Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News freelance contributor Michael Scaturro discussed the FDA’s new approval of a sunscreen chemical on Science Friday on June 19.

• .
• Read Scaturro’s “FDA’s Greenlight of Old Chemical Offers Chance To Restore Faith in Sunscreen.”

Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News South Dakota correspondent Arielle Zionts discussed the closure of dialysis clinics in rural Nebraska on The Daily Yonder’s Yonder Radio on June 18.

• .
• Read Zionts’ “Rural Nebraska Dialysis Unit Closes Despite the State’s $219M in Rural Health Funding.”

This <a target="_blank" href="/on-air/on-air-june-27-2026-fda-sunscreen-ingredient-filter-nebraska-rural-dialysis-clinics/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">KFF Health News</a> and is republished here under a <a target="_blank" href=" Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.<img src="/wp-content/uploads/sites/8/2023/04/kffhealthnews-icon.png?w=150&quot; style="width:1em;height:1em;margin-left:10px;">

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meeting Folks Where They Live

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It can be that lifeline,” Carr said.

Paying Back for Good

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This <a target="_blank" href="/health-industry/opioid-settlement-money-harm-reduction-services-rural-kentucky/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">KFF Health News</a> and is republished here under a <a target="_blank" href=" Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.<img src="/wp-content/uploads/sites/8/2023/04/kffhealthnews-icon.png?w=150&quot; style="width:1em;height:1em;margin-left:10px;">

Their plan would have helped pay to treat low-income, uninsured patients.

But federal leaders overseeing the five-year, $50 billion Rural Health Transformation Program said no.

“It was not our decision,” said Lisa Letourneau, a senior adviser at Maine’s health department.

Letourneau told an audience of healthcare providers, advocates, and community groups during a March webinar that the change was “disappointing.”

Maine isn’t alone in having to make changes to plans pitched to win a share of the Trump administration’s new rural health fund.

Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services Administrator Mehmet Oz when announcing the rural health program awards last year and said his agency would help states “turn their ideas into lasting improvements for rural families.”

But state officials and healthcare leaders said it’s also clear the agency wants to encourage specific policy changes and hold states accountable to the promises they made and rules they agreed to follow.

During the past six months, as states raced to meet the program’s looming federal deadlines, CMS staffers worked with state health departments to make a flurry of changes, including scrapping some initiatives. The federal agency to rescind existing funding — or reduce future awards — if states don’t follow rules or meet their goals. “We will take the money back” if states “don’t abide by what they wrote, if they don’t do a good job,” Oz said at an event this month in Washington, D.C.

Congressional Republicans created the Rural Health Transformation Program as a last-minute sweetener in their One Big Beautiful Bill Act last summer. The funding was intended to offset concerns about the anticipated in rural communities from the law, which is expected to reduce Medicaid spending by more than $900 billion over a decade.

On a call with reporters in December, Oz said “one of the smartest things the president and Congress” did when creating the program was to create a threat of “clawbacks,” or taking money back if states don’t do what they promised in their applications.

Oz went on to describe how the clawback mechanism gives governors leverage to press their legislatures to adopt the Trump administration’s priorities, such as instituting the presidential fitness test in schools.

“This gives you extra umph, a little bit of gusto to go after these issues,” he said.

That message was received loudly and clearly in Tennessee. Michael Hendrix, policy director for the governor’s office, said during a hearing that federal officials said the state “would be more competitive for more funding through policy change.” He said CMS also relayed that “some share of this year’s funding, if policies are not implemented, might be clawed back.”

The threat of rescinding funding has caused fear and confusion among health organization leaders, said Alan Morgan, CEO of the National Rural Health Association.

“We’re worried that facilities and organizations won’t apply for the grant money because of the fears of the clawbacks,” he said, adding that he would like the administration to clarify if federal officials could take back grant money that states have already awarded to rural health organizations.

While clawbacks are a “necessary, important tool” to address misuse of funds and ensure the money goes toward helping rural communities, they are also “a dangerous tool,” said Morgan, whose organization represents rural hospitals and clinics.

CMS did not respond to multiple requests for comment.

States must file progress reports . They then have to commit their first-year funding and Sept. 30, 2027, to spend it.

States are progressing at wildly different rates, with some still developing grant applications and others already distributing money, created by Morgan’s rural health association.

In late January, Iowa became . The tracker shows that most states have opened grant applications, but 11 others, including Wyoming, Maine, and Colorado, have yet to post any funding opportunities.

CMS’ tight control over state programs is one reason for such disparity in progress.

Instead of typical grants, the rural health program uses cooperative agreements, which require a back-and-forth partnership, said Charlie Sagona, a grant specialist at Assel Grant Services, a consulting firm that helps organizations manage grants.

“You are going to be working very, very closely with them; things will ebb and flow and change and move,” said Sagona, who is helping several large hospital systems interested in winning some of the rural funding.

Kate Sapra, deputy director of CMS’ Office of Rural Health Transformation, said at a May event that the agency has “many avenues of oversight.” Staffers are tracking applications for state funding and “looking to see when contracts are executed,” she said.

Sapra said the agency wants to “have conversations with states before they get to the point” of putting out something that’s not allowed. It’s “really important to us” for the funding to reach rural providers, she added.

Sapra said her office has filled about half of 30 new slots for project officers. The officers and the states check in “at least twice a month, if not on a weekly basis.”

Vermont Medicaid Director Jill Mazza Olson, who led her state’s rural health application, said the officers are “very responsive.”

Vermont is one of the states that had to ditch or tweak its plans. Olson said the state pulled its plan to increase housing for rural healthcare workers after federal officials said they would evaluate the proposal based on the agency’s guidelines for construction projects at healthcare facilities. Those rules allow only “minor” renovations to existing buildings or campuses.

In Colorado, state leaders changed grant eligibility rules after they “received feedback” from CMS and healthcare providers, said Marc Williams, a spokesperson for the state’s Department of Health Care Policy and Financing.

