She found Forbes face down in the street in August 2023, two weeks before he had planned to move away from the empty storefronts, boarded-up houses, and poverty that make this one of the most troubled places in the nation.

Naketra Guy thought about how her son overcame losing his father at age 4 and was the glue of the family. She called him “humble” and “respectful,” a leader in the community and on the football field, where he shined.

Yet he could not outrun the grim statistics of his hometown. Bogalusa posts some of the worst health outcomes and poverty in Louisiana, a state that routinely ranks among the worst nationally in both. And Bogalusa has endured another indicator of poor public health: high levels of gun violence.

Since the beginning of the covid-19 pandemic, gun violence has shattered any sense of peace or progress here. Louisiana suffers the nation’s second-highest firearm death rate — and Bogalusa, a predominantly Black community with 10,000 residents, has seen dozens of shootings and a violent crime rate approaching twice the national average.

A nearby team refused to play football at Bogalusa High School in fall 2022, citing safety concerns.

Bogalusa’s mayor, Tyrin Truong, was elected in 2022 at age 23 on his promises to fix entrenched challenges: few youth programs and good jobs, and perpetual crime and blight.

“I ran for mayor because I got sick of seeing our city painted as mini-New Orleans,” he said, “due to the high levels of youth gun violence.”

In January, the Louisiana State Police arrested Truong, accusing him of soliciting a prostitute and participating in a drug trafficking ring that allegedly used illicit proceeds to buy firearms. He has said he is innocent. “I still haven’t been formally arraigned,” he told KFF Health News in late July, “and I haven’t been charged with anything.”

Every year tens of thousands of Americans — one every few minutes — are killed by gun violence on the scale of a public health epidemic.

Many thousands more are left to recover from severe injuries, crushing medical debt, and the mental health toll of losing loved ones.

Most headlines focus on America’s urban centers, but the numbers also reflect the growth of gun violence in places like Bogalusa, a pinprick of a town 75 miles north of New Orleans. In 2020, the gun violence death rate for rural communities was 40% higher than in large metropolitan areas, according to Johns Hopkins University.

Firearms are the No. 1 killer of children in the U.S., and no group suffers more than young Black people. More Black boys and men ages 15 to 24 in 2023 were killed in gun homicides than from the next 15 leading causes of deaths combined. Though overall U.S. homicides dropped sharply after the pandemic ended, adolescent gun deaths climbed even higher in the years after, according to research by Jonathan Jay, an associate professor in the School of Public Health at Boston University.

“It has all the markers of an epidemic. It is a major driver of death and disability,” Jay said. “Gun violence does not get the attention it deserves. It is underrecognized because it disproportionately impacts Black and brown people.”

Rather than bolstering efforts to save lives, federal, state, and local government officials have undermined them. KFF Health News undertook an examination of gun violence since the pandemic, a period when firearm death rates surged. Reporters reviewed government reports and academic research and interviewed dozens of health policy experts, activists, and victims or their relatives. They reviewed corporate earnings reports from gun manufacturers and data on the industry’s donations to politicians.

In polling published in 2023 by KFF, more than half of Americans said they or a family member had been impacted by gun violence such as by seeing a shooting or being threatened, injured, or killed with a gun.

American politicians and regulators have put in place laws and practices that have helped enrich firearm and ammunition manufacturers — which tout $91 billion in economic impact — even as gun violence has terrorized neighborhoods already damaged by white flight, systemic disinvestment, and other forms of racial discrimination.

President Donald Trump championed gun rights on the campaign trail and has received millions from the National Rifle Association, to whose members he promised, “No one will lay a finger on your firearms.” His administration has rolled back efforts under President Joe Biden to address the rise in gun violence.

Emboldened in his second term, Trump is pushing to allow more guns in schools, weaken federal oversight of the gun industry, override state and local gun laws, permit sales without background checks, and cut funding for violence intervention.

Trump ordered the attorney general to review all Biden administration actions that “purport to promote safety but may have impinged on the Second Amendment rights of law-abiding citizens.”

The Biden administration said “a historic spike in homicides” during the pandemic took its greatest toll on racially segregated and high-poverty neighborhoods.

Black youths in four major cities were 100 times as likely as white ones to experience a firearm assault, research showed. Gun suicides reached an all-time high, and for the first time the firearm suicide rate among older Black teens surpassed that of older white teens.

In Bogalusa, the pandemic gun violence spread fear. Among the victims killed were a 15-year-old attending a birthday party and a 24-year-old nationally known musician. Thirteen people were injured at a memorial for a man who himself had been shot. Residents said neighbors stopped sitting in their yards because of stray bullets.

Researchers say communities like Bogalusa endure a collective trauma that shatters their sense of safety. Two years after Forbes’ death, his mother says that when she leaves home her surviving children worry that she, too, might get shot.

Repercussions from the surge will last years, researchers said: Exposure to shootings increases risk for post-traumatic stress disorder, anxiety, suicide, depression, substance abuse, and poor school performance for survivors and those who live near them.

“We saw gun violence exposure go up for every group of children except white children, in the cities we studied,” Jay said. “Limits on government funding into gun violence research may stop us from ever knowing exactly why.”

Politics of Pain

The year before Forbes died in Bogalusa, Biden signed into law the Bipartisan Safer Communities Act, considered the most sweeping firearm legislation in decades.

In a matter of months, Trump has systematically dismantled key provisions.

Efforts to regulate guns have long proven ineffective against the power of political and business interests that fill the streets with weapons. In 2020, the number of guns manufactured annually in the U.S. hit 11.3 million, more than double a decade earlier, according to the federal government. In 2022, the United States had nearly 78,000 licensed gun dealers, more than its combined number of McDonald’s, Burger King, Wendy’s, and Subway locations, according to Everytown for Gun Safety, an advocacy group.

The Biden administration announced in 2021 it would attempt to reduce gun violence by adopting a “zero tolerance” policy toward firearm dealers who committed violations such as failing to run a required background check or selling to someone prohibited from buying a gun.

The federal Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives, or ATF, which licenses gun dealers, has the authority to enforce laws meant to prevent illegal gun sales. In issuing an executive order, the Trump administration declared that, under Biden, the agency targeted “mom-and-pop shop small businesses who made innocent paperwork errors.”

From October 2010 to February 2022, the agency conducted more than 111,000 inspections, recommending revocation of a dealer’s license only 589 times, about 0.5% of cases, an inspector general’s report said. Even when it cited serious violations, the ATF rarely shut dealers down.

ATF leaders told the inspector general’s office that recommendations for license revocations increased after Biden’s zero-tolerance policy was implemented. In April, the Trump administration repealed it.

Surgeon General Vivek Murthy last year declared firearm violence a public health crisis. Within weeks of Trump’s inauguration, his administration removed the advisory. Of the 15 leading U.S. causes of death, firearm injuries received less research funding from the National Institutes of Health for each person who died than all but poisoning and falls, according to an analysis in 2024 by Brady, an anti-gun violence organization. Trump is trying to cut that funding, too.

Trump’s Department of Justice abruptly cut 373 grants in April for projects worth about $820 million, with a large share from gun violence intervention.

“We are going to lose a generation of community violence prevention folks,” said Volkan Topalli, a gun violence researcher at Georgia State University. “People are going to die, I’m sorry to say, but that is the bleak truth of this.”

Asked about its policies, the White House did not address questions about public health considerations around gun violence.

“Illegal violence of any sort is a crime issue, and President Trump has been clear since Day One that he is committed to Making America Safe Again by empowering law enforcement to uphold law and order,” White House spokesperson Kush Desai said.

Trump administration officials “want safer streets and less violence,” Topalli said. “They are hurting their cause.”

Garen Wintemute, an emergency medicine professor who directs the violence prevention program at the University of California-Davis, was among the first in the nation to consider guns and violence as a public health issue. He said race plays a significant role in perceptions about gun violence.

“People look at the demographic risk for firearm homicide and depending on the demographics of the people in the audience, I can see the transformation in their faces,” Wintemute said. “It’s like they’re saying, ‘Not my people, not my problem.’”

Eroding Gun Restrictions

Trump’s incursions against public health efforts to contain gun violence are backed by lobbying power.

Firearm industry advocacy groups made millions of dollars in political donations in recent years, mostly to conservative causes and Republican candidates. That includes $1.4 million to Trump, according to OpenSecrets, which tracks campaign finance data.

The assassination of civil rights icon the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. helped lead to the passage of the federal Gun Control Act of 1968, which imposed stricter licensing rules and outlawed the sale of firearms and ammunition to felons.

While it remains the law of the land, over time, federal and state government actions have significantly weakened its protections.

Most states now allow people to carry concealed weapons without a permit or background check, even though research suggests the practice can increase the risk of firearm homicides.

In Louisiana, Democratic former Gov. John Bel Edwards, in office from 2016 to 2024, vetoed a bill that would have allowed people to carry concealed firearms without a permit.

Elected in 2023, Republican Gov. Jeff Landry signed a law to allow any person over age 18 to conceal-carry without a permit.

The Trump administration has created a task force to implement his executive order to end most gun regulations and which would allow more people with criminal convictions, including for domestic abuse, to own guns.

Figures vary, but some researchers estimate as many as 500 million guns circulate in the U.S. Sales reached record highs during the pandemic and publicly traded firearm and ammunition companies saw profits jump.

