The winter light streams through the windows of Dr. Sarah Chen’s downtown Vancouver clinic as she reviews the day’s patient files. Between appointments, she shows me a drawer filled with notebooks—each containing stories from women who have struggled to have their health concerns taken seriously within Canada’s medical system.
“This one waited three years for an endometriosis diagnosis,” she says, tapping a blue spiral notebook. “This patient saw seven different doctors before someone ordered the right tests for her autoimmune condition.”
These stories aren’t anomalies. They represent a systemic challenge within Canadian healthcare that researchers, advocates, and patients have been documenting for decades.
Last month, I spent time with women across British Columbia navigating complex health journeys, revealing a healthcare system that, despite its universal promise, contains troubling gaps when it comes to women’s health. The experiences shared with me point to a larger national pattern where women’s health concerns are often dismissed, misdiagnosed, or treated as afterthoughts.
“I started having severe menstrual pain at 15,” says Amina Hassan, now 32, who I meet at a community health forum in East Vancouver. “I was told by three different doctors that it was normal, that I was exaggerating, or that it would improve after I had children.” Ten years later, Hassan was finally diagnosed with adenomyosis and endometriosis—conditions that could have been identified and managed much earlier.
This pattern of dismissal isn’t just frustrating—it can be dangerous. A 2021 Canadian Medical Association Journal study found that women experiencing cardiac symptoms wait 30% longer than men to receive care in emergency departments across the country. Women are also less likely to receive pain medication for the same conditions and wait significantly longer for specialist referrals.
Dr. Cara Tannenbaum, Scientific Director of the Institute of Gender and Health at the Canadian Institutes of Health Research, explains that the problem has deep historical roots. “Medical research has traditionally used the male body as the default,” she tells me during a video call from her Montreal office. “Many clinical trials excluded women until the 1990s, and we’re still working to fill enormous knowledge gaps.”
The effects of these gaps become starkly apparent when examining health outcomes. Statistics Canada data shows that while women live longer than men on average, they spend more years living with disability and chronic conditions. Women also report higher rates of unmet healthcare needs—25% higher according to the 2020 Canadian Community Health Survey.
The challenges facing women in rural and remote communities are even more pronounced. During a reporting trip to northern British Columbia last fall, I met Miranda Thomas, a 45-year-old teacher in a community of 800 people.
“When I needed specialized gynecological care, the nearest specialist was a four-hour drive away,” Thomas explains as we walk along a snow-covered trail near her home. “I had to take time off work, arrange childcare, and pay for accommodation—all out of pocket. Many women here simply can’t manage that.”
For Indigenous women, these barriers combine with the painful legacy of colonial healthcare practices. Joyce Echaquan’s death in 2020—while hospital staff hurled racist insults at her—brought national attention to this reality, but community advocates stress that such experiences aren’t isolated incidents.
“Our women face a double burden,” says Karen Wilson, a health navigator with the First Nations Health Authority. “They encounter both the gender bias in medicine and the racism embedded in the healthcare system. Many avoid seeking care altogether because of past trauma.”
Yet despite these challenges, there are promising signs of change across the country. In Halifax, the women’s health research collective ReThink is developing new clinical guidelines that incorporate gender-specific approaches to diagnosis and treatment. Their work on heart disease has already led to measurable improvements in emergency care protocols.
Meanwhile, British Columbia launched its Women’s Health Strategy in 2022, establishing dedicated research funding and creating specialized women’s health clinics in previously underserved communities. One such clinic opened in Prince George last spring, serving women from across northern BC.
Digital health initiatives are also helping bridge gaps. The Maple virtual care platform now includes specialized women’s health providers, while apps like Clue and Flo are being integrated into primary care to help women track symptoms and provide more comprehensive data to their healthcare providers.
“Technology isn’t a replacement for in-person care, but it can help women advocate more effectively and connect with providers who take their concerns seriously,” explains Dr. Nisha Varghese, who splits her time between traditional practice and digital health research at the University of Toronto.
When I visited the BC Women’s Health Foundation’s research center in Vancouver, I witnessed promising work on conditions that have historically received little attention. Dr. Jerilynn Prior’s team is conducting groundbreaking research on perimenopause—a transition affecting every woman yet barely mentioned in most medical education programs until recently.
“We’re finally moving beyond the idea that women’s health equals reproductive health,” Dr. Prior tells me as she shows me through the lab. “Women spend most of their lives outside of pregnancy, yet our healthcare system has been structured as if reproduction is our only distinct health concern.”
Patient advocates have been crucial to this evolution. Groups like the Canadian Women’s Health Network have spent decades documenting disparities and pushing for policy changes. Their persistence is finally gaining traction with healthcare decision makers.
Back in Dr. Chen’s clinic, she introduces me to Teresa Rodríguez, a 51-year-old patient who has become an informal community organizer for women facing healthcare barriers.
“I started a support group that now has over 200 women,” Rodríguez explains. “We help each other navigate the system, share doctor recommendations, and sometimes just validate each other’s experiences when we’re told it’s ‘all in our heads.'”
As we talk, it becomes clear that improving women’s healthcare in Canada will require multifaceted changes—from medical education to research priorities to institutional policies. The challenges are significant, but the emerging coalition of advocates, researchers, and healthcare providers offers genuine hope.
Dr. Chen believes we’re at an inflection point. “For the first time in my twenty-year career, I’m seeing sustained attention to these issues at all levels of the system,” she says, closing the drawer of patient notebooks. “These stories have always been there. The difference now is that more people are finally listening.”