Wyoming legislators and state officials spent months designing, discussing, and voting on a plan to invest most of its award into a perpetuity fund that could have generated $28.5 million for the state to spend every year, “forever,” according to .

The state had to pull the idea because it “was a degree too innovative for CMS to swallow,” said Republican state Sen. Charles Scott, a veteran lawmaker and cattle rancher. “This whole thing has been a bit of a disappointment to us in Wyoming.”

Stefan Johansson, director of the state’s health department, said Wyoming’s final spending plan wasn’t approved until mid- to late May. He said the department hopes to begin awarding money in late summer or early fall.

“Make no mistake — it is a very compressed timeline,” he said.

Across the country, Maine was forced to rework its plan to reimburse hospitals and clinics when they provide to certain uninsured patients.

Letourneau said during her March remarks that federal officials rejected this idea because “provider payments had to be more directly linked to a rural transformation kind of activity.”

Lindsay Hammes, a spokesperson for Maine’s health department, told Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News that funding will instead help providers transition to reimbursement models that aren’t based on how many patients they treat.

Reworked plans call for spending $28.5 million to support providers, Letourneau said in March.

“But there definitely will be more strings attached.”

Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News correspondent Darius Tahir contributed to this report.

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

But in December, that changed. The Tobiassens decided to cancel their insurance when Rebecca saw the cost of their monthly premiums would jump from $130 to more than $550.

“It makes no sense,” she said. “It’s not worth it anymore.”

The couple own and are the only employees of a small auto shop just west of Appalachian State University in the North Carolina mountains. Rebecca worries about her husband, whose work as a mechanic can be dangerous. A spring once shot a metal ball joint into their garage wall like a gun. A heavy object crushed Ross’ thumb. In 2020, Ross became mostly blind in one eye after repeatedly getting metal shards in it and developing an infection in his cornea.

The Tobiassens are among the Americans who canceled their ACA coverage after Congress allowed enhanced tax credits that helped pay for insurance plans to expire at the end of 2025. The Tobiassens benefited from those tax credits — like expected to drop or be dropped from their coverage as the year progresses, unable to keep up with the higher costs.

Established by the Biden administration’s American Rescue Plan Act during the covid pandemic, the expanded subsidies reduced monthly premiums for many families and prompted a tidal wave of new sign-ups, doubling ACA enrollment to .

The Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services is expected to on how many people are no longer covered under the ACA, but an , citing Wakely Consulting Group research, showed enrollment could drop from over 22 million at the end of 2025 to as low as 16.5 million in 2026. 

In North Carolina, individual ACA sign-ups for 2026 were down 22% compared with the year before, a greater drop than any other state, amounting to a decrease of more than 213,000 people, . While the Tobiassens’ two teenage daughters remain on Medicaid, Rebecca said the new prices showed that the federal government doesn’t care about families like hers.

“We’ve known that you don’t care about us,” she said, “but you’re making it plain and simple now.”

The couple’s insurance hadn’t helped them cover all their medical needs. When the pain from Ross’ eye infection worsened five years ago, Rebecca insisted he go to a specialist, who told them that fixing the eye through cornea replacement surgery and require Ross to take six months off.

Ross chose a less expensive treatment to kill nerves in the eye instead.

The couple know they’re taking a risk by not being insured. If something were to happen, they could face an enormous medical bill.

Ross, 47, said the blindness in the one eye doesn’t significantly affect his job. He works long hours, sometimes into the night to keep up with demand.

“I try not to think about it too much,” he said. “I just work.”

Uninsured, With No Backup Plan, After Obamacare Became Unaffordable

Rebecca Tobiassen, 44  
Sugar Grove, North Carolina 

Rebecca Tobiassen owns a small auto repair shop with her husband, Ross, in the western North Carolina mountains. She says their family could no longer afford Affordable Care Act insurance after tax credits expired last year and their monthly premiums shot up from $130 to more than $550. They have no immediate plans to sign up for coverage elsewhere and are saving up for out-of-pocket expenses instead. “We just need to be able to afford to get help when we seriously hurt ourselves,” she said of the U.S. healthcare system. 

Katie Alexander oversees volunteers for Pisgah Legal Services, a western North Carolina nonprofit that helps low-income people secure health insurance. Alexander has helped North Carolina and Tennessee residents try to get ACA marketplace plans since Obamacare’s launch. She said she’s never seen anything like this year. 

Nearly 100 Pisgah clients, out of about 700 that Alexander’s team worked with during open enrollment, decided to drop insurance this year, and many others chose cheaper ACA plans with less coverage, Alexander said. 

Alexander said the people who have dropped their coverage include Lyft and Uber drivers. They’re trying to start their own businesses. They are artists and people who can work only part-time, because they’re chronically ill. Some are unable to get insurance through their employers, or they make too much to be on Medicaid.

“Even for folks who don’t have chronic illnesses,” Alexander said, “there’s just this nagging at the back of your mind, kind of constantly, of: ‘Don’t get hurt. Don’t get sick. Because you can’t afford that.’”

ACA premiums and deductibles steadily increased for years starting in 2022, then spiked during the enrollment period for 2026 plans, . The Tobiassens have seen every dip and rise in plan costs since 2014 when the plans launched. They joined immediately and paid about $30 a month, Rebecca Tobiassen said.  

“You actually felt like you were benefiting,” she said.

But through the years as the marketplace became more expensive, the couple made concessions, switching at one point from a silver plan — historically the — to a bronze. The plan mostly provided for the couple’s basic needs.

As they saw their deductibles and premiums rise over more than a decade, Rebecca feared the day would come when they could no longer afford even the cheapest plan.

“Plans are unaffordable, no matter how you cut it,” said , a healthcare policy researcher at the University of Colorado Anschutz School of Medicine. “It’s just who is shouldering the unaffordability.” 

Gidwani and health economist , in a , found that most bronze plans, the cheapest ACA options for many, would be unaffordable without subsidies for the average person using the federal healthcare coverage.

