

Before my son arrived, I feared motherhood might pass me by. Surgery was my first love, my chosen path. But the moment I became an attending physician, I invested everything—literally liquidating my car accident settlement—into assisted reproduction. My MFM doctor understood this journey; like many women in medicine, she also required science to achieve motherhood, as many of us have sacrificed our prime reproductive years for our profession.

The path wasn’t easy—nothing in my life is—but when something matters, I don’t surrender.

Unconditional Love, Fierce Protection

My son was born three weeks past his due date via C-section—taking his sweet time even then, a trait that persists today. I photographed him daily that first year and marveled at every milestone. Unlike many working mothers, I was present for each precious moment. As the sole provider (baby daddy never worked), I served as nurturer, teacher, and protector for this brilliant little scientist.

Initially, I worried—he was light-skinned, round, and had straight hair. Traveling alone with him, bearing different surnames, I prepared responses for those who might question whether I was his nanny or had permission to travel with “someone else’s child.” Fortunately, discretion prevailed in those days.

Time has revealed his true heritage—his hair curled, his melanin bloomed, and I miss his baby fat as he has his mother’s svelte frame; he’s unmistakably my mini-me. He is my heart, soul, greatest fear, and profound love. Having grown up with nothing, I constantly worry about creating a spoiled monster while trying to give him everything I never had.

Though I’d always envisioned myself as a “girl mom,” God had other plans. Throughout my pregnancy—too old, vegan, running until week 34 (he was calmest during morning runs), indulging in green tea lattes because an uncaffeinated Audrey serves no one—I was terrified about raising a boy.

There’s a saying: if God gives you a son as your firstborn, it’s because you need to understand true love. I’ve never loved anyone as much nor wanted someone else’s health and happiness more than my own.

The Threat That Backfired

Ms. Kramer’s threats don’t frighten me—they’ve transformed me from a concerned critic to an existential threat, all because Carle made it impossible for me to provide for my child by placing a mark on the National Practitioner Data Bank (NPDB).

If Ms. Kramer is a mother, she should understand that threatening a provider’s ability to care for their child creates a cornered lioness. The solution isn’t more threats—clearing the path for me to return to work is the solution. Once I can provide for my family, Carle exits my crosshairs. I’ll continue fighting the toxic healthcare culture broadly, but Carle will no longer warrant special attention. You have to be special, and Carle is many things, but they are not special.

Right now, I have nothing left to lose except my son. For him, I will fight anyone who dares interfere with our bond. And even when this battle is won, I will continue to fight against toxic healthcare culture for the sake of all the other lionesses and cubs out there.

The Teaching Moment

So, gentle readers here’s my redemption for the earlier deception: this becomes our teaching moment. Don’t come between a lioness and her cub. The consequences will haunt you until your final day.

Ms. Kramer, consider this your education in maternal instinct and the futility of intimidation tactics against someone with nothing left to lose except what matters most.

The lioness within me has been stirred from her slumber.

Proceed accordingly.