In South Dakota, too, official records show zero abortions that year.

And in Idaho, home to abortion battles that have recently made their way to the U.S. Supreme Court, the official number of recorded abortions was just five.

In nearly a dozen states with total or near-total abortion bans, government officials claimed that zero or very few abortions occurred in 2023, the first full year after the Supreme Court eliminated federal abortion rights.

Those statistics, the most recent available and published in government records, have been celebrated by anti-abortion activists. Medical professionals say such accounts are not only untrue but fundamentally dishonest.

“To say there are no abortions going on in South Dakota is ludicrous,” said Amy Kelley, an OB-GYN in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, citing female patients who have come to her hospital after taking abortion pills or to have medical procedures meant to prevent death or end nonviable pregnancies. “I can think of five off the top of my head that I dealt with,” she said, “and I have 15 partners.”

For some data scientists, these statistics also suggest a troubling trend: the potential politicization of vital statistics.

“It’s so clinically dishonest,” said Ushma Upadhyay, a public health scientist at the University of California-San Francisco, who co-chairs WeCount, an academic research effort that has kept a tally of the number of abortions nationwide since April 2022.

The zeroing out is statistically unlikely, Upadhyay said, and also runs counter to the reality that pregnancy “comes with many risks and in many cases emergency abortion care will be needed.”

“We know they are sometimes necessary to save the pregnant person’s life,” she said, “so I do hope there are abortions occurring in South Dakota.”

State officials reported a sharp decline in the official number of abortions after the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade in June 2022.

• Arkansas reported zero abortions in 2023, compared with 1,621 in 2022.
• Texas reported 60 in 2023, after reporting 50,783 abortions in the state in 2021.
• Idaho reported five in 2023 compared with 1,553 in 2021.
• South Dakota, which had severely restricted abortions years ahead of the Dobbs ruling, reported zero in 2023 compared with 192 abortions in 2021.

Anti-abortion politicians and activists have cited these statistics to bolster their claims that their decades-long crusade to end abortion is a success.

“Undoubtedly, many Arkansas pregnant mothers were spared from the lifelong regrets and physical complications abortion can cause and babies are alive today in Arkansas,” Rose Mimms, executive director of Arkansas Right to Life, said in a press statement. “That’s a win-win for them and our state.”

A spokesperson for the Arkansas Department of Health, Ashley Whitlow, said in an email that the department “is not able to track abortions that take place out of the state or outside of a healthcare facility.” State officials, she said, collect data from “in-state providers and facilities for the Induced Abortion data reports as required by Arkansas law.”

WeCount’s tallies of observed telehealth abortions do not appear in the official state numbers. For instance, from April to June 2024 it counted an average of 240 telehealth abortions a month in Arkansas.

Groups that oppose abortion rights acknowledge that state surveillance reports do not tell the full story of abortion care occurring in their states. Mimms, of Arkansas Right to Life, said she would not expect abortions to be reported in the state, since the procedure is illegal except to prevent a patient’s death.

“Women are still seeking out abortions in Arkansas, whether it’s illegally or going out of state for illegal abortion,” Mimms told KFF Health News. “We’re not naive.”

The South Dakota Department of Health “compiles information it receives from health care organizations around the state and reports it accordingly,” Tia Kafka, its marketing and outreach director, said in an email responding to questions about the statistics. Kafka declined to comment on specific questions about abortions being performed in the state or characterizations that South Dakota’s report is flawed.

Kim Floren, who serves as director of the Justice Empowerment Network, which provides funds and practical support to help South Dakota patients receive abortion care, expressed disbelief in the state’s official figures.

“In 2023, we served over 500 patients,” she said. “Most of them were from South Dakota.”

“For better or worse, government data is the official record,” said Ishan Mehta, director for media and democracy at Common Cause, the nonpartisan public interest group. “You are not just reporting data. You are feeding into an ecosystem that is going to have much larger ramifications.”

When there is a mismatch in the data reported by state governments and credible researchers, including WeCount and the Guttmacher Institute, a reproductive health research group that supports abortion rights, state researchers need to dig deeper, Mehta said.

“This is going to create a historical record for archivists and researchers and people who are going to look at the decades-long trend and try to understand how big public policy changes affected maternal health care,” Mehta said. And now, the recordkeepers “don’t seem to be fully thinking through the ramifications of their actions.”

A Culture of Fear

Abortion rights supporters agree that there has been a steep drop in the number of abortions in every state that enacted laws criminalizing abortion. In states with total bans, 63 clinics have stopped providing abortions. And doctors and medical providers face criminal charges for providing or assisting in abortion care in at least a dozen states.

Practitioners find themselves working in a culture of confusion and fear, which could contribute to a hesitancy to report abortions — despite some state efforts to make clear when abortion is allowed.

For instance, South Dakota Department of Health Secretary Melissa Magstadt released a video to clarify when an abortion is legal under the state’s strict ban.

The procedure is legal in South Dakota only when a pregnant woman is facing death. Magstadt said doctors should use “reasonable medical judgment” and “document their thought process.”

Any doctor convicted of performing an unlawful abortion faces up to two years in prison.

In the place of reliable statistics, academic researchers at WeCount use symbols like dashes to indicate they can’t accurately capture the reality on the ground.

“We try to make an effort to make clear that it’s not zero. That’s the approach these departments of health should take,” said WeCount’s Upadhyay, adding that health departments “should acknowledge that abortions are happening in their states but they can’t count them because they have created a culture of fear, a fear of lawsuits, having licenses revoked.”

“Maybe that’s what they should say,” she said, “instead of putting a zero in their reports.”

Mixed Mandates for Abortion Data

For decades, dozens of states have required abortion providers to collect detailed demographic information on the women who have abortions, including race, age, city, and county — and, in some cases, marital status and the reason for ending the pregnancy.

Researchers who compile data on abortion say there can be sound public health reasons for monitoring the statistics surrounding medical care, namely to evaluate the impact of policy changes. That has become particularly important in the wake of the Supreme Court’s 2022 Dobbs decision, which ended the federal right to an abortion and opened the door to laws in Republican-led states restricting and sometimes outlawing abortion care.

Isaac Maddow-Zimet, a Guttmacher data scientist, said data collection has been used by abortion opponents to overburden clinics with paperwork and force patients to answer intrusive questions. “It’s part of a pretty long history of those tools being used to stigmatize abortion,” he said.

In South Dakota, clinic staff members were required to report the weight of the contents of the uterus, including the woman’s blood, a requirement that had no medical purpose and had the effect of exaggerating the weight of pregnancy tissue, said Floren, who worked at a clinic that provided abortion care before the state’s ban.

“If it was a procedural abortion, you had to weigh everything that came out and write that down on the report,” Floren said.

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention does not mandate abortion reporting, and some Democratic-led states, including California, do not require clinics or health care providers to collect data. Each year, the CDC requests abortion data from the central health agencies for every state, the District of Columbia, and New York City, and these states and jurisdictions voluntarily report aggregated data for inclusion in the CDC’s annual “Abortion Surveillance” report.

In states that mandate public abortion tracking, hospitals, clinics, and physicians report the number of abortions to state health departments in what are typically called “induced termination of pregnancy” reports, or ITOPs.

Before Dobbs, such reports recorded procedural and medication abortions. But following the elimination of federal abortion rights, clinics shuttered in states with criminal abortion bans. More patients began accessing abortion medication through online organizations, including Aid Access, that do not fall under mandatory state reporting laws.