Donald Trump Jr. this summer joined the board of GrabAGun, an online gun retailer that went public in July under the stock ticker PEW. In a Securities and Exchange Commission filing, the company, which markets guns to people ages 18 to 44, cited “gun violence prevention and legislative advocacy organizations that oppose sales of firearms and ammunition” as threats to its sales growth.

Dave Workman, a gun rights advocate with the Second Amendment Foundation, said firearms are not to blame for the surge in pandemic shootings.

“Bad guys are going to do what bad guys are going to do regardless of the law,” Workman said. “Taking away gun rights is not going to reduce crime.”

David Yamane, a Wake Forest University sociology professor and national authority on guns, said the U.S. firearm debate is complex and the industry is often “painted with too broad a brush.”

Most guns will never be used to kill anyone, he said. Americans tend to buy more guns during times of unrest, Yamane added: “It’s part of the American tradition. Guns are seen as a legitimate tool for defending yourself.”

‘A Low Level of Hope’

Once called “the Magic City,” Bogalusa has become a grim symbol of deindustrialization.

Bogalusa emerged as Black people formed their own communities in the time of Jim Crow racial segregation at the turn of the 20th century.

Racism concentrated Black people in neighborhoods that became epicenters of poor health, reflected in high rates of cancer, asthma, chronic stress, preterm births, pregnancy-related complications — and, over recent decades, firearm violence.

Thousands flocked to Bogalusa after the Great Southern Lumber Company built one of the world’s biggest sawmills, establishing Bogalusa as a company town. Racial tensions soon followed.

Members of the local Deacons for Defense and Justice gained national attention in the 1960s for protecting civil rights organizers from the Ku Klux Klan, a hate group that burned houses and churches, terrorizing and killing Black people.

As the mill changed hands over the decades, Bogalusa’s fortunes slid. In the mid-20th century, the population surpassed 20,000, but it is now about half that.

International Paper, a Fortune 500 company based in Tennessee, runs the mill as a containerboard factory, employing about 650 people. In 2021, the state announced incentives for the company that included a $500,000 tax break, saying the move would help bring “prosperity.”

Businesses remain boarded up along the main drag. Houses still bear damage from Hurricane Katrina, and many streets are eerily quiet.

Nearly 1 in 3 people in Bogalusa live in poverty — 2½ times the national average.

Bogalusa’s violent gun crime rate reached 646.1 per 100,000 people in 2022, higher than Louisiana’s and 1.7 times the national one, according to the nonprofit Equal Justice USA, citing FBI Uniform Crime Reporting data.

In many rural towns across the South, “there is a level of desperation that is more apparent” than in other parts of the U.S., said Luke Shaefer, a University of Michigan professor of social justice and public policy.

“They don’t have the same infrastructure to have robust social services. People are like, ‘What are my life chances?’” Shaefer said. “People feel like there is nothing that can be done. There is a low level of hope.”

Missed Opportunities

Mayor Truong lamented the violence in Bogalusa after Forbes was killed, writing on Facebook, “When are we as a community going to come together and decide enough is enough?”

The federal government had offered one path forward.

The Biden administration provided billions of dollars to local governments through the American Rescue Plan Act during the pandemic. Biden urged them to deploy money to community violence intervention programs, shown to reduce homicides by as much as 60%.

A handful of cities seized the opportunity, but most did not. Bogalusa has received $4.25 million in ARPA funds since 2021. None appears to have gone toward violence prevention.

The Louisiana legislative auditor, Michael Waguespack, found that Bogalusa used nearly $500,000 for employee bonuses, which his report said may have violated state law. In some cases, the report says, payments were not tied to work performed.

Bogalusa officials did not respond to a public records request from KFF Health News seeking detailed information about its ARPA money.

Former Mayor Wendy O’Quin-Perrette, who served from 2015 through early 2023, told Waguespack in a June 2024 letter that the city used ARPA money to improve streets and pay the bonuses. “We would not have done it without being sure it was allowed,” she said.

O’Quin-Perrette did not respond to requests for comment.

In a 2023 letter to Waguespack, O’Quin-Perrette’s successor, Truong, wrote that Bogalusa officials didn’t know how the federal money was spent. When he took office, Truong alleged, officials discovered “tens of thousands of dollars of checks and cash” stashed “in various drawers and on desks” in city offices.

Truong defended his stewardship of ARPA funds, saying that about $1 million remained when he assumed office but that the money was needed for more urgent sewer infrastructure repairs. “I wish we could have invested more, invested any money in gun violence prevention efforts,” he said.

In an interview, Truong said the city has been “intentional” about bringing down gun violence, including through a summer jobs program. He pointed to statistics that show homicides decreased from nine in 2022 to two in 2024. “If you keep them busy, they won’t have time to do anything else,” he said.

Asked about his January arrest, Truong said he has political enemies.

“I’m the only Democrat in a very red part of the state, and, you know, I’ve made a lot of changes at City Hall, and that ticks people off,” Truong told KFF Health News. He said that he ended long-standing city contracts with local businesspeople. “When you’re shaking up power structures, you become a target.”

Josie Alexander, a Louisiana-based senior strategist for Equal Justice USA, said city officials missed an opportunity when they didn’t use ARPA funds for gun violence prevention. “The sad thing is people here can now see that money was coming in,” she said. “But it just wasn’t used the way it needed to be.”

‘Too Much Trouble Here’

Truong said the city is still reeling from the pandemic spike in violent crime. He said he was at Bogalusa High School’s homecoming football game in 2022 when one teen shot another. Shots rang out, Truong said, and he grabbed his 3-month-old son and “laid in the bleachers.”

“It’s not a foreign topic to hardly anybody in town, whether you’ve heard the gunshots in the distance, whether you have attended a funeral of somebody who passed due to gun violence,” he said. Many still grapple with trauma.

In December 2022, Khlilia Daniels said, she hosted a birthday party for her teenage niece, praying no one would bring a gun.

The hosts checked guests for weapons, she said.

Yet gunfire erupted, Daniels said. Three teens were shot, including 15-year-old Ronié Taylor, who died, according to police.

“When someone you know is killed, you never forget,” said Daniels, 32, who held Taylor until emergency responders arrived.

Tajdryn Forbes was planning his future when he was killed, likely because of a dispute that started on social media over lyrics in a rap song, Guy said.

In a Facebook post in January, Bogalusa police said they had arrested someone in connection with Forbes’ killing. Authorities had previously announced the arrest of a teen in connection with the homicide.

Forbes had been a high school football standout, like his late father, Charles Forbes Jr., who played semipro. When Forbes scored a touchdown, he would look to the sky to honor his dad.

The school praised Forbes for his senior baseball season in a social media post: “This young man makes a difference on our campus and on the field with his strong character.”

When hopes for a college football scholarship did not pan out, Forbes worked as a deckhand for a marine transportation company. He saved money, looking forward to moving to Slidell, a suburb of New Orleans.

“He would always say, ‘There’s too much trouble here’” in Bogalusa, Guy recalled.

The post Guns, Race, and Profit: The Pain of America’s Other Epidemic appeared first on Medika Life.

Last fall, before being named the senior U.S. health official, Robert F. Kennedy Jr. said the Trump administration would liberate Americans from the FDA’s “aggressive suppression” of vitamins, dietary supplements, and other substances — ending the federal agency’s “war on public health,” as he put it.

In fact, the FDA can’t even require that supplements be effective before they are sold. When Congress, at the agency’s urging, last considered legislation to require makers of vitamins, herbal remedies, and other pills and potions to show proof of their safety and worth before marketing the products, it got more negative mail, phone calls, and telegrams than at any time since the Vietnam War, by some accounts. The backlash resulted in a 1994 law that enabled the dietary supplement industry to put its products on the market without testing and to tout unproven benefits, as long as the touting doesn’t include claims to treat or cure a disease. Annual industry revenues have grown from $4 billion to $70 billion since.

With Kennedy now in the driver’s seat, the industry will likely expect more: It aims to make bolder health claims for its products and even get the government, private insurers, and flexible spending accounts to pay for supplements, essentially putting them on an equal footing with FDA-approved pharmaceuticals.

On Feb. 13, the day Kennedy was sworn in as secretary of Health and Human Services, President Donald Trump issued a “Make America Healthy Again” agenda targeting alleged corruption in health regulatory agencies and instructing them to “ensure the availability of expanded treatment options and the flexibility for health insurance coverage to provide benefits that support beneficial lifestyle changes and disease prevention.”

Kennedy has said exercise, dietary supplements, and nutrition, rather than pharmaceutical products, are key to good health. Supplement makers want consumers to be able to use programs like health savings accounts, Medicare, and even benefits from the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, or SNAP, to pay for such items as vitamins, fish oil, protein powders, and probiotics.

“Essentially they’re seeking a government subsidy,” said Pieter Cohen, a Harvard University physician who studies supplements.

As the Senate Finance Committee questioned Kennedy during his Jan. 29 confirmation hearing, supporters in the Alliance for Natural Health lunched on quinoa salad in the U.S. Capitol Visitor Center and crowed that the moment had finally arrived for their health freedom movement, which has combined libertarian capitalism and mistrust of the medical establishment to champion unregulated compounds since the 19th century.

