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When Congress allowed covid-era subsidies for health insurance to expire, California used its own funds to offset the hike in Obamacare premium costs for residents with low incomes.

But the reach has been limited.

As Gov. Gavin Newsom negotiates his last budget with the legislature, the Democrat wants to offer financial help to more than 1 in 4 enrollees in Covered California, the nation’s largest state-run health insurance marketplace. Democratic lawmakers, who hold a supermajority, are still debating the plan.

“My budget proposal would KEEP $0 monthly plans for low-income Californians to help clean up the financial disaster Trump created,” Newsom , where he often chides the president and GOP Congress.

have put up their own funds to keep Affordable Care Act plans affordable and residents insured as the rising cost of healthcare has emerged as a among voters. Newsom’s $300 million proposal would make California’s program among the most generous, but even the nation’s richest state can’t patch a left by the expiration of enhanced subsides at the end of last year.

“The gap between what people can pay in their monthly budget and what health insurance costs is so big that it’s a lot for states to take on,” said , a senior research fellow at the Center on Health Insurance Reforms at Georgetown University. “They’re going to have to figure out how they can finance that.”

New Mexico lawmakers have of the lost federal subsidies with state money. It seems to have worked; New Mexico saw in marketplace enrollment this year, but state analysts that the subsidy program isn’t sustainable.

and , which, like California, tax residents , are also spending hundreds of millions of dollars to try to keep premium payments low. Their hope, healthcare experts say, is to avoid the exodus seen in states such as Georgia that didn’t offer enrollees help.

Since the enhanced subsidies expired, have seen their premium payments increase by $65 a month on average.

Conservatives including have long argued that the subsidy expansion was too generous to high-income enrollees and .

“There are never enough subsidies to make health insurance affordable because subsidies are the problem,” said Michael Cannon, director of health policy studies at the libertarian Cato Institute. “They are causing people to turn a blind eye to fraud and waste and excessive prices because it’s someone else’s money that they’re spending, not their own.”

Helping the Poorest?

People who earn too much to qualify for Medicaid got relief starting in January after Newsom and legislators softened the blow for about 300,000 of the lowest-income enrollees. They offset lost federal premium tax credits for individuals who last year and partially filled the gap for those who earned up to $25,823.

The governor now wants to expand subsidies to those who earn up to $31,920 this year for an individual and $66,000 for a family of four — an estimated 218,000 additional people.

Veronica and William Walter, who live in the San Francisco Bay Area, earn less than $40,000 a year in one of the nation’s most expensive regions. They’re counting on a more generous state healthcare tax credit if they have to pay for health insurance next year.

A car accident two years ago left William temporarily disabled, qualifying the couple for Medi-Cal, the state’s Medicaid program.

Now he’s back at work as a security guard, and Veronica said she’s worried they’ll be kicked off Medi-Cal. She’s even more worried about how they’ll get by with federal premium tax credits not nearly as generous as before.

“Without it, we’re going to be facing worse problems than we have now,” she said. Under Newsom’s proposal, Veronica and others in the highest eligible income bracket could receive an average monthly subsidy of $36 a person.

“For them, $36 a month is the sort of thing that can make a difference between keeping coverage and losing coverage,” said Peter Lee, former executive director of Covered California. “We can’t fix everything with that gap, but we can focus the dollars on those who need it most.”

The Walter family, though, may still face a nearly $200 monthly premium payment to cover both of them, $130 more than they previously paid for healthcare and prescriptions through Covered California.

“I can’t afford that, not really,” said Veronica, a pet sitter who works part-time at a school. “A giant state like this with this many people, and this many resources? You can’t just leave the people with nothing for healthcare or healthcare they can’t afford.”

California policy researchers and health advocates acknowledge the limits of a partial subsidy but say that concentrating funds on those who earn less is the most efficient way to maximize impact. People who drop coverage are , healthier, and less likely to have high healthcare costs — all factors that help stabilize the insurance risk pool. Without coverage, Lee said, they’re also more likely to experience debt from medical emergencies or leave unpaid hospital bills that strain the .

Cary Sanders, senior policy director at the California Pan-Ethnic Health Network, a health advocacy group, said the state’s move last year kept low-income enrollment in Covered California steady and reduced racial disparities in coverage.

“It’s working; it’s just that it’s not enough,” Sanders said. “We need the federal subsidies back.”

Still No Help for Many

When Congress passed enhanced subsidies in 2021, it capped monthly premium payments for even the highest earners at 8.5% of income. Those temporary enhancements allowed about 8 million Americans to choose robust plans with no monthly premium payment last year and helped double Obamacare enrollment to of 24 million.

At the end of last year, 22 million of them lost that help when the GOP-led Congress blocked the extension.

The pressures on Obamacare enrollees don’t stop at premiums. Federal legislation Republicans passed last summer known as the also shortens enrollment windows, tightens income verification requirements for subsidies, and requires enrollees who earn more than they projected to pay back the full amount.

Even if Newsom’s proposal passes, most Covered California customers won’t get state help. Nearly 1 million enrollees — 52% — earn above the $31,300-a-year individual earning cutoff.

Victoria Garzouzi was one of many middle-income retirees hit with one of the most extreme premium increases: The monthly payment for her low-level bronze plan jumped eightfold to $1,600.

To make ends meet, she came out of retirement and dipped into her savings. “I’m working to pay for my insurance,” she said. “I am an army of one.”

Despite a $6,000 deductible, her health insurance premium payment is more than the mortgage on her two-bedroom house. She’s putting off a needed cataract surgery until October, when she turns 65 and qualifies for Medicare.

While GOP leaders have not publicly weighed in on the state subsidies, some Democratic lawmakers have questioned why more help hasn’t been proposed.

Assembly member Dawn Addis, who chairs the chamber’s budget subcommittee on health, suggested Newsom could tap an additional $230 million from a fund for healthcare cost relief — money raised from a state penalty levied on those who can afford to enroll in health insurance but choose not to.

Lawmakers have previously criticized state officials for socking away much of the penalty revenue, which was supposed to go toward healthcare affordability. After California discontinued its premium subsidies thanks to increased federal assistance, the Newsom administration said the state was saving to help consumers once those temporary subsidies expired. Instead, California borrowed from the subsidy fund to cover state budget shortfalls, to the tune of $771 million. Starting this year, the subsidy fund should see an influx of cash as the state pays back the loan.

At a May legislative hearing, Joseph Donaldson, then a Department of Finance analyst, said maintaining the reserve was a prudent and financially sustainable approach.

Dylan Roby, a public health professor at the University of California-Irvine who consults for Covered California, said the focus on lower-income enrollees is deliberate. They qualify for federal subsidies that higher earners don’t, maximizing federal investment and strengthening the broader system.

“You end up with more advanced premium tax credits flowing into the state that you would have been leaving on the table,” he said.

State lawmakers have until June 15 to pass a state budget. Then, Covered California’s board would decide eligibility and benefit amounts, a decision that could come this summer, with new subsidies starting Jan. 1.

Even with the extra help, Walter and her husband worry they won’t be able to afford a potential $200 monthly premium payment. Walter said she’d likely have to rely on free clinics or ration medications.

“I take so many pills, I rattle,” she said. “That, on top of the $200? For us, it really adds up.”

Are you struggling to afford your health insurance? Have you decided to forgo coverage? Click here  to contact ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News and share your story.

This <a target="_blank" href="/insurance/covered-california-aca-obamacare-insurance-premium-subsidies-affordability/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">KFF Health News</a> and is republished here under a <a target="_blank" href=" Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.<img src="/wp-content/uploads/sites/8/2023/04/kffhealthnews-icon.png?w=150&quot; style="width:1em;height:1em;margin-left:10px;">

The Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services released on June 1. That deadline was set last year in the GOP tax-and-spending law known as the One Big Beautiful Bill Act, which established a work requirement for certain people enrolled in Medicaid, the state-federal health insurance program for people with low incomes or disabilities.

Medicaid agencies are scrambling to rework IT systems and make sure they have staff to effectively enforce the rules, while also keeping enrollees from losing coverage for administrative reasons, such as difficulty navigating state eligibility portals.

The newly announced regulations offer a clearer picture of what roughly will have to do to prove they qualify for benefits.

Jim Torres, who helps people enroll in health coverage at the Samuel U. Rodgers Health Center in Kansas City, Missouri, said a “very small percentage” of his clients have heard of the changes coming to Medicaid.

“These folks have very busy lives. They’re doing the best they can to get by,” he said. “It’s just not a top-of-mind thing for most of them.”

Health policy researchers and consumer advocates said enrollees should keep a few things in mind as the Jan. 1, 2027, rollout approaches in most states.

1. The work rules won’t apply to everyone.

The new rules will apply to people covered through what’s known as . Since 2014, more than 40 states and the District of Columbia have decided to allow more people into their Medicaid programs, generally low-income adults without dependents. Georgia and Wisconsin offer coverage to some people in this group, so they’ll be subject to the rules.

Children and pregnant people, as well as individuals with disabilities who receive Social Security payments — all groups that already qualify for Medicaid — won’t be subject to the rules. Nor will people determined to be “medically frail,” or too sick to work.

People subject to the work rules are “crowding out” people in the Medicaid program who are “truly in need,” CMS Administrator Mehmet Oz claimed during a June 1 press call. “Work requirements are going to turn this around, we hope.”

The rules are set to take effect in most places in January. Nebraska started enforcing them in May. Montana plans to start in July but won’t kick people off until October. Arkansas will do a in July — it will start enforcing the rules but with no penalties until next year.

2. States will take your word that you’re too sick to work. For now.

Federal officials have stressed that states should make the process of reporting hours and requesting exemptions as simple as possible for Medicaid enrollees by creating automated systems and using existing data sources, such as unemployment and education records.

If states cannot determine you’re performing 80 hours of qualifying activities a month using those data sources, you may be allowed to “self-attest” to that in 2027, health policy researchers said.

People will also be allowed to “self-attest” that they are too sick to work in 2027, and do so one time in 2028. Then states will start asking for proof, if they can’t find it through available data.

But after the initial rollout, the burden of proof is likely to still fall on many enrollees, said researchers and consumer advocates.

