Homes that once belonged to friends, family, and neighbors had siding covered in mold. Some were boarded up. Others had holes in their roofs.

Black churches once used Oquina Creek, which runs along the border of the neighborhood, to baptize their congregants. Today, fecal bacteria and other contaminants have made the water unsafe due to an aging wastewater system.

“Sometimes you get the feeling like you’re in a Third World country,” Williams said. After three decades in Washington, D.C., he returned four years ago with a mission to revitalize communities such as Dewey City, which he said are “part of what makes Thomasville, Thomasville.”

A $19.8 million Community Change Grant from the Environmental Protection Agency was supposed to shift the tides of the neighborhood Williams grew up in.

The city and the , where Williams formerly served as community development director, applied for the grant in 2024. It was part of a $2 billion effort to help disadvantaged communities address environmental health risks and create clean energy and climate resiliency projects.

But three months after winning the grant, Thomasville became one of across the country — from to to — to see the funding stripped as priorities shifted in Donald Trump’s second presidency.

On the first day of his second term, Trump signed an executive order titled “.” It stated that the Biden administration “forced illegal and immoral discrimination” through diversity, equity, and inclusion programs.

In an emailed statement, EPA spokesperson Mike Bastasch said the administration is “fully committed to being a great steward of taxpayer dollars.” He added that the “radical agenda” of DEI and environmental justice “preferencing” are not within the agency’s core mission of protecting human health and the environment.

Environmental health advocates argue, though, that the decision to cut the grants was not rooted in science. They say that equating environmental justice to DEI is an act of bad faith and that withholding the money forces disenfranchised communities to delay long-overdue updates needed to protect public health for marginalized populations.

“I unfortunately believe we’re going to see a reversal in the health profile of this country,” said , an associate professor at the University of Michigan who served in the Biden administration as the first federal chief environmental justice officer.

“This current federal regime has decided that humanity and public health and justice don’t mean anything,” she said.

‘Why Us?’

Thomasville, near Georgia’s southwestern border, is home to just over 18,600 people.

The city had hoped to improve health outcomes in neighborhoods on its southern and western sides where, according to the grant proposal, “historical redlining created a legacy of disinvestment.”

Those areas have a deep history: Dewey City, for example, was the first neighborhood in the city where Blacks could build homes after the Civil War. It’s also home to the closed Douglass High School — the first public school for Blacks in Thomasville, established in 1902.

“This place has been neglected,” said Williams, who occasionally hosts historical walks through the community. “But it’s worth bringing it back online.”

The proposed “Restoring Resiliency” project featured a plan to remove toxic substances such as mold, lead paint, and asbestos from homes, repair a nearly 82-year-old wastewater system, and convert part of a shuttered high school band room into a health clinic.

“This was a long and storied attempt to bend the arc of justice closer,” said Jeremy Rich, a Thomas County commissioner and the pastor at First Missionary Baptist Church. “Justice in healthcare. Justice in environmental impact.”

Having a clinic in the community would be a “game changer,” Rich said. During the covid pandemic, he said, older residents who rely on public transit were reluctant to go to the nearby hospital or the county health department to get vaccinated. When his church offered shots from Black nurses, he said, vaccination rates improved.

Many residents don’t have the financial means to remove mold, lead paint, and other toxic materials, said Thomasville Mayor Pro Tem Lucinda Brown. “They just have money to live with every day. That’s it,” she said. “If they can make that happen.”

The grant meant hope, and its reversal left many asking, “Why us?” Williams said.

In the EPA’s May 2025 letter announcing the grant termination, it said Thomasville’s project promoted “initiatives that conflict with the Agency’s policy of prioritizing merit, fairness, and excellence.” The grant was “inconsistent with, and no longer effectuates, Agency priorities,” the letter said.

Environmental justice projects are rooted in science, not DEI, said Jillian Blanchard, the senior vice president of climate change and environmental justice at , a national nonprofit that provides pro bono legal assistance in focus areas such as health equity, immigration, and environmental health.

“Where is the water dirty? Where is the air unclean?” she said. “That is where the money should go.”

In June of last year, nearly two dozen communities and organizations around the country filed a to get the Community Change Grants reinstated. The lawsuit argued that the projects — such as efforts to create energy-efficient housing in Kalamazoo, Michigan, and empower Houston residents in the pollution permitting process — were vital.

The case was dismissed by a federal district judge in 2025 but is being appealed.

Thomasville was not named in that lawsuit. But the city did appeal the EPA’s decision on its project with the support of Blanchard’s group. The city and the EPA continue to dispute the issue.

This March, the EPA’s deputy inspector general, which serves as an independent watchdog for the agency, concluding that the process for determining the awardees was fair.

Such federal funding is needed because large-scale change is difficult for small municipalities to achieve without getting stuck with high-interest loans, Blanchard said.

“It’s next to impossible,” she said. “That’s one of the reasons the things haven’t been done.”

‘It’s Not Over’

The city of Thomasville has found other ways to make some improvements in the meantime. With the help of a nearly $3 million federal Community Development Block Grant from the Department of Housing and Urban Development, it made repairs to portions of Dewey City’s sewer, water, and drainage systems.

The Thomasville Community Development Corp. has begun building affordable housing in Dewey City and intends to convert a portion of the closed Douglass school into apartments for seniors.

The corporation has also applied for $764,000 in through the office of Sen. Jon Ossoff (D-Ga.) that it hopes to use to construct a community health clinic in Dewey City. Decisions on these funding requests will be made this fall.

“It’s not over,” said Williams, whose legacy in Thomasville runs deep. At the center of what locals call The Bottom — a two-block stretch of downtown where independent Black and other minority-owned businesses once thrived — is a plaque honoring his father, Earl Williams Jr., the city’s first Black mayor.

As he peered at his father’s memorial on a muggy afternoon, he reaffirmed his intentions.

“There’s more work to be done, and I’m able,” he said. “I like pouring into the community.”

But he has little hope the initial grant will be restored under the current administration.

“That was our shot. We didn’t do anything to miss it,” he said. “We just did it during the wrong period of time.”

This article first appeared on ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News and is republished here under a .

Nearly half of that money is , to be distributed by county commissioners and city councilors. The idea is that local leaders know their communities best and can do justice to these payouts, often described as “blood money” by people who’ve lost loved ones to an overdose.

But many local leaders have little to no training in addiction policy and may lack robust local health departments and policy guardrails to assist them.

That has resulted in spending decisions that many clinicians, researchers, and addiction recovery advocates say are unlikely to save lives or treat substance use disorders.

In New York, where is directly controlled by local governments, counties have spent tens of thousands of dollars on surveillance cameras, technology to help police access data on locked cellphones, and goggles that simulate being drunk, according to public records obtained by the nonprofit advocacy group and shared exclusively with ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News. Though the purchases were likely legal, many people consider them a slap in the face because they don’t directly help people struggling with addiction or their families.

Without oversight, counties have the chance “to go rogue” with this money, said , director of drug policy at VOCAL-NY, an advocacy organization that is tracking settlement money as part of its mission to serve people affected by the war on drugs.

When advocates and families of overdose victims raise concerns to the various state agencies that could hold localities accountable, those agencies often punt to one another, Budnella and other local advocates said.

It feels “like the where it’s like everybody’s pointing at each other,” Budnella said. “Somebody needs to be able to have the stick and slam their hand on the table and be like, ‘You’re doing this wrong and this is the consequence.’”

The experience in New York provides a microcosm of regulators evading oversight responsibility nationwide while varied interests vie for the financial windfall.

Years of data collected by ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News, the Johns Hopkins Bloomberg School of Public Health, and the addiction nonprofit Shatterproof have found that settlement money was spent on law enforcement gear, such as night-vision goggles and bulletproof vests; unproven prevention initiatives, such as a drug-awareness magician for kids; and budget stopgaps.

It’s unclear who should — or will — take action on such expenditures that many people harmed by the crisis consider questionable.

In each state, control of the money is split among various entities, creating a leadership vacuum. The federal government . Advocates and families who’ve lost loved ones have pushed for accountability but have limited power. A few states have passed new laws, but change is slow and uneven.

The require the majority of the money to be spent on “opioid remediation,” with . But the list is broad and open to interpretation. Further complicating the issue, many states — including New York — designate some portion of the settlement dollars as unrestricted, which allows for general spending.

Meanwhile, federal budget cuts have threatened addiction-related services and created more demand for funding. And though overdose deaths have decreased since , they still claim about 186 lives per day.

“We really are wasting this opportunity to use these funds to turn the epidemic around,” said , a Binghamton, New York, resident, whose 28-year-old son, Jeff Dugon, died of a heroin overdose in 2014.

He was a chef who loved to rib Pleus about her bad knife skills. She thinks of him and smiles every time she peels garlic the way he taught her. If the money could spare other families such heartache, that would give her solace.

“We need oversight,” said Pleus, who runs a nonprofit that is receiving opioid settlement cash from her county to serve people who use drugs and provide support groups for families.

In New York, there are three prime watchdog contenders: the Office of Addiction Services and Supports, the attorney general, and the comptroller.

The Lead State Agency

New York’s opioid settlement documents designate the as the “.”

It distributes a portion of settlement dollars via grants, according to recommendations from the state’s . It also has the power to “engage in oversight and audits of projects and programs” funded by settlement cash and “may withhold future funds” from local governments that do not comply with certain requirements, according to the agreement.

Agency spokesperson Jerry Gretzinger told ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News the office has not yet exercised its power to withhold funds but understands its oversight role.

“OASAS has a duty to ensure these funds are used responsibly and strategically to build programs that will have a lasting impact in reversing this crisis,” Gretzinger wrote in a statement.

The office is currently auditing 19 local governments’ use of the money to ensure compliance with “reporting and recordkeeping requirements,” he said. However, that may not encompass the broader question of whether money was spent on appropriate uses, which many advocates want addressed.

Some people are frustrated with the narrow role OASAS has carved out.

For example, required local governments for the first time to publicly report how they spent settlement money. OASAS on its site. But it does not review the accuracy or detail of that data, instead relying on “the information as it is provided” by localities, Gretzinger said.

“That doesn’t feel like oversight,” said , a deputy director at the Legal Action Center, which obtained public records about local spending in New York.

Members of the state’s Opioid Settlement Fund Advisory Board have also to provide more data and evaluation of how dollars are being used. But at a , OASAS Commissioner Chinazo Cunningham deflected.

“OASAS has no oversight over these portions of dollars,” she said of the 46% of settlement money that goes directly to counties and cities. “In terms of what kind of data each county collects,” she added, “we cannot dictate exactly what that information is.”