Without subsidies, many families using these plans don’t make enough to afford premiums or deductibles, Gidwani’s research shows.

People who drop health insurance also change what’s known as the “risk pool,” Gidwani said, when a group of people share financial hazards. 

If healthier people drop out of the risk pool, fewer people subsidize the people who get sick, Gidwani said. That means premiums for the people who get sick will increase again in the future, she added.

“That becomes what we call a death spiral,” Gidwani said.

Even if the subsidies hadn’t expired, taxpayers would have borne an estimated over the next decade to cover them, Gidwani’s study noted.

After dropping coverage they’d relied on for 11 years, the Tobiassens have no plans to return to the ACA marketplace. They looked into alternative options through a faith-based healthcare organization but decided to go without.

For now, they don’t have a plan B. They’ve set aside some money for a medical emergency. And if their savings run out, Rebecca Tobiassen said, they have a couple of last resorts to lean on: credit cards or family members.

Are you struggling to afford your health insurance? Have you decided to forgo coverage? Click here to contact Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and share your story.

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

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

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

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

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

The parents relented. A couple of days later, they left the hospital with a child who had narrowly skirted an infection that killed many thousands of babies a century ago. Nonetheless, Dowse said he doubted they would be returning for childhood vaccinations to protect their baby against a bevy of illnesses. Like more than a dozen Utah doctors and health officials who spoke with Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News, Dowse has adjusted his expectations.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He couldn’t have imagined what was coming.

‘Year of Sickness’

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

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

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

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

A mother who Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News agreed not to name, because she fears stigmatization, said she considered getting her kids vaccinated when schools in southwest Utah started seeing measles cases last summer. She had split from the fundamentalist group but still worried about vaccines giving her children autism or other complications. in top-tier scientific journals have refuted a link between vaccines and autism, but the anti-vaccine movement has kept the notion alive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beyond Containment

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

Several Utahns told Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News that “alternative health” or “wellness” drives the trend, rather than religion. The state has a thriving supplement industry, , aided by deregulatory policies supported by the late Utah senator Orrin Hatch and a high concentration of people who earn income from multilevel marketing. These networks of people sell supplements, essential oils, peptides, and other alternative therapies on social media, YouTube, and podcasts, according to and .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Daycare Dilemma

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hyland sent her idea to the state health department. Nolen, the state epidemiologist, said she agreed with the concern, and was “talking with the division of licensing about the issue,” in an email shared with Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News. Hyland also wrote the Division of Licensing and Background Checks. In an email, its director, Shannon Thoman-Black, replied that the division does “not have the legislative authority to implement a mandate.”

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

Measles’ Comeback

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This <a target="_blank" href="/public-health/utah-measles-outbreak-vaccines-preventable-diseases-doctors-strained-new-normal/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">KFF Health News</a> and is republished here under a <a target="_blank" href=" Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.<img src="/wp-content/uploads/sites/8/2023/04/kffhealthnews-icon.png?w=150&quot; style="width:1em;height:1em;margin-left:10px;">

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s getting worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Role for Elected Officials

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

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

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

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

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

That’s where creativity can kick in.

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

Meal Deliveries and Valentines

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘The Secret Sauce’

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

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

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

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

Breaking out of that required seeking new connections.

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

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

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

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

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

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

This <a target="_blank" href="/mental-health/suicide-prevention-loneliness-social-connection-mental-health-eleven-minutes/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">KFF Health News</a> and is republished here under a <a target="_blank" href=" Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.<img src="/wp-content/uploads/sites/8/2023/04/kffhealthnews-icon.png?w=150&quot; style="width:1em;height:1em;margin-left:10px;">

Hundreds of detainees across at least 33 states allege in federal suits that immigration detention facilities are failing to provide adequate medical care, an investigation by Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and The Associated Press found. Detainees say they didn’t get medications on time — or at all — for conditions including high blood pressure, diabetes, depression, epilepsy, Parkinson’s, and HIV. Requests for help went unanswered for weeks. Blood sugars rose. Infections festered. Cancers remained untreated. Detainees collapsed and had seizures.

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

Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and AP analyzed thousands of court cases filed since Trump’s second inauguration that use a legal route known as habeas corpus to argue people are being held illegally by ICE. The records offer a rare window into how those detained say, often under penalty of perjury, ICE is handling their medical needs. Reporters also interviewed more than 50 detainees, family members, and lawyers.

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

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

Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and AP asked DHS to respond to the findings six days before publication, but it did not provide comment. The department’s acting chief medical officer, Sean Conley, has “it is both policy and longstanding practice for aliens to receive timely and appropriate medical care from the moment they enter ICE custody” and that the agency recruits healthcare professionals to maintain high standards. “This is better, more responsive healthcare than many aliens have ever received in their entire lives,” he has said.

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

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

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

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

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

‘Brazen Indifference to Really Obvious Problems’

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

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

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

Like other detainees interviewed, he spoke on the condition of anonymity; they said they fear for their safety, for the safety of their families, or that speaking out would jeopardize their immigration cases. The AP and Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News are not naming anyone identified in court documents without their consent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Surge in Cases

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

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

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

The more than 300 medical neglect claims found in this investigation represent a fraction of the problem. The details of habeas corpus cases are often hidden due to a federal rule barring the public from viewing such documents online. Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and AP obtained some documents from courthouses and received records on 4,400 cases from , a project of the nonprofit Immigration Justice Transparency Initiative. But tens of thousands more remain largely inaccessible.

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

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

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

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

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

Watching Loved Ones Deteriorate

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Previous Next

A Stroke on a Video Call

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Impossible Choices

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

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

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

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

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

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

Methodology

Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and The Associated Press sifted through thousands of immigration habeas corpus claims to find allegations of medical neglect from people detained by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement during the second Trump administration.

