If you or someone you know may be experiencing a mental health crisis, contact the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline by dialing or texting “988.”

Eight days before my 33rd birthday in April, a social worker at a crisis clinic near Denver determined I was an imminent danger to myself. She placed me on an involuntary 72-hour mental health hold.

What came next wasn’t treatment, but a search for a bed. Clinic staffers called area hospitals with inpatient psychiatric units, asking if they had available beds. They didn’t. So, I was told I had to spend the night at the clinic, which is open 24/7. I settled into a recliner, trying to make myself comfortable as my mind drifted in a blank, disassociated haze. Sleep came in brief bursts.

Since the 1950s, the United States has seen a nationwide due in part to deinstitutionalization and the rise of antipsychotics. But that has created a critical shortage for those needing help. From 2011 to 2023, the number of hospitals with inpatient psychiatric units , according to a 2025 study. Another study from that year found that this country has 28.4 inpatient psychiatric beds per 100,000 people — not even half the 60-bed ratio researchers frequently refer to as the .

The shortage has created what the American Psychiatric Association : emergency rooms overwhelmed with people suffering from severe mental health illnesses, inpatient stays prematurely shortened to speed up bed turnover, and acutely ill individuals left without critical care.

“Where are these people going?” said , an assistant health policy professor at Rutgers University, who co-authored those 2025 studies. “For people who don’t receive this care, they don’t just go away. How is it affecting them? Society? Their families?”

Meanwhile, the White House shut down the part of the national suicide hotline catering to LGBTQ+ youth, President Donald Trump’s 2027 budget proposal calls for cuts to agencies , and Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. recently announced a plan to .”

A Fractured System

I was already intimately familiar with the country’s fractured mental healthcare system before I was involuntarily committed. What I had yet to experience myself, I saw through my wife: waitlists, outpatient programs stretched beyond capacity, and inpatient psychiatric care so scarce that access often depends on surviving a crisis severe enough to justify it.

She died by suicide after we had separated.

As the years passed, grief and anxiety pushed me from observer to patient.

At the crisis clinic, I woke up the following morning disoriented and groggy. In the bathroom — its door deliberately unable to latch, swinging both ways so staffers could enter in case of an emergency — I stood at the sink and watched the faucet run, trying to piece together how I had ended up here.

America’s history of treating mental illness is long and complicated.

The 19th and 20th centuries saw the removal of people with severe mental disorders from jails and — squalid facilities designed to house the poor — to state asylums that (though they ultimately became ). From the 1860s to the 1930s, the number of psychiatric hospitals increased dramatically, according to the American Psychiatric Association, and by 1955, the number of psychiatric beds in the U.S. peaked at more than half a million.

However, owing to the development of antipsychotics, the belief that psychiatric institutions were inhumane, and President John F. Kennedy’s 1963 to free thousands of Americans from a life in institutions, many state hospitals shut down. An estimated for adults and kids are left in a country where more than 14 million experience severe mental illness each year.

Two years after JFK’s legislation passed, a new policy prohibited federal Medicaid funds from covering inpatient psychiatric care in facilities . The goal was to encourage states to move patients out of large, often substandard psychiatric institutions into community-based care settings.

The consequences of these changes, however, have been far-ranging. People with severe mental illnesses are often forced to as they wait for a bed to open. The length of stay in state psychiatric hospitals , according to research by the Treatment Advocacy Center, a national organization focused on eliminating barriers to the treatment of severe mental illness. And some people with mental illness .

From 1986 to 2014, as the behavioral health crisis intensified, mental health expenditures in the U.S. rose from $32 billion to $186 billion — though the proportion of that spending allocated to inpatient care .

This period also recorded major policy shifts affecting inpatient hospitalization rates, notably the 1999 U.S. Supreme Court decision in Olmstead v. L.C. The ruling shifted care away from psychiatric facilities by mandating states to people with developmental and mental disabilities.

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” said Leslie Carpenter, legislative advocacy manager at the Treatment Advocacy Center. “A lot of these bills, including the Community Mental Health Act, were really well intended and ended up with adverse consequences.”

For me, that next day at the clinic passed both painfully slowly and in a blur. A staff member I hadn’t met before told me they were still reaching out to hospitals across the region. The search for a bed continued.

‘No One Wants To Pay for Any of This Care’

Last year, members of Congress introduced two bills to change the 16-bed Medicaid funding cap at inpatient psychiatric facilities, the and the , which would increase the cap to 36 beds. Both have stalled in the House.

According to the Congressional Budget Office, a federal agency that analyzes budgetary and economic issues, eliminating the 16-bed limit would increase Medicaid expenditures from 2024 to 2033.

“No one wants to pay for any of this care that people need,” said Colorado state Sen. , a Democrat who has witnessed limitations to Colorado’s mental healthcare system firsthand because her son has schizoaffective disorder.

In lieu of federal action, states are stepping up to bridge the gaps.

Colorado, 15 other states, and Washington, D.C., now operate under waivers allowing Medicaid to fund inpatient facilities for mental health treatment, according to KFF data. Seven additional states have waivers pending. One 2025 study found that these waivers may be tied to fewer hospitalizations, emergency department visits, and incarcerations .

Yet even local efforts to improve mental healthcare face resistance. In California, Colorado, Iowa, Missouri, Nebraska, and New York, locals have pushed back against proposed psychiatric facilities for minors, claiming such facilities will worsen safety and lower property values. Behavioral health advocates have disputed these claims and argued they are rooted in stigma.

That psychiatric facility in Colorado was . The state has nearly 20 inpatient beds per 100,000 people, , according to 2022 data across all 50 states plus Washington, D.C., collected by the Treatment Advocacy Center. Wyoming ranked first with 47.3 beds per 100,000 residents, although, as the least populous state, it has only 275 total inpatient beds compared with California’s 5,703. Minnesota ranked last, with only 4.3 inpatient beds per 100,000 residents.

While increasing the number of inpatient psychiatric beds is vital, mental health advocates are also calling for , such as peer support specialists and clubhouses, where people with serious mental illnesses can learn life skills and find community.

When it came time for me to use our mental health safety net, I was among the fortunate ones: At noon the day after my hold began, a bed opened at a hospital in Denver — a rare stroke of luck in a system in which many people wait days or weeks for the care they need. An ambulance transferred me to the hospital at 3 p.m., marking 21 hours into my 72-hour hold.

Two days later, on my last day at the psychiatric hospital, I stood outside the nurse’s station awaiting discharge papers.

A man I had not seen before looked at me and asked, “Are you leaving?”

“Yes,” I said. “Are you being admitted?”

“Yeah,” he responded. “This is my third time being hospitalized in a year.”

I shook his hand. “Good luck,” I said, and I walked out the door.

This <a target="_blank" href="/health-industry/psychiatric-bed-shortage-overburdened-health-system/">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;">

We’re expecting our first baby boy in end of August. And when I think about what it’s going to feel like to take care of my wife and my new son and my mom, it’s a bit overwhelming.

If you are taking care of a child and you have a parent over 65, you’re among millions across the U.S. in the same life stage.

Nearly a quarter of all American adults — and half of all adults in their 40s — fall into this “sandwich generation” category, . And being in the middle of that sandwich can feel … intense.

“I have kind of prided myself on being self-sufficient. And in this season of life, that’s almost been laughable,” said Jason McAnally, a Nashville father of two who helps care for his aging dad.

