Pride and Prevention: Breaking Down Barriers to Cervical Cancer Care for LGBTQIA+ Communities

By Kyle Minnis, Cervivor Communications Intern

Today, an estimated one million LGBTQIA+ cancer survivors live in the United States—a fraction of the nation’s nearly 19 million survivors. But behind that number lies an alarming reality: Queer and trans individuals face higher rates of late-stage diagnoses, limited access to screening, lower insurance coverage, and deep-rooted mistrust in the medical system. Experts warn these disparities may worsen before they improve.

At Cervivor, Inc., we believe every cervix matters. This Pride Month, we’re shining a light on the barriers queer and trans individuals face in accessing cervical cancer care—and how we can work together to break them down. (Missed part one of the series? Read the powerful stories of four courageous Cervivor Pride community members.)

Mounting Setbacks in LGBTQIA+ Cancer Care Access

Over the past year, federal datasets on sexual orientation and gender identity (SOGI) have quietly been removed from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) and U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) websites, setting back critical research and advocacy efforts. Carter Steger, Vice President at the American Cancer Society Cancer Action Network (ACS CAN), calls the change “unclear and alarming.”

The setbacks go beyond data. Dr. Mandi Pratt-Chapman, a leading LGBTQIA+ health researcher at the George Washington University Cancer Center, reports that all National Institutes of Health (NIH)-funded LGBTQIA+ research grants—including her own—have been terminated. “We can’t just flip the switch back on,” she warns. “The infrastructure has already been dismantled.”

At the same time, state-level legislation is emboldening discrimination in healthcare. The recent U.S. Supreme Court ruling in United States v. Skrmetti upheld states’ rights to deny gender-affirming care to minors, raising broader concerns about refusals of service.

“Before this immense backlash on LGBTQIA+ civil rights, we were finally making progress,” says Dr. Pratt-Chapman. “As a society, we collectively said—you are part of our community! Now, that message of inclusion and protection—indeed, actual protection—is being torn away in a deliberately hurtful and terrifying way.”

Safe Spaces Are Shrinking—and Medical Mistrust Is Growing

According to ACS CAN’s latest Survivor Views survey, 58% of LGBTQ+ cancer patients fear the current political climate could directly impact their access to care. Nearly half worry that providers may consider it “too risky” to treat them due to state laws.

Cervivor Pride lead Karen North puts it bluntly: “I’m scared. They’re coming for people like me—my identity, my rights.”

Cervivor Ambassador Gilma Pereda, whose adult daughter is a trans woman, shares similar fears: “Being a transgender young woman and neurodivergent is a very bad combo in today’s political climate. I’m terrified. We have a plan B—moving to Mexico City, where I’m from, for universal healthcare. She’s not on board yet, but it’s our last resort.”

This anxiety is becoming more common. “People are trying to move to blue states or Europe,” says Dr. Scout, Executive Director of the National LGBT Cancer Network. “We’re watching our safe spaces and experts disappear before our eyes.”

Even in well-meaning systems, barriers persist. Intake forms often lack inclusive options for sexual orientation and gender identity. Most medical students receive fewer than five hours of LGBTQIA+ health education in their entire training. And in response to political pressure, some hospitals have quietly removed LGBTQIA+-affirming content from their websites to avoid backlash or funding threats.

Dr. Scout

The result? Deepening medical mistrust. “For too many of us, the core issue is not knowing whether a provider will treat us with dignity,” says Dr. Scout. “The simple fix is for more providers to make that clear—somewhere visible—so we can get past the mistrust and through the door.”

This fear often leads to skipped care. Lesbians without trusted OB-GYNs are less likely to get screenings like Pap tests or mammograms. Transgender men may avoid gynecologic care entirely.

But small signals of safety can make a big difference. A name tag with pronouns. A “You’re Safe With Me” sign. According to Dr. Scout, LGBTQIA+ patients are nearly seven times more likely to rate their care as “very good” when they see visible signs that their identity will be respected. 

Gilma highlights “small but meaningful changes” she’s seen at her healthcare provider in progressive California. “The clinic I go to used to be called the ‘Women’s Clinic,’ but now it says ‘Gynecology and Obstetrics,’” she says. (The word “women” can be triggering for many trans men and LGBTQIA+ patients.) “I also remember a sign at reception that said something like, ‘If you don’t feel comfortable waiting in this room, please let us know and we’ll move you.’ I wish I had taken a picture—it really stood out to me.”