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

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

Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and AP analyzed the dockets of roughly 33,000 cases filed by detainees from Jan. 20, 2025, through March 2026. The vast majority of cases had only basic procedural information, like dates of court filings and rulings. Only about 4,400 included the original petitions.

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

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

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

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

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

Associated Press journalists Garance Burke, Valerie Gonzalez, and Tim Sullivan as well as Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News correspondent Kate Wells contributed to this report.

This report is a collaboration between The Associated Press and Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News.

This <a target="_blank" href="/courts/ice-immigration-detention-medical-care-neglect-court-records-ap-investigation/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">KFF Health News</a> and is republished here under a <a target="_blank" href=" Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.<img src="/wp-content/uploads/sites/8/2023/04/kffhealthnews-icon.png?w=150&quot; style="width:1em;height:1em;margin-left:10px;">

The 31-year-old compliance consultant from Hendersonville, Tennessee, said she couldn’t stop vomiting.

“Sunday morning, it all hits,” McClain recalled, as she described what happened that weekend in January. “I can’t keep anything down.”

McClain said she thought the dosage the telehealth company had prescribed seemed too high. She tried to contact her doctor, but when she didn’t get an immediate response, she said she called the company and a “care team” representative confirmed the instructions — which said to inject 2.21 milligrams of the semaglutide medication once a week — were correct.

It turned out, however, that was nearly nine times the amount patients are typically told to take for their first dose.

Nearly a month after she was diagnosed with an overdose, McClain said she was “still dealing with the residual side effects,” including an elevated heart rate and vision problems she felt were tied to the medication.

Most patients who have taken a GLP-1 received their prescription through a primary care doctor or a specialist, shows. But as the uptake of telehealth has grown substantially since the start of the covid pandemic, McClain is one of millions of Americans who have used online companies to meet a variety of their medical needs.

Many of the companies have started offering GLP-1 medications for weight loss as demand for these drugs has exploded. But certain medication errors tied to GLP-1s have exploded too, according to a Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News review of Food and Drug Administration data, and physicians and telemedicine researchers worry that adverse experiences tied to telehealth companies are becoming more common.

Bad outcomes aren’t unique to telehealth providers or to the compounded weight loss drugs many of them offer. In fact, product liability lawsuits alleging patient injuries have been filed overwhelmingly against pharmaceutical giants Eli Lilly and Novo Nordisk, which manufacture name-brand weight loss drugs, court data shows. The drugmakers have defended their products.

However, some critics are also concerned that getting a weight loss prescription online is usually much easier than getting one through an in-person appointment. Not only do many telehealth companies write quick prescriptions for GLP-1s, but they often sell the medications, too, allowing patients to bypass in-person pharmacy visits. This one-stop shopping isn’t necessarily a good thing, according to critics who say some telehealth providers are writing prescriptions for people who should not be taking GLP-1s and then providing little or no follow-up care.

“It gives a black eye to telemedicine,” said Elizabeth Krupinski, an experimental psychologist at Emory University who has conducted research on the effectiveness of telehealth.

Telemedicine stands to benefit “so many people,” Krupinski said, particularly when the technology is integrated within a larger healthcare system. That way, patients benefit from the convenience of telehealth while maintaining a connection with their in-person providers.

But some telehealth companies are marketing GLP-1s as an easy way to lose weight — sometimes with the help of paid celebrity endorsements — without emphasizing the importance of healthy eating and exercise, she said.

They may be following the letter of the law, Krupinski said. But writing prescriptions while skimping on care “is not in the Hippocratic oath.”

The Perfect Storm

Starting around 2020, many states loosened restrictions on telehealth, which allowed online companies to proliferate. This helped accommodate patients who could not, or chose not to, be seen in person at the height of covid transmission.

Expanded telehealth access was also intended to lower barriers in rural communities, as well as mitigate doctor and nurse shortages. In many places, telehealth doctors and nurses are legally allowed to treat patients across state lines. But the way telemedicine is practiced , and state laws largely dictate rules that telehealth providers must follow.

Some companies, such as Mochi Health, require patients to meet virtually with a provider, such as a doctor, nurse practitioner, or physician assistant, before they can get a GLP-1 prescription.

But others, including Ro, sometimes require nothing more of patients than an “asynchronous” evaluation, which does not include a live conversation with a healthcare provider. During this type of evaluation, customers are typically asked to fill out an intake form and answer a medical history questionnaire before they are evaluated for a prescription. Ro requires a conversation in real time when required by state law, or when requested by a patient or clinician, said Nicholas Samonas, a spokesperson for the company.

“Every patient is counseled by their provider on the potential benefits and risks of treatment based on their individual medical history,” Samonas said. Ro’s clinicians can order lab work when necessary and, when appropriate, may recommend patients seek in-person care, he said.

But some medical experts are concerned that virtual care may be insufficient for prescribing weight loss drugs.

Patients with a history of pancreatitis, for example, should be counseled about potential complications, medical studies show. The same goes for people with a condition called gastroparesis, which affects stomach nerves and muscles, and those susceptible to medullary thyroid cancer.

Some patients may also benefit from blood work or muscle mass screening before starting a GLP-1.

But not all telehealth companies are adequately evaluating patients before writing prescriptions, said Marc-Andre Cornier, an endocrinologist at the Medical University of South Carolina and the immediate past president of The Obesity Society.

When it comes to parsing the good from the bad, “whose job is it to police that?” he asked. The problem, he said, is there aren’t criteria written by a government agency or a medical society to determine which providers are treating patients appropriately and which aren’t.

While the first GLP-1 was approved by the FDA more than 20 years ago, to treat Type 2 diabetes, the use of these drugs took off in 2021 when Novo Nordisk received approval for a semaglutide drug to treat obesity, with the brand name Wegovy. In a 2025 KFF poll, said they had taken a GLP-1.

In a in The New England Journal of Medicine, physician Amanda Banks noted that the proportion of GLP-1 prescriptions written for people who were not diabetic, obese, or overweight increased from 4.5% in 2018 to 17% in 2023.