At least six states have enacted what are called “shield laws” to protect providers who send pills to patients in states with abortion bans. That includes New York, where Linda Prine, a family physician employed by Aid Access, prescribes and sends abortion pills to patients across the country.

Asked about states reporting zero or very few abortions in 2023, Prine said she was certain those statistics were wrong. Texas, for example, reported 50,783 abortions in the state in 2021. Now the state reports on average five a month. WeCount reported an average of 2,800 telehealth abortions a month in Texas from April to June 2024.

“In 2023, Aid Access absolutely mailed pills to all three states in question — South Dakota, Arkansas, and Texas,” Prine said.

Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton filed a lawsuit in January against a New York-based physician, Maggie Carpenter, co-founder of the Abortion Coalition for Telemedicine, for prescribing abortion pills to a Texas patient in violation of Texas’ near-total abortion ban. It’s the first legal challenge to New York’s shield law and threatens to derail access to medication abortion.

Still, some state officials in states with abortion bans have sought to choke off the supply of medication that induces abortion. In May, Arkansas Attorney General Tim Griffin wrote cease and desist letters to Aid Access in the Netherlands and Choices Women’s Medical Center in New York City, stating that “abortion pills may not legally be shipped to Arkansas” and accusing the medical organizations of potentially “false, deceptive, and unconscionable trade practices” that carry up to $10,000 per violation.

Good-government groups like Common Cause say that the dangers of officials relying on misleading statistics are myriad, including a disintegration of public trust as well as ill-informed legislation.

These concerns have been heightened by misinformation surrounding health care, including an entrenched and vocal anti-vaccine movement and the objections of some conservative politicians to mandates related to covid-19, including masks, physical distancing, and school and business closures.

“If the state is not going to put in a little more than the bare minimum to just find out if their data is accurate or not,” Mehta said, “we are in a very dangerous place.”

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“You subscribe to your insurance policy, you pay into that for years and years and years with the hope that, if you need this service, it will be there for you,” Lou Volpe said. “And finally, when you knock on the door and say, ‘Hey guys, we need some help,’ they just start backpedaling.”

The Volpes, who live in Helena, and their health care providers spent more than 18 months pushing for these approvals from Blue Cross and Blue Shield of Montana — including a four-month wait last year for approval of costly infusions that worked to control their son’s disease where other treatments had failed.

“It just really slowed everything down on his treatment, and I feel like he could have been recovering from this situation a lot sooner,” Lindsay Volpe said.

Now, the Volpes, other patients, and their health care providers are bringing the issue to the 2025 Montana Legislature, saying it’s time Montana joined many other states in limiting how and when insurers can deny drugs or treatments through their preapproval process, known as “prior authorization.”

This month, a Democratic and a Republican lawmaker introduced or were drafting separate bills restricting health insurers’ ability to require prior authorization for certain treatments and medications. A third lawmaker was preparing other measures as well.

Many of the state’s medical providers are behind the effort, saying prior authorization is denying vital care and needlessly sucking up more and more of their time, which they say could be better spent with patients.

“It has increased incredibly in the last couple of decades, to the point that it’s one of the leading causes of burnout for physicians,” said Lauren Wilson, a Missoula pediatrician and past president of the Montana chapter of the American Academy of Pediatrics. “It’s just delaying patient care for no good reason.”

Montana health insurers, however, insist they are authorizing drugs and treatments that are shown to be needed. If their review power is stripped away, costs will continue to increase due to insurance paying for unnecessary treatments, they said.

Blue Cross and Blue Shield of Montana said it doesn’t comment on individual cases, such as the Volpes’, but said it approves the “vast majority” of prior authorization requests. Blue Cross, which insures or manages health insurance for 384,000 people in Montana, also said it regularly audits its prior authorization procedures and is taking steps to speed up the process.

“Prior authorizations are a way to ensure members receive the right care at the right place at the right time, avoiding unnecessary services and helping providers understand coverage before a service is delivered,” the company said in a statement.

Denial of care through insurers’ prior authorization processes has struck a nerve nationwide as well.

In the wake of the December shooting death of UnitedHealthcare CEO Brian Thompson in New York City, customers of the health insurance giant and other consumers took to social media to denounce the industry for denied claims and puny reimbursements.

And since then, one of the nation’s largest health insurers, The Cigna Group, announced it would spend $150 million this year to reform its prior authorization process and related services for patients and health care providers.

In the past two years, multiple states have passed laws restricting prior authorization, according to the American Medical Association, with New Jersey enacting restrictions over New Year’s. The laws, spearheaded by health care providers, generally narrow when and how prior authorization can occur and create stricter timelines for the review.

Legislators in several states, including Indiana, Nebraska, North Dakota, Virginia, and Washington, have introduced prior authorization bills this year.

In Montana, local health insurers aren’t quietly giving in to increased regulation.

They note that state regulation of prior authorization affects only about a fourth of Montanans with health insurance, because large, self-insured plans managed by national health insurers are under federal rules.

State restrictions on prior authorization will increase costs primarily for three in-state insurers, they say — and, eventually, their customers.

“We feel like our job is to say, ‘Is that the best use of money for our membership?’” Jackie Boyle, senior vice president of external affairs for Mountain Health Co-Op, said of prior authorization. “If we approve something, we are doing it for every patient like them.”

Mountain Health, based in Helena, insures 55,000 people in Montana, Idaho, and Wyoming.

Democratic state Rep. Jonathan Karlen of Missoula is sponsoring two bills: one to remove prior authorization for most generic drugs, inhalers, and insulin, and another that says patients can’t be denied a drug when they switch insurers and are waiting for authorization from the new insurer. The second bill also says a procedure or treatment may be denied only by a physician with a matching specialty.

Karlen said insurers are putting up barriers to care to increase their profits and said it’s time to break those barriers down.

“People should be making medical decisions based on what they and their doctors think, not what their insurance company thinks,” he said. “If a doctor says you need a medication, that’s why you have insurance — so you can get that.”

Republican state Rep. Ed Buttrey of Great Falls said he plans to introduce a bill to help kids with chronic bowel diseases, such as the Volpes’ son, imposing a seven-day limit to decide whether to authorize expensive biologic treatments. If insurers don’t meet the deadline, the drug would be automatically approved.

Buttrey’s bill also would eliminate most retroactive denials — when insurers refuse to pay for treatment they’d authorized.

State Sen. Vince Ricci (R-Billings) said he is preparing other bills that may include even stronger language to restrict prior authorization for drugs for various conditions.

Health care providers and patients have heard the rationale of insurers and promises that improvements will be made, but they say nothing has happened and that it’s time for the state to step in.

“When there are no consequences and no teeth to anything, I can complain all I want, but it doesn’t seem to incite change,” said Kim Longcake, the pediatric nurse practitioner who’s treating the Volpes’ son.

Longcake said she and another specialist in her office tracked the time they spent on prior authorization requests in a two-week period.

“Depending on where you want to see me, I’m booking out four to six months,” Longcake said. “If I wasn’t spending 12 hours a week doing prior authorization stuff, it would improve access to care.”

The Volpes said their son, now 13, couldn’t absorb food and didn’t gain any weight for a year and a half while he went through treatments that didn’t work and repeated preauthorization waits, including for his current treatment, which appears to be working.

“What he’s gone through at that age was really excessive, beyond what was needed for treatment, because we couldn’t get the care that he needed,” his mother said. “If we didn’t get switched to this medication, he’d still be doing that.”

