Does Design Matter for Women’s Health? I Think So.

Have you ever gotten a stress test? I had something like that last year. Honestly, I’m not totally sure what my test was called. I ran on a treadmill—and at peak effort I had to quickly lay down as a technician hurriedly attached wires to my chest to measure my heart’s performance. This is how I remember it all unfolding:

My doctor prepared me for running on a treadmill with an EKG. So, I arrive at my appointment ready to run my heart out while they check its health and function. They gave me a gown—the usual medical gown that ties in the front or back. Then told me to tie it in the front. As we enter the testing room the conversation went something like this:

Female assistant: “Please open your gown so I can affix these nodes, we’ll attach the EKG wires to them later.” I follow her instructions.

Female assistant: “Oh! I’m sorry, you can’t wear a sports bra for this test. In fact, you can’t wear a bra at all.”

Me: “Wait, what? How am I supposed to run for 10 minutes without it?”

Female assistant: “Yeah, sorry, we just can’t get the nodes on. When you’re done running you have to quickly open your gown in front and lay on your side and we connect the wires to do the test. Joe, your (male) technician, can explain more.”

Me: “Wait, what? I’m running on a treadmill for 10 minutes, with no sports bra and a male tech—and throwing open my gown and laying on a table?”

I’m standing there feeling completely mortified and embarrassed. I’m wearing an ill-fitted gown—without a sports bra. And being asked to run and jump to a table—still without support. UGH. I told myself to be strong, ignore your modesty, push back your embarrassment, don’t feel uncomfortable, this is how it has to be.

Then I started crying.

Female assistant (as she’s putting her hand on my shoulder): “We can request a female technician.”

Me: “Thank you, that would help. I’m so sorry I’m crying, I’m so embarrassed.”

Female assistant: “Not at all, I completely understand how you’re feeling.”

During the entire test, I spoke with the two female technicians about how the gown wasn’t made to support women for this test—or really any test or procedure at all. We talked about how the process was more difficult with the female body. It didn’t accommodate modesty or the different sizes and shapes of women’s bodies. And we bonded over the whole concept that every woman’s body is unique and the need for more dignity when tests like this are conducted. That’s when my design brain entered the conversation.

I walked away from that experience with a feeling I can’t shake. As someone who works in design, I have an opportunity to influence a scenario that happens to hundreds—maybe thousands—of women every day. I want to find ways to design for women’s health experiences. To go beyond the surface attempt of a female technician instead of a male one, or a “this is how it has to be” situation.

What women experience is often profoundly different than men, especially when it comes to healthcare. Women experience pain differently, heart attack symptoms manifest differently, certain cancers are more prevalent—and we age differently, too. Yet most healthcare spaces are often designed as “one size fits all” or unable to suit multiple experiences and perspectives.

How can we, as designers, work within the construct we currently have, but make better experiences more accessible and relevant to women?

This year I’m starting a personal journey to further inform my point of view. I don’t know where it will take me, but I want to hear from you and about your experiences as a first step.