In the paper, Banks called it “troubling” how easy it is to obtain a prescription for weight loss drugs and worried they might exacerbate existing eating disorders or cause new cases, including of anorexia.

Cornier, who has received compensation from Novo Nordisk for serving as a consultant, echoed some of Banks’ concerns. “It’s not just filling out a form online and then having some random healthcare provider sign off on it,” he said. “There are concerns with some of these online programs that there’s not a proper evaluation, there’s not a baseline, and there’s not proper supervision.”

The American Telemedicine Association, which advocates for the expansion of “digitally enabled care,” has not addressed how telehealth providers prescribe GLP-1s, spokesperson Gina Cella said.

“This is a bit out of our scope,” Cella said, when asked if the association had addressed the topic of telehealth providers and GLP-1 prescriptions.

The lack of clarity makes choosing a company potentially confusing for patients, and the medical profession is partly to blame, said Jamy Ard, an obesity doctor and researcher at Wake Forest University School of Medicine in Winston-Salem, North Carolina.

Doctors have historically done a bad job counseling patients about weight loss, and many people aren’t comfortable talking to their primary care doctor about it, Ard said. Patients think, “Why would I go to my doctor and have them say, ‘Eat less and move more,’ when I have heard that a million times and I don’t want to have that lecture again?” Ard said.

This problem, combined with past shortages of name-brand versions of GLP-1s, such as Ozempic, Mounjaro, and Trulicity, has created a “perfect storm” for telehealth companies to flourish, said Ard, who has received support from pharmaceutical and telehealth companies.

While some telehealth companies prescribe only name-brand weight loss drugs, many also offer cheaper, compounded versions. They act as intermediaries between customers and mail-order compounding pharmacies, which create GLP-1s by mixing active ingredients, such as semaglutide, with additives. The ingredients for compounded drugs are commonly sourced from overseas suppliers, and the formulations are not reviewed by the FDA for safety.

The environment is “very much uncontrolled and poorly, if at all, regulated,” Ard said. “There is just no standard of care.”

Emily Hilliard, a spokesperson for the Department of Health and Human Services, told Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News that compounded drugs “should only be used in patients whose medical needs cannot be met by an FDA-approved drug.”

Hilliard said the agency urges “consumers to be vigilant and know the source of their medicine.”

Understanding the Risks

While weight loss drugs have helped millions of people lose weight, they’re not without risk, the data shows.

A Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News data analysis of the FDA’s Adverse Event Monitoring System found that medication errors made by providers or patients with popular weight loss drugs exploded from just over 2,000 reports in 2020 to over 25,000 in 2025. Those self-reported events involved semaglutide, tirzepatide, dulaglutide, and liraglutide, the generic names for leading GLP-1s.

Among frequent issues cited in the adverse event reports were administration of an extra or incorrect dose, issues with communication about a product, and prescribing errors.

Since 2019, the National Poison Data System has fielded a related to overdoses or side effects from injectable weight loss drugs. The data does not distinguish between overdoses tied to a telehealth prescription and those stemming from an in-person medical appointment, but it is a reflection of how prevalent these drugs have become.

Yet data on potential medication errors and adverse reactions to GLP-1 medications is incomplete, because many issues are never reported to federal officials.

For example, in a , the FDA accused drugmaker Novo Nordisk, the maker of Wegovy and Ozempic, of failing to report some adverse events to the federal government, including suicidal ideation and death.

Nobody knows how often adverse events occur, said Kristen Nixon, a Johns Hopkins University researcher who has studied posts about weight loss drugs on Reddit, a popular online forum.

Her team analyzed hundreds of Reddit posts from 2020 through last August and identified frequent mentions of drug reactions and user errors, such as patients’ not knowing how to correctly dose and inject the medication.

But another finding also stood out to her.

“Wow, there are a lot of people talking about telehealth,” Nixon recalled thinking. Reddit commenters said they got GLP-1 prescriptions from scores of telehealth platforms, Nixon found. Commenters also mentioned several dozen compounding pharmacies — often in the same posts about telehealth.

Pharmacies are typically required to counsel patients on medications they receive. But Nixon’s research found that telehealth companies often mail the medications directly, meaning patients do not need to go to a pharmacy.

“Anecdotally, it seems like the telehealth companies are really facilitating access to compounded medications,” Nixon said.

Leslie Gammon, 54, an office manager from Wendell, North Carolina, said she turned to a telehealth company called Amble Health for a weight loss drug prescription. She was given a GLP-1 after filling out an online form, she said.

Like McClain, when she received her mail-order compounded medication in late October, she thought the dosage that accompanied it seemed too high. She’d received a box of semaglutide earlier in the month with a much lower dose. But the refill she received was a stronger formulation, and the instructions told Gammon to inject three times the volume she had been taking in previous weeks.

Even though she injected slightly less than that recommended amount before bed on a Sunday evening, she woke up in the middle of the night “throwing up every 20 to 25 minutes,” she said. And it didn’t stop until Tuesday. She was eventually admitted to a hospital in Raleigh and now owes the hospital over $9,000, a medical bill shows.

Amble Health did not respond to questions for this article.

The delivery system for injectable versions of weight loss drugs is more complicated than for a pill. In its National Poison Data System alert, America’s Poison Centers noted that some people reported “accidentally taking 10-times the recommended dose due to confusing measurement units while using a syringe.”

And people who are eager to lose extra weight — before a wedding or a vacation, for example — may choose to self-administer a higher-than-recommended dose, said Arthur Caplan, a bioethics professor at New York University’s Grossman School of Medicine.

Some telehealth companies aren’t doing enough, he said, to make sure patients understand the risks or the complex delivery system associated with the injectable drugs.

“The consent is not adequate,” Caplan said. “There’s no probing to see if you understood anything.”

Cella, with the American Telemedicine Association, said the group has not addressed the difficulty of educating patients about the risks of injecting weight loss drugs. But she pointed to the association’s “,” which states that telehealth business models “must put the patient first.”