HealthQ hosts Cara Anthony of Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and Blake Farmer of Nashville Public Radio, both in the sandwich generation themselves, are your approachable guides to an unapproachable healthcare system. In this one-hour special about navigating health and caregiving, they tap researchers, physicians, experts, and their own personal experience to explore:

• Identity: When to start calling yourself a caregiver, and why it matters.
• FMLA: How to start a conversation with your boss about taking federally protected leave from work.
• Kids and mental health: How to know it’s time to take an anxious child to therapy.
• Early-onset cancer: What you need to know about spotting diseases that are on the rise among people under 50.

The HealthQ team acknowledges the messiness, the humor, and the beauty of this season of life. Come on the journey with us.

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This installment is part of HealthQ’s reporting on caregiving among the sandwich generation. For more, check out the series archive.

HealthQ is a health series from reporters Cara Anthony and Blake Farmer, approachable guides to an unapproachable healthcare system. It’s a collaboration between Nashville Public Radio and Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News.

This <a target="_blank" href="/aging/healthq-special-sandwich-generation-caregiving-fmla-early-onset-cancer/">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;">

If you or someone you know may be experiencing a mental health crisis, contact the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline by dialing or texting “988.”

QUINCY, Calif. — When Taletha Washburn and the staff at Plumas Charter School first heard that California wanted to help schools treat more kids struggling with mental health, it felt like a well-timed remedy for a rural community where families struggle to find care.

Getting the program funding up and running, however, has proved difficult.

Employees spent two years “spinning our wheels,” attending state-led webinars, filling out countless forms, and researching electronic health record systems to prepare, said Washburn, the school’s executive director. When they reached out for assistance, she said, they waited months for a state response.

The school received its first reimbursement check in April. Washburn said the school has been reimbursed $8,000 and has at least $12,000 in outstanding claims. For a program Washburn had thought could be a game changer in her small rural town, it’s been a disappointing bust.

Plumas Charter is among roughly 1,000 public schools, community colleges, and universities that participate in Gov. Gavin Newsom’s first-in-the-nation initiative requiring that health insurance companies reimburse them for on-campus behavioral healthcare. California schools have been adding counselors, therapists, and psychiatrists to provide services where young people spend most of their time, making mental health treatment more accessible to kids whose families might have spent months waiting to see private therapists.

Five years after the program’s launch, Washburn and other California school officials say they have encountered a rollout fraught with inadequate guidance from the state, an incomplete billing infrastructure, a lack of standardized forms, and persistent delays signing up and getting paid. More than half of California’s school systems and colleges don’t participate in the billing program. Of those that do, fewer than one-fifth as of June 1, according to the latest state data.

The program hasn’t come close to bringing in the half-billion dollars in promised revenue to cover the salaries of thousands of counselors, therapists, and wellness coaches, many of whom school districts hired with a deluge of federal covid pandemic funding. As a result, schools across California have issued amid local budget cuts.

“One of the things that makes people hate government is when we make a promise and then we struggle to keep that promise because we can’t get the administrative part of it up and running,” said state lawmaker Dawn Addis, a former special education teacher and Democrat who has criticized the program’s slow implementation.

Newsom’s office declined to make the governor available for an interview for this article. At a May press conference to release his final state budget proposal, the Democratic governor pointed to the “unprecedented” initiative, saying “no other state in the nation has done more.”

“We have a lot more work to do to deal with the crisis of our time,” Newsom said. “Making investments in wellness, not just physical health, but mental health for our kids, is a good investment.”

He did not answer when asked whether he considered the program a success.

Tom Insel, the former head of the National Institute of Mental Health, who has advised Newsom, said the rocky rollout, in many ways, reflects the groundbreaking nature of what California is trying to do. Still, given the level of investment so far, he too had expected clearer evidence of dramatic improvement.

“What we struggle with in California is: We spend the money, but we don’t always see the outcomes. It’s sobering to realize, especially as an advocate, that you could actually get the programs, get the money, get everything that you want from the policy side, but the execution just isn’t there.”

A First-in-the-Nation Plan?

In 2021, 1 in 10 high school students nationwide said they’d attempted suicide, by then the second-leading cause of death for young people ages 10 to 24.

In response, Newsom announced a “Master Plan for Kids’ Mental Health,” promising an overhaul of California’s behavioral health system that he said would be transformative. National mental health experts said Newsom’s initiative was the most ambitious attempt of any state to tackle a youth mental health crisis that had metastasized during the pandemic.

The state funneled $730 million in one-time funding into workforce efforts, such as campaigns to recruit mental health workers and programs to repay student loans. An additional $220 million has gone to facilitate partnerships between local governments and school officials, and $381 million was distributed in grants to schools and community groups for facilities or services, according to an analysis of program funding by Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News.

The state has spent roughly $532 million to date on digital apps designed to connect families with counseling and provide a consultation service for primary care physicians handling behavioral health issues outside their expertise, while an additional $232 million has gone toward state operations and program evaluations.

And the state has added 1,855 school counselors since 2021, according to statistics from the American School Counselor Association, which in recent years has integrated mental health into professional standards. That’s well below the 10,000 Newsom had pledged by the end of this year as part of his initiative.

The of Newsom’s Children and Youth Behavioral Health Initiative focused on schools and was designed to increase behavioral health services on campus — at no cost to families. Schools would be able to bill health insurers, who would be required to reimburse them.

Some $1.3 billion — nearly a third of the total investment — has gone toward setting up campus wellness centers, new billing infrastructure, and beefing up school-based mental health support in other ways.

Filing claims became an administrative nightmare for schools unfamiliar with the complex world of medical billing.

In February 2025, when the Fresno County Office of Education launched its medical billing, it felt “like building the plane while flying it,” Trina Frazier, assistant superintendent of student services, told lawmakers in a public hearing a couple of months later. The delays were so acute that lawmakers last year authorized $20 million in grants to Fresno and 170 other school systems so they wouldn’t have to lay off newly hired mental health staffers while waiting for reimbursements.

Anaheim Elementary School District in Orange County, which state officials called a “champion” of the program, has recouped more than $1.1 million since its 23 campuses began billing student insurance in February 2025, said program specialist Shirley Diaz.

Still, that accounts for less than 30% of the behavioral health services the district has provided to students over that time. It’s not just the complexity of medical billing that has hampered the claims process. Parents have also been reluctant to provide health insurance information in the largely Latino district, where residents have been fearful of immigration raids carried out by the Trump administration.

To help administer claims across California, the state signed a $65 million contract with Carelon Behavioral Health, a service , one of the nation’s largest health insurers. But schools have struggled to get claims cleared, and many have spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to troubleshoot and bill claims.

As of June 1, the Boston-based administrator has approved about 232,100 claims totaling more than $11.3 million to 186 school districts and educational agencies, according to the Department of Health Care Services.

That’s a small fraction of the thousands of entities the state had hoped would participate and far from the $500 million a year state officials told schools the program could eventually provide for school-based mental health services.

“We probably were given the impression that this was going to happen more quickly and now there’s this reality of a kind of slow growth,” said Amy Blackshaw, behavioral health project director for the California School-Based Health Alliance.

Carelon contract manager Christina Kim declined to comment to Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and referred questions to the state. Autumn Boylan, deputy director of the Office of Strategic Partnerships at DHCS, said staff members incorporated early feedback from school districts and extended claim deadlines, loosened onboarding requirements, and hosted webinars and office hours. But changes of this magnitude, she said, take time.

“We’re trying to help the school districts increase their scale,” Boylan told lawmakers at a May 4 hearing. “It’s not a problem of claims being submitted and not paid. It’s a problem of claims not yet being submitted for payment.”

Boylan noted the volume of reimbursements has increased exponentially since the first claims were filed in November 2024.