People may need to dig up pay stubs, medical records, and doctors’ notes and submit them for state review, said Morgan Henderson, who has studied Medicaid work programs in Georgia and Arkansas at The Hilltop Institute, a research center at the University of Maryland-Baltimore County.

“The higher this manual reporting burden, the less people are going to do it,” he said. “That means that we’re going to see coverage drop-offs.”

3. The rules are tougher than expected for people too sick to work.

One of CMS’ primary goals has been to “protect vulnerable populations” through “strong exemptions to make sure people who can’t reasonably be expected to work are not subject to the requirements,” Dan Brillman, a deputy administrator at the agency, said during the June 1 press call.

Consumer and patient advocates, however, said the final rules’ exemptions are more restrictive than expected. Enrollees will eventually have to provide documentation, such as a statement from a medical professional, to prove that a health condition keeps them from working. And each individual state will have to determine the severity of beneficiaries’ medical conditions.

“Someone could be medically frail in Nebraska but not medically frail in Delaware,” said Carolyn Sheridan, associate director of state policy for the National Organization for Rare Disorders, which lobbies for patients with rare diseases. She said her group had hoped the rules would offer a standardized definition of who counted as medically frail and not leave the decision up to states.

Trump administration officials have publicly crusaded against fraud in government health programs, such as Medicaid, and states could face financial penalties for incorrectly granting people exemptions from the work rules, said Jennifer Tolbert, who researches Medicaid at KFF, a health information nonprofit that includes ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News.

“States may be more cautious,” she said. “That will likely lead to people losing coverage who may still be eligible.”

4. Only certain qualifying activities count.

Enrollees can satisfy the rules by working 80 hours a month. They can also be enrolled in college courses, volunteer through a community organization, or do “in-kind” work that doesn’t result in pay.

The rules set out, in detail, how many academic credit hours translate to 80 hours a month — students need to be enrolled in six credit hours per semester to meet the “half-time” requirement. An unpaid internship can count toward the 80 hours.

People can also prove they’re volunteering with “a document from a community service organization.”

Consumer advocates say it might be hard for people to obtain proof they’re performing these kinds of informal activities. But supporters of the rules say volunteerism can already be tracked.

“If you run into trouble with the law and the judge says, ‘Hey, you need some volunteering and community service to serve your time,’ there are already ways that we verify that,” said Niklas Kleinworth, who works on state health policy for the conservative Paragon Institute.

5. You have time to prepare.

Make sure your state Medicaid agency has your current mailing address and keep your eye on your mailbox, said researchers and consumer advocates. State Medicaid agencies must inform you in two ways if you’ll be subject to the rules — by either regular mail or email, and by one other form of communication, such as a text or phone call or by posting a notice online.

“The important stuff comes by mail,” Henderson said.

And check in with your state Medicaid agency, said researchers and advocates. Some states, including , , and , have already posted information about the work rules on their websites. If you can’t find what you’re looking for there, visit or . A caseworker should be able to tell you whether you’ll be subject to the rules.

“Get ahead of this,” said Joan Alker, who is executive director of the Georgetown University Center for Children and Families and studies Medicaid. “So that you don’t end up going to the pharmacy one day and they say, ‘Oh, you’re not insured anymore’ when you’re trying to get your prescriptions refilled.”

ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News correspondent Samantha Liss and senior correspondent Rachana Pradhan contributed to this report.

Have you tried to prove your eligibility for Medicaid under new rules that require people to show they are working, going to school, or participating in another qualifying activity? Click here to contact ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News.

This <a target="_blank" href="/medicaid/medicaid-work-requirements-final-rules-exemptions-trump-cms/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">KFF Health News</a> and is republished here under a <a target="_blank" href=" Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.<img src="/wp-content/uploads/sites/8/2023/04/kffhealthnews-icon.png?w=150&quot; style="width:1em;height:1em;margin-left:10px;">

Dowse wore a full-body protective suit with a plastic face mask. As a pediatrician in southern Utah, he couldn’t risk getting even a mild infection, because many of his patients are babies too young for measles vaccines or children whose parents choose not to protect them with immunizations. “I went in looking like a scientist in E.T.,” he said.

Measles can cause brain damage, deafness, or death in newborns. If the baby entered the world with a measles rash and fever, Dowse was prepared to give the infant a spinal tap to assess the risk of neurological damage.

Luckily, flushed and crying, the baby looked healthy. To keep it that way, Dowse wanted to inject the baby with concentrated antibodies against the measles virus. To his surprise, the parents objected, promising to give their child “all kinds of vitamin A,” Dowse said. He begged them not to, saying, “You can’t see it on the surface, but the baby’s body is fighting the measles.” They were afraid of vaccines, so Dowse explained that antibodies were different and that they would stop measles from replicating in the infant.

“That shot is going to basically give the baby ammo to fight,” Dowse said.

The parents relented. A couple of days later, they left the hospital with a child who had narrowly skirted an infection that killed many thousands of babies a century ago. Nonetheless, Dowse said he doubted they would be returning for childhood vaccinations to protect their baby against a bevy of illnesses. Like more than a dozen Utah doctors and health officials who spoke with ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News, Dowse has adjusted his expectations.

He is part of a reluctant cohort of medical professionals now on the front line of America’s regressive next chapter in health history, one in which dangerous and preventable diseases return.

“I wish that people could see what I see,” said Nathan Money, a hospital pediatrician in Utah whose eyes welled up with tears as he described children he’s treated for measles struggling to breathe. “This train is going in the wrong direction, and it can feel like a helpless situation, because we’re just not seeing the public messaging and leadership that’s needed to turn this around.”

Since measles was deemed eliminated in the U.S. a quarter century ago, public health workers have extinguished sporadic outbreaks in close-knit, undervaccinated communities with targeted methods: Isolate people with measles and quarantine their contacts to contain the virus. But as vaccination rates , the virus is moving beyond insulated communities, overwhelming public health departments constrained by shoestring budgets. Larger outbreaks, the kind not seen for a generation, have forced health officials into a new paradigm: They have stopped racing to “contain” infections and shifted gears into what they call “mitigation.”

Utah made that transition early this year, once the outbreak hit “a point where you no longer have control over it,” said state epidemiologist Leisha Nolen. By March, measles had been detected in every health jurisdiction in the state and in northern Arizona. More than 950 people have tested positive in the two states since the outbreak began in August, but many people with measles haven’t been tested. A of measles viruses suggested that the true number of cases last year could have been 6.5 times what was known.

Last year under President Donald Trump, U.S. measles cases exceeded 2,000 for the first time since 1992. Six months into 2026, the U.S. has already surpassed that threshold. Prolonged outbreaks exact a toll on children, who have spent days in hospitals for severe infections and missed weeks of school for mild ones. Adults with measles miss work. Parents delay daycare to keep their babies safe. Doctors in Utah have enacted labor-intensive protocols to keep measles from spreading in clinics. Newborns and people with weakened immune systems who have been exposed to the virus receive infusions of concentrated antibodies costing $500 to $1,000. Medical visits for measles . Health departments spend millions trying to curb infections.

“This is like a snowball that gathers speed as it rolls downhill,” said Emilie Morris, a hospital pediatrician in Salt Lake County and Utah County. A full-throttle campaign to educate communities on the safety of vaccines and the diseases they prevent could turn the situation around, doctors and health officials said. It would require an effort similar to what the anti-vaccine movement has long done in videos, blogs, and podcasts. For example, the anti-vaccine organization that Robert F. Kennedy Jr. founded before taking the helm at the Department of Health and Human Services, Children’s Health Defense, visits , , and has bought that downplay the threat of viruses while wildly exaggerating the risk of vaccine side effects. Kennedy’s and as health secretary are adding to parents’ doubt.

After the development of vaccines and antibiotics in the mid-1900s, virologist and Nobel laureate Frank Macfarlane Burnet wrote, “One can think of the middle of the twentieth century as the end of one of the most important social revolutions in history, the virtual elimination of the infectious diseases as a significant factor in social life.”

He couldn’t have imagined what was coming.

‘Year of Sickness’

In communities nestled among the red sandstone cliffs and riparian forests of southern Utah, measles took hold last summer. At the main school in Hildale, a town along the Arizona border, just 30% of kindergartners are considered adequately immunized by Utah’s health department, meaning they’ve gotten recommended vaccines against measles, tetanus, polio, and more. Exemptions from childhood vaccine requirements are easily acquired in the state: Parents need only claim personal, religious, or medical reasons.

Many people in Hildale and the surrounding towns are connected to the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, a sect that has been leery of the government since a police raid in 1953 separated polygamous parents from their children. Shirlee Draper, a southern Utah resident who grew up in the faith, said they became ever more isolated in the early 2000s under the leadership of Warren Jeffs. Before he was sentenced to life in prison for sexual assault against minors, Jeffs instructed his followers to withdraw from public schools and mainstream medicine.

“Growing up, we all got our vaccines,” said Draper, who left the group during Jeffs’ reign. “It wasn’t until Warren Jeffs came along that there started to be more and more resistance.”

After Jeffs went to prison, many people left the faith but remained concerned about vaccines because of online misinformation, such as claims that the shots are toxic. Today a small shop in Hildale sells mouth sprays and oral drops professing to detoxify vaccines. Water, glycerin, and “whole grain alcohol” are listed as ingredients in one called Vxx-Dtx.

A mother who ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News agreed not to name, because she fears stigmatization, said she considered getting her kids vaccinated when schools in southwest Utah started seeing measles cases last summer. She had split from the fundamentalist group but still worried about vaccines giving her children autism or other complications. in top-tier scientific journals have refuted a link between vaccines and autism, but the anti-vaccine movement has kept the notion alive.

Then the woman’s son told her that his classmate had a rash and spit on him, she said. A few days later, he fell ill with a fever, followed by vomiting, diarrhea, and a head-to-toe rash.

“He felt downright sick for 10 to 14 days,” the woman said. “It was hard to see the end of the tunnel.”

Then her daughters came down with measles. She had a fleeting case, too, even though she had been vaccinated as a child. Breakthrough infections and are relatively rare. Only 4% of reported this year and last have been among people who’ve had two doses of the measles, mumps, and rubella vaccine.