Proceed With Caution

Pharmaceutical companies must list potentially harmful side effects when they advertise the name-brand versions of their FDA-approved medications. Potential include nausea, vomiting, changes in vision, low blood sugar, and, in rare cases, thyroid cancer. Meanwhile, telehealth companies have not historically followed the same rules that drugmakers have in disclosing medication risks in advertisements. But the FDA has started cracking down on misleading drug ads.

A national shortage of weight loss medications in 2022 opened the door for compounding pharmacies to manufacture these drugs. But since the FDA declared the shortage over last year, companies that offer compounded drugs are increasingly facing legal and regulatory challenges related to their marketing tactics.

Mounjaro manufacturer Eli Lilly and other drugmakers are suing multiple telehealth companies for promoting compounded versions of their drugs. In one legal complaint, Eli Lilly alleged Mochi Health had engaged in “deceptive” business tactics. In a motion to dismiss the lawsuit last year, lawyers for Mochi Health called the complaint part of a “nationwide campaign to bolster Lilly’s profits by dictating patient care through the elimination of compounded drugs as a treatment option for weight management.” The lawsuit is ongoing.

Eli Lilly spokesperson Michael Jamison said in a written comment that telehealth companies sued by the drug manufacturer threaten “patient safety by falsely promoting supposedly ‘personalized’ compounded tirzepatide” and mislead “consumers about the safety, clinical testing, and effectiveness of their compounded knockoffs.”

Meanwhile, Novo Nordisk has filed 130 lawsuits against “entities engaged in unlawful marketing and sale of knockoff semaglutide drugs,” said Liz Skrbkova, a spokesperson for the drugmaker.

She said the company is committed to “protecting patients from unapproved knockoff drugs made with foreign, inauthentic active pharmaceutical ingredients that pose significant safety and efficacy risks.”

The Trump administration sent a in September and February to online companies such as , , , and . The FDA said these and other companies had made false or misleading claims related to compounded versions of weight loss drugs.

“Your claims imply that your products are the same as an FDA-approved product when they are not,” the agency’s Center for Drug Evaluation and Research on Sept. 9. HHS later referred the company to the Department of Justice after it announced the launch of a $49 version of Novo Nordisk’s Wegovy pill.

When asked about the FDA warning, Abby Reisinger-Moley, a spokesperson for Hims & Hers, pointed to a announcing a shift away from compounded weight loss drugs. The company said in the press release that it had entered into an agreement with Novo Nordisk to sell name-brand versions.

Alex Smith, CEO of Join Josie, an online platform that helps women in menopause lose weight by prescribing GLP-1s, said his company also made changes in response to an FDA letter, to include removing Join Josie’s name from medication vials. “Which I agree with,” Smith said, “because you don’t want patients thinking you’re the compounding pharmacy.”

SkinnyRx and Genesis Health International did not respond to requests for comment.

But these warnings aren’t the first time the federal government has stepped in to ensure that telemedicine is being used appropriately, said Mei Wa Kwong, executive director of the Center for Connected Health Policy.

Prior cases involved attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder medications and other controlled substances prescribed by telehealth providers, she said. While those drugs pose more risk to patients than GLP-1s, the companies were also accused of improperly screening potential customers.

The onus still falls on consumers to research companies before signing up for their services, Kwong said.

“Always approach anything on the internet with a hint of skepticism,” Kwong said.

‘Keeps Getting Worse’

McClain, the Tennessee woman hospitalized this year after a GLP-1 overdose, said she lost 50 pounds a few years ago by taking a name-brand GLP-1 prescribed by her doctor.

At the time, the medication was covered by her health insurance. This year, when she was ready to take a GLP-1 again following a pregnancy, the drug was no longer covered for weight loss.

To save money by obtaining a cheaper, compounded GLP-1, McClain signed up for Mochi Health after doing her own research. “That was just the most affordable option,” she said.

But within hours of her first dose, she said, she found herself on the phone with poison control.

After her overdose, McClain said, she spoke to a clinical director at Mochi Health, once by phone but mostly via email, about her lingering symptoms before communication paused.

David Pilip, a spokesperson for Mochi Health, said in a statement that the company would not discuss individual patients due to privacy obligations. But he said adverse events are “immediately flagged” and “investigated with extreme precision.”

“Mochi Health takes patient safety extremely seriously,” Pilip wrote in an email. “We promptly initiated a review and have been in direct and ongoing communication with the patient to reach a resolution. We remain committed to doing so.”

McClain anticipates her healthcare bills related to the hospital stay will total at least $900. She said that to get the $159 refund for her three-month membership and reimbursement for the hospital expenses, she has been asked to sign a document saying she won’t take legal action against the company. Her experience, she said, “just keeps getting worse.”

NBC News producer Jessica Herzberg and Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News senior correspondent Fred Schulte contributed to this report.

Do you have an experience using an online company for healthcare services or medicinal products that you think others should know about? Click here to contact our reporting team.

This <a target="_blank" href="/health-industry/glp1-weight-loss-drugs-telehealth-oversight-regulation-compounded-semaglutide/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">KFF Health News</a> and is republished here under a <a target="_blank" href=" Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.<img src="/wp-content/uploads/sites/8/2023/04/kffhealthnews-icon.png?w=150&quot; style="width:1em;height:1em;margin-left:10px;">

Lately, however, the community has been trying to stave off a new identity of “prison town” as it fights the opening of what could become the nation’s largest immigration detention center, holding up to 10,000 people.

Walton County, home to this city of about 5,500, voted overwhelmingly for President Donald Trump in 2024. But, as the administration’s mass deportation strategy hits closer to home — with plans moving forward to transform a more than 1 million-square-foot warehouse into a holding pen — locals say the city’s infrastructure just can’t handle such an influx of people.