“The greatest opportunity of our lifetimes is before us,” said Jonathan Emord, the group’s general counsel, who has brought many successful lawsuits against the FDA’s restrictions on unproven health claims. “RFK has dedicated his whole life to opposing the undue influence” of the pharmaceutical industry and “assuring that our interests triumph,” Emord said.

In speeches and in a pamphlet called “The MAHA Mandate,” Emord and alliance founder Robert Verkerk said Kennedy would free companies to make greater claims for their products’ alleged benefits. Emord said his group was preparing to sue the FDA to prevent it from restricting non-pharmaceutical production of substances like biopeptides — complex molecules related to drugs like Ozempic.

HHS spokesperson Andrew Nixon did not respond to a request for comment on the agency’s plans vis-à-vis dietary supplements.

While the basic law governing the FDA establishes that a substance alleged to have treatment or curative effects is by definition a “drug,” and therefore comes under the agency’s requirements for high standards of scientific evidence, the new administration could reallocate money away from enforcement, said Mitch Zeller, former head of the FDA’s Center for Tobacco Products.

As a Senate aide early in his career, Zeller investigated a tainted L-tryptophan supplement that killed at least 30 people and sickened thousands in the U.S. in 1989. The scandal led the FDA to seek heavier regulation of supplements, but a powerful backlash resulted in the relatively weak supplements law of 1994.

Even that law’s enforcement could be undercut with a stroke of the pen that would keep FDA inspectors out of the field, Zeller said.

Sweeping changes couldn’t come too soon for Nathan Jones, founder and CEO of Xlear, a company that makes products containing xylitol, an artificial sweetener. The Federal Trade Commission sued Xlear in 2021 for making what it called false claims that its nasal spray could prevent and treat covid.

Jones points to a handful of studies evaluating whether xylitol prevents cavities and infections, saying the FDA would require overly expensive studies to get xylitol approved as a drug. Meanwhile, he said, dentists have been bought out by “Big Toothpaste.”

One can hardly find any products “without fluoride for oral health,” he said. “Crest and Colgate don’t want it to happen,” he said.

Kennedy’s desire to rid water supplies of fluoride because of its alleged impact on children’s IQ is welcome news, he said, and not only because it could highlight the value of his products. Jones stresses, as do many health freedom advocates, that clean air and water and unadulterated food do more to prevent and cure disease than vaccines and drugs. For example, he and other advocates claim, wrongly, that the United States eliminated the crippling disease polio through better sanitation, not vaccination.

The Alliance for Natural Health hopes that in lieu of strict FDA standards, Kennedy will enable companies to make expanded marketing claims based on evidence from non-FDA sources, Verkerk said, such as the National Institutes of Health’s nutritional information site, which describes the pros and cons of different supplements.

Kennedy has also called for relaxing the strictures on psychedelic drugs, which interest some veterans as potential remedies for such conditions as post-traumatic stress disorder. VETS, a San Diego-based organization, has paid for 1,000 veterans to get treatment with the powerful hallucinogen ibogaine at clinics in Mexico and other countries, said the group’s co-founder Amber Capone.

She got involved after her husband, a retired Navy SEAL, pulled out of a suicidal spiral after spending a week at an ibogaine clinic near Tijuana, Mexico, in 2017. She wants NIH, the Defense Department, and the Department of Veterans Affairs to fund research on the illegal substance — which can cause cardiac complications and is listed as a Schedule I drug, on par with heroin and LSD — so it can be made legally available when appropriate.

Coincidentally, the push for less onerous standards on supplements and psychedelics would come while Kennedy is demanding “gold-standard science” to review preservatives and other food additives that he has said could play a role in the country’s high rate of chronic diseases.

“Put aside the fact that there’s precious little evidence to support” that idea, said Stuart Pape, a former FDA food center attorney. “There’s been no indication they want the same rigor for supplements and nutraceuticals.”

Although most of these products don’t have major safety concerns, “we have no idea which products work, so in the best case people are throwing away a ton of money,” Zeller said. “The worst-case scenario is they are relying on unproven products to treat underlying conditions, and time is going by when they could have been using more effective FDA-authorized products for diseases.”

Supplement makers aren’t entirely unified. Groups such as the Consumer Healthcare Products Association and the Council for Responsible Nutrition have advocated for the FDA to crack down on products that are unsafe or falsely represented. The Alliance for Natural Health and the Natural Products Association, meanwhile, largely want the government to get out of the way.

“The time has come to embrace a radical shift — from reactive disease management to proactive health cultivation, from top-down public health diktats to personalized, individual-centric care,” Emord and Verkerk state in their “MAHA Mandate.”

The post With RFK Jr. in Charge, Supplement Makers See Chance To Cash In appeared first on Medika Life.

Even a peep of news about a new flu pandemic is enough to set scientists clucking about eggs.

They worried about them in 2005, and in 2009, and they’re worrying now. That’s because millions of fertilized hen eggs are still the main ingredient in making vaccines that, hopefully, will protect people against the outbreak of a new flu strain.

“It’s almost comical to be using a 1940s technology for a 21^st-century pandemic,” said Rick Bright, who led the Health and Human Services Department’s Biomedical Advanced Research and Development Authority (BARDA) during the Trump administration.

It’s not so funny, he said, when the currently stockpiled formulation against the H5N1 bird flu virus requires two shots and a whopping 90 micrograms of antigen, yet provides just middling immunity. “For the U.S. alone, it would take hens laying 900,000 eggs every single day for nine months,” Bright said.

And that’s only if the chickens don’t get infected.

The spread of an avian flu virus has decimated flocks of birds (and killed barn cats and other mammals). Cattle in at least nine states and at least three people in the U.S. have been infected, enough to bring public health attention once again to the potential for a global pandemic.

As of May 30, the only confirmed human cases of infection were dairy workers in Texas and Michigan, who experienced eye irritation. Two quickly recovered, while the third developed respiratory symptoms and was being treated with an antiviral drug at home. The virus’s spread into multiple species over a vast geographic area, however, raises the threat that further mutations could create a virus that spreads from human to human through airborne transmission.

If they do, prevention starts with the egg.

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To make raw material for an influenza vaccine, virus is grown in millions of fertilized eggs. Sometimes it doesn’t grow well, or it mutates to a degree that the vaccine product stimulates antibodies that don’t neutralize the virus — or the wild virus mutates to an extent that the vaccine doesn’t work against it. And there’s always the frightening prospect that wild birds could carry the virus into the henhouses needed in vaccine production.

“Once those roosters and hens go down, you have no vaccine,” Bright said.

Since 2009, when an H1N1 swine flu pandemic swept around the world before vaccine production could get off the ground, researchers and governments have been looking for alternatives. Billions of dollars have been invested into vaccines produced in mammalian and insect cell lines that don’t pose the same risks as egg-based shots.

“Everyone knows the cell-based vaccines are better, more immunogenic, and offer better production,” said Amesh Adalja, an infectious disease specialist at Johns Hopkins University’s Center for Health Security. “But they are handicapped because of the clout of egg-based manufacturing.”

The companies that make the cell-based influenza vaccines, CSL Seqirus and Sanofi, also have billions invested in egg-based production lines that they aren’t eager to replace. And it’s hard to blame them, said Nicole Lurie, HHS’ assistant secretary for preparedness and response under President Barack Obama who is now an executive director of CEPI, the global epidemic-fighting nonprofit.

“Most vaccine companies that responded to an epidemic — Ebola, Zika, covid — ended up losing a lot of money on it,” Lurie said.

Exceptions were the mRNA vaccines created for covid, although even Pfizer and Moderna have had to destroy hundreds of millions of doses of unwanted vaccine as public interest waned.

Pfizer and Moderna are testing seasonal influenza vaccines made with mRNA, and the government is soliciting bids for mRNA pandemic flu vaccines, said David Boucher, director of infectious disease preparedness at HHS’ Administration for Strategic Preparedness and Response.

Bright, whose agency invested a billion dollars in a cell-based flu vaccine factory in Holly Springs, North Carolina, said there’s “no way in hell we can fight an H5N1 pandemic with an egg-based vaccine.” But for now, there’s little choice.

BARDA has stockpiled hundreds of thousands of doses of an H5N1-strain vaccine that stimulates the creation of antibodies that appear to neutralize the virus now circulating. It could produce millions more doses of the vaccine within weeks and up to 100 million doses in five months, Boucher told KFF Health News.

But the vaccines currently in the national stockpile are not a perfect match for the strain in question. Even with two shots containing six times as much vaccine substance as typical flu shots, the stockpiled vaccines were only partly effective against strains of the virus that circulated when those vaccines were made, Adalja said.

However, BARDA is currently supporting two clinical trials with a candidate vaccine virus that “is a good match for what we’ve found in cows,” Boucher said.

Flu vaccine makers are just starting to prepare this fall’s shots but, eventually, the federal government could request production be switched to a pandemic-targeted strain.

“We don’t have the capacity to do both,” Adalja said.

For now, ASPR has a stockpile of bulk pandemic vaccine and has identified manufacturing sites where 4.8 million doses could be bottled and finished without stopping production of seasonal flu vaccine, ASPR chief Dawn O’Connell said on May 22. U.S. officials began trying to diversify away from egg-based vaccines in 2005, when avian flu first gripped the world, and with added vigor after the 2009 fiasco. But “with the resources we have available, we get the best bang for our buck and best value to U.S. taxpayers when we leverage the seasonal infrastructure, and that’s still mostly egg-based,” Boucher said.