By the time the family recovered, the son had missed nearly three weeks of school, the daughters a month, and the mother had postponed an important family gathering because she didn’t want to spread infections. “I just got my youngest’s missed-school report and it’s super high,” she said. “This is the year of sickness.”

The woman said she regretted not getting her kids vaccinated when the outbreak started. She said she knows about 30 people who have fallen sick with the measles. Except for a few who needed medical care, they haven’t been tested. “I bet there’s been thousands of cases,” she said.

Measles doesn’t have a cure. She and others have tried to ease symptoms with cod liver oil, vitamin C, zinc, and “essential oils,” plant extracts long used in folk medicine that have become a lucrative industry in Utah. People in southwest Utah are trying a lot of things: One resident sells homemade lotion on Facebook, writing, “Breastmilk & Honey has been a life saver for the measles rash.”

Beyond Containment

The outbreak may have started among a fundamentalist community, but it’s spread far beyond because Utah’s vaccination rates have dropped steadily since the covid pandemic. Fewer than 80% of kindergartners in the 2024-25 school year in southwest Utah, with only 87% adequately immunized in the state as a whole — far below the 95% threshold required for herd immunity.

Several Utahns told ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News that “alternative health” or “wellness” drives the trend, rather than religion. The state has a thriving supplement industry, , aided by deregulatory policies supported by the late Utah senator Orrin Hatch and a high concentration of people who earn income from multilevel marketing. These networks of people sell supplements, essential oils, peptides, and other alternative therapies on social media, YouTube, and podcasts, according to and .

Alternative health isn’t necessarily anti-vaccine, but many people who sell unconventional remedies online and in podcasts and mainstream medicine.

“People are suspicious, and it’s well founded,” Draper said. She described dismissive doctors, exorbitant medical bills, hospital systems that over care, and pharmaceutical companies that drove . Communities already wary of government authorities are poised to interpret failings in American healthcare as signs that medical authorities aren’t to be trusted, either, she said.

“Across America, we have entire populations who find safety in clinging to whatever confirms their deeply held beliefs,” she said.

A mistrustful disposition gave way to covid conspiracy theories in 2020 and 2021. In southwest Utah, for example, a tricked out with digital billboards showed up to covid vaccination sites to advertise Plandemic, a rife with , including that masks “activate” the coronavirus and that global elites planned covid-19 to control the population. Misinformation added fuel to anger about public health rules, and there was political backlash under the umbrella of a largely Republican “medical freedom” movement. Utah enacted laws reining in public health, including one that eases exemptions to childhood vaccinations and another that prohibits most employers from requiring vaccines.

In the wake of the covid backlash, health officials tread lightly. Rather than enforce containment measures, “we give our advice and focus on personal responsibility,” said David Heaton, public information officer at the Southwest Utah Public Health Department.

One of the most contagious diseases in the world, measles spreads with astonishing speed among the unvaccinated. One of a New York school outbreak in 1974 found that a second-grader with measles infected 28 other students in 14 classrooms because measles can spread through ventilation systems.

As cases doubled then quadrupled in southern Utah, the regional health department couldn’t keep up with calling the contacts of everyone infected. It shifted its efforts to announcements guiding the public at large. For example, it asks people to call before showing up to clinics with measles symptoms. Still, patients in plenty of hospitals have been exposed. For example, when parents brought a sick, unvaccinated child to a large pediatric hospital in Utah in September, they shared the space with 11 infants too young to be vaccinated. Doctors rushed to give the babies infusions of antibodies and they remained healthy, according to a .

On the radio and in posts on social media, Heaton warns that measles is spreading and that vaccines are the best defense. “If you’re not immunized and you’re anywhere in public,” Heaton said, “you’re fair game for this virus.”

The department doesn’t have the capacity to talk with people directly in the five counties it serves. For a few years, it leaned on community health workers who went to churches, town halls, and other gathering places, listening to people’s concerns and telling them what the science said about covid, vaccines, and other matters of public health. But these workers were laid off early last year, after the Trump administration clawed back more than $12 billion in federal public health grants to states.

“We were starting to get a little bit of traction,” Heaton said of the community workers. “And then we lost all of our team.”

The department offers free measles vaccines to children, but uptake is slow. Nursing director Mindy Bundy said that when she started the job 20 years ago, demand was so high that she would give parents tickets while they waited, as if they were crowding around a deli counter.

“Now even in an outbreak,” she said, “we aren’t seeing a huge increase of people wanting vaccination.”

As officials tried to do the best they could, the outbreak spread north, hopping from one undervaccinated community to the next. When health officials in Utah County spoke with people who had tested positive, they often had no connection to other known cases. “Pretty quickly, we started to lose the links,” said Michael Leman, the county health department’s nursing director. Contact tracing, the cornerstone of containment, was failing.

Every week, the state health department posted a growing list of locations on its website — a Trader Joe’s, a Mormon temple, an aquarium, preschools — that people had visited while contagious. But many people who tested positive hadn’t been to those places, Leman said. “They could have gotten it at Walmart. They could have gotten it walking through a mall,” he said. “I mean, just anywhere in the public they could have been exposed.”

In February, high school students throughout Utah tested positive after a state wrestling tournament at Utah Valley University in Orem. A dashboard monitoring measles viruses in wastewater lit up with notifications around the state. “Wrestling really feels like our turning point,” said Nicholas Rupp, communications director at the Salt Lake County Health Department.

Salt Lake County’s shift from containment to mitigation meant prioritizing high-risk situations and relaxing control everywhere else. When a student has a confirmed case, for example, health officials meet with the school nurse to figure out which kids are most vulnerable. Unvaccinated children in the same classroom as someone infected are asked to stay home for 21 days, but those in other classrooms might not be, said Melanie Crossland, an epidemiologist at the Salt Lake health department. Some schools with high vaccination rates have opted to monitor student temperatures daily instead of requesting quarantines. One school created a separate space for the unvaccinated.

Crossland said such bespoke strategies entail a “huge” amount of effort but have staved off blowback that deflated her during covid.

“We give everything when we’re here,” she said, “but the days of killing ourselves, when legislatively no one is going to give us any help, are done.”

Daycare Dilemma

The outbreak has lasted so long that some children who have recovered from measles have since been hospitalized for what should be mild illnesses from common bugs, said Kerri Smith, a hospital pediatrician in southwest Utah. Measles can , impairing a body’s ability to fight other viruses. “It’s making children very susceptible to getting sick again,” Smith said.

Her eyes were bloodshot, and she looked drained from a week of long shifts. Since the outbreak began, she’s treated more than a dozen babies and children severely sick from measles.

“They’re usually admitted to the hospital with measles pneumonia, so they’re struggling to breathe, pulling for air below their ribs,” she said. “High fevers, 104 to 105, absolutely miserable, extremely fatigued, really dehydrated with sunken eyes.” Most children fully recover from measles, but a fraction develop permanent , a small percentage die, and in , measles kills a person years after the infection.

No one has died so far in Utah’s outbreak. And barring that tragic outcome, Smith and other doctors said, some parents fail to grasp the gravity of measles, even as their own children have tubes inserted into their small nostrils to deliver oxygen. Despite repeated warnings, doctors said, some unvaccinated family members of patients — who could be contagious — walk around the hospital while visiting their loved one. This means the waiting room, the elevator, the cafeteria, and other places need to be shut down for cleaning, and vulnerable people alerted.

“People don’t realize how easily this spreads,” Smith said.

Morris, the pediatrician working in two counties, recalled a conversation with a nonchalant father who didn’t seem to understand the need for quarantine. “I know this is an inconvenience to you,” she said. “It’s also a huge inconvenience to the parent who has an infant who could be severely impacted by this disease.”

On top of feeling depleted, doctors with young children said they are anxious. Emily Chin, a physician in Salt Lake County, worries she’ll bring measles home to her newborn. One evening, she sat in her garage after caring for a child with a rash. The patient’s measles test was still being processed, so Chin isolated herself in a room for the night, wearing an N95 mask instead of holding her infant.

Like many mothers in Utah, Chin plans to give her baby an early dose of the measles vaccine at 6 months old because of the outbreak, in addition to two doses at ages 1 and 4. Several mothers said they avoid travel and public places because they fear their babies could be infected. Some are delaying daycare. Others, like Kandace Hyland, a marketing director in Salt Lake County, don’t have that option.

Hyland was shocked when her daycare told her that it didn’t track the vaccine status of staff, even amid the outbreak. In March, she posted an calling for the state to require daycare staff to be vaccinated against the measles when the virus is spreading. Even if daycare staff file for vaccine exemptions, she said, parents could at least find out what portion of their babies’ caretakers pose a life-threatening risk.

Hyland sent her idea to the state health department. Nolen, the state epidemiologist, said she agreed with the concern, and was “talking with the division of licensing about the issue,” in an email shared with ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News. Hyland also wrote the Division of Licensing and Background Checks. In an email, its director, Shannon Thoman-Black, replied that the division does “not have the legislative authority to implement a mandate.”

“They always talk about parents’ choice,” Hyland said. “But I don’t feel like I have a really good ‘parents’ choice’ right now.”

Measles’ Comeback

The U.S. will almost certainly this year or next, but it could be regained if political leadership backed nationwide campaigns to boost confidence in vaccines, said Demetre Daskalakis, a former director of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s national immunization center and now the chief medical officer at the Callen-Lorde community health center in New York.

“Under Secretary Kennedy’s leadership, that’s unlikely to happen,” he said. “We’re going back to a pre-vaccine era.”

HHS spokesperson Emily Hilliard defended the secretary and his agency in an email, writing that the CDC has “surged resources” to contain measles outbreaks. “The CDC, HHS principles and the Secretary have been vocal that the MMR vaccine is the best way to protect yourself against measles,” she said.

Kennedy’s words and actions suggest otherwise. He’s said that the measles vaccine leads to “deaths every year,” which is . He continues a potential link between autism and vaccines, no matter how many there is none. And he oversaw abrupt changes to the recommended childhood vaccine schedule, a move called dangerous and not backed by science. A federal judge blocked those changes in March, but Trump recently issued an executive order to reexamine the schedule.