The Financial Cost of Care

For many queer and trans people, even seeking healthcare comes with roadblocks—starting with insurance. According to the Cancer Network, LGBTQ+ individuals are less likely to have health coverage, often because employers don’t extend benefits to unmarried domestic partners. This gap is even wider for transgender individuals, who have the lowest insurance coverage rates of any group.

Even with insurance, coverage is not guaranteed. Transgender patients may be denied access to gender-relevant care—such as Pap tests for trans men with a cervix—if it doesn’t match the gender on their insurance card. These mismatches can delay or deny vital screenings.

Gilma knows just how rare affirming, comprehensive care can be. “We’re very privileged to have Kaiser [in the Bay Area],” she says, noting how her daughter was able to update her name and gender in the system and receive respectful care. “That’s not the case everywhere.”

Women in same-sex relationships face similar challenges. They’re less likely to have a regular healthcare provider, often citing cost as a barrier—leading to lower screening rates for mammograms, Pap tests, and colonoscopies, which raises the risk of late-stage diagnoses.

Government safety nets like Medicaid help fill these gaps, but even they’re under threat. “When I got cervical cancer, I was on Medicaid,” says Karen. “That’s what allowed me to get treatment. If Medicaid cuts continue—if the Breast and Cervical Cancer Early Detection Program goes away—that’s terrifying. That program saved my life.”

Karen is referring to the 30-year-old public health initiative that has provided life-saving screenings to women with low incomes and limited insurance. Now, that vital lifeline is at risk. Dr. Pratt-Chapman echoes the concern, warning that proposed cuts could also eliminate federal cancer registries—undermining efforts to prevent cancer and catch it early.

Despite these threats, a legal win offers a glimmer of hope. In the recent APHA v. NIH case, U.S. District Judge William G. Young of Massachusetts deemed the Trump administration’s termination of hundreds of NIH research grants “arbitrary and capricious,” and therefore “void and illegal.” He stated these cuts “represent racial discrimination and discrimination against America’s LGBTQ community,” ordering the restoration of nearly $3.8 billion across 367 affected projects for the time being.

Building a New Kind of Safety Net

Even as the landscape grows more fractured and unpredictable, people are still planting new flags—big, bold, rainbow ones.

Organizations like ACS CAN and the Cancer Network are strongly advocating for inclusive legislation. This includes the Health Equity and Accountability Act (HEAA), which would require the collection of data on sexual orientation and gender identity (SOGI) in federal health surveys, and the Equality Act, which would explicitly ban discrimination based on sexual orientation, gender identity, and sex characteristics across all sectors, including healthcare.

ACS CAN’s LGBTQIA+ and Allies Engagement Group

These policy fights are being matched by boots-on-the-ground action. ACS CAN’s LGBTQIA+ & Allies Engagement Group supports strategy development, educates advocates, and ensures queer visibility in campaigns and Pride events. In 2025, the organization will appear at more than 60 Pride events across 32 states. 

The group also recently hosted a virtual screening of Trans Dudes with Lady Cancer, a powerful documentary following two transmasculine individuals navigating breast and ovarian cancer care, sparking dialogue about gender, inclusion, and systemic change.

Training efforts are also expanding. GW Cancer Center’s TEAM training offers free, online education for healthcare providers looking to improve LGBTQIA+ cancer care, and a new version, TEAM SGM, aims to provide a deeper dive for oncology-specific scenarios. The Cancer Network also provides Welcoming Spaces training, helping providers build physical and emotional environments where patients feel respected, affirmed, and safe.

Take Action: Stand With the LGBTQIA+ Cancer Community

This is a critical moment. Cancer doesn’t discriminate, and neither should the systems designed to help us survive it.

The challenges are real, but they are not insurmountable—and they are not going unnoticed.

“I want to be in that group of people,” says Dr. Pratt-Chapman. “The ones history celebrates for standing up when it got hard. Hate shrinks the world. Love is expansive. Love brings life.”

What can you do?

  • Contact your elected officials today to protect and expand funding for cancer research, Medicaid, and programs like the Early Detection Program. Take action at act.fightcancer.org.
  • Encourage local clinics and hospitals to provide LGBTQIA+ cultural competency training. Providers can join programs like TEAM or Welcoming Spaces.
  • If you’re a patient or survivor, share your story—you never know who needs to hear it.

Every Cervix Matters: LGBTQIA+ Voices in the Fight Against Cervical Cancer

For queer and trans people facing cervical cancer, the challenges go far beyond the diagnosis. They’re compounded by systemic bias, stigma, and a long history of being overlooked or mistreated in healthcare. These barriers are only growing amid ongoing threats to LGBTQIA+ health equity. (Learn more about these challenges—and the work to overcome them—in part two of our Pride Month series. Stay tuned for Monday).