This month, Social Circle in federal court against U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. The city’s complaint argues that the operation of a detention facility, what it calls a “mega center,” would harm public health, strain the local freshwater and sewage treatment systems, and overburden emergency medical services “due to Social Circle’s modest EMS capacity and DHS’ nebulous plan for emergency transport,” referring to the Department of Homeland Security, which oversees ICE.

“The community is very unified,” City Manager Eric Taylor said. “We want them to go away.”

Social Circle is one of several communities across the country thrust into a charged national debate about the administration’s mass immigrant deportation strategy. On the campaign trail, Trump said migrants were . But local leaders, , advocacy groups, and others in , , , , and claim the administration is doing the same thing by plopping detention centers into communities without the capacity to handle a surge of people.

Last year, Todd Lyons, who is serving as acting director of ICE , described a goal to have the mass deportation operate with the . Deportations would move “like Prime, but with human beings,” he said at a border security expo in Phoenix.

ICE is now putting every person they seek to deport in detention, including those with no criminal records, without the possibility of release on bond. In January, the agency held almost twice as many people as it had that same month in 2024 under President Joe Biden.

However, while many supporters remain aligned with Trump’s immigration stance, some locals fear their city’s stability will be jeopardized. “Social Circle is not exactly flourishing, but it’s making it,” said Gareth Fenley, a retired social worker who ran for state Senate in 2024 as a Democrat and was not among the locals who voted for Trump.

“If Social Circle becomes a prison town,” she said, “we’re gonna lose what we have.”

‘I Thought It Was a Joke’

In February, DHS purchased the 235-acre site in Social Circle for nearly five times its assessed value. It plans to house more people there than at the Rikers Island Correctional Facility in New York City, and nearly triple the number of people now housed at the country’s biggest immigration detention facility, which is in El Paso, Texas.

“I thought it was a joke,” said John Miller, when he first read about the plans last year. He and his wife, Kathlene, have lived in Social Circle for 21 years. When they bump into neighbors, Kathlene knows their children’s names, and John can cite the kids’ baseball stats. Their 50-acre horse farm is less than a mile from the elementary school, and right across the street from the detention center site.

The Millers support Trump’s stance on immigration but feel that turning the vacant warehouse into a detention center would re-create the very problems his administration is trying to solve. Whether people are concentrated in a detention center or out in the public, “they’re still there,” John Miller said.

DHS estimates that the facility would require about 1 million gallons of water daily, according to the city’s suit, which alleges that volume would bleed residents’ taps dry and contaminate local streams with sewage. Emergency medical calls from the detention center, the lawsuit claims, would overwhelm the city’s first responders, which Taylor said clock in at 14 firefighters, 15 police officers, and two school resource officers. The city relies on Walton County for ambulance services.

Additionally, Social Circle would live under an ever-present threat of a major disease outbreak, the lawsuit said, adding that the federal government didn’t conduct the needed environmental reviews or solicit community input beforehand.

Taylor said federal officials had only one meeting with local leaders and brushed off concerns about water, sewage, and emergency care, which administration officials said the site wouldn’t need to use. “I don’t buy that,” Taylor said. “And that’s the problem.”

Supercharging Health Concerns

Current DHS Secretary Markwayne Mullin has said he is reviewing , Kristi Noem, to transform warehouses like this one into detention facilities. And the department’s whether the federal government overpaid for some of the buildings. Mullin also said officials are reviewing agency policies and working with community leaders. “We want to be good partners,” said Lauren Bis, a DHS spokesperson.

Still, the administration’s swift escalation of immigrant detention has exacerbated long-standing allegations of medical neglect for those in custody across the country and led to the in at least two decades.

Three detention facilities in Folkston, Georgia, about an hour north of Jacksonville, Florida, issued 130 emergency calls from Feb. 4, 2025, to Feb. 3, 2026, according to dispatch reports obtained by Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News through a public records request. The calls from the facilities, which hold about 2,000 people, were for wide-ranging reasons, including anaphylaxis, assaults, suicide attempts, overdoses, seizures, strokes, head injuries from falls, and other health issues.

GEO Group, ICE’s largest contractor, which runs the Folkston facility, provides “around-the-clock access to medical care” and relies on emergency medical services as needed, said Christopher Ferreira, director of corporate relations.

ERO El Paso Camp East Montana, built on a Texas military base, is currently the nation’s largest detention center and holds about 2,500 people. In the five months from Aug. 17, 2025, to Jan. 20, 2026, about 130 emergency medical calls were made from the site, according to city records. Several detainees have died at the facility; several others have for tuberculosis, measles, or covid-19.

Amentum Services, which recently took over management of the facility, did not respond to questions about emergency calls.

Even bigger detention facilities, such as the “mega center” planned in Social Circle, would only supercharge those health issues and bring them to new communities, said , who was immigration ombudsman at the Department of Homeland Security under Biden. Existing facilities already suffer from staffing shortages, poor ventilation and hygiene, and insufficient medical care, she said.

The proposed facilities are enormous and generally built for boxes, not people, she said. “There’s no way, without extreme cost, both to the community and just in dollars, to make these safe for humans,” she said.

In the meantime, people such as Kathlene Miller said they feel that Social Circle has become “collateral damage” in the larger debate over immigration. “We’re like the children in a divorce,” she said.

But Social Circle may face an uphill battle. Taylor said Walton County leaders and the state of Georgia have been silent on the center.

“They say it’s federal issues, that they have no jurisdiction,” he said. “They don’t have any interest in helping us.”

This <a target="_blank" href="/race-and-health/ice-detention-center-social-circle-georgia-lawsuit-trump-stronghold/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">KFF Health News</a> and is republished here under a <a target="_blank" href=" Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.<img src="/wp-content/uploads/sites/8/2023/04/kffhealthnews-icon.png?w=150&quot; style="width:1em;height:1em;margin-left:10px;">

A patient from his rural Northern California county , a disease so rare there that many physicians have never treated a case.

