Comfortable couches in one area invite expectant parents to settle in for birth education classes. In another, a colorful pile of toys await the babies and toddlers. And there’s a free supply of diapers and food. Years ago, as Iglesias was giving birth and expressing her wish not to have an epidural for pain, she felt isolated and that her preferences were dismissed by the medical staff. Today, she works hard to make sure other parents can have the support of a doula.

“We kind of created this to fill the gaps that we realized existed because we had to go through it,” Iglesias said. She’s the founder of , a doula agency dedicated to giving parents care throughout the perinatal process.

Iglesias said one of the widest gaps is the lack of access to doula care for parents on Medicaid.

Doula care has been initiation and less maternal anxiety. The perinatal doula care covers education about pregnancy and birth, advocacy for new parents in the hospital, and help after delivery with lactation and recovery. Doulas often work alongside doctors or midwives who provide medical care.

“The doula is the person that already knows what you want. We know what your dream birth is,” Iglesias explained. “We’re somebody that is standing on the side of the parent.”

Can’t see the audio player? Visit kffhealthnews.org to listen.

In 2022, Virginia became the fourth state to start reimbursing doulas through Medicaid. A push to address the country’s maternal mortality rates, which are , has been an engine for lawmakers looking to give women on Medicaid the support of doula care. For example, another hospitals to allow an extra person, other than a family member, in the delivery room.

The services offered and the number of visits covered by Medicaid vary by state, but today doulas are covered in . An additional 20 states have considered proposals or are in the process of implementing similar policies.

In Virginia, doulas say the administrative and logistical challenges they encounter are trickling down to moms. A review of the Virginia Certification Board’s Doula Registry this June found based in Northern Virginia accept payment from Medicaid.

Doulas say that while Medicaid coverage of their services is a good first step, the amount of paperwork required in the approval process and the low reimbursement rates mean that fewer doulas participate in the Medicaid program, reducing access for beneficiaries.

that extended doula benefits to Medicaid enrollees sought to improve the health of Virginia parents and decrease the number of mothers who die during the time surrounding birth. The state’s maternal mortality rate is among .

As co-chair of the state’s task force on doula regulations, Iglesias helps shape policies that make it easier for moms on Medicaid to get doula care through the program.

To access doula services in Virginia, parents on Medicaid must have a referral from a doctor, and their doula must be approved by the state to care for Medicaid beneficiaries. Iglesias would like to see that process be quicker and less costly for doulas, who pay $75-$150 for certification.

While the policy debates continue, Iglesias has decided not to get certified to care for parents on Medicaid. Instead, she raises money to provide doula care for parents on Medicaid outside the system.

“I don’t want to be state-certified with a training that I feel is not full and complete, a training that doesn’t touch on that community aspect of work,” she said.

Iglesias said the services covered are too limited and Medicaid does not allow her to work with clients as she sees fit. Virginia’s payment covers up to eight doula visits. All but the first visit are limited to one hour, which Iglesias said isn’t enough time.

“If you want to actually build a relationship with this person that you’re going to be standing in with in their most vulnerable moment, it ain’t happening,” Iglesias said.

While pursuing her PhD at George Mason University, studied the initial implementation of the doula reimbursement policy in Virginia.

Mensah from 2022 to 2024 for a study published this year. She interviewed doulas eager to serve clients on Medicaid. But some told her they got bogged down in the paperwork and never were certified. Doulas report similar struggles with the certification process today.

Mensah said the mismatch between the size of the Medicaid population in Northern Virginia and the low number of doulas available leads to fewer parents receiving doula care.

Coverage is a good first step, Mensah noted, but it doesn’t translate to enough access. During the first two years of implementation, in Virginia used doula services. That study is the latest available.

Kenda Denia, executive director of , a statewide doula collective in Virginia, welcomed the law at first.

“But now we’re looking at certain logistics that are not working,” Denia said.

Private-pay doulas in Virginia $1,200 to $3,000 per pregnancy. For families wanting more extensive prenatal or postpartum services, the fee can be as much as $6,000. Virginia’s Medicaid program, also known as Cardinal Care, per pregnancy. They receive an additional $100 if their client attends prenatal and postpartum doctors’ visits.

The pay is too low and does not reflect the value of the services they provide, Denia said. “Midwives don’t get paid this. Doctors don’t get paid this,” she explained. “We are driving to people’s homes for postpartum and prenatal care.”

Doulas might wait weeks or months for reimbursement, and the pay is not flexible. The Medicaid reimbursement rate is the same across the state and does not capture the in areas like Alexandria. It’s roughly 32% more expensive in Alexandria than the average cost of living in Virginia, according to ERI Economic Research Institute, a private data analytics group.

Despite the barriers, Denia applauded parts of the policy. Medicaid coverage of doulas means that more parents can have a “birthing bestie,” she said.

Before getting pregnant, Juliana Navia had no idea what doulas did. But while at a free clinic for her prenatal checkups, Navia connected with Iglesias. Later, Iglesias became Navia’s doula and helped her navigate a difficult situation when she wasn’t getting the kind of care she wanted at the hospital.

“I was stressed giving birth, but my doula helped me,” Navia said. “I was advocated for.”

This article first appeared on Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and is republished here under a .

The Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News Minute is available every Thursday via direct download or the RSS feed.

Aug. 6

Katheryn Houghton [CATH-er-in HOW-tun] reads the week’s news: Some older adults are seeking roommates to help them age in place. Plus, doctors say they shouldn’t be the ones determining if someone is too sick to comply with Medicaid’s new work rules.

Can’t see the audio player? Visit kffhealthnews.org to listen.

This article first appeared on Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and is republished here under a .

“They called me a ‘liability to the job site,’” Pugh said, recalling the words of his manager when a seizure cost him his last job at a fast-food restaurant in this western Montana city.

When the 46-year-old lost work in the past, his wife of 10 years covered their rent and he tended to their home until he found another job. But his wife died last year. Soon after, Pugh became homeless. His problem with alcohol became worse, which made managing his seizures more difficult.

“When she died, my whole base was depleted,” Pugh said.