Meanwhile, children and youths continue to struggle and have trouble accessing care. In 2024, nearly ages 12-17, for example, reported delaying or skipping mental healthcare because they couldn’t get an appointment, while 1 in 4 teens said they did so because of cost, up from roughly 6.5% the previous year, according to data from the California Health Interview Survey.

The share of young adults 18-24 who reported ever seriously considering suicide has stabilized but remains higher than pre-pandemic, according to the annual survey, conducted by the UCLA Center for Health Policy Research.

And while the suicide rate among Californians ages 12-25 has dropped from its high in 2021, this mirrors national trends, and state rates for female and Black youths increased from 2023 to 2024. “We have to have high expectations that when we invest in the magnitude of billions as this program did, we would have results to show,” said Assembly member David Alvarez, a Democrat in San Diego.

Other states have taken note of California’s implementation difficulties, some adopting a few strategies rather than the dozens California chose to roll out at once, said Sharon Hoover, formerly the co-director of the National Center for School Mental Health at the University of Maryland. Illinois, for instance, has focused on universal mental health screenings for schoolchildren while Colorado has expanded coverage of some behavioral health services for youths who lack a formal diagnosis.

“It’s always hard to be first, and someone has to be brave enough and hopeful enough to take that leap,” Hoover said.

Launching its reimbursement program before billing infrastructure was in place, Hoover said, created momentum but also posed challenges to school districts and providers. Still, she added, Newsom’s focus on prevention and early intervention became one of the biggest national policy shifts in years.

“We’re going to look back on this thinking it was one of the most progressive actions in the history of public systems,” said Alex Briscoe, a principal at the nonprofit Public Works Alliance who has pushed for system reform in kids’ mental health. “We spent a significant amount of money preparing for it. I just don’t think we did that very well or strategically.”

Rural Schools Struggle Most

Students at Plumas Charter School had endured a relentless wave of trauma by fall 2021. Wildfires, covid shutdowns, and, weeks into the school year, a car accident that killed a classmate and left two others severely injured. Teachers saw signs of depression, anxiety, and frequent outbursts among their K-12 students. Nine kids that year reported considering suicide, an all-time high.

So, the school hired a full-time therapist and wellness coach with temporary federal funds.

Senior Will Coelho wasn’t there for any of it, but by the time he arrived in the remote California logging town of Quincy a year later, he’d been through plenty of his own loss.

Days before the pandemic lockdowns, a friend had died in a . Isolated at home, Coelho struggled to process his grief, he said. That year, his stepfather became increasingly violent and, after a bitter, years-long custody fight, Coelho left the Central Valley to move in with his dad in the remote town in Northern California, just weeks before starting high school.

One day, he found himself chatting with a faculty adviser, the new kid half-joking about therapy. At her suggestion, Coelho started seeing the school therapist weekly, on campus and free of charge.

“It has had a large impact on the way I process emotions and my outlook on life,” he said.

Behind the scenes, school officials struggled with how they would continue to cover the therapist’s salary.

Twice, the state rejected the school’s application to the state’s landmark billing program, telling school officials they hadn’t met all the requirements, such as having sufficient systems to bill private insurers and collect student insurance information.

When school staffers flagged difficulties filing claims online, Washburn added, state officials suggested they submit paper claims instead.

The experience has soured Washburn and her staff on the program, which she said doesn’t work for small rural districts like hers where the human resources director is also the office business manager, and the faculty member who manages discipline also teaches PE.

DHCS spokesperson Tony Cava said that many charter schools are small and wouldn’t be expected to participate. While charter schools make up about half of eligible entities, Cava said, they serve only 12% of California’s students.

Lawmakers who represent small, rural districts have argued the program should be able to serve all kids. Early this year, Addis proposed legislation that would give intensive technical help to school officials who need it.

Even if it passes, it may be too late to help Plumas Charter. Washburn is unsure her school will reap enough revenue to pay for their therapist. “In theory, this should be a good program,” Washburn said. “We’re too small, and our funds are too limited to just keep waiting.”

This <a target="_blank" href="/mental-health/newsom-children-mental-health-initiative-schools-left-waiting/">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;">

Her earliest memory is of standing on the passenger seat of her dad’s car as a toddler, wearing a peach-colored blouse, while he drove from their Kentucky home to Florida to pick up drugs. On a stop for a burger, she met Ronald McDonald.

“I grew up with the impression that that’s how you paid your bills,” Madden said. “That’s how your kids got things.”

By 16, she was addicted to pain pills. By 30, methamphetamine. She lost custody of two children and gave up two more for adoption at birth. She served time in the county jail and state prison.

Pregnant again at 40, Madden resolved to stop using. It was then that she learned of The Hub in Whitesburg, a town of 1,575 residents, her hometown.

Over the past two years, the state of Kentucky has sent hundreds of thousands of opioid settlement dollars to the rural eastern region of the state to help minimize the ramifications of drug misuse. The Hub, a program that oversees a network of community centers offering a range of services from recovery peer support to canned food to sterile syringes, is part of that effort.

In April, Kentucky Attorney General Russell Coleman announced $320,000 would be awarded to the Kentucky River District Health Department’s . There are now Hubs in four rural eastern Kentucky counties — Knott, Lee, Letcher, and Owsley, all of which are among the nation’s — addressing substance use disorders, housing, hunger, employment, and other challenges. The program also operates The Hub on Wheels, which provides services throughout the district.

In 2025, The Hub received $545,000 from the same source, facilitating expansion from two to five counties. (The fifth Hub will be in Perry County.) The new $320,000 is a two-year grant to develop a program to help women who’ve been incarcerated reintegrate into society.

Both grants are from Kentucky’s approximately $1 billion share of the $57.8 billion for state and local governments from the to resolve litigation for their role in fueling the opioid overdose crisis.

Madden believes investment in harm reduction services is money well spent. She’s witnessed them work in her own life. She’s found solid footing for recovery at The Hub.

But the Trump administration is cutting federal funding for such efforts, disputing their benefits. A told programs across the country that they could no longer expect federal funding. The order stipulated that discretionary grants issued by the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration should not be spent on “so-called ‘harm reduction’” efforts, claiming they “only facilitate illegal drug use and its attendant harm.”

Advocates for these services in this rural region, which cast its ballots for President Donald Trump in all three elections, beg to differ.

Meeting Folks Where They Live

Whitesburg — home to a lively cultural scene, including — is a town residents are fiercely proud to call home. The Hub is housed in a storefront on Main Street, neighboring City Hall, Hazard Coffee Company, Cut-Away Barber & Beauty Shop, and the fire station. Like the other Hubs, it provides a range of services targeted to the needs of the community.

The inaugural Hub, launched in 2022 in Beattyville, the Lee County seat, two hours northwest of Whitesburg, offers breakfast and lunch, a food pantry, a clothing closet, a laundry room, and a computer lab. Also: , a medication that can quickly reverse an opioid overdose; drug test strips; hepatitis C treatment; sterile syringes; and wound care.

The program’s motto is “Meeting you where you are but not leaving you there!” It’s founded on the principles of . Harm reduction services are designed to minimize the effects of drug use, keep people safe, and treat them with respect, until they might be ready to enter recovery. The support includes housing, food, healthcare, and overdose prevention tools.

JoAnn Fraley is Kentucky River’s harm reduction program coordinator and its Hub initiative director. “In order for anybody to sustain recovery, they have to have financial stability, they have to have transportation, and they have to have a home,” she said. “We try to fill those gaps.”

While critics suggest that exchanging clean syringes for used ones abets drug use, research published in the Journal of Substance Use and Addiction Treatment indicates that people who participate in syringe services programs are more likely than those who don’t to or stop using drugs altogether, and that they are more likely to enter and remain in treatment. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, syringe services programs also by about half.