As Dr. Scout, a trans man and Executive Director of the National LGBT Cancer Network, explains, “It’s getting more dangerous to be openly queer in this country right now.” For many, staying safe means staying silent, often at the cost of their health. 

That’s why this Pride Month, Cervivor is proud to uplift the voices of Karen North, Anjelica Butcher, Gilma Pereda, and Pixie Bruner—members of our community whose experiences reveal both the challenges and courage of queer cervical cancer survivors. Their stories remind us that behind every statistic is a person who deserves to be seen, heard, and cared for.

Challenging Assumptions: Karen’s Advocacy

Karen, a former nurse from Liberty, Missouri, lives with her longtime partner, who shares the same first name, Karen “Murph” Murphy. Their relationship grew gradually after Karen’s 10-year marriage ended in 2001—a union that brought her a son, Matthew, and helped her recognize her identity as a lesbian. But fear of judgment lingered. “When I was still dealing with custody issues,” she recalls, “I’d deny my relationship with Murph in public if I had to.”

Karen North

By the time she was diagnosed with breast cancer—and then cervical cancer 18 months later in January 2016—Karen had stopped worrying about court rulings or public opinion. Instead, she leaned on her medical background to stay focused on treatment, not judgment. “I didn’t care what anyone thought. If I felt judged, I’d call it out and find another provider,” she says, adding with a laugh, “I can be a KAREN, in all caps, if I need to be.”

Karen discovered Cervivor in 2017, but it was Cervivor School in 2019 that truly “lit a fire” in her. Today, she leads the Cervivor Pride group and is a vocal advocate for inclusive language. “One of my biggest pet peeves is when people assume everyone with a cervix identifies as a woman,” says Karen.

Conversations with her transgender friend Zeke—who navigates gynecological care as a male-identifying person—have shaped her approach. Karen now avoids euphemisms like “coochie cancer,” opting instead for medical terms or inclusive phrases like “below-the-belt cancer,” which more accurately encompass HPV-related cancers, including cervical, vaginal, vulvar, penile, and anal.

And she credits her Every Cervix Matters hoodie for sparking meaningful dialogue. “A woman came up to me at a restaurant and said, ‘That’s great. Every cervix does matter.’ I got goosebumps,” Karen recalls. “It doesn’t center gender—it centers anatomy and health.”

Transforming Trauma: Gilma’s Awakening

Cervivor Ambassador Gilma, a graphic designer in California, echoes Karen’s message: “It’s called the human papillomavirus—not the women’s papillomavirus,” she emphasizes. “It doesn’t matter your sexual orientation or your gender.” 

This perspective led her to vaccinate her then-12-year-old child—now a trans woman—shortly after her cervical cancer diagnosis in 2016. “At her annual checkup, the doctor mentioned the vaccine could prevent cervical cancer,” Gilma recalls. “I said, ‘I don’t care if it’s for girls or boys—whatever it is, my child needs it.’”

Gilma Pereda

Gilma’s cervical cancer journey unfolded alongside a profound personal awakening. Raised in a traditional Catholic household in 1970s Mexico, she followed expected norms—marrying and having a child—despite always feeling “different.” After divorcing at 36 and supporting her child through gender exploration, she began to reflect on her own identity. “Cervical cancer changes your sexual life—a lot. So I stopped worrying about that,” she says. “But it gave me the freedom to express my gender differently.”

A metastatic recurrence at 47, which led her to shave her head after a lifetime of long hair, marked a turning point. “I’ve seen so many women devastated by hair loss—hair carries so much of our identity,” she says. “But for me, I was so happy.” Soon after, she came out to her parents. “I was done trying to fit a mold. Now, I feel comfortable being androgynous.”

Gilma’s advocacy stems from a deeply traumatic experience. During a painful, anesthesia-free cryotherapy procedure to remove precancerous cervical cells, a doctor’s inappropriate touch triggered memories of childhood sexual abuse, causing her to delay treatment for a year. “By that time, it was cancer,” she states.

She credits Cervivor—and years of advocacy training and witnessing other survivors doing “very, very difficult things”—with helping her transform that pain into purpose. Gilma has since shared her story in Spanish-language publications and on a bilingual panel addressing sexual abuse in medical settings, an issue that disproportionately affects her community. “I don’t like the spotlight,” she confides. “But I’ll do it again and again to help prevent this from happening to others.”