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The effort, billed as a way to reduce red tape in government, would leave district court as the only option outside of the state health department for people to fight officials’ rejections of their applications for Medicaid, temporary financial assistance, food aid, and other programs.

Montana lawmakers are considering a bill requested by the state Department of Public Health and Human Services to eliminate its Board of Public Assistance. The health department backed a similar bill in 2023 as part of the Republican governor’s “Red Tape Relief” initiative, but the measure died in committee.

On Feb. 4, the state Senate passed the bill, sponsored by state Sen. Jeremy Trebas (R-Great Falls), on a 45-5 vote. It must also pass scrutiny of the state House of Representatives and Gianforte before it becomes law.

The three-person board, whose members are appointed by the governor, also decides appeals of administrative rulings that someone received more aid than they qualified for and therefore owes the state money.

During a Jan. 29 committee hearing, state officials who proposed the cut said they’re trying to eliminate unnecessary bureaucracy in government. Opponents of the plan worry the change would limit people’s chance of having their voices heard in hard-to-use and often overstretched systems.

“We know we’ve made a difference,” said Carolyn Pease-Lopez, a Democratic former state lawmaker who said she has been on the board since 2017.

Pease-Lopez said she was unaware until contacted by KFF Health News that the health department was trying again to get rid of the board.

Starting in 2023 and into last year, the state’s public assistance workforce was overstretched because of a massive effort to check who qualifies for Medicaid, the state and federal health insurance program for low-income people. People trying to tap into public assistance in Montana and elsewhere have said they face long waits for help managing their benefits.

In Montana, about 2,300 public assistance appeals a year go first to the health department’s Office of Administrative Hearings. Last year, roughly 15 of those cases went on to the Board of Public Assistance, the last forum for people to argue their case before going to district court.

The board is an unnecessary intermediate step, health department officials said.

The board upheld the health department’s decisions in all but one of the roughly 15 cases that came before it last year, said Rutherford Hayes, administrator of the Office of Administrative Hearings.

The health department, he said during the Jan. 29 hearing, “ultimately has far more legal expertise than a volunteer lay board does.” One of the board’s six annual meetings was canceled, he said, because there weren’t any cases to discuss.

Pease-Lopez said not every case that lands before the board is cut-and-dried, and that the panel sometimes plays the role of an intermediary. She recalled an instance in which a small medical company was on the hook to repay thousands of dollars to the state due to coding errors the health department hadn’t caught for years.

Pease-Lopez said in that case the board acted as a mediator between the company and state attorney to find a compromise.

“They wanted thousands and thousands of dollars that would have upended their business,” Pease-Lopez said. She said the board “gives the state a chance to not just have tunnel vision and be driven by the rules alone, but to kind of look at the whole picture.”

State officials have said that even though the board typically sides with the agency’s initial decision, keeping it running takes staff time. That includes preparing records for board meetings and assigning an attorney to represent the agency.

The agency has said eliminating the board would help appellants take their case to district court more quickly.

In 2023, lawmakers who opposed the plan worried it would cut the public’s access to an independent body. They also noted that appealing to the board is free, and people who are fighting to access public assistance programs may not have the money for court fees or a lawyer.

Still, no one spoke in opposition to the board’s elimination Jan. 29.

Sharon Bonogofsky, who served on the board for roughly two years starting in 2021, said she understands the argument for its elimination. She said the work sometimes felt redundant since the board usually upheld the state’s decisions.

She said with or without the board, more resources need to go toward helping people understand their benefits, avoid paperwork mistakes that might result in their owing the state money, and transition smoothly off of state assistance programs.

“Some of these people just had all they could handle keeping their lives together, and that bit of support they were receiving was a real lifeline,” Bonogofsky said.

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“It put a smile on my face to see him so happy,” Schachter said.

Alex would have turned 21 that day, six years after he and 16 other children and staff at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida, were shot and killed by a former student in 2018. In the years before the shooting, that former student had displayed concerning behavior that elicited dozens of calls to 911 and at least two tips to the FBI.

“Alex should still be here today. It’s not fair,” Schachter said.

After two weeks of grieving Alex’s death, Schachter, propelled by anger and pain, began advocating for school safety. In part, he wanted to ensure his three other children would never be harmed in the same way. He joined the newly formed Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School Public Safety Commission to improve the safety and security of Florida’s students. And he launched a nonprofit bearing Alex’s name, which advocates for school safety.

Doing that work, he learned about threat assessment teams, groups of law enforcement and school officials who try to identify potentially dangerous or distressed kids, intervene, and prevent the next school shooting. Florida is one of about 18 states that require schools to have threat assessment and intervention teams; a national survey estimates 85% of public schools have a team assigned to the task.

The teams, whose mission and operational strategies often are based on research from the FBI and the Secret Service’s National Threat Assessment Center, or NTAC, have become more common as the number of school shootings has increased. Despite their prevalence for almost 25 years, some of the teams have developed systemic problems that put them at risk of unfairly labeling and vilifying children.

States vary widely in their requirements of threat assessment teams and there isn’t a nationwide archetype. Few school districts and states collect data about the teams, little is known about their operations, and research on their effectiveness at thwarting mass shootings and other threats is limited. But a 2021 analysis by the NTAC of 67 plots against K-12 schools found that people “contemplating violence often exhibit observable behaviors, and when community members report these behaviors, the next tragedy can be averted.”

“School shooters have a long thought process. They don’t just snap. They have concerning behavior over time. If we can identify them early, we can intervene,” said Karie Gibson, chief of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.

Yet, Dewey Cornell, a forensic clinical psychologist who in 2001 developed one of the first sets of guidelines for school threat assessment teams, said there have been problems. In many cases, he said, threats have been deemed not serious “but parents and teachers are so alarmed that it is difficult to assuage their fears. The school community gets in an uproar and the school administrators feel pressured to expel the student.”

And in other cases, a school doesn’t do a threat assessment and assumes a student is dangerous when somebody else reports them as a threat, and they may take a zero tolerance approach and remove them from the school, said Cornell, the Virgil S. Ward professor of education at the University of Virginia.

A task force convened by the American Psychological Association found little evidence that zero tolerance policies have improved school climate or school safety and said they may create negative mental health outcomes for students. The task force cited examples of students who were expelled for incidents or school rule violations as minor as having a knife in their lunch box for cutting an apple.

Marisa Randazzo, a research psychologist and the director of threat assessment for Georgetown University, said she has also seen “hyperreactions,” especially among school communities that have experienced a mass killing.

“It’s understandable. People who have been close to an event like this are on higher alert than other people,” said Randazzo, who previously worked for the Secret Service and co-founded Sigma Threat Management Associates.

Threat assessments are supposed to be a graduated process calibrated to the seriousness of a problem, since the majority of student threats are not credible and can be resolved through supportive interventions, according to research from the Secret Service.

Stephanie Crawford-Goetz, a school psychologist and the director of mental health for student support services in the Douglas County School District in Colorado, where a shooting occurred at a charter school in 2019, said her district’s threat assessment process emphasizes a proactive, rehabilitative approach to managing potential threats, as the NTAC suggests.

Crawford-Goetz said her district interviews students before convening the team to assess whether a threat is a misguided expression of anger or frustration and if the student has a plan and means to carry out violence.

Students whose threats are deemed transient receive support, such as help with coping skills, and they may meet with a mental health provider.

If the threat is credible, a student may be temporarily removed from the classroom or school.