Medicaid pays for the prescriptions that keep Pugh’s seizures at bay. The government-subsidized health coverage would also pay for an addiction treatment program that Pugh said he has tried to get into, but he was told there’s a waitlist.

Pugh’s goal has been to get healthy enough to work again. But he’s worried about being able to keep the Medicaid coverage he needs to get to that point.

Early Embrace of New Rules

In the spring, the federal government finalized regulations requiring millions of people who receive Medicaid benefits to prove they’re working, volunteering, or going to school to keep their coverage. States have until January to begin those checks. Montana, Arkansas, and Nebraska have already started implementing them.

The Trump administration’s federal work requirements exempt certain groups of people: those with disabilities, those older than 64, pregnant people and Native Americans, among others. To receive an exemption, anyone without a clear-cut qualification — such as through their age or disability status — will have to prove they’re too sick to work.

But the administration decided that being homeless isn’t a medical condition and can’t count as an automatic out from having to meet the new requirements. Many conservative policymakers support work requirements, and some states have attempted to implement such rules for years. At least four states — Montana, Arizona, Kentucky, and Utah — previously proposed policies that included homelessness as an exemption.

But federal officials have said that’s not allowed. In an email to Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News, the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services declined to provide a comment on the record. But the agency confirmed that states must stick to the federal government’s list of exemptions. Homelessness in the U.S. increased by 27% from 2013 to 2025, from the Department of Housing and Urban Development. Last year, about 746,000 people .

Many, like Pugh, qualified for Medicaid, though the number of enrollees who are homeless is difficult to measure. In 2023, who received medical or behavioral health services through one of the nation’s roughly 300 programs were enrolled in Medicaid.

Jennifer Tolbert, deputy director of KFF’s Program on Medicaid and the Uninsured, said the federal regulations are a lot stricter than many states had expected, even those on board with work requirements. (KFF is a health information nonprofit that includes Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News.)

“It took everyone by surprise,” Tolbert said.

Mehmet Oz, who leads CMS, touted the regulations as a “path to prosperity” during a press conference in June.

“We need to get people to try to work,” Oz said. In June, 25 mostly Democratic-led states over the regulations, arguing the medical frailty standard would be too hard for enrollees to meet — and for states to assess. The work requirements are projected to increase the number of uninsured people nationwide by by 2034, according to the Congressional Budget Office.

Most states will begin to implement the Medicaid work requirements in January. 

Montana plans to begin booting Medicaid enrollees from coverage this October if they can’t prove they’re in compliance with the work requirement.

“My Medicaid is still active, but when are they gonna cut that off from me?” Pugh said. “I can’t get employed. How am I supposed to survive?”

The differences between the states’ and federal government’s exemption lists don’t end with people who are homeless. In Montana, lawmakers also planned to excuse people fleeing domestic violence and caregivers of hospitalized family members — two other groups left off the federal exemption list.

“These are simply parties that, due to a number of conditions, cannot meet those requirements,” Republican state Rep. Ed Buttrey said in 2019 when the Montana Legislature passed its first Medicaid work requirement bill. Buttrey did not comment for this article.

Federal officials have said many people who are homeless could fall under another exemption, such as being too sick to work. But, like many states, Montana’s system to automatically conduct those checks through existing medical records isn’t ready, though health department spokesperson Jon Ebelt said it should be in place by October. Anyone not automatically exempted by the state would have 30 days to prove their case.

A Possible Exemption for Health

Pugh might qualify for a pass due to his seizures. But getting to doctor appointments the past year has been hard for him.

The anniversary of his wife’s death just passed. Typically, Pugh has to find a new place to sleep outside each night. One night while camping, Pugh lost his wallet and important documents. And with the addiction treatment centers that accept Medicaid patients overbooked, Pugh has had to rely on willpower to avoid drinking.

“I’m taking it one day at a time,” he said.

A little over two hours north, in Kalispell, Dustin Goss, a case manager at a homeless shelter called Samaritan House, said Pugh’s experience reflects why he’s worried that people who qualify for an exemption will get tangled in bureaucratic tape.

“You can’t really worry about getting paperwork done when you don’t know where you’re eating today,” Goss said.

Cassidy Kipp, who heads Samaritan House, said once people find shelter and start to stabilize, they typically find work. But even then, meeting the new requirements can be challenging. Clients often start with temporary and informal jobs — such as cleaning out a storage unit — that don’t come with a pay stub, Kipp said. 

Kaitlyn Bosshardt, a social worker at Partnership Health Center, a health clinic in Missoula, has seen more people priced out of longtime rentals as housing costs outpace people’s paychecks. Meanwhile, affordable housing and rental aid are limited.

Partnership Health is one of roughly 1,400 health centers nationwide that receive federal funding to serve patients based on what they can afford — meaning even those who lose Medicaid can receive care. But organizations representing health centers have said if too many patients lose the coverage, some clinics won’t be able to fill the financial hole.

The other problem is that these clinics generally don’t provide specialty care.

One day in June, as temperatures hovered around 90,  Pugh visited Watershed Navigation Center, a refuge run by Partnership for people without steady housing to have a meal or see a doctor. His doctor, Atarah Sidey, told Pugh that the neurology clinic that managed his seizures had dismissed him from their care after he missed three appointments.

She referred Pugh to the other neurologist in town and talked about trying to find treatment for his addiction.

“It’s just that if I don’t make the effort at changing, it ain’t gonna happen and I’m gonna end up found on the side of the road somewhere,” Pugh told Sidey.

“You got this, though, Tywon,” she responded as Pugh nodded his head. “You can do this.”

Pugh has connected with a social worker for help keeping his Medicaid. By late July, he was waiting for space to open at a Missoula addiction treatment center and waiting on responses from two job applications.

In the hard moments, Pugh imagines his wife telling him to stay calm, that things will get better.

“I just don’t wanna lose hope in the meantime,” he said.

This article first appeared on Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and is republished here under a .

BALTIMORE — In March in a McDonald’s parking lot off a busy street, mental health clinician Michala Williams met a 38-year-old woman in a car.