“It’s been confusing for the public,” said Dorothy Adams, executive director of the Salt Lake County Health Department.

In May, Kennedy met with Republican Utah Gov. Spencer Cox, who has said little about the state’s ongoing outbreak. Kennedy praised Utah’s action on Make America Healthy Again priorities, such as banning fluoride in public drinking water and easing restrictions on raw milk sales, according to Salt Lake City’s . Cox declined to comment for this article.

Meanwhile, the U.S. public health system has been further weakened by the Trump administration’s cuts and delays to public health grants.

“If you’re in the thick of it and you don’t know if you will be reimbursed, you adjust your response,” said Angela Dunn, a doctor and former Utah state epidemiologist. “This outbreak is a perfect storm of disinformation, trauma from the covid pandemic, and the drop in funding.”

Measles isn’t the only preventable malady making a comeback. As children played nearby in a sun-speckled park in Salt Lake City, Morris talked about a baby in the intensive care unit who was bleeding uncontrollably after a fall. The baby’s parents had refused an injection of vitamin K that helps blood clot in newborns. As they fretted over their infant, Morris said, she felt awful for them and regretted not being able to overcome mistrust in basic, lifesaving interventions. She had the same swirl of emotions when an unvaccinated toddler in her care recently died of whooping cough.

“I was one of the only people in the room with the nurse when the child coded,” she said with tears in her eyes. “You think, ‘I wish this child was vaccinated,’ but it’s hard because I also see how much grief these parents are holding.”

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She spoke at rallies. With other members of the advocacy organization Compassion & Choices, she visited legislators’ offices. In 2024, as the state Assembly was debating the aid in dying bill, she helped unfurl a banner in the chamber gallery that read, “Stop the Suffering.”

Her activism was becoming difficult. Netherland, who is 59 and works for a nonprofit, was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2019. “I did a full year of aggressive treatment,” she said. “Chemotherapy. A mastectomy. Radiation treatment every weekday for five weeks. Six months of two oral medications.”

She recovered and felt well until the cancer returned a few years later. Although metastatic breast cancer is incurable, drugs are keeping her disease at bay for now. Netherland feels fortunate but also fatigued, and she contends with brain fog, gastrointestinal symptoms, and joint pain.

“My energy is really limited,” she said.

As she emailed and called legislators, Netherland feared she might die before the aid in dying bill — first introduced in New York in 2016 — could become law.

‘A Breakthrough Moment’

On June 9, 2025, after the Assembly approved the bill, Netherland was in the state Senate chamber, watching the aye votes mount, and seeing it pass.  an amended version in February; it is scheduled to take effect Aug. 5.

A similar law is  in September in Illinois, which would become the (plus the District of Columbia) where medical aid in dying is legal.

“A breakthrough moment,” said Kevin Díaz, president of Compassion & Choices, which has spearheaded the long campaign for such laws. After almost 30 years — Oregon’s law, the first in the country, was enacted in 1997 — the addition of two populous states means that almost a third of Americans will live in one where medical aid in dying is legally available. “It shows that there’s broad support for this model,” Díaz said.

Polls consistently back that claim. A  last spring found that almost two-thirds of respondents didn’t consider the practice “morally wrong,” either because they thought it was acceptable or not a moral issue. Support crossed many political and religious lines: A narrow majority of Republicans and 76% of Democrats both found “physician-assisted death” (also sometimes called “physician-assisted suicide”) permissible; so did most Catholics, Jews, and nonevangelical white Protestants.

In New York,  that 54% of respondents supported aid in dying, including majorities of men and women, of all age groups, and of city, suburban, and upstate residents. A plurality of Latinos supported it; Black respondents narrowly opposed it.

Passing these laws has grown somewhat easier, said Thaddeus Pope, a bioethicist and professor at Mitchell Hamline School of Law in St. Paul, Minnesota, who tracks such policies. “You can say, ‘We have 10 years in California, 18 years in Washington, and 29 years in Oregon, and nothing bad has happened.’ It becomes more accepted.”

‘You Need A, B, and C’

Yet legalizing medical aid in dying, or MAID, has been and remains a long, contentious process. Catholic leadership and many disability organizations staunchly oppose it. (Pope Leo XIV personally  not to sign the bill.)

The American Medical Association says that “physician-assisted suicide is fundamentally incompatible with the physician’s role as healer” and poses “serious societal risks,” although a number of state medical organizations have opted to remain neutral or, as in New York, to .

The Patients’ Rights Action Fund, through a sister organization, has lawsuits pending or on appeal in California, Delaware, and Colorado, arguing that aid in dying laws discriminate against people with disabilities by steering them toward physician-assisted suicide instead of treatment.

“This is a litigation strategy we’ve developed to ultimately get to the Supreme Court,” said Matt Vallière, the group’s executive director, who declined to say whether it would sue to block the Illinois and New York laws.

Even when aid in dying laws succeed, using them can prove challenging. In every state (except Montana, where it became legal through a court decision, so there is no statute governing eligibility), aid in dying is available only to people with incurable illnesses who are expected to die within six months.

It typically involves oral and written requests to two doctors, with mandated waiting periods between requests. Patients must have the mental capacity to make the decision, which disqualifies those with dementia, and they must ingest the medication without assistance. (An amendment Hochul insisted on adds a psychologist or psychiatrist to the process.)

All but two states require patients to be residents. Oregon and Vermont scrapped their residency requirements  brought by Compassion & Choices. ( a .)

Moreover, any doctor, hospital, or healthcare system can legally decline to provide aid in dying, and religiously affiliated institutions often opt out. Those that participate can add their own requirements.

“The state can say ‘You need A, B, and C,’ and Columbia-Presbyterian can say, ‘We also want D, E, and F,’” said Pope, the Minnesota bioethicist.

Hotly Debated, Seldom Used

Perhaps these restrictions, or a lack of public awareness, help explain why, despite the headlines and fervent debates, the number of people who actually use the law is tiny in every state — usually 1% or fewer of the deaths recorded annually. The support for giving patients this kind of autonomy at the end of life remains widespread, but the desire to personally exercise it apparently is not.

Still, after studies showed that many patients seeking MAID were dying , the trend has been to loosen restrictions. California cut its 15-day waiting period to 48 hours; New Mexico allows physician assistants and advanced-practice nurses to write prescriptions along with doctors.

“Most states have now amended their laws two or three times,” Pope said. “We have liberalized.” Telehealth can also facilitate access to participating doctors.

Compassion & Choices is planning legal challenges to end residency requirements in additional states, Díaz said. It is also considering how to “make inroads in jurisdictions with a much different cultural and political environment,” he added, mentioning Florida and other Southern states.

Medical aid in dying represents a shift in power, Díaz said. “The person who has to bear the burden of the suffering should have the ability to decide when it’s enough,” he added.

Anne Gurnett Bander, 72, a retired research scientist in Carmel, New York, cared for her husband for four years as ALS — the relentlessly disabling neurological disorder also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease — rendered him bedridden and dependent on feeding and breathing tubes. “By the time he died, the only thing he could do was nod his head,” she recalled.

So being diagnosed with ALS herself last year was “my worst possible nightmare,” Gurnett Bander said. She was planning to fly to Switzerland, where the nonprofit organization Dignitas provides medical aid in dying, when she learned about the New York bill and began speaking publicly in support of it, her voice faltering as her illness advanced.

Gurnett Bander and Netherland say they’re not certain they’ll use lethal drugs to end their lives as their symptoms intensify. Not infrequently, patients complete the necessary steps, secure the prescribed medication, decide they don’t need it after all, and die of their diseases. But both women insist that the choice should be theirs.

“It can offer so much peace of mind,” Netherland said. “I thought, ‘People should have this option.’ Now, they will.”

The New Old Age is produced through a partnership with .

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Hundreds of detainees across at least 33 states allege in federal suits that immigration detention facilities are failing to provide adequate medical care, an investigation by ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News and The Associated Press found. Detainees say they didn’t get medications on time — or at all — for conditions including high blood pressure, diabetes, depression, epilepsy, Parkinson’s, and HIV. Requests for help went unanswered for weeks. Blood sugars rose. Infections festered. Cancers remained untreated. Detainees collapsed and had seizures.

U.S. jails and immigration detention centers have to meet the medical needs of the people in their charge. But the system is sagging under an influx of detentions since President Donald Trump returned to office: More than 75,000 immigrants were being detained by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement , up from around 40,000 a year earlier.

ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News and AP analyzed thousands of court cases filed since Trump’s second inauguration that use a legal route known as habeas corpus to argue people are being held illegally by ICE. The records offer a rare window into how those detained say, often under penalty of perjury, ICE is handling their medical needs. Reporters also interviewed more than 50 detainees, family members, and lawyers.

The investigation revealed that medical neglect is alleged across the sprawling detention system, including in offices not designed to house people, county jails, and quickly staged sites with nicknames such as “Alligator Alcatraz.”

ICE custody is deadlier than it has been in two decades, researchers wrote in April. The Department of Homeland Security reported 51 people had died in detention since the start of Trump’s second administration — with suicides .

ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News and AP asked DHS to respond to the findings six days before publication, but it did not provide comment. The department’s acting chief medical officer, Sean Conley, has “it is both policy and longstanding practice for aliens to receive timely and appropriate medical care from the moment they enter ICE custody” and that the agency recruits healthcare professionals to maintain high standards. “This is better, more responsive healthcare than many aliens have ever received in their entire lives,” he has said.

Individual facilities and private prison companies contracting with DHS that responded to requests for comment said they follow ICE standards and detainees receive medical care when it is required. Some said they were unfamiliar with the allegations outlined in court documents; others blamed some detainees for lapses in their medical care.

“I have never seen such disregard or medical neglect like this anywhere,” Vardan Gukasian, a political dissident and former paramedic who spent years behind bars in Armenia, wrote in in March to contest his detention in Henderson, Nevada, as it stretched to 13 months despite health problems.

Madeleine Skains, a spokesperson for the city of Henderson, said medical care is always available at the facility and that the court had not ordered changes to his care.

Last June, as Gukasian experienced the symptoms of uncontrolled high blood pressure — dizziness, a nosebleed, and a headache — his cellmate banged on their door for help.