Click for Examples of spending decisions Local Spending That’s Fueling Calls for Oversight in New York

To uncover how opioid settlement cash is being spent, the nonprofit advocacy group filed public records requests with 56 New York counties and New York City, all of which are to disburse as they see fit.

Many of the responses showed spending on addiction treatment, recovery, and prevention initiatives that researchers and clinicians agree are a good use of money. Others surfaced questionable expenditures.

, for example, showed $150,000 in settlement cash directed to “Sheriff Jail” with no further description. The county did not respond to repeated inquiries for more details.

Sullivan County spent more than $30,000 on Cellebrite technology, used to extract data from cellphones, and more than $37,000 on Tasers. Though county officials didn’t respond to requests for comment, explained that those purchases came from unrestricted funds.

Such justifications rankle some families affected by the crisis, who say even if there aren’t legal restrictions on those dollars, there should be moral ones.

“Anything that is not directly tied to people who are struggling with opioid addiction or the loss of someone is a poor use of funds,” said , who lost a son to an overdose and now runs a nonprofit aimed at helping families dealing with addiction. Her organization has received settlement funds from Broome County, New York.

Records also revealed that many jurisdictions have yet to spend a significant portion of their money — a other .

Local officials say thoughtful planning takes time. But some advocates suspect ulterior motives. Millions of settlement dollars in bank accounts can generate sizable interest.

In March, it came to light that Nassau County had in interest accrued from unused opioid settlement funds to the county’s general fund, where it could be used for any purpose. County officials didn’t respond to requests for comment. The money was following public backlash.

Advocates suspect such attempts are happening elsewhere but are difficult to identify within complex budgeting documents.

It feels like “it’s up to us all — the organizers, the advocates, the service providers” — to be constantly watching, said , director of drug policy at the advocacy organization VOCAL-NY. “It’s frustrating.”

That’s why state agencies are being called on to step into an oversight role.

The Top Law Enforcement Officer

New York has been one of the leading national voices on prosecuting pharmaceutical companies that fueled the overdose crisis. Her office has issued on the topic, touting her role in securing billions of opioid settlement dollars for the state.

But when asked about the attorney general’s role in ensuring this windfall is spent appropriately, her office passed the buck to other agencies.

“While our partners in state and local governments distribute and oversee these funds, we will continue our work to hold accountable the companies responsible for fueling the spread of addictions and overdoses,” spokesperson Grant Fox wrote in a statement.

That stance contrasts starkly with many people’s views of the office’s responsibility.

A state senator, a member of the opioid settlement advisory board, and several advocates named the attorney general’s office as a key enforcement entity.

“The money is here because of their efforts,” said Democratic state , who chairs the committee on alcoholism and substance use disorders and has introduced of related to settlement funds. “I believe it is under the Office of the Attorney General to enforce.”

Budnella, the advocate with VOCAL-NY, agreed, saying, “It would be a shame for all of their work that they have done to secure all this funding for it to be misspent.”

Attorneys general in and have taken more active roles, issuing lists of ways opioid settlement money cannot be spent. The lists include many law enforcement expenditures that have raised concerns for advocates in New York.

James’ office did not respond to a specific question about whether she’d consider creating a similar list.

The Fiscal Watchdog

Some people have suggested that the state comptroller, as a steward of New York’s finances, could play an oversight role, perhaps by conducting or requiring audits.

Early this year, the Reason Foundation, a libertarian think tank, that would create audit requirements for organizations receiving settlement cash. The blueprint suggests recipients of more than $1 million in opioid settlements be required to undergo an independent review of financial statements and transaction testing to determine whether funds were used for their intended purpose. Smaller grantees, receiving less than $1 million, could simply provide an unaudited accounting of the funds.

It’s “not telling states what is and what isn’t an appropriate use,” said , a co-author of the Reason Foundation plan. “We’re simply trying to ensure recipients follow through with their promises.”

No state has adopted the model law yet. But the office of New York told ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News it is already conducting an audit.

The process, which began in February, “is looking at OASAS’ oversight” of the opioid settlement money, said spokesperson Mary Mueller. It includes settlement money controlled by the state and local governments.

Mueller said any future enforcement action “will depend on the results of our current work and our ongoing monitoring.”

The office is following in the footsteps of comptrollers and auditors in , , and , Tennessee, who have taken action on settlement cash.

These initial steps have given some advocates and researchers hope for the future of opioid settlement dollars, which are expected to flow for more than a decade.

“We’re already years in and we’ve seen the craziest stories” of this money and a , said , a co-author of the Reason Foundation’s model law. “If we can prevent that at least a little and have these funds be a bit more focused, I don’t think it’s too late.”

This article first appeared on ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News and is republished here under a .

More than a decade ago, Noon said, she was diagnosed with adult-onset Still’s disease, a rare type of inflammatory arthritis that can cause rashes, debilitating pain, and fevers. The disease upended her life.

She had been living a typical suburban life in Michigan, shuttling her two kids to activities like cheerleading, choir practice, and track. She was active in the PTA. She managed a bank.

She went from that to crawling to the bathroom because she was in so much pain, “just crying all day long” from being so sick.

Noon, who is disabled, said she couldn’t work for eight years — a time marked by hospital stays that stretched for weeks.

“I honestly thought I was going to die,” Noon said.

So it was a shock when Michigan denied her application for Medicaid benefits last year after she lost private insurance. Worse yet, it came down to an IT error, according to an attorney who helped Noon overturn the denial.

“I can’t afford my medical care. I have to have insurance,” said Noon, who has returned to working.

Deloitte, a multibillion-dollar global consulting firm, has operated Michigan’s Medicaid eligibility system under contracts worth roughly $768 million since 2006, according to contracts reviewed by ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News. Nationwide, Deloitte dominates this important slice of government business: At least 25 states have awarded the company contracts to build or run computer systems that control access to safety net benefits such as Medicaid.

Michigan’s system has incorrectly directed people with disabilities into skimpier benefits that cover limited care or has denied coverage completely, a ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News investigation found. Similar problems were at the center of a class-action suit in Tennessee, , and have occurred in Texas, according to interviews and state records.

The ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News investigations are based on statements from state officials, allegations and declarations in court documents, emails obtained through public records requests, state government information provided to Medicaid enrollees and applicants, and interviews with attorneys and patients or their caregivers.

In an emailed statement, Deloitte spokesperson Karen Walsh said it found “no system anomalies causing routine denials of Medicaid for people with disabilities.”

“There are many reasons why someone may no longer be eligible for a benefit they once received or believe they deserve,” Walsh said. “All of the eligibility systems we support are owned by the states and built to their unique specifications. We will continue to work at the direction of our state clients.”

Lynn Sutfin, a spokesperson for Michigan’s Department of Health and Human Services, said it “is not aware of any widespread or systemic issues” within Bridges, Michigan’s eligibility system for Medicaid, SNAP, and other benefits, “related to disability‑based eligibility pathways.” 

Since 2006, Deloitte’s contracts with the state have said the company is responsible for development, implementation, maintenance, operations, and enhancements to the Michigan system.

Computer system problems foreshadow trouble as states prepare to roll out the most significant and complicated changes to their Medicaid programs in years. Those changes, dictated by President Donald Trump’s landmark One Big Beautiful Bill Act, have states rushing to update their Medicaid computer systems.

Nationwide, on Medicaid have a disability, according to KFF.

“When these administrative systems get overloaded, everyone gets impacted,” said Pamela Herd, a University of Michigan professor who researches bureaucratic obstacles to accessing government benefits. “The systems are going to be really, really strained.” 

In Michigan, Noon was eligible for Medicaid through a program that provides coverage to disabled adults who work. But the state’s computer system didn’t register that she is disabled and said she earned too much to qualify, according to documents reviewed by ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News and interviews with Noon and Anastassia Kolosova, a disability rights attorney who helped her.

Without Medicaid coverage, Noon paid hundreds of dollars out-of-pocket for prescriptions, after scrounging for discount coupons. She takes some of the drugs twice a day.

Without them, “I’m toast,” she said. It was stressful “not knowing if my medicine’s going to be $50 or $500 this month, because it changes constantly.”

Noon said her doctor agreed to fewer visits to avoid medical bills.

“It was kind of a nightmare,” Noon said.

‘I Just Wanted To Give Up’

Medicaid, a safety net health program jointly run by the federal government and states, people with low incomes or disabilities. State governments rely on companies like Deloitte to design and operate computer systems that assess whether people qualify for Medicaid or food aid through the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, commonly known as food stamps.

That technology has a history of errors that deprive eligible people of benefits, earlier ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News investigations have shown. As reported previously, Kenneth Smith, a Deloitte executive who leads its national human services division, said Medicaid eligibility technology is state-owned and agencies “direct their operation” and “make decisions about the policies and processes that they implement.”

“They’re not Deloitte systems,” he said, noting Deloitte is one player among many who together administer Medicaid benefits.

States are under immense pressure to update their eligibility systems on a tight schedule to adhere to requirements in the Republicans’ sweeping 2025 tax and spending law. Companies including Deloitte, Accenture, and Optum are being paid millions in taxpayer funds to make the changes, which are projected to strip Medicaid from roughly 7.5 million people and SNAP from 2.4 million people by 2034.

Many coverage restrictions in the new federal law don’t apply to seniors, children, or people who are disabled, such as Noon. Nonetheless, the law’s demands on state agencies and the computer systems they oversee will disrupt benefits, advocates for Medicaid enrollees and other healthcare experts said in interviews.

The same systems also need to correctly classify why someone is eligible for Medicaid — and therefore which rules and restrictions apply.

The law’s SNAP restrictions began to take effect in 2025, and major Medicaid provisions begin later this year, generally after the midterm elections.

Kolosova is a supervising attorney with Disability Rights Michigan, a legal advocacy organization for people with disabilities. She said she has been unable to get a meeting with Michigan officials to understand the underlying problem that deprived Noon of health coverage.

State records show Deloitte has held contracts for at least 14 years for Bridges, Michigan’s eligibility system for Medicaid, SNAP, and other benefits. In its attempts to secure more business, the company often cites its nationwide footprint in Medicaid operations.

“Deloitte understands Bridges,” and its history in Michigan makes the company “the ideal vendor,” the firm said in its . Given Deloitte’s work on similar systems in 31 other states, , “Michigan benefits from our technical expertise drawn from across the nation.”