“So, you called the police for help?” Williams asked the woman, who was sobbing uncontrollably and said she sometimes thinks about harming herself.

She told Williams she has children ranging from age 2 to 22, she was dealing with health issues, and that her fiancé had recently been jailed. She felt so overwhelmed she couldn’t eat.

The woman, who asked not to be named so that she could freely discuss her mental health, explained she’d tried to get help the previous month by driving to the hospital but got pulled over on the way because her car registration had expired.

“I don’t care if I get pulled over,” she said. “But I was saying, ‘I don’t know what to do. I just want to go to the hospital.’”

The officer arrested her for acting erratically, so instead of going to the hospital she went to jail.

“I had to sit inside of a cold cell. I couldn’t use the bathroom or anything,” the woman said.

On the day she met Williams, she’d decided to call 911. The dispatcher recognized the woman didn’t need a police response but instead needed one of Baltimore’s mobile crisis teams, which send a clinician and a peer counselor to meet people in mental health distress.

By the end of an hourlong conversation, Williams set the woman up with referrals to a psychiatrist, a therapist, legal help, and a case manager to determine if her child with autism was eligible for government services.

“She’s been through a lot of trauma, and no one is going to deny that,” Williams said. “But I now have to take all of that and decide, ‘OK, here’s steps 1, 2, and 3,’ because we got to find a little bit of sliver of something to give her some hope that there’s help out here.”

For years, the mobile crisis teams, which are overseen by , a nonprofit that acts as the city’s mental health department, have diverted calls from police to mental health professionals. However, the units have a limited scope, focused on people in mental health crises.

Now Baltimore is tapping into some of the roughly $400 million from opioid-related legal settlements to build out a broader service to operate around the clock and respond to other kinds of crises when police aren’t needed.

Baltimore logged to 911 in 2024, but tens of thousands of them didn’t require traditional emergency services, like police, firefighters, or EMTs, according to , an expert in community safety at Georgetown Law.

Instead, the calls were about, for example, a homeless person who fell asleep in a store, a person who seemed confused in a public park, and someone who was yelling at passersby on the street.

Such calls “don’t require a badge, a gun, and handcuffs to resolve,” Duckett said.

Often those people end up in jail instead of getting the help they need, he said. A study that when a non-law enforcement team responded to 911 calls in Durham, North Carolina, it resulted in fewer arrests than when police responded — especially for callers who were Black, men, or ages 25-39. Police responses can also lead to trauma for that person or a less satisfactory outcome than another community service response would produce, Duckett said. The idea behind the Baltimore mobile crisis teams — and the new service — is to find out what people in crisis may need and how to connect them to those resources instead of arresting them.

From 2021 to 2025, Baltimore’s homicide rate decreased by 60%, setting records for the drop in violence. But at the same time, drug overdoses made national records, as about 1,000 people here each year from 2020 to 2023.

In 2018, Baltimore opted out of a global settlement that other jurisdictions made with opioid makers and distributors and instead sued them independently. As the opioid-related lawsuits were settled, city officials decided that the settlement awards it receives must be spent on drug-related harms — or on services that help prevent addiction, such as housing support, healthcare, and education.

One seeks to directly address overdoses by placing boxes of the overdose reversal drug naloxone at every subway stop. Expanding 911 services is part of a larger strategy to beef up city services, with $15 million in settlement funds allocated so far, according to Sara Whaley, Baltimore’s director of overdose response. Whaley hopes the expansion will help the city think differently about how it responds to residents in crisis — regardless of why they’re calling 911.

She views the calls as an opportunity to help solve a problem rather than be punitive. “What are the wraparound services and support that can help prevent them from being involved in this, in that emergency system?” she said.

For example, the person falling asleep in a store may need connection to community housing. The goal is to reduce violence, get people proper resources, and avoid the cycle of incarcerating people dealing with poverty, addiction, and mental health.

, executive director of the Health Lab at the University of Chicago, of services like these. She said they offer peace of mind for callers that “they’re going to be met with the right response at the right time.”

“We also see responders themselves feeling like they have a better toolbox in their ability to pursue actual resolution to these calls,” she said.

To expand its system, Baltimore looked to cities — including Durham — that have adopted similar models to reroute callers who don’t need emergency responders.

Durham’s diversion program is called the , or HEART. The program estimates it has diverted more than 12,000 calls in four years. It said police backup was needed for only 0.02% of those calls and that response times have improved for all types of 911 calls.

Durham has of the HEART calls, showing that nonpolice responders in Durham have helped with everything from finding housing for a woman fleeing domestic violence to setting up medical appointments for a homeless veteran.

In one case, a hotel manager called 911 asking for help finding a blind man housing for the night, since the hotel didn’t have accessible rooms available. The HEART responders booked him a room and the next day provided a ride to meet with an organization that could help secure housing.

This article is from a partnership that includes , , and Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News.

This article first appeared on Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and is republished here under a .

If he wanted to learn more about an outbreak of measles or hantavirus, he would pore over the weekly CDC report that came by email. If a patient’s family was traveling to Africa or Asia, he would check the latest CDC vaccine recommendations for overseas travel. And if a family was worried about potential side effects from a shot, he could always send them to the CDC’s website to bolster his argument to get the immunization.

Public trust in the CDC has in the road , but for medical professionals, Snyder said, “the CDC used to be, worldwide, the most trusted source of information pertaining to public health and infectious disease.”

Yet even doctors began losing trust, Snyder said, after Donald Trump was elected president again. Trump quickly tapped longtime anti-vaccine activist Robert F. Kennedy Jr. as his nominee to lead the Department of Health and Human Services, which oversees the CDC.

Within months of his confirmation as secretary, Kennedy had of the CDC’s vaccine advisory board and replaced them with , some of them prominent vaccine skeptics.

“It turned into a completely unreputable source of information,” Snyder said.

This rupture of scientific trust in the CDC has put many pediatricians like Snyder in a bind, as they no longer turn to the country’s preeminent public health agency and instead search for ways to fill the information gap. Some doctors are launching their own vaccine education efforts, sometimes in collaboration with local public health departments.