“When it did not arrive, the rest of the block banged on their doors,” he wrote. Gukasian was hospitalized that day.

‘Brazen Indifference to Really Obvious Problems’

The administration’s mass deportation effort has swept up during routine immigration check-ins, at traffic stops, at their homes, and in hospitals.

About have no criminal conviction. Their immigration proceedings are civil, not criminal.

“I couldn’t understand why they treated me so harshly,” said a father of six in Georgia. He said he was injured while shackled in custody when the vehicle transporting him to an Atlanta facility jolted, throwing him out of his seat and into a metal armrest. His wound became infected with E. coli, he said, because he had to sleep on a dirty concrete floor amid leaking toilets.

Like other detainees interviewed, he spoke on the condition of anonymity; they said they fear for their safety, for the safety of their families, or that speaking out would jeopardize their immigration cases. The AP and ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News are not naming anyone identified in court documents without their consent.

Staffers at Stewart Detention Center in rural Lumpkin, Georgia, didn’t adequately respond to that man’s request for medical help, , until he passed out and was taken to a hospital about an hour away. There, he said, a doctor told him he’d narrowly escaped amputation of his left leg. Medical staff found no records of a case matching this description, according to Brian Todd, a spokesperson for CoreCivic, which runs the facility.

The 48-year-old, who moved to the U.S. from Guatemala more than two decades ago, was released in October and is now a legal permanent resident. But he is unsure if he’ll be able to return to his job in construction because, he said, he can no longer lift heavy things due to his injury.

Some detainees or their lawyers said even basic care was denied: gauze to protect an open foot wound, prenatal care for a high-risk pregnancy, a pillow to ease the pain of sleeping with advanced stomach cancer, sanitary pads for postpartum bleeding.

“I would like to believe the government has the best interest of those it holds in detention for whatever period of time,” Judge Benita Pearson, a federal judge in Ohio, said during a hearing in October concerning a 70-year-old who alleged the government lost her glasses during her arrest. “If one is unable to see due to the loss of glasses when detained, that should be fixed.”

, who worked for ICE and now serves as a special adviser to the American Bar Association, said case law requires the government to treat people in immigration detention with the same care it affords those in traditional jails awaiting trial. But administrators are granted discretion and medical care standards vary.

Detainees are frequently moved across the country, often without warning, interrupting treatment. A woman from El Salvador said she missed a week of HIV medication when she was transferred from Colorado to a county jail in Wyoming.

A Russian man wrote that, while detained in Texas, he saw a gastroenterologist about his painful gallstones and scheduled an appointment with a surgeon. “Unfortunately, I never got to see him, due to my being moved around various detention centers.”

Advocates say that even obvious disabilities, like legal blindness, are ignored.

A detainee who lost one eye and had severe glaucoma in the other required twice-daily drops to maintain what vision remained. But, he said, some days the drops never came.

“Now I can only see a little bit straight in front. It now often looks like I’m seeing through gauze,” the man wrote in a court declaration. “This makes me very afraid that one of these times I am going to open my eyes and not be able to see anything at all.”

He wrote that he was scared he wouldn’t be able to see his infant son grow up.

“It’s just sort of brazen indifference to really obvious problems, things you would have thought absurd a decade ago — like the fact that you can’t see,” the man’s attorney, Brian Hoffman, said. “Before, you could attempt to work with folks on the government side and maybe shame them into doing the right thing. Now, it’s sort of like anything you want done you have to go to court and sue over.”

Even court orders aren’t always enough. One California judge ordered the government to take a man showing signs of prostate cancer to a specialist for diagnosis and treatment. Records show they did not take him.

Lawyers representing ICE told the judge that officials missed the appointment because of an “internal scheduling error.” CoreCivic, which runs that facility, said it was unable to comment on active litigation.

A Surge in Cases

When immigrants file habeas corpus petitions, they exercise a right to challenge unlawful imprisonment that dates to .

More than 40,000 such petitions have been filed during Trump’s second term, fueled by decisions last year to deny bond to many people held on immigration charges. Judges are split on whether that’s legal; the question appears headed to the Supreme Court.

Many habeas claims , but judges typically cite reasons unrelated to the medical neglect described in the petitions, such as detainees’ being held too long before being deported.

The more than 300 medical neglect claims found in this investigation represent a fraction of the problem. The details of habeas corpus cases are often hidden due to a federal rule barring the public from viewing such documents online. ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News and AP obtained some documents from courthouses and received records on 4,400 cases from , a project of the nonprofit Immigration Justice Transparency Initiative. But tens of thousands more remain largely inaccessible.

Some judges have written that the habeas process is not how to raise allegations of medical neglect and have declined to release detainees over those claims. Not every detainee who believes they experienced medical neglect files a habeas petition or cites their medical issues if they do.

Jose-Antonio Segismundo’s petition made no mention of being unable to see an oncologist for the cancer in his abdomen while detained for more than seven months at the Florida detention facility known as Alligator Alcatraz and Folkston D Ray ICE Processing Center in Georgia. Medical records in his court filings show he was arrested about five weeks before his scheduled appointment with a cancer specialist.

His wife, Maria Jose Gonzalez, said he didn’t receive any treatment even though she sent his medical records and explained his condition to officials at Folkston. When his stomach pain erupted, often suddenly and intensely, she said, they gave him Tylenol.

Geo Group, which runs Folkston, follows ICE standards and provides healthcare and access to off-site medical specialists when needed, spokesperson Christopher Ferreira said.

This spring, Segismundo, 48, was deported to Mexico, a country he left nearly 30 years ago, Gonzalez said. Now, she said, he will have to restart his search for care in the Oaxacan village where he grew up.

Watching Loved Ones Deteriorate

Detainees receiving inadequate healthcare have little recourse. The Department of Homeland Security last year gutted the Office of the Immigration Detention Ombudsman. In early May, it shut the office entirely, arguing that Congress didn’t fund it.

Previously, ombudsman staffers could help facilitate medical care or look into complaints of neglect, according to Matt Boles, an immigration attorney in Georgia. Now, he said, there’s no one to call.

Meanwhile, detainees’ families said they feel helpless, making desperate calls to facilities, the government, and their legislators while watching their loved ones deteriorate.

Riya Khan saw her mother get sicker at the California City Detention Facility, which is owned by CoreCivic. When she visited a week after her mother arrived at the facility in the Mojave Desert, Riya said, the 64-year-old woman stumbled into her seat. She was shaking and her breathing was labored.

Masuma Khan came to the U.S. from Bangladesh in 1997. She has no criminal history, her records say, and was detained in October when she showed up for her regular ICE check-in.

For the month she was detained, according to her daughter, she only intermittently received her medications for conditions including high blood pressure, hypothyroidism, and prediabetes. CoreCivic treats chronic conditions in line with applicable medical standards, Todd said.

“Nothing matters more to CoreCivic than the health, safety and well-being of the people in our care,” Todd said.

Khan said she got her asthma medication for the first time two days before she was released and that her eye drops for glaucoma never arrived. Staffers told Khan she needed to buy some of her medications from the commissary but it didn’t stock them, her daughter said.

Before ICE detained Masuma Khan, she made friends with everyone, her daughter said. She had worked for years at Lucky Boy, an iconic Pasadena fast-food restaurant, and in her free time fed birds and left out fruit for bees that visited her apartment’s balcony.

Now she’s too scared to go outside. She still must regularly check in with ICE, and she’s terrified each time.

Previous Next

A Stroke on a Video Call

Previously, detainees with serious medical needs would likely have been released on humanitarian parole, in part to avoid the cost of their care, Vermont attorney Andrew Pelcher said.

In fiscal year 2023 — before the detained population soared — ICE spent more than $390 million on healthcare for detained noncitizens, according to its to Congress. In May, Todd Lyons, then acting director of ICE, said at a conference that the agency had already spent “almost half a billion dollars” on detainee healthcare this year.

Now, under “mandatory detention,” people are staying locked up with serious — and expensive — conditions.

A Romanian citizen underwent several heart surgeries, including an emergency triple bypass in April 2025, before he was arrested in July. As part of his recovery, the 52-year-old was required to take 16 daily medications. While at an ICE field office in Baltimore, his court filings allege, he went two days without any medication before officials moved him to a facility in New Jersey.

He was hospitalized three times while detained, complaining of chest pains — in part, medical records and court documents say, because despite “countless requests,” the detention center did not provide all his medications. Hospital discharge papers cited by his lawyer show he received only eight of the 16 medications after his second release from the hospital.

“Can you please talk to the ICE facility to make sure they give him his medications?” his treatment providers wrote in medical records included in his court filings. “He was admitted last week for chest pain and today he was readmitted again for chest pain secondary to non compliance for medications.”

Several weeks later in August, he had a stroke while on a video call with his daughter, according to court filings. “He was struggling to breathe, and was pointing at his chest where he was again experiencing pain, and suddenly stopped speaking.” His daughter screamed for help through the video monitor, according to his petition. “Eventually an officer came in to assist him and cut the feed.”

The man lost his ability to speak for four days, the document says. He was returned to detention, where he remained until a federal judge ordered his release in November.

Impossible Choices

Cassandra Amador waits for the phone to ring every morning, desperate to ask her husband the question that’s woken her up every night for months: “Did you get your medicine?”

Her husband, Pedro Javier Amador Gutierrez, 36, has high blood pressure and depends on the state-run facility in Florida nicknamed “Deportation Depot” to administer the prescriptions that have kept him alive for years. Many mornings, he tells his wife he did not get them.

When she talks to him, she said, he sounds weaker and more scared every day, not like the upbeat man who would take her kids out for ice cream.

“You can hear in his voice how he feels,” she said.

Now, she said, he’s considering returning to Cuba, which he fled because of political persecution, out of fear that he will die in detention without his medicines. Amador and her children would go with him, she said, even though she was born in New Jersey, has never been to Cuba, and doesn’t speak much Spanish.

But he’s already collapsed twice at the Baker Correctional Institution in Sanderson, Florida, his wife said. She’s terrified that the next time, he won’t get up.