Randazzo said the vast majority of kids who make threats are suicidal or despondent: “The process is designed primarily to figure out if someone is in crisis and how we can help. It is not designed to be punitive.”

Crawford-Goetz tells parents about her district’s threat assessment team at the beginning of the school year. Some districts report keeping their teams a secret from parents, which is not how they were designed to operate, said Lina Alathari, chief of the NTAC. Her team encourages schools to educate the whole community about the threat assessment process.

Some advocacy groups contend that threat assessment teams have perpetuated inequities. There has also been widespread concern that children with disabilities can easily get swept into a threat assessment.

In a 2022 report, the National Disability Rights Network, a nonprofit based in Washington, D.C., said some threat assessment teams have become “judge, jury, and executioner,” going beyond assessing risk of serious, imminent harm to determining guilt and punishment.

Expanding their scope allows threat assessment teams to get around civil rights protections, the report says.

Cornell disputed the disability rights group’s conclusion. “This has not been corroborated by scientific studies and is speculative,” he said.

Some states, such as Florida, mandate that threat assessment teams determine whether a student’s disability played a role in their behavior and recommend they include special education teachers and other professionals in their evaluation.

In Texas, which has mandated threat assessment teams, a third of students subjected to threat assessments in the Dallas Independent School District receive special education services.

Yet, the district doesn’t have a special education staff representative on its threat assessment team, according to a March 2023 report by Texas Appleseed, a nonprofit public interest justice center.

Many school districts are developing their own models in the absence of national standards for threat assessments.

Florida revamped its threat assessment system in January 2024 to improve response times, provide consistent data collection, and build in more checks and balances and oversight, said Pinellas County Sheriff Bob Gualtieri, who is also chair of the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School Public Safety Commission.

The new model requires the teams to work quickly and file uniform, electronic summary reports of threat assessment findings. Those results follow students throughout their school years.

The adjustments are intended to eliminate the risk of not knowing about a student’s past troubling behavior if they change schools, as occurred with the Parkland shooter and a student who shot and killed classmates at a high school near Winder, Georgia, in September, said Gualtieri.

“As parents, you never stop worrying about your kids,” Schachter said.

Virginia mandates that all public schools and higher education institutions, including colleges, have threat assessment teams. In Florida, where one of Schachter’s daughters attends college, threat assessment teams are mandated in all public schools, including charter schools.

“There’s more work to be done,” Schachter said.

Cheryl Platzman Weinstock’s reporting is supported by a grant from the National Institute for Health Care Management Foundation.

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The nearly 150-year-old Montana State Hospital has recently struggled to care for patients and retain staff. The problems came to a head in 2022, when federal investigators yanked the hospital’s federal certification — and funding — from the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services because of a pattern of patient deaths found to be preventable, as well as injuries and falls.

Since then, Republican Gov. Greg Gianforte’s administration has launched a complex and expensive overhaul of the Montana State Hospital’s operations with the goal of regaining certification. That outcome may require years more work and tens of millions in additional funding from the Republican-majority legislature.

At least some lawmakers begrudgingly acknowledge the protracted scenario, reflecting on the time spent trying to pressure the state health department to move at a faster pace.

“I think it’s going to be done when it’s done,” said Republican Sen. Dennis Lenz, a longtime lawmaker who sits on the health department’s budget committee in the state legislature. “It’s like telling your teenager, ‘Come on, get your act together. Come on, put your clothes away.’”

Lawmakers in this session have the power to add or restrict money for Gianforte’s health department and write laws related to state hospital oversight, admissions, and discharge processes.

Health officials in the Gianforte administration are neck-deep in efforts to renovate the facility, slow its revolving door of leaders, and increase staff retention. Lawmakers are instead turning their attention toward ways to strengthen mental health services outside the hospital — an effort urged on by other mental health care advocates.

“I think the future of the hospital, and whether or not it will improve enough to be considered meeting the minimum federal standards for a hospital, rests on whether or not Montana can build up its community-based services,” said David Carlson, executive director of Disability Rights Montana, a federally appointed watchdog group that advocates for patients in state facilities. “They’re so interlinked. And we’re putting too much pressure on a singular hospital in Warm Springs.”

The state hospital’s campus, located in southwestern Montana near Butte, treats criminally and civilly committed patients. Inspectors decided to decertify the hospital after identifying numerous violations of patient care standards, including deaths, infection control issues related to covid-19, repeated falls, and medication mismanagement that amounted to “chemical restraints.”

In the wake of that loss, the hospital’s top-level leadership has rotated through five administrators. Medical staffers have strongly criticized new mandates and changing protocols. The facility relies on expensive contracted health professionals, and, until this month, a consulting firm to oversee the hospital’s operations. Waitlists for the unit of criminally charged patients are persistently long, bogging down court cases and leaving suspects incarcerated in jails throughout the state.

In mid-January presentations to lawmakers, state health officials gave mixed reviews about how the hospital is improving.

The facility has discontinued the use of chemical restraints entirely, officials said, and recently hired a permanent CEO and chief medical officer. Doug Harrington, Montana’s state medical officer, said the facility is also seeing more interest from prospective employees applying for open positions.

“The short answer is yes, things are changing. And it will take time; it’s not going to happen overnight. But the seeds have already been planted, and we’re seeing some of the fruit growing up,” Harrington told lawmakers on the health department’s budget subcommittee.

Harrington also acknowledged that the timeline for regaining certification from CMS was pushed back to 2026 due to physical repairs at the central hospital.

“When you start tearing the wall out, you frequently find fungus, black mold, infectious agents in the water of the cooling systems,” he said. “We need to shut down an entire wing and move those patients somewhere else so that that can be sealed off and worked on.”

Last fall, the state began moving patients to a 20-bed space in Helena leased from Shodair Children’s Hospital to allow for the renovation of one of the hospital’s wings.

In total, the Gianforte administration has requested that the legislature greenlight a one-time allocation of almost $61.5 million to continue to cover the cost of contracting clinical and nursing staff at the state hospital. The facility’s two-year budget, including that request, is more than $167 million.

Another high-priority upgrade for the hospital is the creation of a comprehensive electronic health records system.

Funding for that project — approximately $27.6 million to cover all state facilities — was originally approved by the legislature in 2023. But state officials have yet to ink a contract for the electronic system, and they say the cost could change during negotiations with a future vendor.

The state estimated in January that the electronic records project, from development to implementation, would take three years. A spokesperson for the hospital said the department expects to have a contract signed and to begin that timeline in March.

Previous efforts to legislate change at the hospital are still in motion. Lawmakers passed a bill with bipartisan support in 2023 that directed the state to move patients with a primary diagnosis of dementia, such as Alzheimer’s disease, or a traumatic brain injury out of the hospital and into community-based facilities better equipped to care for patients with memory issues and other cognitive disabilities.

The bill set a deadline for those patients to be moved by the end of this June. Jennifer Carlson, a former Republican lawmaker who chairs a committee to oversee that transition, said the department still has patients in residence who are subject to the legislation, but she’s feeling optimistic about meeting that target.

Another bill from 2023 required the state health department to share unredacted abuse and neglect reports with Disability Rights Montana, the designated federal civil rights inspector. But since the law took effect, staff turnover and changing protocols at the hospital made for inconsistent application of the law, officials with the advocacy group said.