On Jan. 5, the CDC from the recommended for all children — against the advice of major medical groups like the . The as the agency dropped rotavirus, covid-19, influenza, hepatitis A, hepatitis B, and meningococcal disease from the list. The agency did not respond to a request for comment for this article.

In March, after , a federal judge to revert to the previous guidelines. The administration the judge’s decision.

The back-and-forth “creates a whole bunch of confusion in the public,” Snyder said. “And it’s very confusing even for healthcare providers.”

So he’s trying to be clear to patients about what the evidence shows, even if that means going against the federal government. His practice, Amherst Pediatrics, to say: “The CDC is no longer considered to be a reliable or legitimate source of information.”

“It’s shocking that we have to say that,” Snyder said. Instead, the site directs families to get information from their own doctor, the state of Massachusetts, or nongovernmental medical organizations including the AAP.

In the exam room, Snyder is having more tense conversations with families. He said some parents are explicit that they want to hew to what the CDC recommends. “Even if they don’t say that, we have definitely seen increasing hesitancy and questions,” he said. “All of that interferes with us protecting children.”

On a spring afternoon, several of Snyder’s young patients came into Amherst Pediatrics for routine visits.

“Let’s talk about vaccines,” Snyder said to one mother, Tenzin Dekey, who was there with her 1-year-old. Snyder explained that her son was due for the , which protects against measles, mumps, and rubella, in addition to the chickenpox, hepatitis A, and flu vaccines.

“So that’s four shots, two in each leg,” he said, as he handed Dekey CDC information sheets about the vaccines. She glanced at them and agreed to the shots.

Ironically, the information sheets are stamped with the CDC’s logo — — even though Amherst Pediatrics has explicitly directed patients away from the CDC. Snyder said he hates that disconnect.

“This has been a source of heated discussion,” he said. “How can we be saying, ‘Do not trust the CDC when it comes to vaccines,’ yet here is the information we’re giving our own patients when they’re in the office about vaccines?”

Another mother brought her 14-year-old son for his annual physical. She asked to be identified by only her first name, Melissa, so she could freely discuss her family’s private health issues.

Snyder recommended the , which helps . Although Melissa had refused the HPV vaccine in a previous visit, this time she left the decision up to her son. He agreed to it. But for other vaccines, she wouldn’t budge.

“I’m a hard ‘no’ on the covid,” she told Snyder.

“We could talk about that if you want,” he suggested.

“I don’t need to talk about it,” she replied.

After the appointment, Melissa said she just doesn’t know whom to trust anymore when it comes to vaccine safety. She used to get information from the CDC but no longer does.

“I worry that it’s been politicized a lot, and I don’t like politics,” she said. “Now I prefer to hear things from people, healthcare professionals.”

Such distrust and confusion inspired Snyder to join an independent vaccine information campaign, along with other pediatric practices and health departments in the Connecticut River Valley of Western Massachusetts.

The campaign’s website, which is promoted in Snyder’s waiting room, is called . It sidesteps the CDC and highlights advice from local doctors and national medical groups, . Valley Vax bought ads on the sides of buses in Western Massachusetts to promote the site, with the faces and testimonials of local doctors including Snyder.

“We wanted something that felt familiar and appealing and that they might be more likely to trust,” said , director of Amherst’s public health department, who coordinates the Valley Vax effort.

She said the organizers decided not to criticize the CDC outright.

“Some information from the CDC is reasonable. Like they are doing a good job of tracking influenza-like illness rates in the country,” Malin said. “It’s important not to discount an organization completely.”

Still, she said it’s the first time she’s had to contradict health information from the CDC. “That’s not a comfortable place to be in at all,” she said.

Other health leaders are also banding together to get out evidence-based information. At the state level, California, Hawai‘i, Oregon, and Washington — frustrated with the CDC — operate the to “ensure the public has access to credible information.” And governors of 14 states and Guam set up the in response to declining trust in federal health agencies.

Locally, some public health departments are partnering with community leaders to reach people who have stopped listening to government institutions but “do have strong connections within their faith community or do have strong connections within their neighborhood,” said , a spokesperson for the .

Like Amherst, many local health departments now direct people to professional medical organizations instead of the CDC, Casalotti said, because advice from those groups may change slightly as the science evolves, but it’s unlikely to change with each lawsuit against the government.

This article is from a partnership that includes , , and Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News.

This article first appeared on Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and is republished here under a .

More than 900 people in Washtenaw County, Michigan, have been sickened with cyclosporiasis since mid-June. Linda Kim, a public health nurse, has called more than 100 of them. Almost everyone has said the same thing: It’s excruciating, and one of the worst illnesses they’ve experienced.

But on a Wednesday in July, she called one man who said he wouldn’t mind having it again, actually.

“You’re enjoying the weight loss?” Kim said, laughing as she took notes in a small conference room at the Washtenaw County Health Department building, just outside Ann Arbor. “Well, I’m glad to hear that. At least you got something good out of it!”

Normally, Kim’s supposed to be working downstairs in the clinic, where families wait in gray plastic chairs in the lobby for free or low-cost immunizations. But she hasn’t been there in months.

In March, Kim was transferred to a different department to help deal with a measles outbreak that sickened seven people in the county, five of them children. It was an all-hands-on-deck situation; everyone worked overtime. The state issued an advisory urging families in Washtenaw and surrounding counties to get babies 6 months or older vaccinated ahead of schedule, if possible.

The contact-tracing calls for measles could be contentious, Kim said. People were suspicious, asking her how she knew they had tested positive, or why they should give her any information.

“People were like, ‘Oh, you’re just trying to restrict my life,’ or ‘You’re just trying to get information out of me and get me in trouble,’” she said. “It’s like, no, we’re actually not doing that at all.”

As she tried to explain to them, tracing the spread of the virus and publicizing possible exposure sites was an effort to “keep it contained, so it doesn’t become something huge.”