Confronting Disparities: Anjelica’s Fight

Anjelica, a small business and nonprofit owner in Baltimore, faced her cervical cancer diagnosis already carrying the weight of multiple identities: Black, queer, caregiver—and often the only one like her in the room. “My cultural background gave me strength and resilience,” she says, “but it also came with silence around topics like sexuality and cancer.”

She quickly saw how deeply healthcare disparities run. “I thought I had great insurance—until I found out it didn’t qualify as catastrophic coverage,” she recalls. Denied care for over a month, she had to pay out-of-pocket to start treatment. “It broke my heart realizing the only reason I made it through was because I could afford to. What happens to the people who can’t?”

Anjelica Butcher

For Anjelica, who’s identified as queer since age 13, her cervical cancer diagnosis also brought a realization that “hit hard.” “I was never offered the HPV vaccine—likely because of assumptions about my sexuality,” she shares, referencing persistent stigma and misinformation that overlook how HPV is transmitted: through intimate skin-to-skin contact, not just penetrative sex.

While most of her care team was respectful, certain invasive treatments—like internal radiation—left her feeling unseen and violated. Although the plan was eventually adjusted, the damage had already been done. One provider, referred by her primary doctor, made a lasting difference. “They taught me how to advocate for myself as a Black woman. Most people don’t know how, and it shouldn’t fall solely on us.”

Her support system—her mom, dad, partner, and chosen family—kept her grounded. And with help from a “phenomenal” oncological therapist, she began processing the emotional toll that surfaced after remission. “I didn’t realize how badly I needed community until then.”

Now active in Cervivor and the Ulman Foundation, supporting young adults impacted by cancer, Anjelica shows up in survivor spaces not to seek answers, but to offer hope. “Healing is possible. Remission doesn’t mean going back—it can mean becoming someone even stronger.”

Poetic Resilience: Pixie’s Voice

Pixie, a poet and Cervivor Ambassador from Snellville, Georgia, knows firsthand how gaps in care impact LGBTQIA+ communities. At 26, she was treated for cervical dysplasia, but not tested for HPV. “I wish I had known then what I know now,” she says.

Living with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome and type 1 diabetes, Pixie had always been vigilant about her health. So when she was diagnosed with cervical cancer at 50—with no symptoms—it came as a shock. “I felt numb, contaminated,” she recalls, struggling with the stigma of an STI-related cancer. She underwent a radical hysterectomy and bilateral oophorectomy. “It was basically the ‘Everything must go! Going out of business sale’ surgery,” she’s described.

Pixie Bruner

Living in rural Georgia, Pixie chose not to disclose her sexual orientation. “When I asked a nurse, ‘What do you define as sex here?’ the answer didn’t reflect my lived experience,” she says. After treatment, a conservative therapist dismissed her concerns about sexuality and body image. “I was reduced to parts—told they were irrelevant because of chemopause and their loss. That I should be grateful to be single. But I was still a sexual being, still human,” she says. “I fired that therapist.” 

Cervivor became her lifeline—offering connection, care packages, and space to heal. Her “fairy godmothers,” a married couple, delivered warm meals and encouragement. “Friends are my chosen family and were with me during the long recovery,” she says.

Today, she advocates for inclusive HPV education through Cervivor’s LGBTQIA+ community, and her award-winning poetry—including “Her Kind” and “Medusa With Cancer”—explores how illness reshapes identity. “Cervical cancer took ‘femininity’ and gender away from me in some ways,” she writes. “But my words helped give something back.” 

A Call to Action for Equitable Care

While Karen, Gilma, Anjelica, and Pixie each have unique stories, they share a common goal: a more just and inclusive future.

“I want a world where cervical cancer isn’t common,” says Pixie. “Where HPV vaccination is standard, no one is judged for having the ‘wrong’ cancer, self-care is valued, and early detection is affordable and accessible.”

At Cervivor, that vision means making space for everyone. As Community Engagement Liaison Morgan Newman, MSW, shares: “We stand with our cervical cancer community to demand protection and empowerment through prevention. As someone who’s faced this disease, I know the power of vaccines and the importance of accessible healthcare.”

Cervivor Ambassadors, Ann Marie Hartung and Kellie Defelice, tabling at a Pride event in Massachusetts.

If you or someone you know is part of the LGBTQIA+ community and impacted by cervical cancer, join the Cervivor Pride group (for more information, contact Karen), attend Creating Connections virtual meetups, or take part in local or national outreach.

Support Cervivor’s mission to end cervical cancer by contributing to the ongoing Tell 20, Give 20 awareness and fundraising campaign—honoring 20 years of advocacy, education, and survivorship.