Flu vaccine companies “have a system that works well right now to accomplish their objectives in manufacturing the seasonal vaccine,” he said. And without a financial incentive, “we are going to be here with eggs for a while, I think.”

Arthur Allen: aallen@kff.org, @ArthurAllen202

The post The Chicken and Egg Problem of Fighting Another Flu Pandemic appeared first on Medika Life.

Bill Thompson’s wife had never seen him smile with confidence. For the first 20 years of their relationship, an infection in his mouth robbed him of teeth, one by one.

“I didn’t have any teeth to smile with,” the 53-year-old of Independence, Missouri, said.

Thompson said he dealt with throbbing toothaches and painful swelling in his face from abscesses for years working as a cook at Burger King. He desperately needed to see a dentist but said he couldn’t afford to take time off without pay. Missouri is one of many states that do not require employers to provide paid sick leave.

So, Thompson would swallow Tylenol and push through the pain as he worked over the hot grill.

“Either we go to work, have a paycheck,” Thompson said. “Or we take care of ourselves. We can’t take care of ourselves because, well, this vicious circle that we’re stuck in.”

In a nation that was sharply divided about government health mandates during the COVID-19 pandemic, the public has been warming to the idea of government rules providing for paid sick leave.

Before the pandemic, 10 states and the District of Columbia had laws requiring employers to provide paid sick leave. Since then, Colorado, New York, New Mexico, Illinois, and Minnesota have passed laws offering some kind of paid time off for illness. Oregon and California expanded previous paid leave laws. In Missouri, Alaska, and Nebraska, advocates are pushing to put the issue on the ballot this fall.

The U.S. is one of nine countries that do not guarantee paid sick leave, according to data compiled by the World Policy Analysis Center.

In response to the pandemic, Congress passed the Emergency Paid Sick Leave and Emergency Family and Medical Leave Expansion acts. These temporary measures allowed employees to take up to two weeks of paid sick leave for covid-related illness and caregiving. But the provisions expired in 2021.

“When the pandemic hit, we finally saw some real political will to solve the problem of not having federal paid sick leave,” said economist Hilary Wething.

Wething co-authored a recent Economic Policy Institute report on the state of sick leave in the United States. It found that more than half, 61%, of the lowest-paid workers can’t get time off for an illness.

“I was really surprised by how quickly losing pay — because you’re sick — can translate into immediate and devastating cuts to a family’s household budget,” she said.

Wething noted that the lost wages of even a day or two can be equivalent to a month’s worth of gasoline a worker would need to get to their job, or the choice between paying an electric bill or buying food. Wething said showing up to work sick poses a risk to co-workers and customers alike. Low-paying jobs that often lack paid sick leave — like cashiers, nail technicians, home health aides, and fast-food workers — involve lots of face-to-face interactions.

“So paid sick leave is about both protecting the public health of a community and providing the workers the economic security that they desperately need when they need to take time away from work,” she said.

The National Federation of Independent Business has opposed mandatory sick leave rules at the state level, arguing that workplaces should have the flexibility to work something out with their employees when they get sick. The group said the cost of paying workers for time off, extra paperwork, and lost productivity burdens small employers.

According to a report by the National Bureau of Economic Research, once these mandates go into effect, employees take, on average, two more sick days a year than before a law took effect.

Illinois’ paid time off rules went into effect this year. Lauren Pattan is co-owner of the Old Bakery Beer Co. there. Before this year, the craft brewery did not offer paid time off for its hourly employees. Pattan said she supports Illinois’ new law but she has to figure out how to pay for it.

“We really try to be respectful of our employees and be a good place to work, and at the same time we get worried about not being able to afford things,” she said.

That could mean customers have to pay more to cover the cost, Pattan said.

As for Bill Thompson, he wrote an op-ed for the Kansas City Star newspaper about his dental struggles.

“Despite working nearly 40 hours a week, many of my co-workers are homeless,” he wrote. “Without health care, none of us can afford a doctor or a dentist.”

That op-ed generated attention locally and, in 2018, a dentist in his community donated his time and labor to remove Thompson’s remaining teeth and replace them with dentures. This allowed his mouth to recover from the infections he’d been dealing with for years. Today, Thompson has a new smile and a job — with paid sick leave — working in food service at a hotel.

In his free time, he’s been collecting signatures to put an initiative on the November ballot that would guarantee at least five days of earned paid sick leave a year for Missouri workers. Organizers behind the petition said they have enough signatures to take it before the voters.

By Zach Dyer: zdyer@kff.org

The post Paid Sick Leave Sticks After Many Pandemic Protections Vanish appeared first on Medika Life.

Kevin Stansbury, the CEO of Lincoln Community Hospital in the 800-person town of Hugo, Colorado, is facing a classic Catch-22: He could boost his rural hospital’s revenues by offering hip replacements and shoulder surgeries, but the 64-year-old hospital needs more money to be able to expand its operating room to do those procedures.

“I’ve got a surgeon that’s willing to do it. My facility isn’t big enough,” Stansbury said. “And urgent services like obstetrics I can’t do in my hospital, because my facility won’t meet code.”

Besides securing additional revenue for the hospital, such an expansion could keep locals from having to drive the 100 miles to Denver for orthopedic surgeries or to deliver babies.

Rural hospitals throughout the nation are facing a similar conundrum. An increase in costs amid lower payments from insurance plans makes it harder for small hospitals to fund large capital improvement projects. And high inflation and rising interest rates coming out of the pandemic are making it tougher for aging facilities to qualify for loans or other types of financing to upgrade their facilities to meet the ever-changing standards of medical care.

“Most of us are operating at very low margins, if any margin at all,” Stansbury said. “So, we’re struggling to find the money.”

Aging hospital infrastructure, particularly in rural areas, is a growing concern. Data on the age of hospitals is hard to come by, because hospitals expand, upgrade, and refurbish different parts of their facilities over time. A 2017 analysis by the American Society for Health Care Engineering, a part of the American Hospital Association, found that the average age of hospitals in the U.S. increased from 8.6 years in 1994 to 11.5 years in 2015. That number has likely grown, industry insiders say, as many hospitals delayed capital improvement projects, particularly during the pandemic.

Research published in 2021 by the capital planning firm Facility Health Inc., now called Brightly, found that U.S. health care facilities had deferred about 41% of their maintenance and would need $243 billion to complete the backlog.

Rural hospitals don’t have the resources of larger hospitals, particularly those in hospital chains, to fund billion-dollar expansions.

Most of today’s rural hospitals were opened with funding from the Hill-Burton Act, passed by Congress in 1946. That program was rolled into the Public Health Service Act in the 1970s and, by 1997, had funded the construction of nearly 7,000 hospitals and clinics. Now, many of those buildings, particularly those in rural areas, are in dire need of improvements.

Stansbury, who is also board chair of the Colorado Hospital Association, said at least a half-dozen rural hospitals in the state need significant capital investment.

Harold Miller, president and CEO of the Center for Healthcare Quality and Payment Reform, a think tank in Pittsburgh, said the major problem for small rural hospitals is that private insurance is no longer covering the full cost of providing care. Medicare Advantage, a program under which Medicare pays private plans to provide coverage for seniors and people with disabilities, is a major contributor to the problem, he said.

“You’re basically taking patients away from what may be the best payer that the small hospital has, and pushing those patients onto a private insurance plan, which doesn’t pay the same way that traditional Medicare pays and ends up also using a variety of techniques to deny claims,” Miller said.

Rural hospitals also must staff their emergency rooms with physicians round-the-clock, but the hospitals get paid only if someone comes in.

Meanwhile, labor costs coming out of the pandemic have increased, and inflation has driven up the cost of supplies. Those financial headwinds will likely push more rural hospitals out of business. Hospital closures dropped during the pandemic, from a record 18 closures in 2020 to a combined eight closures in 2021 and 2022, according to the Cecil G. Sheps Center for Health Services Research at the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill, as emergency relief funds kept them open. But that life support has ended, and at least nine more closed in 2023. Miller said closures are reverting to pre-pandemic rates.

That raises concerns that some hospitals might invest in new facilities and end up shutting down anyway. Miller said only a small portion of rural hospitals might be able to make a meaningful difference to their bottom lines by adding new services.

Lawmakers have tried to help. California, for example, has loan programs charging low to no interest that rural hospitals can participate in, and hospital representatives are urging Colorado legislators to approve similar support.

At the federal level, Rep. Yadira Caraveo, a Colorado Democrat, has introduced the bipartisan Rural Health Care Facilities Revitalization Act, which would help rural hospitals get more funding for capital projects through the U.S. Department of Agriculture. The USDA has been one of the largest funders of rural development through its Community Facilities Programs, providing over $3 billion in loans a year. In 2019, half of the more than $10 billion in outstanding loans through the program helped health care facilities.

“Otherwise, facilities would have to go to private lenders,” said Carrie Cochran-McClain, chief policy officer for the National Rural Health Association.

Rural hospitals might not be very attractive to private lenders because of their financial constraints, and thus may have to pay higher interest rates or meet additional requirements to get those loans, she said.

Caraveo’s bill would also allow hospitals that already have loans to refinance at lower interest rates, and would cover more categories of medical equipment, such as devices and technology used for telehealth.

“We need to keep these places open, even not just for emergencies, but to deliver babies, to have your cardiology appointment,” said Caraveo, who is also a pediatrician. “You shouldn’t have to drive two, three hours to get it.”