The county’s measles outbreak ended in late May. Then in June, reports of cyclosporiasis cases started pouring in — so far in Michigan, including two deaths. Both people who died had “significant underlying health conditions that may have been impacted by cyclosporiasis and dehydration,” the state health department said on its website Aug. 3. Health officials aren’t providing more details, department spokesperson Lynn Sutfin said in an email, but are stressing that cyclosporiasis generally isn’t life-threatening and that deaths from it are uncommon in the U.S.

Kim said the cyclosporiasis surveillance has been very different from her experience with the measles outbreak. Now, people seem eager to divulge even the most graphic details, such as “pooping their beds, and, like, putting down towels and it’s not enough.”

Since she’s a nurse, such confessions don’t faze her, she said. Still, staffers have hundreds of these calls to make, so they try to keep each conversation under an hour.

But foodborne illness investigations are complex. Especially for this parasite, cyclospora. Symptoms can take as long as two weeks to appear after people have eaten contaminated food. And no one remembers what they ate two weeks ago, public health staffers said.

The interview process can be extremely detailed. Kim and her colleagues ask people to pull up their restaurant receipts, scroll through purchases on their grocery store apps, even try to recall details such as the exact brand of bagged salad mix they bought, or the type of taco they got at Taco Bell.

“Is that the crunchy one or the soft one?” Kim asked on a recent call, typing on a laptop decorated with cat and vaccine-themed stickers.

Kim has been working with the health department for two years, a period defined by federal funding cuts.

Laina Stebbins, a spokesperson for the Michigan Department of Health and Human Services, said the Trump administration’s sweeping cuts to public health grants eliminated a contract between the state health department and 44 of the state’s 45 local departments that funded 123 full-time employees.

Those cuts also affected the state’s disease surveillance labs, “reducing funding for equipment maintenance contracts, data modernization, and the ability to innovate laboratory processes during emerging disease response,” Stebbins said.

Some of that funding was restored after Michigan against the Trump administration. But Washtenaw’s health department still had to scale back some disease surveillance and outbreak response work. Currently, employees who leave or retire aren’t replaced, except for those on the nursing team, which is hiring but still understaffed.

The county’s , which aims to reduce health disparities, including in mental health, was shuttered suddenly in early 2025. Nearly a year later, it resumed its work, with funding at least through this September.

An employee from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention had been stationed at the department. During the funding chaos, the worker was fired, then rehired, then furloughed.

The federal response to cyclosporiasis has felt frustratingly slow, according to Christina Zilke, a nursing supervisor at the Washtenaw health department.

“It took them forever to say that this was lettuce, and fast-food restaurants were taking it off the shelves before the CDC ever said what it was,” she said.

During a July 14 press call, the deputy director of the CDC’s Division of Foodborne, Waterborne, and Environmental Diseases, Gwen Biggerstaff, said it’s not unusual for it to take a specific source for cyclosporiasis — if it’s identified at all. That’s partly due to the lag time between exposure and the appearance of symptoms, and the complexity of tracing this particular parasite.

Meanwhile, Zilke’s been stocking the coffee station and bringing in pizza, trying to keep up staff morale. It’s not a reward, she said. “It’s more like: ‘Here’s some food for survival. Here’s a break so you don’t quit.’”

Kim, for her part, remains enthusiastic about the job but said it’s been a surreal introduction to a public health career — first measles, now cyclospora.

“If nationally they don’t know what’s going on, how are we locally expected to know what’s going on?” she said. “And also just frustrating to be, like, ‘Wow, I don’t think even our government knows how important public health is.’”

But there’s no time to dwell. She has to move on to the next call, as soon as she can wrap up this one. She gives each person her work number, so people can call or text with any follow-up questions.

This article first appeared on Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and is republished here under a .

But behind the house, the 44-year-old’s backyard garden showcases her goals for the future, one that involves a long, healthy life with her kids: collard greens, bell peppers, onions, tomatoes, red and white potatoes, kale.

Like Lowery, many in the small towns of Lumberton and nearby Pembroke are citizens of the Lumbee Tribe who have dealt with heart conditions. The mother of four struggled with obesity and had to take insulin pills and shots daily. By when her first grandchild was born, in 2024, Lowery imagined her own life ending the way her biological father’s did: Daily insulin shots for diabetes. Kidney dialysis treatments at home. Dead of a heart attack at 63. She wanted her grandkids to remember her.

“If I don’t get this weight off me, if I don’t change my eating habits, it’s going to take me over,” she recalled thinking.

So, she expanded her garden. She cut fatty foods and sugary drinks out of her diet, stopped eating fried and fast food, and started moving more. She lost 120 pounds in two years and weaned herself off the daily insulin pills.

The Lumbee Tribe of North Carolina late last year became the 575th tribe to secure federal recognition as a sovereign nation, a milestone that leaders and citizens celebrated in tears. The designation provides federal funding for an array of services, including for healthcare. , chairman of the tribe and a state representative, “the biggest benefit” would be access to the Indian Health Service — its clinics and hospitals, as well as funding that it could provide for the tribe to .

But Lumbee researchers and healthcare providers say that money won’t be enough. For decades, IHS has been , with the agency’s budget workgroup estimating that of what it needs this year. And that was before the Trump administration’s cuts to other federal agencies further pinched IHS. Slashes to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention last year initially included laying off nearly , and President Donald Trump’s proposed 2027 budget cuts more than $150 million for a in Native American tribes.

The nearest IHS facility is more than a two-hour drive to another state for most of the 55,000 Lumbee citizens in Robeson County. The county is one of the and has some of the .

The Congressional Budget Office in 2022 estimated that the tribe could increase IHS spending by .

The tribe will have to rely on other revenue sources that are now allowed through recognition, such as a casino, to reverse the health disparities their people have faced for decades, Lumbee researchers said.

“None of us can depend on IHS alone, because we just don’t have the resources within that system,” said , a physician, a researcher at the Johns Hopkins Center for Indigenous Health, and a member of the Oglala Lakota tribe. “But it’s a great starting point.”

The IHS did not respond to questions about plans for the tribe’s health system. John Lowery did not respond to requests for an interview or a list of questions, but he said on a June podcast that he expected healthcare to be the .