In 2025, Kentucky River’s Hub model was named one of 19 award winners by the National Association of County and City Health Officials.

“What jazzes me about it is it’s a community approach to harm reduction,” said Lauren Carr, who advises the Kentucky Association of Counties on how best to utilize opioid settlement funds. “Whether that’s feeding a hungry stomach, or putting clothes on somebody’s back, or giving them clean [syringes], you’re meeting that person’s needs.”

“It can be that lifeline,” Carr said.

Paying Back for Good

Becky Todd, who leads the Beattyville Hub’s team, is a community health worker and peer support specialist. In April 2024, she was released from jail, having served multiple sentences on drug-related charges. She walked 3 miles from jail to The Hub with nowhere else to go. She’s working toward her bachelor’s degree in social work at Eastern Kentucky University.

“I could not have done it without this place,” Todd said. “It’s my saving grace.”

Amber McDaniel recalls the first time she entered The Hub, after more than a decade of addiction, having lost her home, her kids, and her family’s support. “I didn’t know where to turn, didn’t know what to do,” she said. “I mean, I was about to lose my mind.” She’s now a Hub staff member .

Hannah Stamper was placed in foster care and began using meth at 14. She was drawn to dealing drugs because “I loved for people to need me.” She’s now on staff as a member of , a program that trains AmeriCorps members to work in the recovery field. “People today need me in a good way, and I love that.”

Fraley has witnessed a transition in Lee County. A half-dozen years ago, conversations in public meetings about addiction and homelessness were strained “because nobody wanted to talk about it or acknowledge it.”

The community sees The Hub’s impact, she said, “and now they’re, like, ‘Whoa. We love you.’”

Scott Lockard, the district’s public health director, said a combination of data and anecdotal observations substantiates the initiative’s success, including an increase in the number of people entering treatment and a decline in reported communicable diseases.

“I’ve been in public health for 36 years, and it’s one of the most effective interventions I’ve seen,” Lockard said.

The Kentucky River team worked to educate the community about the potential outcomes of the Hub model, and Fraley said there was little resistance, just concern that the money be well spent. She said the planning has always included people who have lived with addiction.

“Their voice needs to be at every table,” she said.

Lockard agrees. To ensure the community is investing this money wisely, he said, “we’ll talk to those people who are experiencing the problem, find out what they think would help them best, and then look for those evidence-based interventions.”

Jannie Gatlin and Mandy Parker, who both are in recovery, attended a recent crafting class at the Whitesburg Hub. Gatlin, who started taking fentanyl in Colorado after her first son died at 2 months old of a digestive disorder, comes almost every day with her toddler, Hunter.

Parker was prescribed opioids for pain from a kidney disorder. When those pills became less available, she turned to street drugs. “That’s just the nature of the beast,” she said.

She believes The Hub is helping break the stigma of substance use disorder in her community. When people see “real change happening,” she said, there’s a ripple effect. “It makes a difference.”

She appreciates that The Hub is here on Main Street — right, she firmly believes, where it should be.

This <a target="_blank" href="/health-industry/opioid-settlement-money-harm-reduction-services-rural-kentucky/">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;">

“OK, cool,” his mother, J, remembered saying. (J asked to be identified by only her first initial, and Bug by his nickname, because the family fears harassment.)

“‘What do you need to be supported?’” she recalled asking next. “He asked to get healthcare.” 

This was the kind of moment J had been anticipating since the family had moved earlier that year from Texas to Massachusetts, for its more liberal and inclusive politics. She felt confident they could find the right medical experts. But she hadn’t realized that access to gender-affirming treatment could disappear even when their state’s laws and leaders supported it.

Individual hospitals all over the U.S., in red and blue states, have responded to President Donald Trump’s attacks on transgender healthcare by deciding to withdraw care on their own. At least did so in the first months of the Trump administration as it threatened to pull back federal funding or initiate fraud or wrongful-claim investigations, and such services have continued to drop off since.

Bug and his younger sister were born in Austin, Texas, but J and her husband became worried after the state outlawed abortion; dismantled diversity, equity, and inclusion programs; and limited medical and civil rights for queer and transgender people. The parents worried the support services they needed for the siblings, both of whom have autism, might be affected, too.

“I had a fear of being like the frog in the boiling water and not realizing what was happening until it was too late,” J said. “I needed to get the kids out of Texas.”

So when Bug came out as trans, J was relieved they’d landed in a state that not only has a to who offer but also is requiring commercial insurance, which Bug’s family has, to cover it.

After Bug’s gender announcement, J’s queries led her to the largest hospital system in the region, Springfield, Massachusetts-based , where they began the months-long process of getting set up to start hormone therapy.

Bug, an artistic 14-year-old who loves horses, cats, and making short films with friends, was too old for , but he was excited about the prospect of starting on testosterone. That would cause his voice to deepen, facial hair to grow, and muscles to get bigger.

“Every part of it sounds fun,” he said.

But this past February, two weeks before Bug was scheduled to start testosterone, Baystate announced it would no longer provide gender-affirming medications to minors, offering only counseling. A letter to patients’ families did not explain why.

Baystate spokesperson Heather Duggan sent a statement that said the decision to end treatment for minors reflected the fact that Baystate could lose “hundreds of millions of dollars in government reimbursement” as a result of the Trump administration’s plans. “Nearly 70 percent of Baystate Health’s patients rely on Medicaid and Medicare for coverage,” it said.

All Bug knew was that the care he’d eagerly awaited was about to vanish.

“I felt frustrated that they would do that,” Bug said.

“I bet there’s tons and tons of kids who are like: ‘OK, I’m going for trans-affirming healthcare. Yay!’” he said. “And then, like, tons and tons of kids were disappointed and sad and frustrated.”

J said it felt as if the floor had fallen out from under them. “Maybe this is naive, but I didn’t think that would happen in Massachusetts,” she said.

Baystate is among the providers still choosing not to offer puberty blockers and hormones as the issue wends its way through the courts. This spring, in , a federal judge concluded that it was unlawful for the Department of Health and Human Services to threaten federal funding for providers that offered gender-affirming care to minors. In June, another federal judge cleared 16 states, including Massachusetts, with another lawsuit against the administration over its push to criminalize gender-affirming care.

The American Academy of Pediatrics declined an interview request but said in a that young patients and their families should make decisions about gender-affirming care with their doctors, “delivered with compassion, and offered without political interference.”

One mother of a former Baystate patient said that before her child came out as a transgender girl, she had been severely depressed, battling suicidal thoughts. (The mother asked that only her first initial, L, be used, because the family also fears harassment.)

After Baystate doctors prescribed puberty blockers and estrogen, her daughter’s mood and grades rose markedly, L said. So when she received the letter announcing Baystate was ending the medical treatment, she was furious. L said she and other parents filed civil rights complaints with the Massachusetts attorney general.

The attorney general’s office did not respond to a request for comment.

“There’s a sense of, ‘How could you?’” L said. “And there’s also the awareness of the impact just pulling care could have on a youth — from a physical health perspective but also from a mental health perspective.”

L and J both found alternatives for their children. L asked the family’s primary care doctor to take over hormone prescriptions. Bug’s family was referred to in Northampton, Massachusetts, that said it has taken on about 50 of Baystate’s former patients.

“Transhealth has been staffing ourselves up for a while now in anticipation of the fact that this may be happening across the state,” said.