Kristin Juliar, a capital resources consultant for the National Organization of State Offices of Rural Health, has been studying the challenges rural hospitals face in borrowing money and planning big projects.

“They’re trying to do this while they’re doing their regular jobs running a hospital,” Juliar said. “A lot of times when there are funding opportunities, for example, the timing may be just too tight for them to put together a project.”

Some funding is contingent on the hospital raising matching funds, which may be difficult in distressed rural communities. And most projects require hospitals to cobble together funding from multiple sources, adding complexity. And since these projects often take a long time to put together, rural hospital CEOs or board members sometimes leave before they come to fruition.

“You get going at something and then key people disappear, and then you feel like you’re starting all over again,” she said.

The hospital in Hugo opened in 1959 after soldiers coming back from World War II decided that Lincoln County on the eastern Colorado plains needed a hospital. They donated money, materials, land, and labor to build it. The hospital has added four family practice clinics, an attached skilled nursing facility, and an off-site assisted living center. It brings in specialists from Denver and Colorado Springs.

Stansbury would like to build a new hospital roughly double the size of the current 45,000-square-foot facility. With inflation easing and interest rates likely to go down this year, Stansbury hopes to get financing lined up in 2024 and to break ground in 2025.

“The problem is, every day I wake up, it gets more expensive,” Stansbury said.

When hospital officials first contemplated building a new hospital three years ago, they estimated a total project cost of about $65 million. But inflation skyrocketed and now interest rates have gone up, pushing the total cost to $75 million.

“If we have to wait another couple of years, we may be pushing up closer to $80 million,” Stansbury said. “But we’ve got to do it. I can’t wait five years and think the costs of construction are going to go down.”

The post Rural Hospitals Are Caught in an Aging-Infrastructure Conundrum appeared first on Medika Life.

More than a year after the federal government first cut off her disability benefits, Denise Woods drives nightly to strip malls, truck stops, and parking lots around Savannah, Georgia, looking for a safe place to sleep in her Chevy.

Overpayment Outrage

Social Security has been overpaying billions of dollars to people, many on disability — then demanding the money back, even if the government made mistakes, an investigation by KFF Health News and Cox Media Group revealed. The reporting has triggered harsh criticism in Congress and led to an investigation by the agency. READ MORE

Woods, 51, said she had rented a three-bedroom house she shared with her adult son and grandson until March 2022, when the government terminated her disability payments without notice.

According to letters sent by the Social Security Administration, the agency determined it had been overpaying Woods and demanded she send back nearly $58,000.

Woods couldn’t come up with the money. So, until February 2026, the agency is withholding the $2,048 in disability she would have received each month.

“I still don’t know how it happened,” said Woods, who has requested a waiver and is seeking a hearing. “No one will give me answers. It takes weeks or months to get a caseworker on the phone. They have made my life unbearable.”

Kilolo Kijakazi, acting commissioner of the Social Security Administration, told a congressional subcommittee in October that her agency notifies recipients when they have received overpayments and works to “help those who want to establish repayment plans or who seek waiver of the debt.”

But relief from overpayments goes to only a relatively small number of people. And many others face dire consequences: Some become homeless, are evicted from rental housing, or see their mortgages fall into foreclosure.

The SSA has a painful legacy of excluding Black people from benefits. Today the agency’s own published research shows its overpayments most often hit Black and Hispanic people, the poorest of the poor, those with the least education, and those whose medical conditions are unlikely to improve.

Woods is one of millions who have been targeted in the Social Security Administration’s attempt to claw back billions of dollars it says was wrongly sent to beneficiaries. Years can pass before the agency catches a mistake, and even the little bit extra it might send each month can add up.

In reclaiming it, the government is imposing debts that can reach tens of thousands of dollars against those least able to pay.

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(WHIO, Dayton)

‘Wreaking Havoc in People’s Lives’

KFF Health News and Cox Media Group reporters interviewed people who have received overpayment notices and nonprofit attorneys who advocate for them and reviewed SSA publications, policy papers, and congressional testimony.

A 64-year-old Florida man said he could no longer afford rent after his Social Security retirement payments were garnished last year because he allegedly had been overpaid $35,176 in disability benefits. He said he now lives in a tent in the woods. A 24-year-old Pennsylvania woman living with her mother and younger siblings in public housing lost the chance to buy her own home because of an alleged $6,063 overpayment that accrued when she was a child.

“Social Security overpayments are wreaking havoc in people’s lives,” said Jen Burdick, an attorney with Community Legal Services of Philadelphia, which represents clients who have received overpayment notices. “They are asking the poorest among us to account for every dollar they get. Under their rules, some people can save up money for a funeral burial but not enough to get housing.”

Woods has lupus and congestive heart failure and struggles to walk, but she started working part-time after her benefits were rescinded. She said she makes $14 an hour transporting railroad crew members in her 2015 Chevy Equinox between Savannah and Jacksonville, Florida, when she can get assignments and her health allows it.

The SUV costs $386 a month — a large portion of her income — but without it, Woods said, she would not have a job or a place to sleep.

“My life is just survival now,” Woods said. “Sometimes I feel like I am just waiting to die.”

The Social Security Administration has said it is required by law to attempt to recover overpayments. Notices ask beneficiaries to repay the money directly. Authorities can also recoup money by reducing or halting monthly benefits and garnishing wages and federal tax refunds.

Agency officials describe an orderly process in which they explain to beneficiaries the reason for the overpayment and offer the chance to appeal the decision and have the charges waived if they cannot afford it. One way to qualify for a waiver is if “paying us back would mean you could not pay your bills for food, clothing, housing, medical care or other necessary expenses,” according to a letter sent to one recipient.

Those most impacted by Social Security’s decisions, including people with disabilities and widows receiving survivors’ benefits, paint a different picture. They talk about having their benefits terminated without explanation or warning, an appeals process that can drag on for years, and an inability to get answers from the SSA to even basic questions.

Nancy Altman, president of Social Security Works, a group that pushes for the protection and expansion of the program, recalled how stressful it was when a colleague’s mother received an overpayment notice.

“After weeks of nonstop phone calls, he was able to get the matter resolved, but not before it put his mother in the hospital,” Altman said. “One can just imagine how much worse it would be for someone for whom English is not their native language, who lacks a high school education, and who is unassisted by such a knowledgeable and caring advocate.”

Problems surrounding the Social Security Administration are aggravated by congressional actions, including funding shortages that brought agency staffing to a 25-year low by the end of fiscal year 2022. Even so, advocates for people with disabilities say the agency does far less than it could to help people who have been overpaid, often through no fault of their own.

They said challenges faced by beneficiaries underscore how overpayments disproportionately impact Black people and other minority groups even as President Joe Biden and Social Security leaders promise to fix racial inequity in government programs.

Most overpayments are linked to the Supplemental Security Income program, which gives money to people with little or no income who are disabled, blind, or at least 65. The majority of SSI recipients are Black, Hispanic, or Asian people.

“Congress has turned a blind eye to this,” said David Weaver, a former associate commissioner for research, demonstration, and employment support at the SSA. Politicians “just want to save money. It is misplaced priorities. It is completely inexcusable.”

The Social Security Administration did not make its leaders available for an interview. Spokesperson Nicole Tiggemann declined to answer questions about the cases of Woods and other beneficiaries, citing privacy laws.

In a written statement, Tiggemann acknowledged that receiving an overpayment notice can be “unsettling,” but said the agency helps beneficiaries navigate the process and informs them of their rights if they believe they were not at fault or cannot repay the debt.

“Even if they do not want to appeal or request a waiver, the notice says to contact us if the planned withholding would cause hardship,” Tiggemann said. “We have flexible repayment options — including repayment of as low as $10 per month. Each person’s situation is unique, and we handle overpayments on a case-by-case basis.”

Critics say fighting an overpayment notice is not that simple.

Beneficiaries — many challenged by physical, mental, or intellectual disabilities — often are overwhelmed by complex paperwork or unable to find financial documents that may be years old.

The Social Security Administration has the authority to waive overpayments if officials determine recovering them would violate “equity and good conscience,” or the disputed amount falls below certain thresholds. The agency’s guidance also says collecting an overpayment “defeats the purpose” when the “individual needs substantially all of their current income to meet their current ordinary and necessary living expenses.”

Advocates for people with disabilities contend most overpayments arise from delays in processing paperwork and errors by the Social Security Administration or recipients making innocent mistakes. The agency can waive overpayments when the beneficiary is found not at fault.

But in fiscal year 2023, the Social Security Administration collected about $4.9 billion in overpayments with an additional $23 billion yet uncollected, according to an agency report. Just $267 million was waived, the report said.

David Camp, the interim chief executive officer of the National Organization of Social Security Claimants’ Representatives, which advocates for improvements in federal disability programs, said the Social Security Administration is a “broken structure.”

The agency sometimes tries to claw back overpayments from people falsely accused of failing to provide required documents, Camp said.

“Dropping off forms at their field offices is not a guarantee” paperwork will be processed, he said. “Mail is slow, or it doesn’t get opened. We see it so many times you are left with the idea that has to do with the structure.”

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(WFXT, Boston)

Left Destitute

Advocacy groups and others said they don’t know how many people become homeless after their benefits are terminated, but they say anecdotal accounts are common.