‘Not Just Statistics’

Eighteen years ago, , a doctor in Lumberton and a citizen of the tribe, was working at a nearby medical center. There, she said, she was taught that patients with certain last names “are often referred directly to cardiac catheterization,” a procedure to diagnose heart conditions.

Blackburn said she realized that common Lumbee surnames carried an expectation of disease.

“Nearly two decades later, I can tell you that reality has not changed,” she told assembled tribal leadership and citizens at a public hearing.

Robeson County’s rates of heart disease, diabetes, and continue to rank among the highest in the state, Blackburn noted. In 2025, were Medicaid enrollees, the highest percentage of all counties in the state.

“But these are not just statistics to me,” she said. “These are my patients. These are our families.”

For Angie Lowery, breaking free from those statistics meant taking her health into her own hands.

She hopes a healthy diet is the answer to breaking her family’s cycle and living long enough to form relationships with her grandkids. And she brought the rest of the family with her. Her teenage daughter lost about 35 pounds. Two of her other children are now “health fanatics,” Lowery said.

Her granddaughter will be 2 in November. One Sunday morning in March, Lowery served up macaroni, cauliflower, and chickpeas for her as they spent the day together.

Lowery had supported building a casino, believing it would provide better education, infrastructure, and healthcare for her family.

“That vote, I’m thinking of my children’s future,” she said.

Casino Dreams in Limbo

Tribal citizens are deeply divided over how to reverse decades of economic decline that have led to poor living conditions, unaffordable health services, and chronic disease.

Four months after Trump signed the Lumbee Fairness Act — “I love the Lumbee Tribe” — tribal leaders gathered at a business meeting to take the first steps toward building a casino and establishing gaming as a new revenue source. Hundreds of federally recognized tribes across 29 states have used gaming as a source of revenue, in fiscal 2024, according to the latest report from the National Indian Gaming Commission.

The approach has been popular among tribal nations looking for more dollars to build up healthcare. The Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma in 1999 to build its own hospital, using roughly $25 million in gaming money, and the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians in western North Carolina funded its own hospital in 2015 mostly with $82 million in gaming funds.

But the Lumbee Tribe’s effort to establish a casino collapsed in June.

rejected a Lumbee constitutional amendment that would have allowed tribal leaders to create infrastructure needed for a gaming business. John Lowery said that he doesn’t plan on bringing back the initiative now that it was rejected “by the majority of Lumbee voters.” His term as chairman ends in two years.

Other funding sources to provide health services for the tribe could include gas stations or hotels, he said in a call with citizens before the vote.

Lumbee and other Native health researchers said they believe a twofold system — using IHS money and additional revenue — is necessary. Funds from gaming could compensate for what IHS can’t support.

Casinos’ impact on tribal health has been debated in research for decades. that the money from gaming helps tribes build more facilities, hire more doctors, and improve social services, but unhealthy substance use and smoking increase.

“There’s going to be negative impacts,” , a social work professor at the University of North Carolina and citizen of the Lumbee Tribe, said at a June panel discussion on gaming.

, 62, a Lumbee citizen and a researcher studying Native health at UNC, said the community has felt ripple effects from systemic racism, having not been acknowledged as a tribal nation for so long, and the economic downturn following the loss of Robeson County’s manufacturing and tobacco jobs.

That history plays a part in the health statistics in Robeson today, Bell said. But with federal recognition, he said, the Lumbee people have achieved a victory they’ve fought for since 1888.

“I think about the resilience of the Lumbee people and how they’ve gone through this 100-plus-year fight for federal recognition,” Bell said. “I sort of see that as a continuation of this resilience, and how now we have this opportunity with federal recognition to bring in resources to help address those issues.”

Resolution and Uncertainty

Jada Brooks, a Lumbee citizen and UNC researcher who studies Indigenous health and lives in Robeson County, is conducting a study about heart health among Lumbee women. The initiative includes classes in which Lumbee women ages 18 to 50 signed up to discuss their health. That’s where she met Angie Lowery, who talked about her lifestyle changes with the group.

“I was just floored by, like, just the extent to which she went,” Brooks said.

She and other Lumbee researchers said federal recognition allows Lumbee citizens to be set apart in census data, paving a way to get clear information on heart health, cancer rates, diabetes diagnoses, and mental health risks.

“There’s challenges in even understanding the nuances of these complex health disparities, because a lot of data isn’t out there,” said Ryan Dial, a public health researcher at UNC and a member of the Lumbee Tribe.

But access and confidence may be the biggest barriers Lumbee people will have to overcome, Brooks said.

“I think what really matters is people feeling like they can trust the healthcare system.”

Brooks said she worried that a casino would encourage bad health habits, such as smoking and drinking.

“Let’s not create more problems for ourselves than we already have,” she said. She voted against the casino.

Like others in the tribe, Angie Lowery believes in her people’s power to help themselves, regardless of whether government steps in to help.

“Just because we’re federally recognized don’t mean that the doors are going to open up and money’s going to fall through the door like dirt,” she said.

This article first appeared on Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and is republished here under a .

The federal government is capping the amount graduate students can borrow. The Department of Education says the new rules are designed to help curb student debt and pressure schools to lower tuition. But some loan experts fear those good intentions could leave many at the mercy of private lenders with higher interest rates. Saddling healthcare graduate students with pricier debt burdens can narrow their career choices.

Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News correspondent Lauren Sausser joined WAMU’s Health Hub on July 22 to explain how the loan caps could make healthcare provider shortages worse or compromise the diversity of the workforce. Plus, she discusses how some states are pushing back against the new rules.

This article first appeared on Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and is republished here under a .

For the first time in a quarter century, the U.S. no longer meets a main criterion for having eliminated measles as a public health threat. That status hinges on sporadic outbreaks fizzling out within a year. Utah’s outbreak has lasted for longer, since .

Nearly 400 people have been hospitalized with measles in the U.S. this year and last, three people have died, and at least three suffered with .

This month, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention is set to finalize a comprehensive study of the nation’s measles situation, examining data from January 2025 through June 2026.