Methodology

ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News and The Associated Press sifted through thousands of immigration habeas corpus claims to find allegations of medical neglect from people detained by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement during the second Trump administration.

Without a comprehensive, publicly available dataset of medical complaints by those in ICE custody, we used immigration habeas corpus claims to identify detainees’ healthcare-related allegations raised in federal court. Although the intended purpose of habeas corpus is to challenge the legality of a petitioner’s detention — rather than conditions of their confinement — these filings sometimes include detainees’ claims of inadequate healthcare.

But habeas corpus filings are not always publicly available. Federal rules restrict how members of the public can access habeas petitions filed by people in immigration detention. For most of these cases, court websites publish only court orders and dockets describing other filings. The initial petitions are available only through in-person visits to federal courthouses across the country. Habeas Dockets, a project of the nonprofit Immigration Justice Transparency Initiative, coordinates a nationwide network of volunteers to gather these petitions and make them available online.

ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News and AP analyzed the dockets of roughly 33,000 cases filed by detainees from Jan. 20, 2025, through March 2026. The vast majority of cases had only basic procedural information, like dates of court filings and rulings. Only about 4,400 included the original petitions.

We also gathered a few dozen case files from courthouses, lawyers, and the Massachusetts federal district court website, which posts most petitions under a unique standing order.

We ran keyword and semantic searches of court records, including petitions, motions, and orders, for terms and phrases potentially related to medical neglect, such as surgery, medications, inadequate medical care, and treatment for chronic conditions such as diabetes and high blood pressure.

We found about 500 cases potentially alleging medical neglect. At least two reporters reviewed each case manually, yielding more than 300 cases containing specific allegations in sworn filings of delayed, denied, or deficient healthcare.

To be conservative, we excluded dozens of cases that alleged inadequate medical care but lacked specifics, for example a petitioner writing, “I have been sick and don’t get proper treatment,” or a judge noting a petitioner “complains that ICE is ignoring his medical problems.” We also excluded cases in which petitioners claimed only that they were denied special diets, exercise, or other accommodations that they said were key to managing their health conditions, such as a petitioner writing, “I suffer from Parkinson’s and cannot properly exercise,” or claiming that the food provided was unfit for a person with diabetes.

The cases we analyzed were neither randomly selected nor representative of immigration habeas filings nationwide. The claims were not independently verified. Many filings are not publicly available, and not all detainees raise medical concerns in court, so our account of cases represents a limited window into the landscape of claims, rather than a comprehensive picture.

Associated Press journalists Garance Burke, Valerie Gonzalez, and Tim Sullivan as well as ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News correspondent Kate Wells contributed to this report.

This report is a collaboration between The Associated Press and ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News.

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“Did we hike this morning?” she asked.

“Yes, we hiked,” said her husband, Steve Francks. “And you did really well.”

But 15 seconds later, she asked the same question: “Did we hike today?”

Anderson, 65, a retired finance executive, doesn’t remember any of it. She can recall what happened that afternoon only because her husband started recording her on his cellphone.

“I was just on this nonstop loop,” she said.

Almost immediately, Francks knew something was wrong. “Jan was out of it,” he said.

He took her to an emergency room in Sedona, where staff initially thought she might be having a stroke. Because the facility wasn’t fully equipped to evaluate or treat stroke patients, Francks said, she was airlifted to a Phoenix-area hospital, where she was admitted.

It turned out she wasn’t having a stroke. Her medical team eventually determined she was probably experiencing , a rare, temporary, and benign memory disorder.

The good news was that her symptoms didn’t last long, and she has suffered no long-term effects from the episode. It took about 24 hours before she was able to start forming new memories, and she was discharged the next day. Anderson and Francks, who split their time between Sedona and Edmonds, Washington, returned to the Pacific Northwest a few weeks later.

Then the bill came.

The Medical Service

The sudden confusion associated with transient global amnesia can also be a sign of a more common neurological condition, so it’s important to rule out other possible causes — such as a stroke, for which timely emergency care can spell the difference between life and death.

Anderson’s records show her care at Abrazo Health’s Arrowhead Campus in Glendale, Arizona, included an electrocardiogram, which can detect underlying cardiac abnormalities, and imaging, which would rule out any vessel blockages that might cause a stroke. She also underwent various lab tests commonly used to diagnose a stroke.

The Bill

$59,181: $35,302 for diagnostic/therapeutic imaging, $8,147 for laboratory services, $8,146 for a special care unit, $5,532 for EKG services, and $2,054 for pharmacy. Anderson’s first bill from Abrazo Health said she owed $15,312.43, citing an insurance adjustment of $43,868.57, even though her insurer had not covered any of the charges.

Anderson said her insurer covered separate charges for the ER and helicopter transfer.

The Billing Problem: Communication Breakdown

The federal No Surprises Act bans out-of-network bills for most emergency services, even if those services are received at an out-of-network facility and are not preapproved by the insurer.

That means the cost of Anderson’s hospital care should have been covered as though it were in-network. At the time, she was insured by Molina Healthcare, through a plan purchased on the federal Affordable Care Act marketplace.

But for a year, Molina declined to pay for her care in Glendale, at one point arguing that her hospital stay required authorization when, or even before, she was admitted.

“I can’t get anyone to resolve it,” Anderson said. “It’s almost $60,000 hanging over my head.”

The first problem arose about two weeks after she was discharged, when Abrazo Health sent Anderson a bill indicating she was a self-pay patient.

The hospital didn’t request her insurance information at any point during her stay, Francks said. He assumed, at the time, that his wife’s financial paperwork had been transferred from the ER in Sedona. It had not.

She called the Glendale hospital and corrected the error.

Then, in late June, Anderson received notice from the hospital indicating she was not a Molina member.

“Your insurance company notified our office that the patient was not a covered member for the services provided by Abrazo Arrowhead Campus on the above referenced service date(s),” the notice said. It showed the total charges for her stay exceeded $59,000.

But when Anderson called Molina to confirm her coverage, she said, the insurance company assured her the claim was being processed.

That didn’t mean Molina was willing to cover her hospital bill.

Anderson spent months trying to resolve the balance. She filed complaints with members of Congress, the Arizona Department of Insurance and Financial Institutions, and the Office of the Insurance Commissioner in Washington state.

In an October letter to Washington’s insurance commissioner, an appeal and grievance specialist for Molina wrote that the claim was denied because “inpatient stays require prior authorization, or notification at the time of admission. No notification of admission or prior authorization was received from the hospital, so the claim was denied.”

It continued: “Molina covers out of network emergency services but since this was an inpatient admission authorization is required.”

Nicole Broadhurst, who focuses on medical billing issues as CEO of a , said this dispute appears to rest between the insurer and the medical provider.

She said that Anderson’s insurance information should have been transferred between the first ER and the Glendale hospital. Since it wasn’t, Broadhurst said, Anderson shouldn’t be held liable for her hospital bill. (Broadhurst was not involved in efforts to resolve Anderson’s billing dispute.)

Unfortunately, Broadhurst said, these situations are “not uncommon, even though we have the No Surprises Act.”

The Resolution

Anderson said she was told by Abrazo Health for months that it was working with Molina to resolve the bill. She said she was also told that even if Molina did not cover the full cost of her hospital care, she would not be liable for the balance — but she never received that assurance in writing.

Meanwhile, Molina continued to uphold its decision to deny payment.

After ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News contacted the insurer and the hospital with questions about her case, Molina told Anderson it had launched an internal review of her claim, and a revenue director with Abrazo Health told her the company was “treating this as a high-priority matter,” she recalled.

Anderson said the revenue director for the health system assured her that if Molina continued to deny payment, “the balance will be written off on the hospital’s end,” she said. “I will not be responsible for any balance” — not even the $15,312.43 the hospital initially billed her after the hospitalization.

Linda Nofer, a spokesperson for Abrazo Health, would not answer questions about Anderson’s bill. In a statement, she said the hospital system is “committed to working closely with our patients to resolve billing questions and concerns.”

Molina spokesperson Caroline Zubieta would not discuss or respond to questions about Anderson’s case on the record.

The Takeaway

The flurry of insurance paperwork and medical bills patients receive after a hospital stay can be overwhelming — and may sometimes appear contradictory.

Broadhurst said it’s important for patients to focus on the “patient responsibility” portion of an insurance document called an explanation of benefits.

Patients should not pay a bill if their explanation of benefits indicates they aren’t responsible for the amount charged.

In this case, Anderson had received a bill from the hospital saying she owed money. And her explanation of benefits from Molina confirmed she’d racked up more than $59,000 in hospital charges.

But that document also indicated her patient liability was “$0.00.” Anderson said the hospital was not pressuring her to pay the $15,312.43 bill or any of the charges tied to her account, but she was worried she would eventually owe a large sum because the charges remained unresolved for more than a year.

“The question I kept asking them was, ‘How much am I going to owe?’” said Anderson, who is now insured by Medicare. “It could be anywhere from that $15,000 adjusted amount to the full balance of $59,000.”

Broadhurst said she tells patients facing similar situations to “send the hospital a copy of the EOB and ask them to correct the account to $0 patient responsibility.”

“Even if no one is actively trying to collect, I’d still push for written closure so it doesn’t keep hanging over them,” she said.

Bill of the Month is a crowdsourced investigation by ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News and that dissects and explains medical bills. Since 2018, this series has helped many patients and readers get their medical bills reduced, and it has been cited in statehouses, at the U.S. Capitol, and at the White House. Do you have a confusing or outrageous medical bill you want to share? Tell us about it!

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Clinicians and patient advocates say the incoming changes will deliver a twofold blow: They expect the work requirements to kick more patients off Medicaid, meaning fewer can afford care, while the health department’s budget problems make it harder for doctors to serve those who keep the coverage.

It’s a tumultuous time for state health departments. Additional federal changes are forcing states to perform more checks on who qualifies for food assistance, better monitor doctors’ compliance with Medicaid rules, and set up new programs to access a share of $50 billion in federal funds meant to improve rural health services.

“Our concern is, is the department ready?” said Jean Branscum, CEO of the Montana Medical Association. “Does the capacity exist for all this to be done right and ensure that patients don’t pay the price?”