David Carlson of Disability Rights Montana, who is not related to Jennifer Carlson, said lawmakers’ and advocates’ time may be better spent this session on trying to reduce the number of patients that hospital staffers are struggling to care for. One strategy is to finalize the transfer of memory-care patients targeted by the 2023 law to community-based facilities, he said, and help grow local mental health crisis services.

Even with those changes, he added, the responsibility for high-quality patient care rests with the Gianforte administration and the hospital’s leadership team.

Ultimately, if medical standards and internal protocols don’t improve, David Carlson said, the last branch of government that can put a check on the hospital’s operations is the judiciary. Disability Rights Montana has previously represented patients suing state institutions over civil rights violations and errors in patient care.

“That’s not a threat. That’s just a description of how this all works,” Carlson said. “Accountability will come from some branch of government. The administration can embrace it themselves and get ahead of it. The legislature can lay it on there, or we can have the courts do it.”

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Federal regulators say it’s risky business. Samples of raw milk can contain bird flu virus and other pathogens linked to kidney disease, miscarriages, and death.

McAfee, founder and CEO of the Raw Farm, who also leads the Raw Milk Institute, says he plans to soon be in a position to change that message.

Robert F. Kennedy Jr., the anti-vaccine activist President Donald Trump has tapped to run the Department of Health and Human Services, recruited McAfee to apply for a job as the FDA’s raw milk standards and policy adviser, McAfee said. McAfee has already written draft proposals for possible federal certification of raw dairy farms, he said.

Virologists are alarmed. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention recommends against unpasteurized dairy that hasn’t been heated to kill pathogens such as bird flu. Interstate raw milk sales for human consumption are banned by the FDA. A Trump administration that weakens the ban or extols raw milk, the scientists say, could lead to more foodborne illness. It could also, they say, raise the risk of the highly pathogenic H5N1 bird flu virus evolving to spread more efficiently, including between people, possibly fueling a pandemic.

“If the FDA says raw milk is now legal and the CDC comes through and says it advises drinking raw milk, that’s a recipe for mass infection,” said Angela Rasmussen, a virologist and co-editor-in-chief of the medical journal Vaccine and an adjunct professor at Stony Brook University in New York.

The raw milk controversy reflects the broader tensions President Donald Trump will confront when pursuing his second-administration agenda of rolling back regulations and injecting more consumer choice into health care.

Many policies Kennedy has said he wants to revisit — from the fluoridation of tap water to nutrition guidance to childhood vaccine requirements — are backed by scientific research and were established to protect public health. Some physician groups and Democrats are gearing up to fight initiatives they say would put people at risk.

Raw milk has gained a following among anti-regulatory conservatives who are part of a burgeoning health freedom movement.

“The health freedom movement was adopted by the tea party, and conspiracy websites gave it momentum,” said Paul Offit, director of the Vaccine Education Center at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, who has studied the history of the anti-vaccine movement.

Once-fringe ideas are edging into the mainstream. Vaccine hesitancy is growing.

Arkansas, Utah, and Kentucky are weighing legislation that would relax or end requirements for fluoride in public water. And 30 states now allow for the sale of raw milk in some form within their borders.

While only an estimated 3% of the U.S. population consumes raw milk or cheese, efforts to try to restrict its sales have riled Republicans and provided grist for conservative podcasts.

Many conservatives denounced last year’s execution of a search warrant when Pennsylvania agriculture officials and state troopers arrived at an organic farm tucked off a two-lane road on Jan. 4, 2024. State inspectors were investigating cases of two children sickened by E. coli bacteria and sales of raw dairy from the operation owned by Amish farmer Amos Miller, according to a complaint filed by the state’s agricultural department.

Bundled in flannel shirts and winter jackets, the inspectors put orange stickers on products detaining them from sale, and they left toting product samples in large blue-and-white coolers, online videos show. The 2024 complaint against Miller alleged that he and his wife sold dairy products in violation of state law.

The farm was well known to regulators. They say in the complaint that a Florida consumer died after being sickened in 2014 with listeria bacteria found in raw dairy from Miller’s farm. The FDA said a raw milk sample from the farm indicates it was the “likely source” of the infection, based on the complaint.

Neither Miller’s farm nor his lawyer returned calls seeking comment.

The Millers’ attorney filed a preliminary objection that said “shutting down Defendants would cause inequitable harm, exceed the authority of the agency, constitute an excessive fine as well as disparate, discriminatory punishment, and contravene every essential Constitutional protection and powers reserved to the people of Pennsylvania.”

Regulators in Pennsylvania said in a press release they must protect the public, and especially children, from harm. “We cannot ignore the illnesses and further potential harm posed by distribution of these unregulated products,” the Pennsylvania agricultural department and attorney general said in a joint statement.

Unpasteurized dairy products are responsible for almost all the estimated 761 illnesses and 22 hospitalizations in the U.S. that occur annually because of dairy-related illness, according to a study published in the June 2017 issue of Emerging Infectious Diseases.

But conservatives say raiding an Amish farm is government overreach. They’re “harassing him and trying to make an example of him. Our government is really out of control,” Pennsylvania Republican Sen. Doug Mastriano said in a video he posted to Facebook.

Videos show protesters at a February 2024 hearing on Miller’s case included Amish men dressed in black with straw hats and locals waving homemade signs with slogans such as “FDA Go Away.” A court in March issued a preliminary injunction that barred Miller from marketing and selling raw dairy products within the commonwealth pending appeal, but the order did not preclude sales of raw milk to customers out of state. The case is ongoing.

With Kennedy, the raw milk debate is poised to go national. Kennedy wrote on X in October that the “FDA’s war on public health is about to end.” In the post, he pointed to the agency’s “aggressive suppression” of raw milk, as one example.

McAfee is ready. He wants to see a national raw milk ordinance, similar to one that exists for pasteurized milk, that would set minimal national standards. Farmers could attain certification through training, continuing education, and on-site pathogen testing, with one standard for farms that sell to consumers and another for retail sales.

The Trump administration didn’t return emails seeking comment.

McAfee has detailed the system he developed to ensure his raw dairy products are safe. He confirmed the process for KFF Health News: cows with yellow-tagged ears graze on grass pastures and are cleansed in washing pens before milking. The raw dairy is held back from consumer sale until it’s been tested and found clear of pathogens.

His raw dairy products, such as cheese and milk, are sold by a variety of stores, including health, organic, and natural grocery chains, according to the company website, as well as raw dairy pet products, which are not for human consumption.

He said he doesn’t believe the raw milk he sells could contain or transmit viable bird flu virus. He also said he doesn’t believe regulators’ warnings about raw milk and the virus.

“The pharmaceutical industry is trying to create a new pandemic from bird flu to get their stock back up,” said McAfee, who says he counts Kennedy as a customer. His view is not shared by leading virologists.

In December, the state of California secured a voluntary recall of all his company’s raw milk and cream products due to possible bird flu contamination.

Five indoor cats in the same household died or were euthanized in December after drinking raw milk from McAfee’s farm, and tests on four of the animals found they were infected with bird flu, according to the Los Angeles County Department of Health.

In an unrelated case, Joseph Journell, 56, said three of his four indoor cats drank McAfee’s raw milk. Two fell sick and died, he said. His third cat, a large tabby rescue named Big Boy, temporarily lost the use of his hind legs and had to use a specialized wheelchair device, he said. Urine samples from Big Boy were positive for bird flu, according to a copy of the results from Cornell University and the U.S. Department of Agriculture.