A study found that more than 800,000 disability applicants from 2007 to 2017 experienced homelessness. Advocates say it only makes sense that overpayments could lead more people to become homeless, since nearly 40% of people receiving disability benefits experience food insecurity and cannot keep up with their rent and utility bills, according to research.

Ronald Harrell sleeps in the woods near Wildwood, Florida, about 50 miles northwest of Orlando. He said he shelters in a tent, cooks his meals on a small grill, and showers at a friend’s house.

Harrell, 64, said he rented a room in a house for $125 a week until last year, when the Social Security Administration cut off his retirement benefits.

A letter the SSA sent him, dated Feb. 6, 2023, says his benefits are being withheld because of overpayment of $35,176 that accrued when Harrell received disability payments. The letter acknowledges he has asked the agency to lower his payments.

“I don’t know how they are doing this to me,” Harrell said. “I did everything by the law.”

Harrell said he once worked as an HVAC technician, but nerve damage left him unable to work sometime around 2002.

He said he collected disability benefits until about 2009, when rehabilitation allowed him to return to the workforce, and he said he reported the information to the federal government. Harrell said he applied for early Social Security retirement benefits last year when his health again declined.

“I started working when I was 16,” Harrell said. “I never thought my life would be like this.”

Kijakazi, the acting Social Security commissioner, and others have said overpayments stem at least partly from low staffing and budget cuts.

From 2010 to 2023, the agency’s customer service budget dropped by 17%, after inflation, according to a report by the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities, a think tank that conducts research on government programs.

At the same time, the report says, the number of Social Security beneficiaries grew by nearly 12 million people, or 22%.

Jonathan Stein, a former attorney with Community Legal Services of Philadelphia who has participated in workgroups and meetings with federal officials about access to Social Security payments for vulnerable populations, said budget cuts cannot fully account for the agency’s penchant for denying applications and terminating benefits.

Officials suspended Supplemental Security Income benefits for about 136,540 people in 2019 for “failure to furnish report,” which means they did not meet deadlines or paperwork requirements, Stein said, despite knowing many of those people were unable to contact the agency because they are homeless or have been evicted and lost access to phones and computers.

That’s more than double the number in 2010, he said.

“They have an implicit bias for denying benefits,” Stein said. “It is a very skewed view of integrity. It reinforces a culture of suspicion and prosecution of applicants.”

The 24-year-old Pennsylvania woman who received Supplemental Security Income as a child because of a learning disability described her ordeal on the condition that her name not be published. A letter from the Social Security Administration says she received an overpayment notice for more than $6,000.

“It was frustrating,” the woman said. “You are dealing with nasty people on the phone. I couldn’t get any answers.”

In November 2022, she contacted a nonprofit law firm, which helped her file an appeal. One year later, she received another letter from Social Security saying the overpayment had been waived because it was not her fault. The letter also said officials would not seek repayment because she could not afford basic needs such as food and housing without the monthly benefits.

The woman had already paid a price.

She lived in public housing and the Philadelphia Housing Authority had offered her a chance to fulfill a long-held goal of owning a house. But when the overpayment appeared on her credit report, she said, she could not obtain a mortgage.

“I was excited about getting my own home,” she said. “That’s what everybody wants. Losing it is not a good feeling.”

David Hilzenrath of KFF Health News, Jodie Fleischer of Cox Media Group, and Ben Becker of ActionNewsJax in Jacksonville, Florida, contributed to this report.

The post ‘I Am Just Waiting to Die’: Social Security Clawbacks Drive Some Into Homelessness appeared first on Medika Life.

FALLON, Nev. — Linda Noneo turned up the heat in her van to ward off the early-morning chill that persists in northern Nevada’s high desert even in late June. As the first rays of daylight broke over a Christian cross on the top of a hill near the Fallon Paiute-Shoshone colony, she drove toward her first stop to pick up fellow tribal members waiting for transportation to their medical appointments.

Noneo is one of four community health representatives for the Fallon Paiute-Shoshone, which the tribe said includes about 1,160 enrolled members. The role primarily involves driving tribal members to their health appointments, whether in Fallon, a city of just under 10,000, or Reno, more than 60 miles west. Noneo said she and her colleagues have also taken patients as far away as Sacramento, California, and Salt Lake City, round trips of nearly 400 and 1,000 miles, respectively.

Public health experts contend the role Noneo and others like her fill is an integral part of ensuring people receive the care they need, especially for chronic illnesses, by helping close gaps in areas with medical provider shortages. Besides transporting patients to their appointments, community health representatives provide health education, patient advocacy, and more. Noneo said she and her colleagues spend a lot of time helping young mothers and elders, checking on the latter, taking them to get groceries, or delivering their medication.

Yet, most state Medicaid programs don’t recognize or pay for services offered by health workers, such as Noneo, who work on tribal lands. That’s despite their work being essentially the same as that of “community health workers” in nontribal communities, a classification many state Medicaid programs cover.

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In Nevada, that disparity recently changed when the state began allowing workers on tribal lands to qualify for Medicaid reimbursement as community health workers. Tribal leaders say the Medicaid payments supplement existing personnel funding by covering the individual services the workers provide. That in turn should allow tribes to train and hire more community health representatives, which could expand health and support services for tribal members.

Only two other states, South Dakota and Arizona, treat community health representatives serving Native American populations as eligible for the same Medicaid reimbursement as their similarly named counterparts in nontribal areas, according to Michelle Archuleta, a community health representative program consultant for the federal Indian Health Service. However, she said, the tribes the CHRs work for have not begun billing the states’ Medicaid programs.

The Community Health Representative program, established by Congress in 1968, is among the nation’s oldest community health workforces. It’s jointly funded by each tribe and the IHS, an agency within the Department of Health and Human Services responsible for providing health care to members of federally recognized tribes. As of 2019, more than 1,600 of these tribal linchpins worked in the United States, according to the IHS.

Last year, the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services approved Nevada’s plan to make community health workers who complete training and certification requirements eligible for Medicaid reimbursement when they assist with chronic disease management and prevention.

And in December, leaders with the Nevada Community Health Worker Association helped tribes make sure their community health representatives would receive the necessary training for certification. The association would “fully support” tribal clinics submitting their community health representative training for recognition in the state and it would not require a change to state law, said Jay Kolbet-Clausell, program director for the group. For now, community health representatives are receiving double training to be able to file for Medicaid reimbursement.

Training and certification requirements for community health workers vary widely by state and employer, as workers are often hired by hospitals, local organizations, health departments, or federally qualified health centers. But a movement has been emerging across the country to bring more uniformity to those requirements and formalize the roles, said Sweta Haldar, a policy analyst with the Racial Equity and Health Policy program at KFF.

As part of this process, states are expanding coverage for community health workers under Medicaid. According to a brief Haldar co-authored, 28 of 47 states, and Washington, D.C., reported having policies that allow Medicaid reimbursement for services provided by community health workers. Arkansas, Georgia, and Hawaii did not respond to KFF’s survey.

“There’s a really robust evidence base that is growing every day that community health worker interventions can be effective in reducing health disparities, particularly in communities of color,” Haldar said.

Studies have also shown that community health worker programs are effective in improving health outcomes for people with chronic conditions and that they reduce health care costs.

Soon after Nevada implemented its program, about 50 community health representatives completed the requirements. Another cohort of 20 finished the curriculum later, said Kolbet-Clausell. The goal is for those who have completed the recent training to help their peers through it, they said.

Even before the tribal workers were included in the community health workforce, one of its greatest strengths was its diversity, Kolbet-Clausell said. In Nevada, the 2022 student group was made up of greater shares of people who are American Indian or Alaska Native, Hawaiian or Pacific Islander, Black, Hispanic, or from rural areas than the state’s general population. They said it’s likely one of the most diverse health programs in the state.

Community health representatives such as Noneo are typically tribal or community members themselves, which, public health experts say, allows them to connect more easily with the patients they serve and better connect them to health care.

For example, the first person she picked up that June morning was her cousin, who had a 6 a.m. dialysis appointment.

Kolbet-Clausell said they’re optimistic about the growing workforce and the support it’s getting from state leaders.

“Five, six years ago, there was a lot more resistance,” they said, because lawmakers saw the efforts to expand the community health workforce as simply spending more money. “But this actually just benefits rural communities as much as it benefits underserved urban communities. It serves everyone.”

Back in Fallon, Noneo reflected on her 27 years as a community health representative for her tribe as she prepares to retire in September. She has been there with her fellow tribal members through important and hard times in their lives — like driving an expectant mother to Reno to deliver a baby, taking people to receive treatment for mental health crises and addiction, and bringing patients to their dialysis treatments on her week off around Christmas so they wouldn’t miss their appointments.

The most challenging part of the job, she said, is experiencing the loss of someone she has regularly seen and provided years of services for.

“We all have compassion,” she said. “In this kind of job, you have to have that.”

After decades of shuttling patients, Noneo has the work down to a steady and familiar rhythm. Four hours after dropping off her cousin for dialysis, Noneo picked her up at the clinic as she dropped off the next dialysis patient. On a clipboard, she logged the hours and mileage for each appointment.

The post Tribal Health Workers Aren’t Paid Like Their Peers. See Why Nevada Changed That appeared first on Medika Life.

CHARLESTON, S.C. — Melanie Gray Miller, a 30-year-old physician, wiped away tears as she described the isolation she felt after losing a beloved patient.