Already, some Montanans struggle to access the government health coverage amid state backlogs. Meanwhile, clinicians struggle with staffing, attributing the issue to low Medicaid payments. Those problems reflect a national challenge to connect people to care through strained public assistance programs.

The Montana Department of Public Health and Human Services didn’t respond to a list of questions, instead directing ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News to the latest information on the state’s website detailing Medicaid changes, at .

Health policy analysts have said Montana’s challenges offer an early glimpse at what states must navigate to comply with congressional Republicans’ One Big Beautiful Bill Act. Signed by Trump last year, the federal tax and spending law requires millions of Medicaid enrollees to prove they’re working or attending school for 80 hours each month, unless they’re eligible for an exemption. States also will be required to evaluate enrollees’ eligibility every six months instead of annually, which will take more time and money. Some states already don’t have enough staff to quickly process Medicaid applications or answer enrollees’ phone calls.

On July 1, Montana is scheduled to become the second state, after Nebraska, to implement Medicaid work requirements. That’s six months ahead of the Jan. 1 federal deadline to do so for the 42 states, along with the District of Columbia, that expanded Medicaid to cover more low-income people. Montana health officials say they’ve had time to plan for that shift. The state mandated work rules in 2019 but hadn’t gained federal approval to move ahead until now.

More states are likely to face a budget crunch soon, said Joan Alker, a Georgetown University researcher focused on health coverage.

The One Big Beautiful Bill Act is expected to reduce federal Medicaid spending — the biggest pool of federal cash states receive — by nearly $1 trillion over 10 years. The law also left states with a bigger share of the cost to run food assistance programs, while creating tax breaks that could lower states’ bottom lines.

“States are the ones that are gonna have to do the dirty work of implementing cuts,” Alker said.

Withholding Medicaid Provider Rate Increases

On top of federal changes, Montana lawmakers underfunded the health department in its two-year budget in 2025, the result of cuts and an underestimate of Medicaid enrollment. The state also overestimated how much the federal government would contribute toward Montana’s Medicaid costs this year.

That resulted in a $183 million shortfall in state and federal funds, requiring the health department to borrow from next year’s budget. To partially offset those costs, the department wants to withhold a 3% Medicaid provider rate increase approved by the legislature and governor last year. State officials have said they’re trying save money without unraveling services.

Health organizations have pushed against the plan, saying that Montana’s Medicaid payments already don’t cover the cost of care and that health businesses can’t afford wages that attract workers.

Matt Bugni, head of the statewide nonprofit Aware, which provides behavioral health and disability services, said the organization was counting on incoming increases to keep existing employees amid a staff shortage. Bugni said Aware has more than 70 group-home beds it’s been unable to fill, because it’s down roughly 15% of its workforce.

“There are waiting lists,” he said. “We just can’t staff it.”

Montana health organizations said they’re still recovering from 2017 budget cuts that buckled services. The largely disappeared, more than half of Montana’s public assistance offices , and mental health crisis centers closed.

“We still are struggling,” said Sierra Riesberg, head of the Montana Behavioral Health Alliance, a nonprofit advocacy group.

In 2023, Montana Gov. Greg Gianforte, a Republican, signed into law a investment to repair the state’s behavioral health and disability services. He also created an initiative to use Medicaid funding to fill in gaps in addiction treatment programs.

But Riesberg said that, despite improvements, some beds created through those initiatives remain empty because low Medicaid reimbursement rates make it hard to recruit staff.

The stalled increases would especially hit community-based services such as mental health treatment and developmental disability services. They wouldn’t affect physician services or federally funded health centers that offer care based on what patients can afford. But Lander Cooney, an executive vice president at One Health, which has rural clinics in rural Montana and Wyoming, said low reimbursement rates can hurt their patients who need care elsewhere, as more healthcare providers decide they can’t afford to accept Medicaid.

Montana’s Legislative Finance Committee recommended the state’s leadership find a way to cut costs without stalling the increases. Gianforte will have the final say. He must make that decision before the state begins its new budget year on July 1, the same day Medicaid work requirements begin.

Medicaid enrollees will have three months to show they’re working before the state begins dropping people for noncompliance in October. That gives the state time “to work out the bugs,” said state Rep. Ed Buttrey, a Republican who is also president of the Montana Hospital Association.

‘Completely in the Dark’

The work requirements won’t apply to everyone. There are exemptions for people who are severely sick, children, adults older than 64, and Native Americans, among others. Even so, most people will have to submit proof that For some, how to do that remains murky.

Health officials don’t have clear-cut definitions for medical conditions on the exemption list. They’re also awaiting federal guidance on what documents someone needs to prove a hardship that temporarily prevents them from working. “Providers are completely in the dark as to how we reduce the administrative burden,” said Shawna Yates, a family medicine doctor in Butte and president of the Montana Medical Association’s executive committee.

Health officials have said implementing work requirements early means figuring out some details as they go.

Montana’s Medicaid enrollment is at its lowest point in roughly a decade, , a consulting firm that has studied the state’s Medicaid program for years. Enrollment plummeted amid states’ scramble to determine whether tens of millions of people still qualified for Medicaid when the federal government lifted a pandemic-era disenrollment freeze in 2023.

Many primarily because of rather than ineligibility. National health advocates worry similar administrative problems will arise with implementing work requirements.

In Montana, the state’s Medicaid data signals continued red flags, according to a by the nonprofit Montana Budget and Policy Center. That includes long waits to access public assistance and low renewal rates due to paperwork issues.

Julie Anderson, a mental health and addiction counselor in Livingston, Montana, helps people navigate public aid at a food bank. She said she recently spent three hours on hold on the state’s public assistance helpline, trying to help a patient with limited cellphone minutes troubleshoot a Medicaid application. Anderson said she had to hang up to help other people before anyone answered.

“It’s already a cumbersome system,” she said. Once the new requirements go in place, Anderson added, “it’s going to be a nightmare.”

The health department has worked for months to expand its public assistance team. As of early March, Montana had filled 39 of 59 new positions state officials projected are needed for the intensified Medicaid eligibility checks.

“The problem with that is that it takes a lot of training to get caseworkers up to speed,” said Kim Winchell, who helps people enroll in health coverage at Glacier Community Health Center in Cut Bank.

State officials said they’ll try to automatically confirm through existing data whether people are exempt or meet the rules. When that doesn’t work, applicants will have 30 days to provide proof of eligibility.

Charlie Brereton, director of the Montana health department, told lawmakers in May that the agency considered a public service campaign to get the word out. But he said the state’s budget problems curtailed that idea.

Brereton said the state could reevaluate that option, “depending on how implementation goes.”

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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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7B Care Clinic has been operating in Sandpoint since 2001 and was previously called Life Choices Pregnancy Center and Sandpoint Crisis Pregnancy Center. It is of a nationwide network of Christian evangelical centers called Care Net. 7B, one of about 1,200 pregnancy centers affiliated with Care Net, offers pregnancy tests, limited ultrasounds, parenting and life skills classes, community support groups, and other free resources, such as children’s clothing. Donations from people, businesses, and more than 40 churches keep 7B’s operations running, Executive Director Janine Shepard said.

Such centers are known as crisis pregnancy centers or pregnancy resource centers. They offer limited resources and medical services to pregnant women and aim to dissuade them from having abortions. Healthcare groups including the have said many crisis pregnancy centers use unethical and deceptive practices to bring women into their organizations.

Traffic at 7B has picked up since the local hospital and its OB-GYNs moved out of state three years ago. The closure left a hole in reproductive health services in this town of more than 10,000 on the shores of Lake Pend Oreille and surrounding rural areas.

“We are seeing a lot more people,” Shepard said.

By December 2024, more than two years after the U.S. Supreme Court overturned nationwide abortion rights in its Dobbs decision, Idaho had of its OB-GYNs. 7B is expanding, with the goal of bringing obstetric care back to Sandpoint. The organization plans to add to its current building once it’s paid off, Shepard said, and it’s in talks with a hospital about 30 miles away in Washington state to bring in an OB-GYN once a week to provide prenatal care.

If obstetric care existed now in Sandpoint, Shepard said, “we wouldn’t even be considering” the expanded services. “But there’s such a need. And our community suffers because of it.”

As rural communities face the and , crisis pregnancy centers are growing in influence. Some states have approved legislation granting the organizations greater protections from oversight and regulation, and clinics have seen a massive and in recent years.

In a town with limited maternity care, 7B has been providing important resources to struggling low-income women. But critics say the religious nonprofit, which is not medically licensed and isn’t required to meet regulatory standards for medical facilities, has an agenda that makes it an inappropriate place for pregnant patients to seek medical care.

Jen Jackson Quintano, a Sandpoint resident and the founder of the Pro-Voice Project, a nonprofit that advocates for abortion rights in Idaho, said crisis pregnancy centers mislead patients by drawing them in with the offer of free pregnancy-related services before delivering their anti-abortion pitch.

“We all need clarity on what those services are: ministry-first, rather than comprehensive medicine,” Quintano said.

Shepard said there are misconceptions about the organization, and she invites people to take a tour of 7B to learn what it does. She said her staff talk to pregnant women about abortion, adoption, and parenting as options and hope they feel supported enough to make a “life-affirming” decision.

7B reflects a trend of crisis pregnancy centers seeking to expand their operations in maternal care deserts and regions with gaps in women’s healthcare, said Andrea Swartzendruber, an associate professor of epidemiology and biostatistics at the University of Georgia College of Public Health. Swartzendruber has studied crisis pregnancy centers in the U.S. since 2018.

“Crisis pregnancy centers have, for years and years, capitalized on gaps in access to healthcare,” she said. “In no way, shape, or form do crisis pregnancy centers have the infrastructure or ability or training to bridge those gaps.”

According to Swartzendruber’s research, more than 2,600 crisis pregnancy centers operated in the U.S. as of 2024, more than three times the number of . Many centers have been found to engage in with clients, including putting misleading information on their websites making them appear to be legitimate medical clinics with the goal of attracting women who are seeking abortions.

The organizations are also seeing support from the Trump administration. On May 10 — Mother’s Day — the Department of Health and Human Services sharing resources and information for new and expectant mothers. It includes a map to find pregnancy centers and cites services the centers provide, such as pregnancy tests, ultrasounds, and medical referrals.