McAfee dismissed connections between the cats’ illnesses and his products, saying any potential bird flu virus would no longer be viable by the time his raw milk gets to stores. He also said he believes that any sick cats got bird flu from recalled pet food.

Journell said he has hired a lawyer to try to recover his veterinary costs but remains a staunch proponent of raw milk.

“Raw milk is good for you, just not if it has bird flu in it,” he said. “I do believe in its healing powers.”

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The changes, backers say, would fill gaps in services and help people better prepare for life outside of the locked, secure setting of the two state facilities before they reenter their own communities.

“I think part of the theme is responsibly moving people in and out of the state facilities so that we create capacity and have people in the appropriate places,” state Sen. Dave Fern (D-Whitefish) said of the proposed capital projects during a recent interview.

Fern served on the Behavioral Health System for Future Generations Commission, a panel created by a 2023 law to suggest how to spend $300 million to revamp the system. The law set aside the $300 million for improving state services for people with mental illness, substance abuse disorders, and developmental disabilities.

Gianforte’s proposed budget for the next two years would spend about $100 million of that fund on 10 other recommendations from the commission. The capital projects are separate ideas for using up to $32.5 million of the $75 million earmarked within the $300 million pool of funds for building new infrastructure or remodeling existing buildings.

The state Department of Public Health and Human Services and consultants for the behavioral health commission presented commission members with areas for capital investments in October. In December, the commission authorized state health department director Charlie Brereton to recommend the following projects to Gianforte:

• Move the 12-bed Intensive Behavior Center for people with developmental disabilities out of Boulder, possibly to either Helena or Butte, at an estimated cost of up to $13.3 million.
• Establish a “step-down” facility of about 16 beds, possibly on the campus of Shodair Children’s Hospital in Helena, to serve adults who have been committed to the Montana State Hospital but no longer need the hospital’s intensive psychiatric services.
• Invest $19.2 million to upgrade the Montana State Hospital’s infrastructure and buildings at Warm Springs, on top of nearly $16 million appropriated in 2023 for renovations already underway there in an effort to regain federal certification of the facility.

The state Architecture & Engineering Division is reviewing the health department’s cost estimates and developing a timeline for the projects so the information can be sent to the governor. Gianforte ultimately must approve the projects.

Health department officials have said they plan to take the proposals to legislative committees as needed. “With Commission recommendation and approval from the governor, the Department believes that it has the authority to proceed with capital project expenditures but must secure additional authority from the Legislature to fund operations into future biennia,” said department spokesperson Jon Ebelt.

The department outlined its facility plans to the legislature’s health and human services budget subcommittee on Jan. 22 as part of a larger presentation on the commission’s work and the 10 noncapital proposals in the governor’s budget. Time limits prevented in-depth discussion and public comment on the facility-related ideas.

One change the commission didn’t consider: moving the Montana State Hospital to a more populated area from its rural and relatively remote location near Anaconda, in southwestern Montana, in an attempt to alleviate staffing shortages.

“The administration is committed to continuing to invest in MSH as it exists today,” Brereton told the commission in October, referring to the Montana State Hospital.

The hospital provides treatment to people with mental illness who have been committed to the state’s custody through a civil or criminal proceeding. It’s been beset by problems, including the loss of federal Medicaid and Medicare funding due to decertification by the federal government in April 2022, staffing issues that have led to high use of expensive traveling health care providers, and turnover in leadership.

State Sen. Chris Pope (D-Bozeman) was vice chair of a separate committee that met between the 2023 and 2025 legislative sessions and monitored progress toward a 2023 legislative mandate to transition patients with dementia out of the state hospital. He agreed in a recent interview that improving — not moving — MSH is a top priority for the system right now.

“Right now, we have an institution that is failing and needs to be brought back into the modern age, where it is located right now,” he said after ticking off a list of challenges facing the hospital.

State Sen. John Esp (R-Big Timber) also noted at the October commission meeting that moving the hospital was likely to run into resistance in any community considered for a new facility.

Fern, the Whitefish senator, questioned in October whether similar concerns might exist for moving the Intensive Behavior Center out of Boulder. For more than 130 years, the town 30 miles south of Helena has been home, in one form or another, to a state facility for people with developmental disabilities. But Brereton said he believes relocation could succeed with community and stakeholder involvement.

The 12-bed center in Boulder serves people who have been committed by a court because their behaviors pose an immediate risk of serious harm to themselves or others. It’s the last residential building for people with developmental disabilities on the campus of the former Montana Developmental Center, which the legislature voted in 2015 to close.

Drew Smith, a consultant with the firm Alvarez & Marsal, told the commission in October that moving the facility from the town of 1,300 to a bigger city such as Helena or Butte would provide access to a larger labor pool, possibly allow a more homelike setting for residents, and open more opportunities for residents to interact with the community and develop skills for returning to their own communities.

Ideally, Brereton said, the center would be colocated with a new facility included in the governor’s proposed budget, for crisis stabilization services to people with developmental disabilities who are experiencing significant behavioral health issues.

Meanwhile, the proposed subacute facility with up to 16 beds for state hospital patients would provide a still secure but less structured setting for people who no longer need intensive treatment at Warm Springs but aren’t yet ready to be discharged from the hospital’s care. Brereton told the commission in October the facility would essentially serve as a less restrictive “extension” of the state hospital. He also said the agency would like to contract with a company to staff the subacute facility.

Health department officials don’t expect the new facility to involve any construction costs. Brereton has said the agency believes an existing building on the Shodair campus would be a good spot for it.

The state began leasing the building Nov. 1 for use by about 20 state hospital patients displaced by the current remodeling at Warm Springs — a different purpose than the proposed subacute facility.

Shodair CEO Craig Aasved said Shodair hasn’t committed to having the state permanently use the building as the step-down facility envisioned by the agency and the commission.

But Brereton said the option is attractive to the health department now that the building has been set up and licensed to serve adults.

“It seems like a natural place to start,” he told the commission in December, “and we don’t mind that it’s in our backyard here in Helena.”

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But because he was uninsured at the time, the surgery at a Reno, Nevada, hospital led to years of anguish. He said he owes the hospital more than $20,000 for the procedure and still gets calls from collection agencies.

“It can cause a lot of anxiety,” Rice said. “I can’t give you what I don’t have.”

Rice, 62, was born and has spent his life in Nevada. He said he fell through a gap in the tribal health care system because he lives 1,500 miles from the Prairie Band Potawatomi Nation home area in eastern Kansas, where he’s an enrolled member.

He receives primary care at the Reno-Sparks Indian Colony tribal health clinic in Nevada, but structural barriers in the federal Indian Health Service left him without coverage for specialty care outside of the clinic. Rice might have been eligible for specialty services referred by his tribe’s health system in Kansas, but he lives too far from the tribe’s delivery area to utilize the tribal health program that helps pay for services outside of the IHS.

“I shouldn’t need to move to Kansas City to be fully covered,” Rice said.

A new tribal sponsorship program rolled out last year in Nevada is aimed at getting tribal citizens like Rice covered and protecting them from incurring debt for uninsured care. It allows tribes to buy health insurance through the state’s Affordable Care Act marketplace for people living in their service area, including Native Americans from other tribes.

Tribal leaders and Nevada officials say the sponsorship model increases access to coverage and care for tribal citizens and their families by allowing them to seek medical care outside the tribal health care system.

A few dozen tribes have moved to set up the insurance programs since the ACA authorized them more than a decade ago.