While California has some of the strictest vaccine laws in the country, conservative Shasta County’s approach during the covid pandemic stood in stark contrast with the state’s guidance. Its local leaders opposed masking and vaccine mandates, and the county public health officer, who had sought to enforce those state policies and other safety measures.

A potential measles outbreak had “always been in my mind,” said Mu, an outspoken family physician who was to sign a opposing covid vaccine mandates. But Mu, the county’s current public health officer, said that when his department identified the first local measles case, it acted decisively: “We forgot about fear.”

They went to work, he and his team said, to painstakingly retrace the steps of sickened with measles, contacting more than 600 people who may have been exposed at Costco, a sushi restaurant, sporting events, a school, or a healthcare clinic. Just one of the nine contracted measles from one of those locations, while the others were characterized by the public health department as “close contacts.”

Two and a half months later, the Shasta County public health department had declared the measles outbreak over. Infectious disease experts say the rapid response executed in the mostly rural, vaccine-hesitant county offers a playbook for public health officers across the nation who are struggling to keep the highly contagious virus from spreading.

“To me, the story of Shasta is one of hope,” said Peter Chin-Hong, an infectious disease specialist at the University of California-San Francisco.

After more than a year of ongoing cases, measles has sickened more than in the U.S., according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. For the first time in two decades, the U.S. is poised to lose its measles elimination status, a designation signaling that outbreaks are rare and rapidly contained.

673 measles cases as of late May while had seen at least 997, according to their state health departments. 74 cases.

Critical Rapid Response

In late January, when Shasta County identified the first case, Mu gathered with more than a dozen communicable-disease nurses, epidemiologists, and emergency and community relations staffers for an “initial threat assessment meeting.”

Measles is an that can linger in a room for two hours after an infected person leaves, so on-call nurses and responders faced a daunting task figuring out exactly when the patient was infectious and where they had been.

“Everything is about speed — speed in identifying the person and finding the sites where measles were occurring,” Chin-Hong said. “If you keep it down to a few cases, it’s much easier. If you wait just a little bit longer, those people would have been in contact with a lot more people.”

Roughly 9 in 10 unvaccinated people exposed to the virus become infected. All nine of Shasta County’s confirmed cases were people who were unvaccinated or had unknown vaccination status, according to the county’s public health department. Before the department called families who may have been exposed, county nurses sometimes enlisted school principals, church staff, clinic managers, or others to make first contact, said Daniel Walker, the county’s supervising epidemiologist.

Erika Piper, the head of Redding Christian School in Palo Cedro, talked to school families wary of requests by public health officials — and government in general — to provide immunization records or other personal information. She said she also had tough but respectful conversations with families to ensure exposed, unvaccinated kids stayed home from school, so their community could abide by public health guidance calling for .

“I would say to them: ‘That’s totally fine. You have a choice. You’ve made your choice. But there are still consequences to the choices we make,’” Piper said, referring to families who had opted not to vaccinate their children. “‘And so you can either be a willing helper and a partner with me in this, and we can make it work and get through it, or you can battle me on it. But either way, you can’t be in school.’”

She allowed work to be sent home to quarantined students and personally took daily attendance at the school to help ensure health guidelines were met.

The California Department of Public Health assisted with case investigation by making calls to exposed people at the county’s request and deployed a covid-era phone system, CalCONNECT, that automates symptom monitoring for exposed contacts.

Shasta officials warned people not to be wary of calls from contract tracers using a 279 area code, worrying they would dismiss them as scams.

Delicate Conversations

In Shasta County, the measles vaccination rate is just below the for community-level protection, but in pockets of the community the rates are lower and vary widely, according to . And in those vulnerable places, an outbreak can spread.

For example, more than a quarter of Shasta schools had rates below 95% in 2024-25, according to the latest state data available. Several were below 90%. Although Redding Christian School reported a kindergarten measles vaccination rate at or above 95% in 2024-25, it was 87.8% three years earlier.

When it came to talking to people who had been exposed to measles, Sharayne Loomis, a supervising public health nurse on Shasta’s communicable-disease team, described the department’s approach as “meeting people where they are.” That included nonjudgmental conversations that supported residents regardless of their stance on vaccination, Loomis said.

Mu said the same philosophy extended across the county’s health agencies, but he publicly “measles parties,” gatherings where unvaccinated children are intentionally exposed to build immunity. And he spoke against receiving high doses of vitamin A without medical supervision. Vitamin A has circulated as a measles treatment in vaccine-skeptical communities and was endorsed last year by Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr., though the CDC website says that vitamin A “does not prevent measles and is not a substitute for vaccination.”

Some community members said Mu’s department could have been more proactive before the outbreak, imploring him to emphasize the importance of vaccination in public messaging.

“Clearly, when the situation was known to be coming into our communities, that would have been a time to advise for vaccines,” Steve Kahn told county supervisors at their February board meeting. “I think he was negligent in that.”

For years, public health has been a political flash point for the region. The Board of Supervisors fired the previous public health officer, Karen Ramstrom, in May 2022 after upset with her enforcement of state covid rules.

In an effort to reach vaccine-hesitant Californians, state officials have been working in a coalition called Public Health for All Californians Together and through an effort nicknamed that uses social media monitoring and other research to tailor messaging to skeptical viewers.

Erica Pan, director of the California Department of Public Health, said the state is preparing for measles to possibly surge when it hosts World Cup soccer matches starting in June, as well as with increased summer travel.

But when it comes to mitigating an outbreak in a community, public health officials say, residents — especially those skeptical of vaccines — need to hear from the people they know.

“Trust is very important for us,” Mu said. “It is critical in getting people to follow our guidance, especially during an outbreak.”

This <a target="_blank" href="/public-health/measles-outbreak-contained-vaccine-skeptical-california-shasta-county/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">KFF Health News</a> and is republished here under a <a target="_blank" href=" Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.<img src="/wp-content/uploads/sites/8/2023/04/kffhealthnews-icon.png?w=150&quot; style="width:1em;height:1em;margin-left:10px;">