Erwin said Transhealth can weather the funding threats because the clinic gets large private donations and is not as dependent on Medicaid and Medicare as most hospitals. But Erwin said that doesn’t entirely reassure the broader LGBTQ+ community, including transgender adults.

“When you see something like that go down, people get scared that it’s ultimately going to happen to everyone,” Erwin said.

In May, Colorado’s Supreme Court in that state to resume medical treatments for transgender youths, while in Texas compelled a children’s hospital there to do the opposite — start the nation’s first “detransition clinic.” The Trump administration has continued to pressure providers, including by of transgender minors.

After Bug’s false start at Baystate, he was able to start taking testosterone at the new clinic in the spring.

His mother, J, said that the treatment is going smoothly and that Bug has learned how to give himself the injections. But J is nervous that the federal government will find other ways to stop his treatment again. She sometimes second-guesses the family’s move from Texas to Massachusetts, wondering whether they should have gone to Canada instead.

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

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Being a family caregiver is hard work. On June 17, Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News Midwest correspondent Cara Anthony joined WAMU’s Health Hub to discuss her experience with parenting while also caring for aging parents. Listen in as she shares tips for other members of the “sandwich generation.”

Are you juggling the responsibilities of raising children and having aging parents?

Navigating that role can come with new responsibilities, stressors, and unexpected expenses, but claiming the caregiver identity can help. Researchers have found that people who identify as caregivers are more likely to use support services and feel a sense of community with others.

Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News correspondent Cara Anthony joined WAMU’s Health Hub on June 17 to share her experiences as a parent with aging parents.

This <a target="_blank" href="/mental-health/sandwich-generation-caring-for-children-aging-parents-resources/">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;">

His aunt sat at the dining table, sobbing. His father, who’d walked him to the bus stop that morning and promised to take him to dinner when he got back, wasn’t there.

Saúl Zermeño, a 45-year-old single dad, had gone to a routine check-in appointment at an Immigration and Customs Enforcement office that morning, a requirement he’d complied with for years. The father had deferred action that allowed him to stay and work in the U.S., according to his attorney. But that day, Oct. 3, officers deported him to Mexico, where he hadn’t lived since he was 9 years old. Zermeño had been Damian’s sole caregiver since he was a baby because his mother chose not to be involved in the boy’s life, the family said.

Suddenly, Damian, who was born in the U.S., found himself separated from his father by thousands of miles and a heavily guarded border. The previously cheerful 10th grader, who doesn’t have a driver’s license and can make a few basic dishes but isn’t used to cooking for himself, faced navigating his teenage years alone, his dad’s presence reduced to a two-dimensional image on his phone.

“I thought it wasn’t true,” Damian said. “I just went to my room. I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t even want to eat.”

Damian is among an estimated , most of them U.S. citizens, separated from a parent by the Trump administration’s deportation policies. Their mothers and fathers have been deported or locked for months inside detention centers, often from where their families live. These children are separated, , from the adults they depend on. Parents have been arrested while , , and at immigration check-ins with their children present. Most people detained have . (Being in the U.S. without authorization is typically a civil offense). With their parents gone, kids’ lives are plunged into fear and uncertainty.

As a result, a generation of children from immigrant families are exhibiting mental health problems that could .

Parents, therapists, and others who work with immigrant families said they’ve already encountered preschoolers with speech delays, elementary school children who talk of suicide, and teenagers too anxious to leave the house. Research has shown repeatedly that separating children from their parents . The stress of losing a primary caregiver creates havoc in a child’s brain and body, increasing their risk for mental and physical health problems, including depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder, a weakened immune system, and developmental delays.

“You can just see it in their faces; it’s almost like the light has been dimmed in their eyes,” said the Rev. Tanya Lopez, a pastor at Downey Memorial Christian Church who regularly visits immigrant families as part of a made up of Los Angeles-area religious leaders.

The health risks from this stress response are long-term. People who experience parental separation and other traumatic events as children are heart disease, diabetes, cancer, and other chronic conditions as adults.

In a statement, the Department of Homeland Security said ICE does not separate families, and that parents are asked if they want to be removed from the country with their children or to designate a safe person for them to stay with in the U.S.

However, by the Women’s Refugee Commission and Physicians for Human Rights found that many parents aren’t given that choice, and that ICE often doesn’t ask detainees if they have children or take steps to ensure that children left behind are safe. Saúl Zermeño said ICE officers didn’t ask about his son or check on Damian’s well-being when he was deported.

For days after his father’s deportation, Damian didn’t want to leave his room, eat, or go to school. He stopped talking to his friends. He stopped playing his favorite video game, Fears To Fathom. When he returned to school a week later, the teenager would cry in class or walk out overwhelmed with sadness. Even his favorite subject — English — lost its appeal.

Damian and his father were inseparable; family members joked that they never saw one without the other. Zermeño took Damian, who has attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder, autism, and other health conditions, to his medical appointments. He cooked for him and combed his hair. He loved to take Damian to his favorite Thai restaurant or to get boba drinks after school. As much as they joked around and played pranks on each other, Zermeño also taught Damian the importance of work by bringing him along to construction jobs and to find supplies at Home Depot.

Damian used to get annoyed with his father’s motivational chats about responsibility. Now they’re one of the things he misses most.

“I thank my dad every day for teaching me to be strong before he left,” Damian said.

Elsewhere in Los Angeles, Jacob, a shy 9-year-old with cropped, curly hair, skinny limbs, and a serious expression, was missing his mom. On a Saturday in May, he clung tightly to his father’s hand as they walked among homeless people, street peddlers, and the stench of urine that hangs in the air outside the building where they live in a cramped apartment. He hoped his mom would soon be released from immigration detention so that he could hug her again.

“If my mom was here, I’d be happy,” he said. “Right now, I’m not.”

Jacob is in some ways a typical 9-year-old. He likes playing Roblox and Street Fighter. He dreams of becoming a police officer and of owning a guard dog, “because you can train them and they defend you.”

But he also endured a harrowing journey, even before being separated from his mom in January. Jacob’s family fled their home country of Colombia in 2024 because members of a paramilitary group threatened to kill them, his father, Andreis, said. During their journey to the United States, Jacob saw dead bodies while trekking through the jungle, was kidnapped and robbed at gunpoint with his parents, witnessed a rape, and had to sell candy and beg for money, his dad said. Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News is not using the father’s or son’s real name because the family fears it would jeopardize their asylum cases.

After the family arrived in Los Angeles, Jacob suffered from nightmares and an intense fear of being alone. He started to recover once he began attending school and got connected to therapy through the school district, his dad said. For a short while, the family felt they had found peace.

Then, immigration officers detained Jacob’s mother at a check-in appointment while he and Andreis sat in the waiting room. The mother has a pending asylum application and no criminal record, Andreis said. The father said he and his son broke down when officers informed them of his wife’s detention, handing them a bag with her wallet and cellphone. They returned home without her, leaving Jacob inconsolable.

“He was terrified,” the father said, fighting back tears, his voice growing quiet as he recounted that moment. “He was crying with rage.”

After that, Jacob didn’t want to eat or go to school. When he went to school at his dad’s insistence, his teacher called home to ask why he was crying in class. Jacob couldn’t sleep. He acted out. He blamed his dad.

“When will my mom come back?” he asked his dad. “Why do they have my mom? I miss my mom.”

At the same time, Andreis said, he was going through his own crisis, trying in vain to console his son while wrestling with grief, worry, and desperation over what happened to his wife. He stopped his work as a laborer for two weeks to take care of Jacob, but that created financial stress and meant he sometimes couldn’t afford to fund his wife’s commissary account so she could buy better food and make phone calls. Jacob lived for those phone calls.