“It’s not widespread,” said Yvonne Myers, an ACA and Medicaid consultant for Citizen Potawatomi Nation Health Services in Oklahoma.

Native American adults are enrolled in Medicaid at higher rates than their white counterparts and have long faced worse health outcomes, higher incidences of chronic disease, and shorter life expectancy. Many rely on the IHS, a division within the Department of Health and Human Services responsible for providing care to Native Americans, but the agency is chronically underfunded.

In Nevada, tribes can sponsor their community members’ health coverage through aggregated billing, a method for paying the premiums for multiple individuals in a single monthly payment to the insurer. Another part of the program includes collaboration between Nevada Health Link, the state health insurance marketplace, and tribes to certify staffers at tribal health clinics so they can enroll community members in health plans. Program officials also said they are committed to providing further education to tribes about the accommodations available to them under the ACA.

Health agencies in Washington state and Nevada have helped set up tribal sponsorship programs. Independently, tribes in Alaska, Wisconsin, Idaho, Michigan, Montana, and South Dakota have rolled out individual programs, as well.

It’s already making a difference for Native American patients in Nevada, said Angie Wilson, tribal health director for the Reno-Sparks Indian Colony and an enrolled member of the Pit River Tribe in California. Wilson said patients have shown up at her office in tears because they couldn’t afford services they needed outside of the tribal clinic and were not eligible for those services to be covered by the IHS Purchased/Referred Care program.

The Reno-Sparks Indian Colony, with more than 1,330 members in 2023, is one of two tribes that participate in Nevada’s tribal sponsorship program and aggregated billing. Russell Cook, executive director of Nevada Health Link, said he expects more tribes to come aboard as the agency works to build community trust in tribes often wary of government and corporate entities.

The Fort McDermitt Paiute and Shoshone Tribe, with a reservation that spans Nevada’s northwestern border, was the first tribe to pilot the program. There are about 125 households on the reservation.

As of December, 30 tribal members had been enrolled into qualified health plans through Nevada Health Link as part of the tribal sponsorship program, according to state officials, and more than 700 of those enrolled through the state marketplace self-reported American Indian and/or Alaska Native status for last year.

Through sponsorship, tribes may use their federal health care funding to pay the premium costs for each participating person. That, combined with cost-sharing protections in the ACA for American Indian and Alaska Natives enrolled in marketplace health plans, means beneficiaries face very low to no costs to receive care outside of tribal clinics. The American Rescue Plan also expanded eligibility for premium tax credits, making purchasing a health plan more affordable.

Because sponsorship in some tribes isn’t limited to enrolled tribal citizens, it can help the whole community, said Jim Roberts, senior executive liaison for intergovernmental affairs with the Alaska Native Tribal Health Consortium and an enrolled member of the Hopi Tribe in Arizona.

Since Alaska first allowed sponsorship in 2013, Roberts said, it has not only increased the access to care for Native Americans but also significantly lowered the costs of care, “which is equally as important, if not for some tribes more important.”

In Washington state, where sponsorship in ACA plans began in 2014, 12 of 29 tribes participate.

Cook said the state exchange is seeing interest in the part of the sponsorship program that trains staff at tribal clinics to become certified exchange representatives, a role similar to that of a navigator who helps inform people about health coverage options.

He said the agency is working on a marketing campaign to spread awareness among Native Americans in the state about the sponsorship program. It will include translating resource guides and other materials from the agency into Native languages spoken in the state, such as Northern and Southern Paiute, Washoe, and Western Shoshone.

Cook said he’s surprised more states haven’t taken the initiative to create sponsorship programs in collaboration with tribes.

Nevada Health Link patterned its approach by looking at Washington state’s program, Cook said. Since launching its own program, the Nevada agency has been approached by officials in California who are exploring the option.

But leaders like Wilson are concerned that under the Trump administration the enhanced tax credits for ACA marketplace enrollees implemented during the pandemic will end. The credits are set to expire at the end of this year if Congress doesn’t act to extend them. Without the credits, nearly all people enrolled through the marketplace will see steep increases in their premium payments next year.

If tribal citizens or other community members become ineligible for the premium tax credits, that could jeopardize the tribe’s financial ability to continue sponsoring health plans, Roberts said.

“Whatever side of the fence people fall on, it does not take away that there’s a federal trust responsibility by the United States of America to its First Nations people,” Wilson said.

Wilson, who has been an advocate for sponsorship since the ACA was approved in 2010 and led the effort to establish the program in Nevada, said she is happy with the tribal sponsorship program but wishes it would have happened sooner.

“We’ve lost so much in Indian Country over time,” she said. “How many more Indian people could have gotten access to care? How much more of a difference could that have made in sustaining health care for tribes?”

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Americans’ health has long been unequal, but a new study shows that the disparity between the life expectancies of different populations has nearly doubled since 2000. “This is like comparing very different countries,” said Tom Bollyky, director of the global health program at the Council on Foreign Relations and an author of the study.

Called “Ten Americas,” the analysis published late last year in The Lancet found that “one’s life expectancy varies dramatically depending on where one lives, the economic conditions in that location, and one’s racial and ethnic identity.” The worsening health of specific populations is a key reason the country’s overall life expectancy — at 75 years for men and 80 for women — is the shortest among wealthy nations.

To deliver on pledges from the new Trump administration to make America healthy again, policymakers will need to fix problems undermining life expectancy across all populations.

“As long as we have these really severe disparities, we’re going to have this very low life expectancy,” said Kathleen Harris, a sociologist at the University of North Carolina. “It should not be that way for a country as rich as the U.S.”

Since 2000, the average life expectancy of many American Indians and Alaska Natives has been steadily shrinking. The same has been true since 2014 for Black people in low-income counties in the southeastern U.S.

“Some groups in the United States are facing a health crisis,” Bollyky said, “and we need to respond to that because it’s worsening.”

Heart disease, car fatalities, diabetes, covid-19, and other common causes of death are directly to blame. But research shows that the conditions of people’s lives, their behaviors, and their environments heavily influence why some populations are at higher risk than others.

Native Americans in the West — defined in the “Ten Americas” study as more than a dozen states excluding California, Washington, and Oregon — were among the poorest in the analysis, living in counties where a person’s annual income averages below about $20,000. Economists have shown that people with low incomes generally live shorter lives.

Studies have also linked the stress of poverty, trauma, and discrimination to detrimental coping behaviors like smoking and substance use disorders. And reservations often lack grocery stores and clean, piped water, which makes it hard to buy and cook healthy food.

About 1 in 5 Native Americans in the Southwest don’t have health insurance, according to a KFF report. Although the Indian Health Service provides coverage, the report says the program is weak due to chronic underfunding. This means people may delay or skip treatments for chronic illnesses. Postponed medical care contributed to the outsize toll of covid among Native Americans: About 1 of every 188 Navajo people died of the disease at the peak of the pandemic.

“The combination of limited access to health care and higher health risks has been devastating,” Bollyky said.

At the other end of the spectrum, the study’s category of Asian Americans maintained the longest life expectancies since 2000. As of 2021, it was 84 years.

Education may partly underlie the reasons certain groups live longer. “People with more education are more likely to seek out and adhere to health advice,” said Ali Mokdad, an epidemiologist at the Institute for Health Metrics and Evaluation at the University of Washington, and an author of the paper. Education also offers more opportunities for full-time jobs with health benefits. “Money allows you to take steps to take care of yourself,” Mokdad said.