But advocates who work with people with disabilities say Michigan’s computer system has failed to recognize when certain adults should receive Medicaid benefits.

Problems aren’t unique to the Great Lakes State. Medicaid beneficiaries who brought a against Tennessee in 2020 said the state’s Deloitte-built system “does not reliably test for eligibility” for several categories of people with disabilities. The firm’s is worth $1.12 billion over a decade.

A federal judge in 2024 , ruling that Tennessee violated federal law and the U.S. Constitution. The lawsuit does not name Deloitte as a defendant.

In Michigan, a from the state’s Office of the Auditor General said government agencies “did not provide effective project administration” and failed to ensure that the state could “independently maintain and operate Bridges” because “the contractor did not transfer knowledge and skills” to state officials, according to the audit.

The auditor’s report said that, as a result, Deloitte’s original contract — valued at roughly $70 million — ballooned by $50 million over the initial cost, a 71% increase. State records show Michigan would go on to add millions more, bumping the cost of Deloitte’s initial contract to $124.1 million.

The audit said maintaining the contract would result “in significant additional costs.”

Sutfin said that “the state is now fully capable of operating and maintaining Bridges independently.”

Deloitte’s in Michigan — worth $197.4 million — is set to expire in 2030.

Noon applied for Medicaid in August, she and Kolosova said. In September, the Michigan Department of Health and Human Services sent a notice denying her coverage, citing incorrect income information and stating she wasn’t disabled, according to Kolosova and state documents reviewed by ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News.

Noon said that when she called the state for help, state workers “didn’t know anything about” the Medicaid program she had applied to, Freedom to Work.

“I can’t tell you how many times I just wanted to give up,” she said.

For some people with disabilities, Medicaid is supposed to count only half their earnings when assessing whether they should receive benefits. That didn’t happen. Kolosova said she thinks Michigan’s eligibility system didn’t identify Noon as disabled, even though the state “already had all the information they needed” to show she was.

By failing to recognize her disability, the state used the wrong income formula and said Noon earned too much to qualify for Medicaid, she added. Deloitte and Michigan declined to respond to a detailed list of questions about Noon’s experience.

Kolosova said Disability Rights Michigan has seen a growing number of calls from people about Freedom to Work benefit denials. “Maybe two or three a month,” she said.

“There’s something wrong with the system if they’re relying on individual caseworkers to catch this,” Kolosova said. “The system needs to work.”

Enrolled in the Wrong Coverage

Noon’s experience isn’t the first time in recent years that people with disabilities have been denied benefits by Deloitte-run eligibility systems.

In Texas in 2023, Lilly Livingston, who has Down syndrome and is now 22, was abruptly cut off from Medicaid benefits, according to Livingston’s mother, Marie. She has undergone numerous surgeries to reconstruct her severely misaligned jaw, which caused sleep apnea and impaired her speech and chewing ability. She relied on an array of Medicaid services, including speech and occupational therapy.

When Livingston lost benefits, she was wrongly enrolled in Healthy Texas Women, a limited program that provides breast and cervical cancer screenings and family planning services.

“Trying to fix that was a nightmare,” Marie Livingston said.

Terry Anstee, an attorney with Disability Rights Texas, intervened.

In a September 2023 email with the subject line “URGENT,” Anstee begged a Texas Medicaid eligibility worker for help.

Some unknown “error” had occurred and stripped Livingston of her benefits, Anstee said in an email he sent to a state Medicaid staffer. “Lilly has had 2 major surgeries, and her recovery is contingent on Medicaid.”

It was clear that Livingston qualified for Medicaid through multiple paths, Anstee said: “It never made any sense.”

Deloitte declined to respond to a detailed list of questions about Livingston’s case. Jennifer Ruffcorn, a spokesperson for Texas Health and Human Services, confirmed that Livingston was erroneously enrolled in Healthy Texas Women. However, Ruffcorn said, Livingston did not experience a lapse in Medicaid coverage in 2023.

Anstee disputed the state’s characterization: “A glance in the system by a Texas HHS press officer or other staff 3 years after the fact may not tell the full story or show the issues that Ms. Livingston endured in August and September 2023. Ms. Livingston experienced lapses in coverage.”

The problem Livingston encountered in Texas was also reported in Michigan.

In 2024, mental health services advocates in Michigan raised red flags about a similar error: People with disabilities were being enrolled in a limited Medicaid program covering sexual health and family planning services. Plan First covers only services and treatment for sexually transmitted infections. It doesn’t provide the comprehensive coverage that people with disabilities require.

But some enrollees were “being automatically enrolled in Plan First,” Malcolm Kletke, a lobbyist representing the Community Mental Health Association of Michigan and other mental health providers, wrote to a Michigan health official, according to emails obtained by ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News through a public records request.

These enrollees had “long received Medicaid due to their disability,” and getting enrolled in the wrong plan meant losing access to “services essential to their recovery and quality of life,” Kletke wrote in September 2024 to Amy Epkey, a senior deputy director of the Michigan Department of Health and Human Services.

In fact, the state’s own records show that Medicaid enrollment for those with disabilities did decline.

Over roughly four years, enrollment in the Medicaid category that includes people with disabilities , according to the Michigan House Fiscal Agency, which provides nonpartisan analysis to lawmakers. The drop was unusual given people generally leave the program because of death or having recovered from a temporary disability, and it’s unlikely those numbers would balloon, said Robert Sheehan, who was the mental health association’s CEO at the time.

Sutfin said the state examined the decline in enrollment and found “several contributing factors, including post‑covid renewal patterns, changes in beneficiary circumstances and movement to other coverage categories.”

After inquiries from ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News, the Michigan health department acknowledged in April that it had made changes to “address concerns raised by advocates.”

Michigan’s computer system now prevents approval of Plan First benefits until all other coverage options are evaluated, Sutfin told ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News. Sutfin said the changes were implemented but “not to correct system errors.”

Sutfin said the state submitted a change request to Deloitte to address this problem. The fix was implemented in January 2025.

Until presented with Kletke’s email, the state had denied there were problems related to Plan First.

Even after the state addressed that issue, other problems persisted.

Noon’s coverage denial notice arrived in September. She fought with the state for months to reverse its decision, “paying cash for all of the medicines through these appeals over and over and over again.”

It was only in January that she was approved.

“I literally cried,” Noon said. “It was a really big deal.”

This article first appeared on ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News and is republished here under a .

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When Gov. Gavin Newsom, using his , refused to extradite a physician accused of prescribing and mailing abortion pills to a Louisiana woman, he said California would “not ever” allow “extremist politicians” to punish its doctors.

Newsom, who is considering a run for president, has long championed reproductive rights, but state lawmakers in the Democratically controlled California legislature know future governors might not have the same political beliefs.

Republican gubernatorial candidate Steve Hilton, a former Fox News host endorsed by President Donald Trump, has vowed to honor these types of extradition requests from other states if he’s elected, Louisiana “is trying to uphold what its people voted for, and California is undermining it.” His opponent, Democrat Xavier Becerra, has said he would deny the requests.

Legislation advancing in Sacramento is the latest chapter in a tit for tat that’s been happening between conservative and liberal states since 2022, when the U.S. Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade, ending federal legal protections for abortion.

by state Assembly member Rebecca Bauer-Kahan, which is being heard in committee, would take some decisions out of the governor’s hands, requiring governors to deny extradition requests for healthcare providers who prescribe abortion medication or administer gender-affirming care. It would also shield anyone in California who helped patients travel to California or another state to receive legal care. While opponents cast “shield laws” as an incursion on other states’ authority, supporters of the bill view it as insurance — even with Becerra leading Hilton 52% to 31%, according to by the University of California-Berkeley Institute of Government Studies.

Newsom spokesperson Marissa Saldivar said the governor doesn’t comment on pending legislation. Hilton and Becerra didn’t return calls for comment.

“Protecting providers from prosecution should not rely on shifting political winds or a single person’s decision,” said Alyssa Sherer, a nurse practitioner who spoke in support of the bill at a Senate committee hearing in June. Sherer is also the medical director at Hey Jane, a telehealth medication abortion provider. 

Thirteen states have banned abortion outright, and 28 other states ban abortion somewhere between six weeks and viability. At the same time, other states that allow abortion have enacted shield laws to protect doctors and nurses from liability when they prescribe across state lines.

People living in states with total abortion bans are increasingly getting abortion pills prescribed via telehealth, from 74,000 abortions in 2024 to 92,000 abortions in 2025, according to the Guttmacher Institute, citing numbers from its Monthly Abortion Provision Study.

Critics of shield laws say that states have a legitimate interest in enforcing their own statutes and that such laws represent an attempt by some states, like California, to nullify the legal decisions of others.

“If California says, ‘We’re not going to honor any other state’s laws. We’re going to ship abortion pills into your states. You can’t have a law that says abortion is illegal,’ I don’t know — that doesn’t seem like a workable situation,” said Greg Burt, who is vice president of the California Family Council and has spoken in opposition to shield laws at the State Capitol.

Twenty-one other states and Washington, D.C., have similar shield laws, but Arizona, California, Michigan, North Carolina, and Pennsylvania’s rely on an executive order, which could be reversed by a successor, according to the Guttmacher Institute.

Amanda Barrow, a senior staff attorney at the Center on Reproductive Health, Law, and Policy at UCLA Law, said passing extradition protections would put California on firmer footing, because an executive order “could be revoked by a governor who is anti-abortion or anti-gender-affirming-care.”

Hilton has said he would do just that if elected.

“Just as I wouldn’t want to see Louisiana coming in and undermining something that we voted for here in California,” the GOP candidate told KQED in January. 

During a , Becerra said he was strident about protecting reproductive rights as the state’s attorney general. “Absolutely no,” Becerra said of allowing California physicians to be extradited. 

This year, ±á²¹·É²¹¾±â€˜i to its existing shield laws. And Oregon , including banning law enforcement from cooperating with out-of-state or federal investigations into care that’s legal in the state.

But Republican legislators in conservative states have cast telehealth visits as an end run around their laws. And some have moved to restrict abortion pill access.

The governors of , , and have signed bills this year that criminalize the sale, purchase, or distribution of medication that induces an abortion. Those states make it a felony to provide medication abortion drugs to people who are seeking to end a pregnancy. The laws impose up to 10 years in prison with potentially tens of thousands of dollars in fines.

Mississippi amended the state’s controlled substances code to add abortion pills as a criminal category. Although the state already prohibits abortion broadly, the measure specifically addresses distribution, which could subject out-of-state providers to prosecution.