Jacob listed all the things he missed about his mom, including her cooking (rice with meat, corn cakes with egg), visiting the park together, and her taking him to get his hair cut, treating him to McDonald’s on the weekend, and bringing him to church. Most of all, he missed being close to her.

“I would lie down with her, and I’d watch videos with her,” he said. “My mom would hug me and I’d hug her.”

Sometimes he sprayed her perfume on himself so he could smell her.

After almost five months at the Adelanto ICE Processing Center, Jacob’s mother was released based on a habeas corpus petition in May. The family is still living in fear of detention or deportation. The father worries he too could be detained, and what that would mean for Jacob. Andreis is currently appealing a removal order for the two of them.

A published by the Brookings Institution estimates that over 200,000 children — including 145,000 U.S. citizen children — have likely had at least one parent detained since President Donald Trump returned to office. About a third of those children are under age 6. The number of children with detained parents is expected to grow as the federal government pours over $200 billion into immigration enforcement, including funding from the GOP’s and a appropriation Trump signed this month.

More than 4.6 million U.S. citizen children live with a parent at risk of deportation, according to the report.

Families Broken

Noemi, a Guatemalan mother and asylum seeker, stood in the parking lot at an ICE office north of Los Angeles, her three children wailing and clinging to her, glass from the family’s car scattered at their feet.

Moments earlier, immigration agents had smashed a window and forced her partner out of the car while he waited for Noemi and the kids to finish a check-in appointment. While they were inside, officers tried to separate Noemi from the couple’s children, ages 9, 7, and 1, but gave up after the kids started screaming, Noemi said. Meanwhile, her partner, a Mexican national who’s lived in the U.S. for almost 20 years, was sent to the ICE detention center in Adelanto.

“It was something tragic, something inexplicable that happened that day,” said Noemi, who asked to withhold her full name because she fears government retaliation for sharing her story. “It’s something that marks you for your whole life. My family was broken.”

Located in the Mojave Desert, the privately run Adelanto ICE Processing Center is the immigration detention center closest to Los Angeles and in the U.S. It held a daily average of as of April, and a facility next door called the Desert View Annex held an additional 426.

Since her partner’s detention in December, Noemi said, their children haven’t been the same.

Her 7-year-old daughter, till then usually happy and smiling, became depressed and refused to eat. Her once-high grades plummeted, and she forgot the names of letters and numbers in both English and Spanish. She and her 9-year-old brother struggled to sleep and asked constantly about their dad, wondering if he was taken because they’d done something wrong.

“Why is this happening to us?” they asked her. “We’re good. We’re studying.”

Noemi’s youngest daughter went back to crawling for three months, even though she’d already learned to walk before her father was taken. The little girl would cry out in her sleep, “Pa! Pa!”

Sofia Mendoza, a therapist who works with immigrant families at a community clinic in Los Angeles County, said separated children can experience a form of grief. It’s hard for them to come to terms with their parent’s absence because the parent is still alive, but not with them. This can disrupt the child’s bond with that parent and their ability to form trusting relationships in the future, she said.

Many children also become extremely anxious, angry, and fearful, Mendoza said. Young children often complain of physical symptoms such as stomachaches, develop separation anxiety, and regress to earlier behaviors like bed-wetting. Older children may have panic attacks, nightmares, and difficulty focusing, Mendoza said. Caregiver loss is also associated with and substance use in children.

Norma Gómez, a project manager for the Mixteco Indigena Community Organizing Project in Oxnard, said after immigration raids shook the community last summer, her 9-year-old daughter refused to go to school for a week and was afraid to leave her mom and dad, even though they’re legal U.S. residents. She’d seen other kids at school crying because family members had been detained. Gómez showed her daughter their U.S. residency documents to reassure her. The child asked to make copies for her classmates, hoping they would protect them too.

‘Time To Be an Adult’

Back in East Los Angeles, Damian is living with one of his aunts and struggling to adapt to not having his father around. He said his grades have dropped because he can’t focus in school. He no longer wants to do things he used to enjoy with his dad, such as going out to eat.

“Fun is over,” he said. “It’s time to be an adult right now.”

Being without his father has forced Damian to become more independent, he and his aunt Claudia Zermeño said. Before, his dad did almost everything for him. Now, Damian does his own laundry, helps with housework, and styles his own hair. He’s protective of his aunts, who are both devastated by their brother’s absence; he hugs them frequently and tells jokes to try to cheer them up. He doesn’t want to upset them more by showing his own sadness.

Damian receives therapy both in and outside of school. He said he’s learned breathing exercises that have helped, but he still feels sad and worried a lot of the time. Sometimes he feels angry.

“I try my hardest to think, to stay focused,” he said. “But with everything that’s going on, I can’t keep the facade of ‘everything’s normal’ when I feel heartbroken.”

Saúl Zermeño, now living in Guadalajara, said he’s worried about his son’s health. Damian has a genetic condition called , which causes tumors to grow on nerve tissue in his body, including one in his head that, if not checked regularly by a doctor and monitored by his family, could interfere with his brain. He also suffers from epilepsy and was born with only one kidney, which means he tires easily and doesn’t play sports. Saúl is afraid his son won’t get the care he needs without him there. As Damian’s legal guardian, Claudia Zermeño is doing everything she can for him, but she has two children of her own and is also caring for her mother, who has neurological problems from a stroke.

Damian talks with his dad as often as he can. He hopes to visit his father in Mexico, but he doesn’t have a passport and, as a minor under 16, there are more requirements to get one without his dad present. Saúl is working with an attorney to get permission to legally return to the U.S., but the process is complicated and uncertain.

So, for now, Damian’s hanging on to hope that his dad will be allowed to return and is trying to become the man he believes he should be. He’s making plans to get his driver’s license when he turns 16 this month. He’s given up his goal of going to college and instead wants to get a job right after high school to help his aunts and send money to his dad.

He still cries, but only when he’s alone in his room.

This <a target="_blank" href="/mental-health/immigrant-parents-ice-detention-deportation-children-mental-health-california/">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;">

If you or someone you know may be experiencing a mental health crisis, contact the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline by dialing or texting “988.”

Nearly every Tuesday for a decade, Steve Siple attended a bar trivia night with friends in Birmingham, Alabama. After moving to North Carolina, he developed a new ritual — on Saturdays to pick up trash along the city’s light rail.

These are more than fun outings to Siple. They help keep him alive.

Siple has battled suicidal thoughts in the past. He lost his father to suicide, and one of his sons has struggled with thoughts of hurting himself.

That’s made Siple vigilant about protecting himself and his family. In addition to seeing a counselor regularly and speaking openly about mental health, he prioritizes social connection.

“Loneliness was, over my lifetime, one of the greatest risk factors” for suicide, said Siple, a for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.

To some, this concept may seem obvious. Yet in the overall approach to suicide prevention, it’s often overlooked. Treatment of a serious mental illness that can lead to suicide, such as major depressive disorder, often centers on medication and talk therapy with little or no consideration of factors such as social isolation or financial duress. Now, there’s a growing movement to address loneliness not just through personal choices but also through public policy.

The research is clear: Among the various complex issues that contribute to suicide, is a . It’s a for older adults, who have and for youths, for whom .

Humans are social animals. When we feel cut off from one another, our , our , and ultimately we’re (by suicide or ). An concluded that being socially disconnected is as harmful to one’s health as smoking up to 15 cigarettes a day.

And it’s getting worse.

Mental health researchers and clinicians say a variety of factors are in America, including the , such as smartphones and ; increased ; the since the covid pandemic; and .