“It was at the end of a night shift, when it seems like bad things always happen,” said Miller, who is training to become a pediatrician.

The infant had been sick for months in the Medical University of South Carolina’s pediatric intensive care unit and the possibility that he might not improve was obvious, Miller recalled during an April meeting with physicians and hospital administrators. But the suddenness of his death still caught her off guard.

“I have family and friends that I talk to about things,” she said. “But no one truly understands.”

Doctors don’t typically take time to grieve at work. But during that recent meeting, Miller and her colleagues opened up about the insomnia, emotional exhaustion, trauma, and burnout they experienced from their time in the pediatric ICU.

“This is not a normal place,” Grant Goodrich, the hospital system’s director of ethics, said to the group, acknowledging an occupational hazard the industry often downplays. “Most people don’t see kids die.”

The recurring conversation, scheduled for early-career doctors coming off monthlong pediatric ICU rotations, is one way the hospital helps staffers cope with stress, according to Alyssa Rheingold, a licensed clinical psychologist who leads its resiliency program.

“Often the focus is to teach somebody how to do yoga and take a bath,” she said. “That’s not at all what well-being is about.”

Burnout in the health care industry is a widespread problem that long predates the covid-19 pandemic, though the chaos introduced by the coronavirus’s spread made things worse, physicians and psychologists said. Health systems across the country are trying to boost morale and keep clinicians from quitting or retiring early, but the stakes are higher than workforce shortages.

Rates of physician suicide, partly fueled by burnout, have been a concern for decades. And while burnout occurs across medical specialties, some studies have shown that primary care doctors, such as pediatricians and family physicians, may run a higher risk.

“Why go into primary care when you can make twice the money doing something with half the stress?” said Daniel Crummett, a retired primary care doctor who lives in North Carolina. “I don’t know why anyone would go into primary care.”

Doctors say they are fed up with demands imposed by hospital administrators and health insurance companies, and they’re concerned about the notoriously grueling shifts assigned to medical residents during the early years of their careers. A long-standing stigma keeps physicians from prioritizing their own mental health, while their jobs require them to routinely grapple with death, grief, and trauma. The culture of medicine encourages them to simply bear it.

“Resiliency is a cringe word for me,” Miller said. “In medicine, we’re just expected to be resilient 24/7. I don’t love that culture.”

And though the pipeline of physicians entering the profession is strong, the ranks of doctors in the U.S. aren’t growing fast enough to meet future demand, according to the American Medical Association. That’s why burnout exacerbates workforce shortages and, if it continues, may limit the ability of some patients to access even basic care. A 2021 report published by the Association of American Medical Colleges projects the U.S. will be short as many as 48,000 primary care physicians by 2034, a higher number than any other single medical specialty.

A survey published last year by The Physicians Foundation, a nonprofit focused on improving health care, found more than half of the 1,501 responding doctors didn’t have positive feelings about the current or future state of the medical profession. More than 20% said they wanted to retire within a year.

Similarly, in a 2022 AMA survey of 11,000 doctors and other medical professionals, more than half reported feeling burned out and indicated they were experiencing a great deal of stress.

Those numbers appear to be even higher in primary care. Even before the pandemic, 70% of primary care providers and 89% of primary care residents reported feelings of burnout.

“Everyone in health care feels overworked,” said Gregg Coodley, a primary care physician in Portland, Oregon, and author of the 2022 book “Patients in Peril: The Demise of Primary Care in America.”

“I’m not saying there aren’t issues for other specialists, too, but in primary care, it’s the worst problem,” he said.

The high level of student debt most medical school graduates carry, combined with salaries more than four times as high as the average, deter many physicians from quitting medicine midcareer. Even primary care doctors, whose salaries are among the lowest of all medical specialties, are paid significantly more than the average American worker. That’s why, instead of leaving the profession in their 30s or 40s, doctors often stay in their jobs but retire early.

“We go into medicine to help people, to take care of people, to do good in the world,” said Crummett, who retired from the Duke University hospital system in 2020 when he turned 65.

Crummett said he would have enjoyed working until he was 70, if not for the bureaucratic burdens of practicing medicine, including needing to get prior authorization from insurance companies before providing care, navigating cumbersome electronic health record platforms, and logging hours of administrative work outside the exam room.

“I enjoyed seeing patients. I really enjoyed my co-workers,” he said. “The administration was certainly a major factor in burnout.”

Jean Antonucci, a primary care doctor in rural Maine who retired from full-time work at 66, said she, too, would have kept working if not for the hassle of dealing with hospital administrators and insurance companies.

Once, Antonucci said, she had to call an insurance company — by landline and cellphone simultaneously, with one phone on each ear — to get prior authorization to conduct a CT scan, while her patient in need of an appendectomy waited in pain. The hospital wouldn’t conduct the scan without insurance approval.

“It was just infuriating,” said Antonucci, who now practices medicine only one day a week. “I could have kept working. I just got tired.”

Providers’ collective exhaustion is a crisis kept hidden by design, said Whitney Marvin, a pediatrician who works in the pediatric ICU at the Medical University of South Carolina. She said hospital culture implicitly teaches doctors to tamp down their emotions and to “keep moving.”

“I’m not supposed to be weak, and I’m not supposed to cry, and I’m not supposed to have all these emotions, because then maybe I’m not good enough at my job,” said Marvin, describing the way doctors have historically thought about their mental health.

This mentality prevents many doctors from seeking the help they need, which can lead to burnout — and much worse. An estimated 300 physicians die by suicide every year, according to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. The problem is particularly pronounced among female physicians, who die by suicide at a significantly higher rate than women in other professions.

A March report from Medscape found, of more than 9,000 doctors surveyed, 9% of male physicians and 11% of female physicians said they have had suicidal thoughts. But the problem isn’t new, the report noted. Elevated rates of suicide among physicians have been documented for 150 years.

“Ironically, it’s happening to a group of people who should have the easiest access to mental health care,” said Gary Price, a Connecticut surgeon and president of The Physicians Foundation.

But the reluctance to seek help isn’t unfounded, said Corey Feist, president of the Dr. Lorna Breen Heroes’ Foundation.

“There’s something known in residency as the ‘silent curriculum,’” Feist said in describing an often-unspoken understanding among doctors that seeking mental health treatment could jeopardize their livelihood.

Feist’s sister-in-law, emergency room physician Lorna Breen, died by suicide during the early months of the pandemic. Breen sought inpatient treatment for mental health once, Feist said, but feared that her medical license could be revoked for doing so.

The foundation works to change laws across the country to prohibit medical boards and hospitals from asking doctors invasive mental health questions on employment or license applications.

“These people need to be taken care of by us, because really, no one’s looking out for them,” Feist said.

In Charleston, psychologists are made available to physicians during group meetings like the one Miller attended, as part of the resiliency program.

But fixing the burnout problem also requires a cultural change, especially among older physicians.

“They had it worse and we know that. But it’s still not good,” Miller said. “Until that changes, we’re just going to continue burning out physicians within the first three years of their career.”

The post Burnout Threatens Primary Care Workforce and Doctors’ Mental Health appeared first on Medika Life.

[This story also ran on The Daily Yonder.]

That effort pleased researchers and advocates for improving rural health because the dozen or so examinations of rural health data provided important details about the 46 million Americans who live away from the nation’s population centers. It began to fill a gap in the information used by those who study and address the issues that affect people in rural communities.

But those reports, the Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report rural health series, began and ended in 2017. And though the CDC has addressed rural health in other weekly reports and data briefs, the agency hasn’t examined it in such depth since.

That’s one reason rural health advocates successfully pushed for the CDC to extend its rural health focus by creating an Office of Rural Health at the agency. The office is operational as of March 2023, and advocates hope the agency will commit to rural health research and provide analyses that lead to good public health policies for rural communities.

“What we’re seeing is rural continually getting left behind,” said Alan Morgan, CEO of the National Rural Health Association, which urged Congress to fund the office. “They’re communities at risk, communities that may not be employing public health safety measures, and we are flying blind,” he said.

“What’s needed is an ongoing look at rural communities, their populations, to better direct both state and federal efforts to address health disparities,” he said.

The omnibus appropriations bill signed by President Joe Biden in December 2022 gave the CDC $5 million for the 2023 fiscal year to create the Office of Rural Health inside the agency, which has a $9.3 billion budget this year. Congress directed the CDC to sharpen its focus on public health in rural areas with the new office, after covid-19 had an outsize impact on rural America.

Though the CDC is a data-driven public health agency, it’s unlikely the new office will solve preexisting rural data challenges. But CDC officials have said in-depth rural health initiatives that require collaborations across the CDC — like the Morbidity and Mortality Weekly Report rural health series — could become more common practice at the agency.

“Instead of comparing rural and non-rural, it was looking within rural,” said Diane Hall, acting director of the office, about the 2017 reports. “That MMWR sort of laid out some things that we can be thinking about doing more of so that within rural variation, [there’s] better understanding of how race and ethnicity play out in rural communities.”

In addition to ethnic disparities, the series examined illicit drug use, causes of death, and suicide trends, among other things. Those topics are already part of what the CDC tracks, but typically the agency compares rural data for those topics with urban data rather than creating a stand-alone analysis.