In January, Louisiana a California doctor, Remy Coeytaux, mailing abortion pills to a patient. Newsom denied the request. Likewise, New York Gov. Kathy Hochul denied Louisiana’s February 2025 extradition request for a .

Texas has taken a slightly different legal tact. Attorney General Ken Paxton, a Republican running for the U.S. Senate, obtained a default judgment of more than $100,000 against the New York doctor targeted by Louisiana, but a , citing New York’s shield law. Neither Paxton nor Louisiana Attorney General Liz Murrill responded to requests for comment. 

Fear of being charged with a crime for providing quality medical care is contributing to physicians leaving medicine, said Sacramento emergency room doctor Kamara Graham, who is vice president of the California chapter of the American College of Emergency Physicians, which is supporting the bill.

“It’s really conflicting and hard for us to weigh that concern of: Will I get extradited and charged and potentially be taken away from my family? Or do I do the right thing for my patient?” Graham said.

The availability of medication used in most abortions could soon change nationwide. Under the leadership of Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr., the Food and Drug Administration it is conducting a safety review of mifepristone, one of two medications in pill form that is used in most U.S. abortions. The FDA maintains the drug is safe and effective.

If the FDA were to decide that mifepristone is not safe, such a ruling would supersede state laws, even in states where abortion is legal. If mifepristone is restricted, many telehealth groups have said they would switch to using only the other medication, misoprostol.

“The elephant in the room is whether the Trump administration, particularly after the midterms, makes some kind of move to put national limits on access to abortions,” said Mary Ziegler, a law professor at UC-Davis who has written several books on reproductive health law.

“Not everything is something that the legislature can solve for,” Ziegler said, “because there’s some uncertainty about how the federal courts are going to react to all of this.”

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The Republican blasted California during back-to-back political attacks in May, saying the heavily Democratic state is committing “outrageous fraud” and “stealing” by spending state and federal Medicaid money meant for basic medical treatment on unconventional services such as housing and nutrition assistance, gym memberships, and even tribal prayers and, he claimed, exorcisms.

“The California Medicaid program will pay for herbal medicines, meal deliveries. They’ll pay for housing,” Kennedy said. “I don’t know what housing has to do with healthcare.”

“California, they’re just setting all kind of records,” he added. “They’re wild people.”

Despite criticism from congressional Republicans and growing scrutiny from the Trump administration, Gov. Gavin Newsom, a Democrat considering a presidential run, said he’s proud of California’s spending on social services in Medi-Cal, the state’s Medicaid program. It’s a multibillion-dollar experiment to help medically frail patients meet their housing, food, and other social needs that Newsom says is not only legal but also a more cost-effective and evidence-backed approach to providing healthcare for Californians with complex health conditions. He counters that investing in services outside clinical settings can help people avoid emergency rooms and hospital admissions, improve their long-term health, and ultimately save taxpayers money.

“It’s about whole-person care,” Newsom said, adding that he hopes President Donald Trump’s administration sees California’s leadership and agrees with the “reforms we’re advancing as national best practices.”

Now one of the governor’s marquee health initiatives is at the center of an intensifying partisan battle with Republicans in Washington, D.C., who have moved to rein in billions in healthcare spending on low-income and disabled people across red and blue states. It’s a philosophical divide: Conservatives say social services are a financial strain on Medicaid and shouldn’t be considered healthcare, while liberals argue that investing in prevention ultimately saves money. While experiments proliferated across the country under President Joe Biden, the Trump administration federal policy encouraging state Medicaid programs to address health-related social needs.

The Medicaid fight is putting patients in limbo.

Lucy Rodriguez teaches Mexican folk dancing in the town of Hollister, in California’s Central Coast region. She said her life turned around this year once an intensive case manager with Titanium Healthcare, which contracts with health insurers to provide services, began helping her manage her chronic diseases and stay on top of her medical appointments and prescriptions, even picking up free food boxes for her. The 73-year-old is on Medicare and Medi-Cal, which offers more extensive benefits. The low-income health program has helped pay her utility bills, and she was recently approved for home-delivered meals.

“This has been a godsend,” said Rodriguez, who has diabetes, high blood pressure, and kidney disease. “I was getting so stressed out and depressed. It’s really hard when you’re on a fixed income. Groceries are so expensive, and with summer, electricity gets even more expensive. But this is really improving my life.”

She worries the Trump administration will cut benefits to low-income older people.

Last year, the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services warned states that federal funding for social services would be determined on a . CMS spokesperson Christopher Krepich said the agency is not ending current agreements, known as waivers, that grant states temporary permission to provide social services, which are paid for with state and federal dollars. But future applications, for new services or to extend existing initiatives, could be at risk if they veer too far from traditional healthcare.

“Moving forward, CMS will work with states on innovative waivers that address core healthcare needs, as consistent with evidence-based approaches tied to clinical diagnoses and services, to the goal of ultimately improving health outcomes in the Medicaid population,” Krepich said in a statement.

In a further escalation, the Justice Department put out a allowing states to institutionalize people with disabilities and severe mental illness instead of providing community-based care. Republicans have also targeted states, mostly blue ones, for what they say is a failure to go after waste, fraud, and abuse in Medicaid. In May, CMS Administrator Mehmet Oz stood alongside JD Vance as the vice president announced the deferral of in Medicaid money to California over suspicions of fraud.

California Attorney General Rob Bonta said Republicans are simply trying to score political points while ignoring the healthcare needs of poor people. “The federal government wants to politicize fraud,” Bonta said, “and use it, unfortunately, as a bludgeon and a cajole to beat up on blue states.”

Social Healthcare

Health policy researchers say roughly are linked to socioeconomic, environmental, and behavioral factors, such as housing instability, homelessness, food insecurity, and exposure to violence, whereas 20% is associated with medical care delivered in hospitals and clinics. That evidence to tackle social services.

At least 24 states use their own money while drawing federal Medicaid funds for . Colorado, Massachusetts, New York, North Carolina, Oregon, and Pennsylvania are among those that provide housing and nutrition assistance.

As the Trump administration pulls back on social services, states are rethinking how to fund benefits that have improved preventive care for low-income people. Some have launched new benefits under what’s known as a state plan amendment, a mechanism states use to modify their Medicaid programs that doesn’t need federal waiver approval. and , for example, use this to add recuperative care for homeless patients after hospitalization. These short-term care facilities offer people the opportunity to recover, bridging the gap between hospital discharge and independent living.

This approach “has the advantage of establishing a permanent, statewide benefit that does not require ongoing federal renewals, offering greater stability and predictability,” said Lynn Sutfin, a spokesperson for the Michigan Department of Health and Human Services.

Other states, meanwhile, rely on federal waivers, which require renewal to provide social services. Arizona officials said the state intends to submit a request by the end of September to continue to provide housing and other services to homeless patients, or those at risk of homelessness, with a serious mental illness and a chronic health condition or recent incarceration.

“When members have access to stable housing and supportive services, they are more likely to engage in ongoing care and less likely to experience avoidable emergency department visits and inpatient admissions,” said Roberta Harrison, interim director of the Arizona Health Care Cost Containment System.

California, which has been the most aggressive state in adopting social services, has taken a two-pronged approach to keep its vast offerings funded past this year. The state is using its authority to make most of its existing social services and benefits permanent in Medi-Cal managed-care coverage. That regulatory maneuver bypasses federal waiver approval — a move that could attract further Republican scrutiny.

But not everything the state offers can be funded without permission from the federal government. As some services are made permanent, the Newsom administration is seeking new waivers to continue other social services, while also adding more.

It’s an ambitious approach that would expand California’s social healthcare experiment. Newsom said he’s worried that the federal government will decline the . “How could you not be with this administration?” he said. “I’m always concerned.”

New Front in Healthcare

California offers most of its health-related social services under within Medi-Cal, which has a proposed budget of . Although there are more than 14 million residents on Medi-Cal, the state has been selective about who gets help from in its program, called California Advancing and Innovating Medi-Cal, or . Patients with complex needs can also receive help navigating their health and social needs from specialized social workers under a benefit known as .

Since 2022, California has been offering social services, spending nearly $12 billion in joint state and federal money, long-term Medi-Cal spending by keeping enrollees out of costly institutions including emergency rooms, jails, nursing homes, and mental health crisis centers.

CalAIM had provided social services to more than patients as of September 2025, the most recent state data available. And nearly low-income Californians have received intensive . Some patients receive both services.

Among the services California is making permanent: Homeless patients can get help finding an apartment, with Medi-Cal paying rental and six months of rent. Patients with chronic conditions such as diabetes and heart disease are eligible for home-delivered meals. Asthmatic patients can get mold removed from their homes to control flare-ups. Low-income seniors with disabilities can get a wheelchair ramp installed free of charge. And inmates leaving jail or prison can be connected immediately with primary care, mental health, and substance use treatment.

The social services — especially housing, food assistance, and home modifications — are success in stabilizing the health of the most complex patients, while achieving savings for Medi-Cal through reductions in emergency room visits and hospitalizations and less reliance on institutional care such as nursing homes, the state Department of Health Care Services.

In the Central Valley, for instance, Health Plan of San Joaquin CEO Lizeth Granados said CalAIM has helped place homeless patients who were routinely hospitalized into housing. And patients with uncontrolled diabetes saw their blood sugar drop after receiving nutrition counseling and home-delivered meals.

Overall, Granados said, the health plan has seen major improvements in chronic disease management and reductions in hospital stays, dropping to 44 inpatient hospitalizations per 1,000 members since it launched in 2022, down from 61 per 1,000 before CalAIM.

In Orange County, officials with CalOptima Health credited CalAIM housing services for contributing to a nearly . “We’ve been able to expand our street medicine programs, too,” said Yunkyung Kim, the insurer’s chief operating officer.

Around the state, Medi-Cal health insurers said they’re optimistic that CalAIM will continue to save money and improve patient health. Yet, the fate of some services will be decided by the Trump administration.

California has asked CMS to continue enrolling jail and prison inmates in Medi-Cal 90 days before their release to maintain consistent treatment for substance use, mental disorders, or physical conditions, a .

The state has also proposed a new job assistance benefit that counties could opt into to help patients find and retain work in response to upcoming federal work requirements imposed by congressional Republicans’ One Big Beautiful Bill Act, signed by Trump last summer.

And the state wants to continue its array of traditional healers and natural helpers for Californians with tribal affiliations, including music therapy, dancing, drumming, and referrals to sweat lodges for mental health treatment and substance use recovery. While it covers spiritual services, such as ceremonies, rituals, and herbal remedies, state officials said Medi-Cal does not cover exorcisms.