With suicide rates remaining stubbornly high — often ranking among the in America — some advocates and people who have lost loved ones to suicide say increasing pathways to social connection could be a new frontier.

In this ongoing series, Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News is examining new approaches to suicide prevention that shift the focus from stopping harm in moments of crisis to efforts that give people reasons to live well before they make fateful choices.

“If we want to reduce suicide rates in our country, which is absolutely essential, then a key part of that has to be fostering social connection,” said who served as surgeon general under Presidents Barack Obama and Joe Biden. “We have more than enough data to support this as being an important area of focus.”

In 2023, Murthy released the first on loneliness as a public health issue, with more than 300 supporting citations. He’s also on the topic and is touring the country discussing the value of social connection.

“To help someone else feel less alone, to help them feel seen and understood and valued,” he told Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News, “that can be one of the most powerful interventions that we make.”

A Role for Elected Officials

Curing loneliness may seem like the responsibility of families and neighbors, people making one-to-one connections. But Murthy says elected officials have work to do, too.

They can use their bully pulpits to turn this into a mainstream issue, he said. They can create microgrants to support grassroots ideas from community entrepreneurs and invest in “social infrastructure,” he added.

That term refers to things in the community that support the development of social connection, from physical spaces, such as libraries and parks, to policies and programs, such as building public transportation and fostering volunteer groups.

“These all matter and impact whether people gather,” Murthy said.

However, investing in public institutions and infrastructure is a costly endeavor that can seem unreasonable when local officials are struggling to balance budgets without increasing tax burdens.

That’s where creativity can kick in.

A health system and a museum in Charlotte have teamed up to for people to attend art classes or live performances together. In Tennessee, the city of Chattanooga is funding community ideas to increase connection and time in nature, where people can speak with volunteer listeners. And across the country, have popped up as places where men can work on projects side by side and discuss their mental health.

Meal Deliveries and Valentines

Marcie O’Neal knew she wouldn’t have much money at her disposal. She was hired in 2024 to lead suicide prevention efforts in the rural of western Kentucky after local leaders saw a rise in suicides among the elderly. Her grant was about $280,000 — less than .

But she knew the nine-county area had other strengths, such as dedicated meal delivery programs and high school clubs.

Drivers who drop off prepared meals to homebound residents “can be the only person that an older adult sees in the week,” O’Neal said.

The state had already been training some of those drivers to recognize warning signs of suicide among older people and alert county agencies to follow up with them. O’Neal thought there could be another component.

She reached out to high school , which focus on fostering leadership skills and volunteerism, across the nine counties and asked them to write cards that could be distributed to older residents along with meals. The response was swift, O’Neal said.

About 1,200 cards were delivered last May. They repeated the gesture in February for Valentine’s Day and again this May.

O’Neal said one of the older residents told her, “I don’t remember the last time I got a Valentine’s card.”

The students also enjoyed feeling as if they made a difference, O’Neal said. She’s helping one school set up an ongoing pen pal program with a nearby retirement community.

Locals affectionately call O’Neal “the suicide lady” — a term she considers “a badge of honor.”

Suicide prevention “doesn’t have to be sweeping huge things,” she said. “It’s a little thing you can do that can kind of snowball into more things.”

‘The Secret Sauce’

Siple, who has prioritized social connection through the trivia nights and volunteer clean-ups, felt most alone when he transitioned from a job at a commercial bank to working at home.

He spent most of his day analyzing Excel sheets, drafting grant proposals, and compiling recommendations for clients. The work felt important, but it was isolating, Siple said.

“If my wife or kids were around during the evening, I was safe,” he said. Holding meetings at coffee shops helped, too.

But when it was just him at his desk, “that’s where I got the darkest lonely feelings,” he said, including thoughts of suicide.

Breaking out of that required seeking new connections.

Siple said church was a great anchor for him and his wife — not just on Sundays but throughout the week at Bible studies and potlucks. They also go to see a variety of live music, including bluegrass and alternative rock.

“Being with folks that are into the same type of music that we’re into for a concert feels like connection,” he said.

Research suggests sports can play a similar role in some instances. At least two studies have found are associated with . The authors posit it’s because people coming together to support their team or to enjoy the event creates a sense of belonging, which is protective.

That concept resonates with , who has worked on suicide prevention efforts at the state and and helps run Sources of Strength, an upstream prevention program. Fostering that sense of belonging has played a central role in each of those initiatives, she said.

“We can’t eliminate hard stuff in our lives,” said Brummett, who lost five friends to suicide, starting in middle school.

“Belonging is really the secret sauce,” she said, “for how we, as humans, can navigate really hard things.”

This <a target="_blank" href="/mental-health/suicide-prevention-loneliness-social-connection-mental-health-eleven-minutes/">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 Department of Health and Human Services is seeking data from little-known state systems that allow hospitals and clinics to exchange detailed, identifiable patient information, Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News has learned.

In private meetings, some public health leaders have objected to giving Kennedy’s team access to such data, raising doubts that it’s legal or that the information would even be useful.

They have also expressed concerns about allowing the federal government to peer into the minutiae of Americans’ medical records, which could mean viewing anything from doctors’ notes to prescription history. HHS has offered no insight into how it will protect or handle the personal health information it obtains.

But Kennedy told Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News that medical records are key to investigating the cause of autism, vaccine safety, and chronic diseases. And millions of dollars in grant money has poured into a Nebraska nonprofit that has assisted Kennedy’s effort, according to state records.

He and his advisers have been frustrated that federal access to Americans’ medical records has been limited.

“We need a good health record system, and one of the things that really surprised me most when I came into office is that there is — that the systems are broken,” Kennedy said in a May interview. “We’ve had to go to the states and, luckily, we’ve got a lot of cooperation from the states, but we now have databases together that we can actually do the studies on. Those studies are in motion.”

HHS has not publicly announced any new projects involving medical records and autism or vaccine research. Kennedy faced blowback last year when he proposed compiling the medical records of people with autism to create a federal disease registry — which health department officials .

But Kennedy said in May, “We have a whole pipeline of studies that will be done over the next year.”

Though the White House has steered Kennedy away from further changes to U.S. vaccine policy ahead of November’s crucial midterm elections, President Donald Trump has regularly echoed Kennedy’s doubts about vaccine safety and last week signed an executive order calling for the U.S. to reduce the number of vaccines recommended for children.

Kennedy’s political appointees and allies — including William “Reyn” Archer III, a former Texas health official and whom Kennedy hired as a senior adviser — have led the initiative for the health department to collect and examine medical records.

Federal officials met with leaders of the state-run health information exchange systems several times over the past year and asked how the personal medical records they maintain could be used for vaccine research, according to seven people who participated in the discussions or were familiar with them.

Craig Behm, who runs the Maryland health information exchange, said Kennedy’s team asked about how the vast trove of medical records they store from hospitals and health systems could be used to study vaccines.

“If this administration wants to conduct research on the effectiveness of vaccines, are you saying you all can help us conduct that research?” Behm recalled being asked by a top official at HHS’ health information technology office.

Last June, Behm and leaders of other state exchanges met with Kennedy’s top advisers to discuss sharing more medical data with federal agencies. The state organizations followed up with a pitch in October for a new surveillance system that would give the federal health department “real-time, 24-hour data feeds on opioid and chronic disease trends” within a year, according to a presentation reviewed by Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News. Under the proposal, HHS would get data from 90% of the population’s medical records by 2028.

Administration officials regularly asked during the meetings how the records could be used to monitor vaccine safety. Kennedy has rejected the federal government’s current vaccine-monitoring systems; decades of research has shown immunizations are safe and effective for most people.

