Healthcare Is for Everyone—Even When the World Isn’t

I’ve been an emergency registrar for several years now. And if there’s one thing that working in Australian EDs has taught me, it’s this: inclusivity in healthcare isn’t a bonus or a buzzword. It’s the bare minimum. Or at least, it should be.

When I first started, I thought being polite and treating everyone the same was the gold standard. But the truth is, "treating everyone the same" often means failing to see the individual in front of you—their history, trauma, culture, identity, and needs.

One patient that still weighs on me was a refugee from central Africa. They came in with abdominal pain, but it became clear that the real issue ran much deeper. They’d delayed coming to hospital because, in their words, “doctors don’t help people like me.” I didn’t understand at first. I tried to reassure them, but I could see I wasn’t getting through.

Later, in talking with a social worker, I realised how inaccessible the system was for them—from Medicare entitlements to the maze of hospital referrals, to the unspoken assumption that you need to advocate loudly to get care. None of it was built with people like them in mind. And I hadn’t stopped to ask the right questions.

I’ve also cared for LGBTQIA+ patients who quietly scan for signs of safety—a rainbow sticker, a pronoun badge—before disclosing anything. One young nonbinary patient came in with chest pain. They gave me a different name than the one on their file. I used the one from the triage note without thinking, and I saw their guard go straight up. It was a small thing, but not small to them. I apologised, and they softened slightly, but I knew I’d missed my chance to offer care that felt safe from the beginning.

These are the things we don’t learn in textbooks. But they matter just as much as the right antibiotic or a correctly placed cannula.

We live in a fractured world. In every direction, people are being pushed further to the margins—because of their gender, race, disability, trauma, language, age, faith, mental illness, or because they simply don’t fit someone’s idea of “normal.” But emergency departments don’t get to pick who comes through the door. We have a duty to care for everyone. And not just care for them—protect their rights while we do it.

Inclusive healthcare doesn’t require a PhD in anthropology or a full-time diversity officer at your side. It means asking, listening, being open to correction. It means using language that doesn’t assume things. It means knowing that for some people, being in a hospital is terrifying for reasons we can’t always see.

That’s why I made a quick-reference guide—a basic but thoughtful starting point for inclusive care. It’s for nurses, doctors, students, paramedics, and anyone who’s trying to do better in a system that’s always moving too fast.

If you’re a healthcare worker with a story about getting it wrong—or getting it right—I’d love to hear it. And if you’re someone who’s experienced harm or bias in healthcare, I want to learn from you too. Our patients teach us the most, when we’re brave enough to listen.

Get the Inclusive Healthcare Quick Guide