Already, the Trump administration’s positioning has forced the state to eliminate room-and-board benefits, which is threatening local efforts to provide recovery beds.

The state is cutting short-term post-hospitalization housing, which was meant to prevent hospitals from or those at risk of homelessness onto the streets. The CalAIM service providing up to six months of temporary housing and ongoing care is ending at the close of this year. And the state is cutting recuperative care benefits, no longer paying for beds for patients to recover from illness or injury, instead offering only wraparound services.

In San Francisco, these beds have been crucial in reducing overdose deaths, helping transition homeless people off the streets and into housing, and reducing hospital bed usage, said Neal Sheran, a medical director with the city’s Department of Public Health. The city’s health plan operates a sobering center, and recuperative care facilities where patients can recover from hospitalizations.

“We’re concerned,” Sheran said. “Funding for the overnight piece of these programs is really crucial to their success.”

Cuts on the Horizon

Even without federal threats, state budget pressures have strained CalAIM financing. Newsom has proposed for social services by $68.3 million this fiscal year. The cut will deepen next year and remain at $150.2 million per year beginning in 2028.

Providers worry that Medi-Cal patients will lose access. And services, such as home-delivered meals and housing assistance, will be further restricted.

“It’s moving us back to the old days where our healthcare system is more expensive and reactive, instead of investing in prevention,” said Anwar Zoueihid, a vice president and the chief strategy officer at the Los Angeles-based Partners in Care Foundation, a CalAIM provider. “It’s contradictory to Make America Healthy Again.”

To save money, the state is tightening eligibility to limit services and . For instance, Medi-Cal patients with food insecurity would no longer be eligible for home-delivered healthy meals without a qualifying condition like diabetes. And a homeless patient would get capped at six months for help finding an apartment.

Some of the biggest providers of CalAIM say services should be continuously evaluated and curtailed if health plans were too permissive. In some cases, food and housing services were given to low-income patients who didn’t necessarily qualify as the highest-need.

“It’s important everybody takes a look with a very sober view at whether we’re truly benefiting people so we’re spending money in the right places,” said Charlie Robinson, the chief health equity officer at L.A. Care, one of the state’s largest Medi-Cal health insurers.

Dorothy Seleski, the Medi-Cal president for Health Net, said the health insurer isn’t deterred by state and federal cuts.

“Regardless of what happens at the federal level, we are committed,” she said. “This is a significant transformation of the healthcare system, and we are already seeing major reductions in avoidable emergency room trips, avoidable hospital admissions, and we’ve closed gaps in preventive care.”

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“REMOVE ME FROM YOUR LIST!!!! DO NOT EMAIL OR MAIL ME ANY MORE!

“It is because of your animal based pre-term artificial baby food crap that you peddle to hospital NICU’s that my son is dead from NEC.”

The mother was referring to neonatal intensive care units and necrotizing enterocolitis, an often fatal condition in which intestinal tissue can die and allow infection to spread through the body of an infant born prematurely.

In an internal memo, Mead Johnson cited its “extensive quality and safety checks” and concluded there was “not a reasonable possibility” that the formula caused the baby’s death. “No further investigation is needed. This file can be closed,” the memo said.

And with that decision, the company narrowed the chance that the mother’s anguish could draw attention to any danger the formula might pose to other infants.

The mother’s email and the company’s memo assessing it were used as evidence in the court cases and .

When doctors, hospitals, parents, or others alert manufacturers that babies got sick or died while receiving infant formula, what happens next is left largely to manufacturers such as Abbott Laboratories and Mead Johnson Nutrition, giants of the industry.

Mead Johnson’s handling of the mother’s email showed how that can play out.

Under , if a complaint about an infant formula — such as a report of an adverse event — shows a possible health hazard, the company must investigate.

But it doesn’t always have to inform the government agency that oversees the safety of infant formula.

A company must complete an investigation and notify the Food and Drug Administration within only if it finds “a reasonable possibility of a causal relationship between the consumption of an infant formula and an infant’s death.”

If that happened even once over more than a quarter century, the FDA could find no record of it, according to information obtained through public records requests.

‘Never Reported’

Under the Freedom of Information Act, ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News asked the FDA for all notifications that manufacturers of infant formula sent the agency per the regulatory requirement since Jan. 1, 2020. The agency’s Human Foods Program “did not receive any,” Kimberly Jones, a government information specialist at the FDA, responded in March.

ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News then asked the FDA to go back decades further — to Jan. 1, 2000. “After a diligent search of our files, we did not locate any responsive records,” Jones wrote on May 5.

The FDA’s search results were consistent with court testimony.

John Wallingford, a paid expert witness for Abbott, testified in a Missouri court in October 2024 that Abbott had under any regulation for preterm infant formula.

that he was not referring to adverse events in clinical trials, which are studies used for research and development and are subject to different procedures. Abbott informed the FDA about adverse events that occurred during a clinical trial, .

Christina Valentine testified in a 2024 deposition that she never sent the FDA a report of death from NEC during her seven years as Mead Johnson’s medical director for North America. In the deposition, used in the Whitfield case, she said she never concluded there was a reasonable possibility that an infant’s death from NEC might have been related to a Mead Johnson product.

As medical director for North America, she was responsible for signing off on those determinations, she testified in the Watson trial.

In the deposition, Valentine said she wasn’t sure whether anyone else at the company sent a death report to the FDA.

In late May and mid-June, Mead Johnson spokesperson Jen O’Neill added to the picture.

“Where there is a physician report that includes an opinion that one of our products caused NEC in a preterm infant, we have treated that as a ‘reasonable possibility of a causal relationship,’ and we submitted an adverse event report to the FDA,” she wrote.

“These physician reports were generally made by plaintiffs’ paid experts, with which we disagree,” she wrote.

O’Neill left unclear whether events Mead Johnson reported to the FDA were raised in lawsuits and, if so, whether the company reported them to the FDA before they surfaced in litigation.

Asked repeatedly when Mead Johnson filed the reports, O’Neill didn’t say.

It’s unclear why the FDA found no record of them.

Nor would O’Neill say whether the company submitted one related to the distraught mother’s September 2016 complaint.

That mother’s name wasn’t publicly disclosed in the court record containing her complaint.

“[P]rior to the current litigation, we received very few reports relating to our products and NEC and even fewer for which our investigation uncovered any evidence supporting a reasonable possibility of a causal relationship,” O’Neill wrote.

Industry personnel have reacted to some complaints with circular reasoning, as shown by court records from the Watson, Whitfield, and cases. Company personnel didn’t think their products caused harm, and they didn’t view new cases as evidence of harm, records show.

‘Reprehensible’ Conduct

About 2,300 newborns died of necrotizing enterocolitis in the United States from 2017 through 2023, the equivalent of almost , according to a ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News analysis of a for those years. The database doesn’t attempt to explain what caused those babies to develop NEC, and it doesn’t count babies who survived NEC.

A wave of lawsuits has alleged that infant formula made by Abbott or Mead Johnson harmed or killed preterm babies by causing or contributing to cases of NEC. As of late January, 1,760 NEC lawsuits were pending against Abbott, company spokesperson Scott Stoffel said, clarifying a disclosure in a .

This article is based largely on transcripts, deposition videos, and exhibits from three court cases that went to trial in 2024. The lawsuits were filed by parents of babies who suffered or died from NEC.

Abbott and Mead Johnson have denied fault. They, along with various medical authorities including and the , have said that, when nutritional needs can’t be met with human milk, formula is vital.

One of the cases, , led to a against Mead Johnson. , Gill v. Abbott, led to a against Abbott. , Whitfield v. St. Louis Children’s Hospital, et al., led to a jury verdict in favor of Abbott and Mead Johnson, but the judge found errors and misconduct on the part of defense counsel, faulted his own performance, and .

The judge’s ruling in the Whitfield case is on appeal.

On May 5, a Missouri appeals court against Abbott, saying “we find Abbott’s conduct significantly reprehensible.”

“Throughout the trial, the jury heard evidence that Abbott knew its formula posed significant risks to preterm infants weighing under 1500g yet made little effort to mitigate that risk,” the court wrote.

On June 12, an Illinois appeals court against Mead Johnson and sent the case back for a new trial. The trial court risked prejudicing the jury by improperly admitting evidence about Mead Johnson’s finances, including its revenues, profits, and executive compensation, the appeals court said.

In addition, the trial judge gave the jury erroneous instructions, the appeals court ruled. Any negligence on Mead Johnson’s part hinged on a failure to warn, and the company’s duty was not to warn the mother in that case of any danger, as she had claimed, but rather to warn doctors, the appeals court ruled.

In April, after another trial, a jury in Chicago ordered Abbott to pay four plaintiffs a total of $70 million. Abbott is contesting that verdict and the Missouri appeals court’s decision.

In at least four cases, judges have in favor of Abbott — ruling for the company before the lawsuits reached trial.

‘Branding NICU Babies’

Abbott makes Similac products, and Mead Johnson makes the Enfamil line.

The two companies have vied to place their products in neonatal intensive care units, which serve as entry points to hospital contracts and the retail market, ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News reported in a March article based largely on records from court cases.

For instance, a Mead Johnson slide deck for a 2020 national sales meeting — later used in the Whitfield trial — outlined a plan for “Branding NICU Babies.”

The litigation opened a wider window into the business and regulation of infant formula, including adverse event reports.

“Abbott complies with all applicable FDA regulations on adverse event reporting, including by keeping detailed records of every single complaint/adverse event report Abbott receives and investigating NEC complaints,” Stoffel said in November. “FDA routinely conducts audits that include Abbott’s adverse event investigations and reporting as part of its active regulation of infant nutrition.”

Mead Johnson’s O’Neill echoed that.

“Our adverse event reporting complies with all applicable regulatory requirements,” O’Neill said in a November statement to ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News. “The FDA audits Mead Johnson on an annual basis and has never identified any issue about our approach to reporting.”

The reports the company filed with the FDA were submitted through the agency’s regional office in Detroit, she said.

It’s unclear whether the FDA looked in Detroit.

FDA rules require manufacturers to send written confirmations in the Washington area that oversees infant formula and other foods.

Asked if the company sent them to that office, O’Neill did not answer.

ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News requested an interview with Mead Johnson to clarify its statements about how it handled adverse event reports. The company did not grant one.

Plaintiffs have used internal documents from the companies to allege that, in house, people have long recognized a correlation between NEC and the use of preterm formulas made from cow’s milk.