“Vaccine safety, or whatever words you want to use, has come up pretty consistently in those conversations,” said John Kansky, CEO of the Indiana Health Information Exchange.

Kansky sees the potential value of sharing information from the exchanges for public health but is worried about the focus on vaccines: “It’s like, oh man, I wish you would have picked something that pushed fewer buttons for people.”

A System To Monitor Chronic Disease

Nearly every state has at least one health information exchange — often regulated by state laws and run by private companies or nonprofits — that enables hospitals and health systems to immediately share patients’ medical records with one another. The systems allow doctors and nurses to quickly pull up nearly anyone’s medical history and records at emergency rooms or share after-visit summaries and notes with patients’ primary care providers, for example.

In certain circumstances — most often dealing with cases of infectious diseases such as measles or flu — the exchanges notify public health authorities, like the state health department or the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Using the exchanges for broader public health purposes is not an unusual idea in itself. But it can present privacy, legal, and ethical complications, health officials say.

In the end, Behm said his organization in Maryland declined to share more data with the federal government for vaccine research, noting that sharing medical records for that purpose would require a rash of approvals from hospitals, state political leaders, and research boards. Any new data-sharing agreement should also have a clear, detailed framework outlining what would be shared and with whom, he added.

“A number of us said, ‘We can’t do anything our agreements don’t allow us to do, so no,’” Behm said. Indeed, most health information exchanges have contractual restrictions on who can access clinical data.

Kansky said Indiana is still weighing whether to provide additional data for Kennedy’s project, and that nothing has yet been shared.

HHS spokesperson Emily Hilliard did not answer questions about how many states are participating in Kennedy’s project, what new data the agency is collecting, how much the federal government is spending on the initiative, how it is protecting patient privacy, or who has access to the data.

“HHS is strengthening public health surveillance and modernizing data systems to better understand and combat the childhood chronic disease epidemic as part of Secretary Kennedy’s Make America Healthy Again agenda,” Hilliard said in an emailed statement. “Americans deserve robust systems to monitor the drivers of chronic illness.”

Kennedy has asserted, without evidence, that vaccines can cause chronic illness.

A Kennedy Partner in Nebraska

At least one state has been cooperative.

The former leader of Nebraska’s state health information exchange has led the effort to share data from medical records with the federal government.

Jaime Bland, former CEO of CyncHealth — the Nebraska health information exchange used by in the state — said several states are looking to “open up channels” to provide more analysis to Kennedy’s team.

“They’re looking at the data differently and providing some insights back to the CDC,” Bland told Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News.

Bland was among a group who proposed that CyncHealth would help kick off the initiative, according to a 43-slide PowerPoint presented to federal officials during an October meeting.

CyncHealth and other state health information exchanges would “ingest data from hospitals, clinics, laboratories, pharmacies, payers, and social services agencies,” then “link claims and clinical records through a master patient index.”

Data from the exchanges “will be deidentified where appropriate,” according to one slide.

The federal government would pay the exchanges for furnishing the records, according to the proposal: $3 a person, annually.

Officials would “frame publicly that this is not a new database, but a federated trust model that delivers real-time data for all HHS missions,” the presentation reads.

After the meeting, Nebraska’s health department was awarded a large grant from the CDC, and CyncHealth in turn got millions of dollars from the state.

On Dec. 19, the CDC announced new funding under its , which sends money to state and local health departments for lab work, health information enhancements, and solutions for outbreaks.

Nebraska’s state health department was awarded $18.7 million — the most of any state last year, though Nebraska is the 38th most populous state. By comparison, Texas received $9.2 million, and California got $10.8 million.

CyncHealth was then awarded three contracts totaling $13.6 million from the state health department just weeks later, on Jan. 9 and Jan. 16, according to a publicly accessible database of state contracts.

Grace McNamara, a spokesperson for CyncHealth, said it retained $2.4 million of the funding for Kennedy’s project; the remaining money was distributed to “other participating states and various vendor organizations for implementation support.”

A former CDC official who was aware of the transaction, but not authorized to speak publicly about it, confirmed the money was intended for CyncHealth to supply data for Kennedy’s initiative to look at vaccines and autism. McNamara said that the “work is focused on improving outcomes related to acute and chronic illnesses.”

“The referenced project is not research, but rather a proof-of-concept project on how health information exchange and public health can work together to improve health outcomes and is not specific to autism,” she said in an emailed statement.

McNamara did not answer questions about what type of medical data is being provided to the federal health department or whether patients’ identifying information is removed.

Bland left her post at CyncHealth — where she was paid nearly — in December. She was named in April as the chief data strategist for the MAHA Institute — a think tank founded by allies of Kennedy and Trump to advance their Make America Healthy Again movement.

Bland agreed with Kennedy that data from state health information exchanges could provide more insight into autism’s causes or vaccine injuries.

“The data is so fragmented, so modeled when it comes to population health and public health, that we lose sight of the individual stories,” Bland said. She told a story she had heard about a woman who had a seizure after receiving the HPV vaccine.

“You know, the vaccine is safe — it absolutely is — but it wasn’t safe for her,” Bland said. “As public health officials, we say the vaccine is safe. But there are cases where it is not.”

Daniel Jernigan, a former top CDC official who left the agency last summer, said he tried to point Kennedy to data that would help the health secretary study vaccine safety and autism.

After 31 years at the CDC overseeing public health surveillance, emerging infectious diseases, and the influenza divisions, Jernigan thought the solution was simple. The secretary could work with researchers to obtain huge databases pulled from health systems nationwide and maintained by major electronic health records companies.

Those databases are deidentified, meaning they don’t include patient names or other information that can identify individuals. Jernigan said Kennedy didn’t seem interested.

Instead, as The New York Times first reported, the health secretary dispatched two top advisers — Archer and Hannah Anderson, his former deputy chief of staff — to the CDC’s headquarters in Atlanta last July to download millions of identifiable patient records directly from the Vaccine Safety Datalink, the system the health agency uses to investigate complications from vaccines. The records, though, were decades old.

Jernigan said the federal government has limited legal authority to access medical records from state health information exchanges. In any case, examining those records may provide a view of a person’s medical history that will not necessarily produce answers to Kennedy’s questions about vaccines and autism.

“If they’re just using the electronic health record data, there are limits to that,” Jernigan said. “If they’re only looking at electronic health record data, all you’re going to get is what was captured in the encounter. It’s not going to be very satisfying.”

Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News data reporter Maia Rosenfeld contributed to this article.

This <a target="_blank" href="/mental-health/sharing-patients-medical-records-access-rfk-jr-project-link-autism-vaccine-injuries/">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;">

Baldwin, who is a member of the Senate Appropriations Committee and the Senate Health, Education, Labor and Pensions Committee, said lawmakers have been forced to take unprecedented action to ensure the Trump administration properly spends taxpayer dollars.

“In this most recently passed bill that Donald Trump signed into law, we had to put guardrails that we’ve never had to put into our appropriations laws before to enforce our spending bills,” Baldwin said. “And those laws have made it clear that we expect that they must spend what we have appropriated, and not just all of it at the end of the fiscal year, but in a timely manner throughout the year.”

The conversation also addressed the success — and Trump-imposed limitations — of the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. The resource, which was created through a bipartisan effort, has led to a notable reduction in youth suicide, according to in the Journal of the American Medical Association.

“It’s heartwarming to know that this work matters,” Baldwin said.

This interview aired May 14 on Episode No. 446 of What the Health? From Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News: “In Search of a New FDA Commissioner.”

This <a target="_blank" href="/news/podcast-interview-senator-tammy-baldwin-taxpayer-dollars-988/">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;">