Hall said having an Office of Rural Health will also help the CDC continue collaborating with the Federal Office of Rural Health Policy, part of the Health Resources and Services Administration. That office has existed since 1987 and has been the primary federal office dedicated to rural health care. But its focus is on increasing access to health care rather than monitoring public health.

At the CDC’s Office of Rural Health, “we’re more likely to be focusing on prevention,” Hall said.

What the office is unlikely to do, she said, is create new surveys and collect data that the CDC does not already track. It would be a “pretty costly” undertaking, she said. “I think what would be more impactful is to work with the people that are already doing that and help them better understand that rural context.”

Rural data analysis poses challenges because of the smaller size of rural population centers compared with the larger populations of urban areas. For instance, small communities might not have adequate response rates to surveys, which can limit the conclusions researchers can make about the data.

Michael Meit, co-director of the Center for Rural Health Research at East Tennessee State University, said the 2017 series helped to mitigate the “small numbers” challenge, wherein samples aren’t large enough to be properly analyzed because rural areas have smaller populations.

Each of the series’ reports outlined data limitations such as small numbers and their effect on the analysis, which shows the CDC was “already pushing forward and trying to bring voice to these issues,” Meit said. “I think that by itself is huge.”

Hall, the acting director, said there isn’t a simple solution to challenges like small sample sizes but that the “CDC’s Office of Rural Health can work to highlight creative solutions being developed, such as our PLACES project.” PLACES, or Population Level Analysis and Community Estimates, is a collaboration among the CDC, Robert Wood Johnson Foundation, and CDC Foundation that releases data for smaller cities and rural areas. (KFF Health News receives funding support from the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation.)

Another challenge with rural health data is that small numbers can make it possible to identify who in a particular community is included in data. But the CDC has restrictions in place to prevent that from happening.

Sometimes, though, the agency does allow researchers to access files containing details like “race or ethnicity for small and highly visible groups” and “extreme values of income and age.”

Keith Mueller, director of the Rural Policy Research Institute, hopes the Office of Rural Health will make it easier for researchers to access that more detailed data.

“There would be somebody at the agency who can get at the data, who can help us answer the research question,” he said. “Collaborative work between people in the field and people in the agency who have the direct access to the data is far more readily available or likely to happen with this new office.”

Since the office is based in the CDC’s new Public Health Infrastructure Center, which launched in February, Hall said it’s well positioned to partner with researchers. The center manages the agency’s partnership grants, which are awarded to organizations that plan to improve public health services.

Hall said the office’s most immediate priorities, though, are to grow the staff beyond its current three members and to develop the CDC’s strategic plan for rural health.

The post The CDC Lacks a Rural Focus. Researchers Hope a Newly Funded Office Will Help appeared first on Medika Life.

If you or someone you know may be experiencing a mental health crisis, contact the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline by dialing “988,” or the Crisis Text Line by texting “HOME” to 741741.

In the weeks after Stanford University soccer goalie Katie Meyer, 22, died by suicide last March, her grieving teammates were inseparable even when not training.

Coaches adjusted practices to give the athletes time and space to make sense of losing their friend and team captain. They offered to cancel the spring season, but the players declined, said Melissa Charloe, who started as a Stanford assistant women’s soccer coach the day Meyer died.

“It’s hard because there’s no playbook on how to do this,” Charloe said.

No playbook exists because, until recently, it was relatively uncommon for student-athletes to die by suicide. But at least five NCAA athletes, including Meyer, ended their lives in a two-month period last year. And a 2021 NCAA poll released in May found that student-athletes say they are experiencing more mental health concerns, anxiety, and depression than they reported in surveys conducted before the covid-19 pandemic took hold in 2020.

Suicide is the second-leading cause of death on college campuses. And despite the overall rise in mental health concerns there, universities have been caught off guard when student-athletes have died by suicide. Traditionally, sports psychologists focused on mental health as it related to performance on the field. Their goal was to help athletes improve physically — jump higher, run faster — not navigate mental health crises, largely because of a misperception that college athletes were less susceptible to mental health concerns.

What little research exists about student athletes and mental health is inconsistent and inconclusive. But many experts thought athletes were insulated from risk factors such as depression and social isolation, in part because physical activity is good for mental health and athletes have a steady stream of people around them, including coaches, trainers, and teammates, said Kim Gorman, director of counseling and psychological services at Western Carolina University.

“They’re kind of used to pain — it’s not so foreign to them,” added organizational psychologist Matt Mishkind, deputy director of the Helen and Arthur E. Johnson Depression Center at the University of Colorado’s Anschutz Medical Campus.

Still, athletes face pressures that their peers in the general student population don’t, such as balancing sports, schoolwork, fears of career-ending injuries, and mistakes that can lead to ridicule that gets amplified on social media. With suicide rates in the general population on the rise and the effects of the pandemic continuing to threaten well-being, high-profile suicides highlight how to deal with the unthinkable — and how to try to prevent it from happening again.

In the wake of such suicides, schools are reevaluating the kind of mental health support they provide. Creating a safe space to talk about grief with someone who understands suicide is a critical first step, said psychologist Doreen Marshall, a vice president at the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.

“Many professionals are good with grief, but suicide grief can be a little different,” she said, as it often involves guilt and questions about why someone would end their life.

Gina Meyer, Katie’s mother, and her husband, Steve, have developed an initiative, Katie’s Save, to ensure that all students have a trusted advocate to turn to in times of trouble. “We know that the bravest thing you can do is ask for help,” she said.

The Meyers filed a wrongful death lawsuit against Stanford in November alleging that their daughter ended her life after receiving an email from the university about disciplinary action against her. Stanford University spokesperson Dee Mostofi did not answer questions about the case, but Stanford posted a statement on its website saying the Meyers’ suit contains misleading information and the school disagrees with their allegations that it is responsible for Katie’s death.

“Like other colleges and universities across the country, Stanford has seen a sharp increase in demand for mental health counseling and other well-being resources over the last two years,” Mostofi said. “Mental health remains not only an ongoing challenge but our most urgent priority.”

After Meyer died, Stanford provided mental health counselors and a sports psychologist to her teammates, but the players said they lobbied the university to pay for Zoom sessions with a specialist, Kimberly O’Brien, a clinical social worker in the Sports Medicine Division’s Female Athlete Program at Boston Children’s Hospital.

O’Brien has professional and personal experience dealing with sports and suicide: She was an ice hockey player at Harvard in 1998 when one of the athletes in her university house died. “I wasn’t even extremely close to her, but it affected me profoundly,” she said. “There were no resources to deal with it.”

That’s changing. Colleges are trying to hire more mental health therapists to meet increasing and varied needs. Some, including Stanford and Washington State University, are working with The Jed Foundation, which provides suicide prevention programming for high school and college students. And crisis support doesn’t happen just in the student health center: Colleges are establishing campus-wide “postvention” programs to prevent suicide contagion.

Before cross-country runner Sarah Shulze, 21, died by suicide at the University of Wisconsin-Madison in April 2022, the athletics department was expanding its professional mental health support from two staffers to six to help the school’s approximately 800 student-athletes, said David Lacocque, the department’s director of mental health and sport psychology. The department, known until eight months ago as “clinical & sport psychology,” changed its name in part because student-athletes were asking for mental health support.

In addition to scheduled appointments, the sports liaisons attend practices, team meetings, training sessions, and competitions to help normalize mental health concerns.

“Gone are the days when we sit in our office and wait for people to knock on the door and talk to us,” Lacocque said.

Student-athletes can also seek free help from the university’s mental health professionals or providers in the community under contract with the University of Wisconsin athletics department. And some women’s cross-country athletes at the school now keep an eye on their teammates when coaches aren’t around, letting the team’s liaison know if they’re concerned about someone’s mental health.

“We don’t want anyone slipping between the cracks,” said teammate Maddie Mooney. “It’s a hard time for everybody, and everybody grieves at different paces and processes things differently.”

Teammate Victoria Heiligenthal, who shared a house with Shulze, said she avoided talking to campus counselors for months after her close friend died. “I only wanted to be alone or be with my friends who really understood the situation,” she said.

Heiligenthal couldn’t bear to stay in the home where she and Shulze had lived, so the university put her and Mooney up in a hotel for a week, and then she stayed awhile at Mooney’s apartment. Once back in her own place, teammates, coaches, training staff, and psychologists checked in on her and Mooney.

But the real game changer for the two was connecting last spring with Stanford soccer players Sierra Enge and Naomi Girma (who now plays professionally). Enge reached out after seeing something Mooney posted on Instagram. Since then, the four have met via Zoom. They have also talked with O’Brien and will join her on a mental health panel at a conference in Boston in June to talk about their experiences of losing a teammate to suicide.

“It was powerful hearing the parallels,” Heiligenthal said. “It made you realize Maddie and I weren’t alone; there were others who were experiencing similar things to us.”

At the University of Wisconsin-Madison and Stanford, athletes honored their late teammates last fall by raising mental health awareness. At a major meet in October, the Wisconsin runners painted green ribbons on the course, put ribbons in race packets, and contributed to a video. At Stanford’s game against UCLA in November, spectators wore green ribbons to highlight the importance of addressing mental health issues.

Stanford won the game, handing UCLA its first loss of the season. The victory was bittersweet. A year earlier, Meyer had spearheaded the team’s first mental health awareness game.

The post When College Athletes Kill Themselves, Healing the Team Becomes the Next Goal appeared first on Medika Life.