For example, in a 2010 research proposal shown in a deposition used in the Gill case, Abbott scientists wrote that NEC “is the most severe GI complication of prematurity and the use of bovine milk-based fortifiers and formulas are believed to be the primary risk factor.”

A Mead Johnson document used in the Whitfield lawsuit cited “80% necrotizing enterocolitis (NEC) risk reduction when human milk is used in place of formula.”

Abbott that correlation does not equal causation.

“Numerous studies and NEC authorities have made clear that preterm infant formula does not cause NEC; it’s the absence of human milk that increases NEC risk rather than anything harmful in formula,” Abbott spokesperson Stoffel said.

The FDA, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, and the National Institutes of Health weighed in with a in October 2024, saying, “There is no conclusive evidence that preterm infant formula causes NEC” and “there is strong evidence that human milk is protective against NEC.”

Mead Johnson’s O’Neill said the scientific consensus is that there is no established causal link between the use of specialized preterm hospital nutrition products and NEC.

O’Neill cited a statement by the saying the causes of NEC “are multifaceted and not completely understood.”

In a legal brief filed with an Illinois appeals court in the Watson case, the company said “the NEC related risks” of a formula for preterm infants “are the subject of medical debate.”

Managing Potential Warnings

Court records from lawsuits shed light on how the manufacturers have managed potential warnings from the field.

Fabrizis Suarez, who was director of medical safety and surveillance at Abbott from 2006 to 2023, said in a January 2024 deposition used in the Gill and Whitfield cases that he knew of no instance in which Abbott notified the FDA that a baby had died of NEC that could have been caused by Abbott’s formula for preterm infants.

There were numerous cases in which healthcare providers told Abbott they believed the formula caused the NEC, but Abbott disagreed every time, Suarez testified.

Abbott tracks and reviews every NEC report it receives and looks for patterns, Suarez testified.

Courtney Colombo, who identified herself in a March 2024 deposition used in the Gill and Whitfield cases as director of postmarketing medical safety and surveillance at Abbott, likewise testified that she knew of no instance in which Abbott reported to any regulatory authority anywhere in the world that one of its preterm infant formulas was possibly related to a death caused by NEC.

Abbott from the FDA, according to testimony from Wallingford, a paid expert witness on regulatory matters who spent 10 years at the FDA. The complaints were in company files FDA inspectors reviewed during annual inspections, he said in the Whitfield case.

Wallingford also testified that inspections are for reporting infant deaths.

Questioning Wallingford in court, plaintiff’s lawyer Kevin Carnie Jr. invoked the cliché about the .

Wallingford declined to comment for this article. Valentine and Colombo did not respond to messages sent via LinkedIn. Valentine and Suarez did not respond to letters mailed to addresses that appeared to be associated with them. A letter to Colombo with signature required, sent to an address apparently associated with her, was returned unopened.

Not Publicly Reported

Adverse event reports can prompt the FDA to take action to protect the public.

For example, in 2011, the parents, caregivers, and healthcare providers not to feed SimplyThick, a thickening gel, to premature infants fitting a particular profile. The product, used to manage swallowing difficulties, might cause NEC, the FDA said.

The FDA first learned about possible problems with SimplyThick from physicians, according to an FDA document that an attorney for Abbott, Sierra Elizabeth, read from during the Whitfield trial.

The stakes for companies and consumers are high.

A finding under the “reasonable possibility” standard could trigger a product recall, said Martin Hahn, a regulatory attorney for Mead Johnson.

The FDA’s handling of adverse event reports for infant formulas — and fortifiers, which are used to nutritionally supplement a mother’s milk when babies are born prematurely — contrasts with its handling of reports about drugs and medical devices.

The FDA posts manufacturers’ adverse event reports on and online in databases available to the public.

But the notifications manufacturers are required to submit about formulas and fortifiers are not publicly reported, said Emily Hilliard, a spokesperson for the Department of Health and Human Services, which includes the FDA.

In addition, the FDA’s reporting requirements for drugs and medical devices are, in key ways, more demanding than those for infant formula.

Device makers not just deaths but also “serious injuries” that the product “may have caused or contributed to.”

Drugmakers are required to report any “” adverse event, “.” That fatal or life-threatening events.

The FDA also maintains a about dietary supplements, foods, and infant formulas, among other products, that includes from consumers and healthcare practitioners.

ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News searched that database and found one death report that mentioned NEC and a formula made for premature or low-birth-weight babies.

The search turned up seven other reports of infant deaths that mentioned NEC and fortifiers designed for premature or low-birth-weight babies. One of those reports, obtained by ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News through the Freedom of Information Act, said three preterm babies at the same hospital had NEC and died within a month of one another in 2024.

The FDA cautions that reports are not verified and do not prove causation.

A former attorney for Abbott now leads the FDA.

Before becoming the FDA’s last year and being named acting head of the agency in May, Kyle Diamantas in the and lawsuits, court records show.

Diamantas “complies with all applicable ethics laws and regulations,” said Hilliard, the HHS spokesperson. “That included a specific recusal related to Abbott Laboratories, which concluded in January 2026.”

“During that period, Mr. Diamantas voluntarily recused himself from all matters involving infant formula to avoid any appearance of partiality,” Hilliard said.

‘No Health Hazard’

ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News asked the FDA a series of questions for this article. The agency left many unanswered.

“Infant formula safety is a top priority of the FDA given the vulnerability of the intended population,” Hilliard said.

ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News asked Abbott and Mead Johnson for data on all infant death reports the companies received and those they forwarded to the FDA. Neither company provided that information.

Court records provide fragmentary data.

Abbott lawyer Elizabeth said in court that, before Wallingford took the stand as an expert witness, the company gave him from 2005 through 2022 that contained the search term “NEC.”

When Wallingford went through the files, he found that mentioned death and NEC, he testified.

If Similac Special Care products for preterm infants were a problem, and if only 1% of adverse events led to a report, “you would expect to see of complaints,” Wallingford testified.

In 2010, a registered dietitian at a Cincinnati hospital notified Abbott that three babies had died of NEC shortly after starting on an Abbott formula. The dietitian thought there might be a correlation, according to an internal Abbott summary of the complaint shown during Colombo’s deposition. The babies, who were about 17 days old, had no complications other than prematurity, the summary said.

After reviewing the complaint, Abbott’s Colombo wrote, as shown in a deposition video, that she found “NO OTHER REPORTS OF DEATH AND NO TRENDS FOR NEC REPORTED BY OTHER FACILITIES ASSOCIATED WITH THIS STOCK CODE.”

“PREVIOUS COMPLAINT HISTORY INDICATES NO HEALTH HAZARD,” she concluded.

As for Mead Johnson, Valentine “testified that NEC was not one of the top adverse event complaints for Enfamil premature formulas of the 68 received between 2015-2019,” O’Neill, the company spokesperson, told ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News.

Valentine — who was Mead Johnson Nutrition’s medical director for North America from 2014 to 2021 and parent company Reckitt’s chief medical officer from 2022 to 2023, according to a LinkedIn profile — signed off on the decision to close the 2016 file on the distraught mother’s complaint, according to an exhibit and her deposition testimony played in the Whitfield trial.

When she signed off, Mead Johnson didn’t know which of its products the complaint involved, Valentine said in the deposition.

Asked about it during the Watson trial in February 2024, Valentine testified that, in light of the mother’s request never to contact her again, it wouldn’t have been appropriate to call her back for more information.

Valentine “testified that she believes that the Mead Johnson complaint team appropriately investigated reports of death from NEC based on the information provided,” Mead Johnson’s O’Neill said.

Valentine also testified that the FDA encourages infant formula companies to send in all adverse event reports and that nothing prevented Mead Johnson from doing so.

As reflected in an email thread used in the Watson case, Valentine reacted skeptically in 2019 when a colleague told her a particular hospital wanted to exit its contract with Mead Johnson.

“They had 3 cases of NEC since they started using our formulas. They had 0 cases when they were with Abbott,” the colleague reported.

Valentine agreed to follow up but added: “Sad but please reassure them we are not seeing this with our formula … so no science basis for sure.”

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It’s a situation state officials have spent more than a decade trying to avoid. For years, they’ve been trying to make it harder for parents to send their kids to school unvaccinated.

But those efforts have backfired in places like St. Clair County, in Michigan’s conservative Thumb region. Remington Nevin, the county’s medical director, has declared “a new era of vaccine choice.” Local parents there can now bypass the usual protocols and get school vaccine waivers via email, days after they fill out a brief digital form.

State health officials aren’t fighting it.

In fact, Michigan’s health agency has been helping more than 30 counties move away from a state policy once credited with sharply reducing the number of parents who opted their kids out of shots.

In 2015, the state started requiring parents seeking waivers to first attend a vaccine education session, in person, at their local health department.

But in the post-covid era, local health officials say, the sessions became hostile, ineffective, and sometimes even unsafe for staff. One high school called police last fall over an escalating dispute with parents who refused to obtain a state-recognized waiver for their children, with a sheriff’s deputy warning the parents that they could face criminal charges.

In response, the state has helped create a hybrid waiver process for dozens of counties, allowing parents to take a brief vaccine education course online while still requiring they get their waivers signed in person. It’s part of a broader shift in strategy in a state that had some of the most polarizing and covid restrictions.

At Michigan schools where only 30% to 40% of students are now vaccinated, it is “simply not possible to keep diseases like measles at bay,” said , the state’s chief medical officer. “And when one of these measles cases ends up in a low-immunization community, that’s when the ember really has a chance to expand and become a wildfire.”

A Short-Lived Success Story

In 2014, Michigan had the in the country.

Health officials suspected some parents were just signing waivers during the stress of school registration, not because of a deeply held conviction.

“‘Oops, I forgot to do this. I’m just going to sign a waiver and be done with it,’” said Norm Hess, executive director of the . “That’s not really the way we want parents to make decisions on this issue.”

Around that time, national headlines were focused on a Disneyland-linked measles outbreak in which were infected. California cracked down, becoming the first state in decades to end .

With Republicans then in control of the Michigan Legislature and governor’s office, health officials found a side door. They created an saying nonmedical waivers required certification by the local health department “that the individual received education on the risks of not receiving the vaccines being waived and the benefits of vaccination to the individual and the community.”

“We were not aware of the rule until the day it happened,” Suzanne Waltman, president of Michigan for Vaccine Choice, . “We thought it was a stealth move.”

At first, it seemed to work. Kindergarten waiver rates in 2015. “Kids were protected more from these vaccine-preventable diseases,” Hess said.