“I don’t think we could say with a straight face that there hasn’t been transmission over the past 12 months,” said a CDC scientist with knowledge of the agency’s measles report. (Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News agreed not to name the researcher, who is concerned about retaliation.) The researcher said a national committee of measles specialists will review the CDC’s internal report, which then goes to the Pan American Health Organization, a group that evaluates the measles elimination status of countries throughout North, South, and Central America and the Caribbean.

PAHO will make at an annual meeting this fall, but scientists say the writing is on the wall. “The assessment for elimination isn’t until November, but that is a scheduling issue, basically,” said Anne Schuchat, who led the CDC’s immunization and respiratory disease group from 2006 to 2015.

“It’s just so sad, because some people will get brutally ill,” she said of measles’ return. “This is a wake-up call.”

Pediatricians in Utah have been on the front lines as measles and other vaccine-preventable ailments have returned to the U.S. In interviews with Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News, six doctors shared insights on this new era of vaccine hesitancy — and what could be done to turn the situation around.

The conversations have been edited for clarity.

On Unvaccinated Children Hospitalized With Measles Complications

Emilie Morris, a hospital pediatrician in Salt Lake County and Utah County: When children come in, they’re often bent over. We call it tripoding, which is particular to upper respiratory infections and airway swelling. They have a rash — viruses cause rashes all the time — but in this context, the kid is hunched over, mouth open, drooling, crying, maybe not even producing tears, because they’re so dehydrated. Really labored breathing, kind of tugging in their belly, tugging between their ribs. Their eyes look kind of glazed over. It’s like they’re seeing through you.

Nathan Money, a hospital pediatrician in Salt Lake County and Utah County: If the child has a fever or trouble breathing, and they’re unvaccinated, I have to be way more aggressive from a medical standpoint, because they are at higher risk of having life-threatening illnesses. I have to do more blood work, or lumbar punctures to rule out meningitis. I have to do things which are painful, and it’s traumatic for the families.

I tell them, “Because your child doesn’t have vaccines, I have to be more worried about conditions like sepsis or meningitis, so therefore I need to do more workup.” The last thing I want to do is miss something. These are parents who love their children. They always tell me, “Do what you need to do to make sure my child is safe.”

On Treating Unvaccinated Children Hospitalized for Measles

Trahern W. Jones, a pediatric infectious disease specialist based in Salt Lake City: So I’m coming into a room and just hearing the most awful barking cough, just a cough and a high-pitch stridor as the child is trying to breathe. And he’s just coughing so hard it just makes you feel short of breath. He looks like he’s been beaten down for days, but he can’t rest, because the cough keeps him awake.

The parents tell me they’re not anti-vaccine, but in the past, somebody they know had a reaction to a vaccine — or something they thought was a reaction to a vaccine — and so they paused vaccines when the child was a baby. They were planning to catch up later.

In another case, the parent was stunned by how awful it was. I asked them what they knew about measles before their child was sick, and they said the only person who’d ever taught them anything about measles was their grandmother who had taken care of her kids with measles ages ago. That’s something I’ve heard from other parents. It’s such an awful illness. Even the best possible course is going to be one of the worst diseases most children ever go through.

There are multiple facets to it. Physically, the child has been beat down for multiple days by this virus. The parents don’t get to sleep, because they’re nursing their child. Then there’s the emotional component because the parent is regretting not getting the vaccine, not realizing how bad this was, and then feeling deeply ashamed, trying to reconcile with family members who are really upset at them for not getting their child vaccinated.

Morris: One child was from a family that was uninsured because they didn’t feel that they would need to use the medical system. They were faced with the high burden of cost of our healthcare system. The cost was playing into the parents’ decision on whether or not their child should receive necessary medical care. I said something like: “Please don’t go home. Your child needs oxygen. She has pneumonia. We will figure out a way to pay for this, because we acknowledge what we do is expensive.”

On top of that, the parent had several other children in the home who weren’t vaccinated. It was past the period where we could intervene with vaccines to try to prevent infection, so then our recommendation was to quarantine their children at home for 21 days: “Don’t interact with anybody else in your community. Don’t go to the grocery store, even with a mask. Please take this seriously.”

It takes time for parents to understand the level of concern I have, even when their child is physically ill in the hospital requiring ongoing care. It’s pretty indicative of the breakdown of trust between physicians and families. I say, “This is the gravity or severity of your child’s situation and how serious we need to be about protecting other people.”

It’s frustrating. How can I make people understand I have a very genuine concern for their child? And I know they share that concern, but maybe it’s not the same degree of concern, because they don’t understand the illness and how severe it can become.

Money: It’s heartbreaking to see these children struggling to survive when measles could have been easily prevented by a safe mechanism that is readily available and well studied. These are well-meaning parents who love their children, who have gotten bad information from federal leadership or from online sources. The saddest part to me is when I am caring for a child and the parent says, “I didn’t know that this could get so bad.”

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On Conversations With Parents Who Don’t Vaccinate Their Children

Tim Duffy, a pediatrician in Salt Lake County: A lot of families aren’t aggressively anti-vax, but they’re hesitant. Younger parents who grew up in the digital age have done their research — “research” in quotation marks — for months. And they keep getting confirmation of their concerns on social media. They think they’re doing what’s best for their child.

I’ve told families: “You could do nothing I say as a pediatrician. You could sleep your child on their stomach. You could not put them in a car seat or, when they’re older, not use seat belts. You could do nothing I say, and for your individual child, they will probably be OK. But from my standpoint, where I’m taking care of thousands of kids, within a system that takes care of hundreds of thousands of kids, we will have bad outcomes. These children will show up at our facilities, and it’s so sad.”

Pediatrician in southern Utah whom Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News agreed not to name, because of concerns about harassment after being targeted by anti-vaccine activists in the past: A lot of parents are concerned about autism. I’ve told them that I’d be very concerned if there was any evidence that what we’re doing is causing autism. But if vaccines were causing autism, we should see more cases of autism in vaccinated kids compared to unvaccinated kids, and we’re just not seeing that.

I’ve also had families who say they want to be natural, or that they’re concerned about what is in the shots. A frequently asked question is: “Did you vaccinate your children?” I say that knowing what I know, I’m confident giving this to my kids. They’re all vaccinated.