‘The Perfect Place for This’

Sandpoint is a small mountain town in a deeply conservative and Christian part of a state with a strict abortion law put into place after the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade.

Amelia Huntsberger, one of the OB-GYNs who left Sandpoint three years ago, said the town is “the perfect place for this,” referring to the expansion of the 7B Care Clinic.

In underresourced areas, the benefits that crisis pregnancy centers may bring are welcome.

Lori Sabin, a licensed midwife in Bonners Ferry, about 30 miles north of Sandpoint, said that 7B is a helpful resource to the community, especially for people who struggle to get healthcare because of a lack of health insurance or who face challenges in traveling for care.

“The nicest thing about 7B is all their services are free,” Sabin said, adding that the classes and free baby items are particularly helpful for young first-time mothers. “They can point them in the right direction. They tell them where the midwives are; they tell them where the OBs are.”

Huntsberger, who practiced in Sandpoint for more than a decade and now lives in Oregon, also acknowledged the benefits she saw 7B bring for patients, including the parenting classes and support groups. But she has concerns about its resemblance to a medical facility that provides healthcare.

Lisa Battisfore, founder of Reproductive Transparency Now, a Chicago-based organization that provides education and outreach about crisis pregnancy centers, acknowledged that the limited services they provide can be helpful but said the bad outweighs the good.

“If someone needs diapers or someone needs formula and a crisis pregnancy center is willing to give that to them, it’s difficult to say that that in isolation is a bad thing, but you have to look at the bigger picture,” Battisfore said.

Crisis pregnancy centers are largely unregulated and are protected by First Amendment rights to free speech and religious exercise. The Supreme Court crisis pregnancy centers to go to court to block a state attorney general’s subpoena for donor funding information. Critics say lack of oversight allows centers to spread misinformation about abortion and abortion pill “reversal,” a procedure the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists has called “.”

Crisis pregnancy centers have against states trying to increase regulation and oversight. Those protections have allowed some of the organizations to blur the line between anti-abortion activism and medical care.

“They seem to be really good at walking on both sides of that line when it suits them best, and that does not suit pregnant people best,” Battisfore said.

She referenced a recent case in Texas in which a woman was hospitalized for an ectopic pregnancy days after she received an ultrasound and a clean bill of health from a crisis pregnancy center. An OB-GYN who works with the Abundant Life Pregnancy Resource Center “there is nothing to fix” when asked about the error. There have been at crisis pregnancy centers.

What’s Next for Sandpoint

angered a lot of locals when it closed its labor and delivery unit three years ago. Residents lamented that women needed to travel farther to give birth and mourned the loss of the OB-GYNs. Since then, the hospital has been working to rebuild trust with the community.

This year, the hospital created a women’s health committee that includes hospital board members, staff, and others. Hospital CEO John Hennessy and Chief Medical Officer Stacey Good, a physician, said their priority is to hear from the community and increase awareness about the women’s healthcare that’s still available.

Women can still receive a range of services, including prenatal care from a nurse practitioner who travels to Bonner General from Coeur d’Alene once a week and other clinicians who can provide more basic gynecological care. A position for a gynecologist at the hospital has been open since May 2023, and Hennessy said filling it remains a priority.

Sandpoint resident Makayla Sundquist, a licensed counselor, grew up in town. She got married last year and has been thinking about starting a family with her husband. She wondered if she would feel safe knowing she’d need to travel at least an hour to the nearest hospital with labor and delivery services.

But she also has doubts about 7B as a potential option for local care. She was skeptical that an anti-abortion, faith-based organization would provide accurate information on the options available to her.

“It is something that I do think about and do have fear about,” Sundquist said. “I wish that wasn’t my reality.”

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The workers, Nathan Jones and Trent Umberger, died in the September 2024 crash, as did a passenger in the Jeep. Tests found that the driver, Patrick Sneddon, then 59, had oxycodone and six times Colorado’s presumed impairment threshold for THC — the psychoactive compound in cannabis — in his blood. He pleaded guilty and is serving on three counts of vehicular homicide and other charges.

“Our four children are completely crushed without their Dad,” wrote Kristine Umberger, the wife of Trent, in a victim impact statement for the local district attorney. “We have lost our ability to live life like we used to.”

Federal highway safety officials have long tracked the role of alcohol in fatal crashes, but they don’t track deaths that involve a driver under the influence of drugs or a combination of drugs and alcohol.

That discrepancy is partly due to the challenges of proving impairment, since some drugs remain detectable for weeks after use. Sneddon’s attorney, Jennifer Gregory, said a driver can be presumed impaired under Colorado law if their blood contains 5 nanograms of THC or higher per liter. But that “permissible inference” threshold is different from a legal limit — such as the 0.08% blood alcohol content limit — and the level set by Colorado is not supported by published scientific studies, Gregory said.

Such information could prove useful as the nation struggles with , the on marijuana, and more than 40 states have legalized or decriminalized some forms of cannabis and .

“Impaired driving is a top public safety issue that extends beyond alcohol,” said Sean Rushton, a spokesperson for the federal highway safety agency, which is tackling the issue collaboratively, with resources to ensure a “comprehensive and coordinated approach.”

But President Donald Trump’s cuts to the federal workforce since he returned to office in 2025, along with dwindling federal investments, mean that efforts to expand and improve the tracking of impaired-driving deaths nationwide have slowed.

The gap in data can be significant. In Mesa County, Colorado, where Jones and Umberger were killed, the coroner’s office tracks various forms of impaired-driving fatalities. From 2017 through 2024, a third of traffic deaths involved alcohol alone, according to data from the county coroner’s office.

When drugs are factored in, nearly half of Mesa County’s traffic deaths over the same period involved a driver intoxicated with alcohol, drugs, or a combination, according to the coroner’s reports.

“If you want to solve a problem, you need to understand the problem,” National Transportation Safety Board researcher Jana Price said. “If you only know that alcohol is present, then it limits your ability to fully understand what might have been impairing a person or a population of people. It trickles into the countermeasures that we use as a society to address the problem.”

Identifying a Hidden Issue

NTSB researchers that, across four geographical samples of roughly 26,000 drivers, about half of those arrested for impaired driving and more than a quarter of drivers killed in crashes tested positive for more than one substance, such as cocaine, sedatives, and antidepressants. The analysis also found that only four states and the District of Columbia drug-tested more than 60% of fatally injured drivers in 2020.

Those findings led the NTSB, an independent federal agency that investigates major incidents, to make a series of recommendations to the and states to establish a comprehensive, nationwide dataset on impaired driving.

But hurdles remain to creating such a system. Fatality and injury reports submitted to the NHTSA database often feature missing or erroneous data, according to a .

Varying state laws around testing arrestees and decedents for drugs make getting uniform data difficult, according to , a former employee of NHTSA’s impaired-driving division, as does a lack of proven metrics like blood alcohol content to measure drug impairment, not just the presence of a drug.

“It’s a slow process, which is incredibly difficult when you know that each day that passes is risking a lack of safety for however many people facing the potential of a drug-impaired-driving crash,” Cash said. “But some progress is better than no progress.”

Acknowledging how long those efforts will take, the NTSB also recommended that NHTSA build an interim surveillance system that would use data from trauma centers to create a national sample of crash-involved impaired drivers.

The agency made some headway, reporting in 2023 that it was conducting its own study with the help of 11 trauma centers and medical examiner offices. It also helped California establish a 19-month statewide surveillance system, which NHTSA will use to evaluate the feasibility of a nationally representative system.

Such programs are useful for public awareness and for improving the ability of police to understand drugged driving patterns that can help them tailor enforcement, said , a University of California-Davis associate professor who researches toxicology and was involved in the California program. But some trauma centers, especially in rural areas, often lack the research infrastructure necessary for round-the-clock drug testing and participation.

Still, it’s possible, and he said the benefit is apparent in the findings from California’s surveillance system.

“If you go out there and tell people that 44% of drivers who ended up in the ER from a car accident had at least one potentially impairing substance in their blood at the time of the accident, that gets people’s attention,” Chenoweth said.

Shrinking Research Teams

Since NHTSA’s update to the NTSB three years ago, however, the agency has yet to follow up on the recommendation. Staff cuts and departures at NHTSA last year paint a poor outlook for change.

From 2021 to 2024, the agency . At the end of Trump’s first year in office, NHTSA had dropped to about 550 people due to government-wide cuts and people leaving on their own.

Cash, who now works for the nonprofit Governors Highway Safety Association, was one of five employees who left NHTSA’s last year. That leaves just two staff members in the division, she said.

Ian O’Dowd, a former employee in NHTSA’s , said he was part of a team of 16 people who studied, in part, impaired driving. Only three or four team members are still with the agency, he said.

“At some point, it becomes unwieldy for a handful of people to be managing all of the research work going on,” O’Dowd said.

NHTSA communications director Sean Rushton said the agency has “both the financial and personnel resources necessary to support its programs with multiple offices carrying out this work collaboratively, ensuring a comprehensive and coordinated approach.”

The 2021 infrastructure law, passed under the Biden administration, increased funding for NHTSA’s state highway safety program from about $667 million in 2021 to nearly $953 million this year.

The law included $750 million to modernize crash-data programs, but as of January over $475 million was unused. The funds expired in September unless they were obligated through a signed agreement.

A report by the U.S. Government Accountability Office found that nearly a quarter of entities awarded grants in 2022 had not received a signed agreement when surveyed between December 2024 and March 2025. It also found that over 1 in 5 grantees reported that obtaining timely replies from Department of Transportation staff was moderately or very challenging.

With the Biden-era infrastructure law expiring later this year, Congress could extend the unused crash-data fund or implement a new approach to impaired driving.

In mid-April, House Transportation and Infrastructure Committee Chairman Sam Graves (R-Mo.) said proposed legislation — less than half of the current bill’s $1.2 trillion — with a more “traditional” focus on roads and bridges.

The bill has amid negotiations for more funding, leaving future support uncertain.

“Certainly, we are always hoping that there will be an increase in the amount of money available to do this work,” Cash said. “Whether or not that will happen this year, I don’t know.”

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