But after that year, waiver rates started rebounding. When the pandemic hit five years later, immunization rates plunged.

‘An Unsafe Setting’ for Medical Staff

Juan Marquez is the medical director of a county where a measles outbreak sickened several people this spring, but even he wouldn’t want to do those in-person sessions again.

“It was really creating an unsafe setting, actually, for our nurses,” said Marquez, the medical director for two counties, Livingston and Washtenaw, just west of Detroit.

“Our nurses are just trying to do their job,” Marquez said. “And you can imagine, to have somebody yell at you or just say not nice things to your face and sit through that for hours is demoralizing.”

Washtenaw has had seven measles cases since March and is believed to be the source of an eighth case in a neighboring county. As of May 28, the state had a total of 14 cases this year.

Since the start of the pandemic, waiver requests in Michigan have been increasing.

Tensions over public health became especially high during the state’s covid lockdowns, which critics lambasted as too long and too strict. Republicans , and Donald Trump flipped the state in the 2024 presidential contest.

Some parents felt it was demeaning to have to go in for counseling sessions they perceived as judgmental.

Republican , who represents a district along the state’s southern border, recalled her session, speaking at a in Lansing last year. “I had a very negative experience there, simply because we made decisions as parents and did the research and made the choices that we felt were best for each one of our children.”

That resentment has also made it harder to do basic public health work, like contact tracing for measles cases, Marquez said.

Of the 10,000 vaccine waivers Marquez’s counties have given out in the past 10 years, he said, the education sessions changed the minds of maybe one or two people.

“If we’re not changing folks’ minds, can we do this in a safe way?” Marquez said. “So that was really the idea behind the hybrid model.”

The Workaround

At first, state immunizations director Ryan Malosh thought dropping the in-person requirement was a bad idea.

He was skeptical when Livingston County health officials said they wanted to replace in-person sessions with a 20-minute online course about the benefits of vaccines and the risks of vaccine-preventable diseases.

State health department staffers were worried that if the waiver process became more convenient, more people would get exemptions, which could lead to more outbreaks. And because parents could get a waiver from any local health department, people from across the state might start flooding Livingston County with requests.

“We were worried that this could be sort of a sinkhole,” Malosh said.

It wasn’t. Parents took the online course, then made an appointment at the health department to get their nonmedical waivers signed. Waiver rates increased in Livingston County, but at the same rate they were rising in the rest of the state.

So the state turned to the University of Michigan to create a standardized, online course that any county could use. Parents would go through a 20- to 30-minute course, answering questions about the content, and then be able to get their waivers signed at their local health department office.

Michael Rubyan, a public health associate professor at the university, worked with some 40 public health nurses from throughout the state to design it. They wanted it to be simple and fact-based: Here’s what you should know about these diseases. Here’s how vaccines work. And if there is an outbreak at your school, your kids may have to stay home if they’re not vaccinated.

No judgment. No pressure.

This needed to be a building block in a much longer relationship with local public health, the nurses said. And while this change alone probably won’t lead to a dramatic decrease in waivers, Malosh said, it may start to rebuild some trust. “That then opens the door for further conversations, which maybe then gets these folks vaccinated,” he said.

Hybrid May Not Be Enough

About a third of the state’s counties have adopted the hybrid approach, but the waiver system is still creating confusion and conflict.

Last fall, a dispute over the waiver process involving a St. Clair County family blew up into a local controversy, and school officials asked local law enforcement to get involved.

Although the family lived in St. Clair, the children attended high school in neighboring Macomb County. Macomb had already switched to the hybrid model, but the parents didn’t want to file the documents, because they didn’t want their children’s vaccination status to be known by local health officials at all.

The father, Andrew Eberly, said at a that getting a certified waiver “forces parents like me to register personal health decisions” with an agency they don’t trust. (Eberly did not respond to multiple attempts to contact him via email, via phone, and at his home.)

At one point during the ongoing conflict, school officials asked the sheriff’s department to intervene. A deputy’s conversation with Eberly on Nov. 5 was captured in body-camera footage obtained by ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News through a public records request.

The deputy described the counseling requirement as a set of “stupid hoops.”

“I know it’s super inconvenient to go into the health department, go through their stupid 10-minute class for them to tell you something you already know, to sign the waiver,” the deputy said.

But the deputy went on to warn Eberly that if they continued taking their kids to school, despite being repeatedly informed they couldn’t be enrolled without a state-recognized waiver, then they could be charged with contributing to the truancy of minors.

The clash became a local cause célèbre. Nevin, the St. Clair medical director, seized on it — and the state’s falling immunization rates — at a public health board meeting as proof that people who mistrust the state’s public health establishment “have sound reasons for doing so.”

So far, state health officials have declined to engage in verbal or legal conflict with Nevin, who has drawn cheers and jeers at public meetings over his vaccine stance. He has also been the subject of at the county health department.

Instead, state officials are stressing the importance of parents understanding the risks that vaccine-preventable diseases, like measles, pose for their kids.

“Local health departments get to decide for themselves in a lot of ways what’s best for their residents,” Malosh said. “And I think that what’s best is to be as upfront as possible, to be as truthful as possible, and to try to give the best information that we have available to us to parents so that they can actually make an informed decision.”

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The 59-year-old retired teacher, who recently moved from Ohio to Michigan, now pays $341 a month for a pair of plans, one that covers routine and urgent care and another that pays fixed amounts for hospital stays. Neither meets federal standards for comprehensive coverage.

Though she practices yoga and is healthy, Miller said she still feels “vulnerable.” If she lands in the hospital, her plan pays a flat $2,000, a fraction of the of an average hospital stay.

“I don’t gamble. But I may as well,” she said. “This is gambling.”

Congress’ decision late last year not to extend enhanced marketplace tax credits has boosted the appeal of alternatives to comprehensive insurance — plans like Miller’s, which have lower premiums but don’t meet ACA standards for coverage or consumer protections. Unlike plans sold on the exchanges, these options — some sold by major insurers, others by small companies or nonprofits — can deny claims with few or no legal rights for consumers to appeal. The plans are not required to cover “essential health benefits,” such as preventive care, and can impose annual or lifetime caps on benefits.

There is debate over whether these options help or harm patients. Consumer advocates dismiss them as “junk insurance,” while proponents say restricting alternatives to pricey marketplace plans risks driving up the number of uninsured. Some states, including Kansas and Florida, and the federal government itself have eased regulations on such plans or created incentives to join them, while other states, including California and Massachusetts, have tried to deter enrollment in alternative insurance. Those regulatory guardrails, however, are now being stress-tested as premiums blow out household budgets.

Alternative insurance takes many forms, including short-term policies, which were designed to bridge temporary gaps in coverage and often exclude preexisting conditions, and fixed-indemnity plans, which pay a flat rate per service regardless of how high costs go and are intended for supplemental use. Arrangements in which people pool their money to cover one another’s bills, including faith-based “healthcare sharing ministries,” also provide a cheaper alternative to the marketplace options. Because they are not considered insurance under federal or state law, they are not legally bound to pay for even .

Enrollment data for alternative plans is mostly confidential, but several indicators point to shifts in the market. Recent estimates suggest marketplace enrollment from 2025, and a of people on the exchanges last year found that 5% switched to private, nonmarketplace individual coverage, including plans that don’t comply with the ACA. Covered California, the state’s marketplace, plans to survey former enrollees to find out where they went.

Insurance industry insiders also report that, amid the expiration of subsidies, alternative plans are making a marketing push. Colorado insurance broker Samantha Albritton said that before ACA open enrollment, she saw more marketing from fixed-indemnity plans than in previous years. One healthcare sharing plan, Zion HealthShare, had more than 75,000 members in February — a 50% increase since last June, it said in a statement.

Critics of these alternative plans say the major issues occur when people use them as primary insurance and don’t realize the coverage is inadequate until they need it most. “Humans have bodies that can fail them,” said Amy Killelea, an assistant research professor at Georgetown University’s Center on Health Insurance Reforms.

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A bill in March then by Democratic Gov. Jared Polis allows Colorado to further uncouple itself from federal guidance.

The law allows health officials to follow the recommendations of national medical groups when making decisions such as purchasing bulk vaccines for the Medicaid program.

“We are insulating our state from the dysfunction coming out of Washington,” said Democratic state , a co-sponsor of the bill and a registered nurse. “We’re going to rely on science.”

“From fighting during the pandemic for Coloradans to get vaccines as quickly as possible to combating the Trump Administration’s barriers to getting vaccinated, we have expanded access to vaccines for Coloradans who want them,” Polis said in a statement when he signed the law.

Colorado is one of that, along with Washington, D.C., have taken steps to bypass the new federal recommendations amid worries that the changes could chip away at public trust in vaccines and erode .

Previously, Colorado, like most states, had followed federal guidance set by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. In January, CDC advisory panelists, selected by Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr., from the agency’s universal recommendation list.

Last year, doctors, scientists, local leaders, and other supporters came together to form an outreach and advocacy coalition called .

The group aims to offer a clear, unified voice on the proven benefits of vaccines and reassure residents confused by the many federal changes.

, a former Denver City Council member, joined the group because she wants more people to hear her own chilling story about vaccine-preventable illness.

“Every summer everybody got sick,” Boigon said, recounting her childhood in 1950s Detroit.

The illness was polio, a highly contagious viral disease that , sometimes causing partial or full paralysis.

During the summer of 1953, “the whole block was sick and some of us got crippled, and that was just the way it was,” she said.

New Group Steps Up

Boigon’s personal history will be part of the new generations about the dangers of infectious diseases that were once common in the U.S. but are now relatively rare.

The group, which formed last September, will also compile vaccine information from medical groups and the state health department and advocate for policy proposals with the state government.

“It was in direct response to the federal threats,” said another coalition member, former state lawmaker . She leads the nonprofit .

Another member, public relations specialist Elizabet Garcia, wants more outreach to Hispanics, whose vaccination rates .

“A lot of time it’s this fear that they’re going to have to pay out-of-pocket, that their insurance doesn’t cover it, that they might not even have insurance in general,” Garcia said.

Boigon was 5 when she got sick and was hospitalized for six weeks with a fever. The virus attacked her spine.

“None of my limbs worked immediately afterwards,” Boigon said.

Although she regained function in her other limbs, her right arm never fully recovered. She had to adapt, relearning everyday tasks such as reaching out to shake hands with people with her left hand.

In 1955, not long after she got sick, the new polio vaccine became more widely available to the public. As vaccinations took off, U.S. cases of polio, once one of the nation’s most feared diseases, .