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On the Influence of Politics on Vaccine Hesitancy

Jones: Vaccines have become a political football. That wasn’t true 20 years ago. But now it’s used to drive a wedge between groups of people, which is unfortunate. Vaccines are one of the main reasons why we don’t have to worry about losing our kids.

Southern Utah pediatrician: People don’t know who to believe. If politics comes up, I tell parents that my messaging on vaccines is not politically motivated. When parents ask about changes to the vaccine schedule, I’m transparent. [In January, the Department of Health and Human Services reducing the number of vaccines given to children. A few months later, a federal judge blocked those changes.]

I’ve said there was a process for the approval of immunizations through ACIP [the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices], which is made up of scientists, public health experts, and doctors, and all those people were let go, and a new panel was selected. A couple of individuals changed the recommendation outside of the time-tested, evidence-based process for evaluating vaccines. That raises concerns for me as a doctor. I tell parents that the American Academy of Pediatrics, the American Academy of Family Physicians, and several other professional organizations have issued statements saying that these changes are not based on evidence.

Ellie Brownstein, a pediatrician in Salt Lake County and president-elect of the Utah chapter of the American Academy of Pediatrics: I avoid talking about politics, but what’s being said has added another layer to our work. One family asked me about changes to vaccine recommendations, so instead of just telling them what immunizations are due, I talk with them about why physicians and researchers have followed a different schedule for years, about the reasoning and the science behind it. I explain that I trust these experts over someone without a lot of experience.

Money: People are not vaccinated, because they’ve lost trust in the medical community. They’re placing trust elsewhere. Rebuilding trust is a complicated process, but it comes from consistent messaging at every level, from the pediatrician to local health departments to community leaders, city leadership, district leadership, religious leadership, educational leadership.

We need consistent messaging from state leadership, which has been pretty absent. I want to see commercials on TV about the safety of the MMR [measles, mumps, and rubella] vaccine and the dangers of the measles, sponsored by my state leadership. I’d like to see this on billboards and in schools, in public buildings and grocery stores. I want to go to a sports event and see messages about the measles and the MMR vaccine. Right now, people have to go out of their way to find information from reputable sources.

We also need policy changes to support vaccination. 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.

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Advice on Talking With Parents Who Don’t Vaccinate Their Children

Jones: Approach them with as much compassion as you possibly can. Ask open-ended questions to learn about their experiences that led them to have these concerns. I think it’s really important to not come down on them, citing facts and figures and pointing to guidelines on why they need to get their kids vaccinated. But try to direct their attention to the fact that you’re a real person with your own real experiences and knowledge. I point out to families that I have my own kids, and I would never recommend something for your kids that I wouldn’t do for mine.

Southern Utah pediatrician: I’ve learned that if you come down hard, you’re going to lose people who need care. My number one goal now is to build bridges and maintain a relationship with families, because that’s what’s going to allow me to convince some of them.

I approach people differently depending on where they are. Parents who are very skeptical or anti-vax will say no when I tell them their child is due for immunizations. I’ll say: “Fine. You guys get to choose. You’re the parents. But I’m curious to know what your reasoning is.” Sometimes they’re just like, “It’s something I’ve decided.” They don’t want to have a conversation.

It’s a good day if I can have a conversation with someone who doesn’t want to vaccinate, even if I don’t convince them. I try to help them think through things rather than shoving anything down their throat. When they’re done talking, I’ll ask, “Can I share my perspectives on this?” Some will say yes enthusiastically, and others will say yes because they’re being polite.

A lot of parents aren’t sure what to do, and those are the people I focus most of my time on. I focus our conversation on their specific concerns, and I’m open about specific side effects that different immunizations can have. For example, I’ll tell them that some children get a fever after a vaccine, which is OK. The fever is not harmful, but it can make babies feel crummy as their body is building up antibodies against viruses and bacteria.

Brownstein: I don’t like the idea of excluding unvaccinated kids from my practice. I know some do that. But what that does is it ends any future discussion. I can’t keep talking with parents about vaccines if I kick them out of my practice, and if these parents find like-minded doctors, this situation will get worse.

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On Being on the Front Lines of Measles’ Comeback in the U.S.

Money: I wish that people could see what I see. Everyone else sees what people post on Instagram. Or they think, “Someone I know had measles when they were a kid and they were fine.” But as a hospital-based pediatrician, I see what happens when things go poorly. I see what happens when children with measles aren’t able to breathe on their own, and they’re in a hospital bed with a cannula in their nose, struggling to breathe, an IV in their arm because they can’t drink on their own. And the child is terrified, and the parents are scared that their child might die.

It’s heartbreaking as a pediatrician and as a father to know that the entire situation could have been easily prevented.

Duffy: Even though parents say vaccination is their choice, I still feel personally responsible if something bad happens that’s preventable, because I feel like I didn’t say the right thing, I didn’t ask the right questions. Maybe I let it drop because of the look on a parent’s face.

Morris: Every pediatrician I know cares so deeply about what they do. Sometimes people forget that we are human beings practicing this discipline, and we bring all our concerns for our community into this space. I’m trying to navigate a lot of complex human emotions, like how it feels to hold grief with a family when something bad happens that was preventable — which is the worst situation, because you think, “Could I have done something differently?”

Jones: I think we’ll see more diseases start coming back that we thought we had gotten rid of. I think it’s going to take dramatic changes to actually prevent those outcomes. I’m not necessarily seeing those changes being done by those in power.

I think of that quote from The Lord of the Rings. It’s something like, you don’t get to choose the time that you’re born into, but you get to choose what you’re going to do about it. And if there’s any comfort that I have, it’s in knowing that there are right decisions to make and that I’m going to make them, and I’m going to help others make them, too.

This article first appeared on Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and is republished here under a .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hilton has said he would do just that if elected.

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

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

This year, Hawai‘i to its existing shield laws. And Oregon , including banning law enforcement from cooperating with out-of-state or federal investigations into care that’s legal in the state.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This article first appeared on Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and is republished here under a .