The group with the highest incomes in most years of the analysis was predominantly composed of white people, followed by the mainly Asian group. The latter, however, maintained the highest rates of college graduation, by far. About half finished college, compared with fewer than a third of other populations.

The study suggests that education partly accounts for differences among white people living in low-income counties, where the individual income averaged less than $32,363. Since 2000, white people in low-income counties in southeastern states — defined as those in Appalachia and the Lower Mississippi Valley — had far lower life expectancies than those in upper midwestern states including Montana, Nebraska, and Iowa. (The authors provide details on how the groups were defined and delineated in their report.)

Opioid use and HIV rates didn’t account for the disparity between these white, low-income groups, Bollyky said. But since 2010, more than 90% of white people in the northern group were high school graduates, compared with around 80% in the southeastern U.S.

The education effect didn’t hold true for Latino groups compared with others. Latinos saw lower rates of high school graduation than white people but lived longer on average. This long-standing trend recently changed among Latinos in the Southwest because of covid. Hispanic or Latino and Black people were nearly twice as likely to die from the disease.

On average, Black people in the U.S. have long experienced worse health than other races and ethnicities in the United States, except for Native Americans. But this analysis reveals a steady improvement in Black people’s life expectancy from 2000 to about 2012. During this period, the gap between Black and white life expectancies shrank.

This is true for all three groups of Black people in the analysis: Those in low-income counties in southeastern states like Mississippi, Louisiana, and Alabama; those in highly segregated and metropolitan counties, such as Queens, New York, and Wayne, Michigan, where many neighborhoods are almost entirely Black or entirely white; and Black people everywhere else.

Better drugs to treat high blood pressure and HIV help account for the improvements for many Americans between 2000 to 2010. And Black people, in particular, saw steep rises in high school graduation and gains in college education in that period.

However, progress stagnated for Black populations by 2016. Disparities in wealth grew. By 2021, Asian and many white Americans had the highest incomes in the study, living in counties with per capita incomes around $50,000. All three groups of Black people in the analysis remained below $30,000.

A wealth gap between Black and white people has historical roots, stretching back to the days of slavery, Jim Crow laws, and policies that prevented Black people from owning property in neighborhoods that are better served by public schools and other services. For Native Americans, a historical wealth gap can be traced to a near annihilation of the population and mass displacement in the 19th and 20th centuries.

Inequality has continued to rise for several reasons, such as a widening pay gap between predominantly white corporate leaders and low-wage workers, who are disproportionately people of color. And reporting from KFF Health News shows that decisions not to expand Medicaid have jeopardized the health of hundreds of thousands of people living in poverty.

Researchers have studied the potential health benefits of reparation payments to address historical injustices that led to racial wealth gaps. One new study estimates that such payments could reduce premature death among Black Americans by 29%.

Less controversial are interventions tailored to communities. Obesity often begins in childhood, for example, so policymakers could invest in after-school programs that give children a place to socialize, be active, and eat healthy food, Harris said. Such programs would need to be free for children whose parents can’t afford them and provide transportation.

But without policy changes that boost low wages, decrease medical costs, put safe housing and strong public education within reach, and ensure access to reproductive health care including abortion, Harris said, the country’s overall life expectancy may grow worse.

“If the federal government is really interested in America’s health,” she said, “they could grade states on their health metrics and give them incentives to improve.”

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“There’s a lot of action up here. It can be very stressful at times,” said Kristina Fraser, an OB-GYN in blue scrubs.

Nurses wheel a very pregnant mom past.

“We’re going to bring a baby into this world safely,” Fraser said, “and off we go.”

She said she feels ready in part due to a calming moment she had just a few minutes earlier with some canine colleagues.

A pair of dogs, tails wagging, had come by a nearby nursing station, causing about a dozen medical professionals to melt into a collective puddle of affection. A yellow Lab named Peppi showered Fraser in nuzzles and kisses. “I don’t know if a human baby smells as good as that puppy breath!” Fraser had said as her colleagues laughed.

The dogs aren’t visitors. They work here, too, specifically for the benefit of the staff. “I feel like that dog just walks on and everybody takes a big deep breath and gets down on the ground and has a few moments of just decompressing,” Fraser said. “It’s great. It’s amazing.”

Hospital staffers who work with the dogs say there is virtually no bite risk with the carefully trained Labradors, the preferred breed for this work.

The dogs are kept away from allergic patients and washed regularly to prevent germs from spreading, and people must wash their hands before and after petting them.

Doctors and nurses are facing a growing mental health crisis driven by their experiences at work. They and other health care colleagues face high rates of depression, anxiety, stress, suicidal ideation, and burnout. Nearly half of health workers reported often feeling burned out in 2022, an increase from 2018, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. And the percentage of health care workers who reported harassment at work more than doubled over that four-year period. Advocates for the presence of dogs in hospitals see the animals as one thing that can help.

That includes Peppi’s handler, Susan Ryan, an emergency medicine physician at Rose.

Ryan said years working as an emergency room doctor left her with symptoms of PTSD. “I just was messed up and I knew it,” said Ryan, who isolated more at home and didn’t want to engage with friends. “I shoved it all in. I think we all do.”

She said doctors and other providers can be good at hiding their struggles, because they have to compartmentalize. “How else can I go from a patient who had a cardiac arrest, deal with the family members telling them that, and go to a room where another person is mad that they’ve had to wait 45 minutes for their ear pain? And I have to flip that switch.”

To cope with her symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, Ryan started doing therapy with horses. But she couldn’t have a horse in her backyard, so she got a Labrador. 

Ryan received training from a national service dog group called Canine Companions, becoming the first doctor trained by the group to have a facility dog in an emergency room. Canine Companions has graduated more than 8,000 service dogs.

The Rose medical center gave Ryan approval to bring a dog to work during her ER shifts. Ryan’s colleagues said they are delighted that a dog is part of their work life.

“When I have a bad day at work and I come to Rose and Peppi is here, my day’s going to be made better,” EMT Jasmine Richardson said. “And if I have a patient who’s having a tough day, Peppi just knows how to light up the room.”

Nursing supervisor Eric Vaillancourt agreed, calling Peppi “joyful.”

Ryan had another dog, Wynn, working with her during the height of the pandemic. She said she thinks Wynn made a huge difference. “It saved people,” she said. “We had new nurses that had never seen death before, and now they’re seeing a covid death. And we were worried sick we were dying.”

She said her hospital system has lost a couple of physicians to suicide in the past two years, which HCA confirmed to KFF Health News and NPR. Ryan hopes the canine connection can help with trauma. “Anything that brings you back to the present time helps ground you again. A dog can be that calming influence,” she said. “You can get down on the ground, pet them, and you just get calm.”

Ryan said research has shown the advantages. For example, one review of dozens of original studies on human-animal interactions found benefits for a variety of conditions including behavioral and mood issues and physical symptoms of stress. 

Rose’s president and CEO, Casey Guber, became such a believer in the canine connection he got his own trained dog to bring to the hospital, a black Lab-retriever mix named Ralphie.

She wears a badge: Chief Dog Officer.

Guber said she’s a big morale booster. “Phenomenal,” he said. “It is not uncommon to see a surgeon coming down to our administration office and rolling on the ground with Ralphie, or one of our nurses taking Ralphie out for a walk in the park.”

This article is from a partnership that includes CPR News, NPR, and KFF Health News.

KFF Health News is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues and is one of the core operating programs at KFF—an independent source of health policy research, polling, and journalism. Learn more about KFF.

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