Increasing Public Trust

State leaders have taken other steps to promote public health. After the Trump administration pulled the U.S. out of the World Health Organization, several states, including Colorado, the WHO’s Global Outbreak Alert and Response Network on their own.

Colorado also challenging the Trump administration’s changes to the childhood vaccine schedule.

And the new state law has provisions besides allowing the state to diverge from federal recommendations. It codifies pharmacists’ ability to prescribe and give vaccines themselves. It also increases legal protections for healthcare workers who give vaccines.

“This law will provide more clarity to guide all Coloradans, including providers who administer vaccines,” Lontine said.

But the legislation has opponents who say it would interfere with parental choice and claim vaccines might be unsafe or ineffective.

“I just want to make sure we’re not just getting into a big political dispute between the federal recommendations — the CDC and so forth — and different political views in Colorado here,” said Republican state , who voted against the vaccine bill.

NPR contacted the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services about Colorado’s new law. Spokesperson Emily Hilliard answered in an email: “The updated CDC childhood schedule continues to protect children against serious diseases.”

Preventable Illnesses Surge

The flurry of statewide activity comes as Colorado and the nation have seen surges in illnesses .

As of mid-May, Colorado had recorded 22 measles cases this year. In 2025, it registered , according to the state health department, far surpassing totals from previous years.

Across Colorado, for measles were 88% last school year — with only a few counties achieving rates of 95%, the level needed for herd immunity, according to data in December.

This has also been Colorado’s worst flu season in recent years.

Vaccination rates for both flu and covid-19 have dropped slightly in Colorado, according to the state health department.

Eight children in Colorado have died this season ; one from covid; and one from RSV, or respiratory syncytial virus. are available for children and recommended by the state’s health department.

Kennedy, a longtime anti-vaccine activist, has defended his decisions to overhaul the recommended schedule for childhood vaccinations.

In March, a federal judge many of the changes.

“We’re not taking vaccines away from anybody. If you want to get the vaccine, you could get it. It’s going to be fully covered by insurance just like it was before,” Kennedy in January.

When a reporter suggested the new changes could result in fewer people getting a flu vaccine, Kennedy said: “Well, that may be, and maybe that’s a better thing.”

Boigon is sometimes incredulous at everything that has happened.

“It’s like we’re going backwards,” she said. “It’s like we have decided we don’t want a modern life; we want to be back in the 1950s, where children are sick and dying.”

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MARQUETTE, Mich. — Providing abortions was the last thing Shawn Brown thought she’d be doing when she opened an urgent care clinic in this remote town in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.

But she also wasn’t expecting the Planned Parenthood in Marquette to shut down last spring. Roughly 1,100 patients relied on that clinic each year for cancer screenings, IUD insertions, and medication abortions. Now the area has no other in-person resource for abortions. “It’s a 500-mile stretch of no access,” Brown said.

So the doctor, who describes herself as “individually pro-life,” added medication abortions to Marquette Medical Urgent Care’s already busy practice, which treats a steady flow of kids with the flu, college students with migraines, and tourists with skiing injuries.

At least 38 abortion clinics shut down last year in states where they’re still legal, according to data collected by , a project supported by a number of nonprofits that helps people find abortion options. Even states that recently protecting abortion rights, such as Michigan, have had clinics close since the U.S. Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade in 2022. And as shutter , patients are losing access to pregnancy care. “You cannot have a high-risk pregnancy up here,” Brown said. “It’s a scary place.”

Now communities are coming up with alternatives, such as Brown’s urgent care.

The idea that urgent cares “could be an untapped solution to closures for abortion clinics across the country is really exciting,” said Kimi Chernoby, the chief operating and legal officer at , a national nonprofit that works to improve professional training and patient outcomes for women in emergency medicine.

One patient at the Marquette urgent care on a recent day was a woman whom ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News agreed to identify by only her first initial, “A,” to protect her medical privacy. She drove more than an hour on snowy backroads while her kids were in day care to get to her appointment.

Her youngest is still a baby, A said, and she got pregnant again while taking the progestin-only birth control pill, which is less likely to interfere with breast milk production but slightly less effective than the regular pill.

“Financials, housing, vehicles — it’s a lot,” she said. And another baby is “just not something that we could really do even at this time.”

She said she was making the long round trip because receiving abortion care in an office felt more secure than being treated by “someone that I’ve never met, or receiving meds that were just shipped to me.”

Face-to-Face Care

In one of the urgent care’s exam rooms, A sat in a chair against the wall, waiting quietly for the doctor. Viktoria Koskenoja, an emergency medicine physician, knocked on the door and then greeted her warmly, pulling up a stool across from her.

“Are you confident in your decision that you want to go ahead? Or do you want to talk about options?” she said.

“No, I’m pretty set on it,” A said.

Koskenoja previously worked at Planned Parenthood. When she learned its Marquette clinic was closing, she started crying and making calls. She recalled asking everyone she knew in health care in Marquette: “What are we going to do?”

One of her first calls was to Brown, a friend and fellow emergency medicine doctor. Their families harvest maple syrup together each spring.

In the wake of the Planned Parenthood closure, Koskenoja convened a community meeting downtown at the Women’s Federated Clubhouse, an 1880s-era building where guests sip from gold-rimmed china teacups on lace tablecloths. The goal: brainstorm new ways to provide abortion access in the Upper Peninsula.

officials said that growing financial challenges and the Trump administration’s cuts to funding, including for the public insurance program Medicaid, had prompted the closures of some brick-and-mortar clinics in the state.

Plus, the availability of pills by mail exploded after the 2022 Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization decision overturned Roe. As abortion became illegal in many states, telehealth abortions went from 5% of all abortions provided to 25% by the end of 2024, , a national reporting project that tracks shifts in abortion volume.

Planned Parenthood of Michigan’s telehealth appointments increased 13% for patients in the Upper Peninsula after the Marquette location closed, said Paula Thornton Greear, president and CEO of Planned Parenthood in the state.

All the abortion patients Koskenoja sees at the urgent care have one thing in common: They want to talk to someone in person.

“I had a patient order the pills online and then get scared to use them because they felt like they were going to screw it up, or they weren’t sure they could rely on the pills,” she said. “So they literally came in here with the pills in their hand.”

Others have medical complications or need an ultrasound to determine how far along they are with the pregnancy.

“It annoys me that telehealth is considered an acceptable thing in rural areas,” Koskenoja said. “As though we’re not the human beings that like talking to human beings and looking someone in the eye, especially when something serious is going on.”

The Urgent Care Option

The options presented at that community clubhouse meeting were limited. The few family medicine doctors and OB-GYNs in the area were either already putting patients on months-long waitlists or were too “rightward leaning,” Brown said.

But urgent cares are designed to fill gaps in the system, she said, ready to take walk-ins who aren’t already patients.

Brown knew from her years in the emergency room that medication abortions aren’t that complicated. The for first-trimester and are essentially the same: one dose of mifepristone, followed by misoprostol after 24 to 48 hours.

“Clinically, I was never worried about it,” she said.

The biggest hurdle was getting medical malpractice insurance, Brown said. At first, insurers balked, demanding “onerous and unrealistic” documentation and additional training, she said. Then they quoted a $60,000 annual premium for medication abortions — about three times the cost of insuring the entire urgent care. Ultimately, Brown said, the urgent care’s broker pushed back, providing data that medication abortions didn’t add “significant liability.”

The company agreed to a premium of about $6,000 per year, she said.

The community pitched in, too. A local donor covered an ultrasound machine. And supporters started a nonprofit to help pay for the costs of the medication and additional staffing, bringing the price for patients down from about $450 to an average of about $225, based on a sliding scale.

Word spread quickly once Marquette Medical began offering medication abortions, Brown said. Now the office provides as many as four per week, with patients traveling from as far away as Louisiana. The clinic is on track to match the volume of abortion patients treated at the local Planned Parenthood office before its closure, Brown said.

As pills by mail become the next major target for abortion opponents, Chernoby said, it will be critical to offer more care in more brick-and-mortar places. Brown said the Marquette clinic has already fielded questions from a large academic medical center that plans to start providing medication abortion at its own urgent cares later this year.

“It’s a wonderful idea, but it’s potentially got major pitfalls,” said David Cohen, a professor at the Drexel University Kline School of Law who studies abortion access.

Urgent cares that provide medication abortion would have to abide by state-specific laws — some mandate 24-hour waiting periods or facility structural requirements — and federal regulations, such as the FDA’s requirement that mifepristone prescribers be certified by the drug’s distributors and obtain signed patient agreements.

If abortion access isn’t a core part of a health organization’s mission, “do you want to be on that list? I don’t know if you do,” Cohen said. “There’s just a very particular regulatory environment” around abortion.

Making a Choice

In the exam room, Koskenoja listened as A talked about why she decided to seek an abortion. She has four kids at home, including the baby.

“You OK if we do an ultrasound, just confirm how far along you are, make sure it’s not an ectopic pregnancy?” Koskenoja asked. 

“Yeah,” A said.

Koskenoja noted A’s reaction to the question. “OK. You’re making a face?”

“Yeah, I just don’t — yeah, it’s fine. I just don’t want to see it.”

“Oh, you don’t have to see it,” Koskenoja said.

“I just don’t want to hear a heartbeat or anything like that,” A said.

“Definitely not,” Koskenoja said.

After the ultrasound, Koskenoja stepped out into the hall to give A time to call her partner.

When A said she was ready, Koskenoja stepped in and asked her how she was feeling. A had made up her mind. She said that her partner would be supportive of whatever she decided and that she didn’t want to have another baby right now.

“As much as I know this baby would be loved no matter what, it’s just not a good time,” A said quietly, her hands in her lap.

“Most people who get abortions love babies,” Koskenoja said. And you can still have more in the future, she assured A. 

This kicked off a long conversation about the mental load of parenting and the pros and cons of various birth control options. A said she wanted to get her tubes tied, but Koskenoja suggested her partner consider a vasectomy instead. It’s a much less invasive procedure, she said. “You’ve had a lot of kids. I feel like it could be his turn to take some responsibility.”

Koskenoja handed her a small, handsewn “comfort bag” that all medication abortion patients receive. It was filled with the pills, reminders about when to take them, a handwritten note of support from local community members, pain meds, comfortable socks, and a heating pad.

“Call us if you need anything,” she told A. “Any questions?”

“No,” A said.

“OK. Good luck,” Koskenoja said before A walked out past the waiting room, filled with sick babies and other patients, to drive back to her kids.

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