She spoke at rallies. With other members of the advocacy organization Compassion & Choices, she visited legislators’ offices. In 2024, as the state Assembly was debating the aid in dying bill, she helped unfurl a banner in the chamber gallery that read, “Stop the Suffering.”

Her activism was becoming difficult. Netherland, who is 59 and works for a nonprofit, was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2019. “I did a full year of aggressive treatment,” she said. “Chemotherapy. A mastectomy. Radiation treatment every weekday for five weeks. Six months of two oral medications.”

She recovered and felt well until the cancer returned a few years later. Although metastatic breast cancer is incurable, drugs are keeping her disease at bay for now. Netherland feels fortunate but also fatigued, and she contends with brain fog, gastrointestinal symptoms, and joint pain.

“My energy is really limited,” she said.

As she emailed and called legislators, Netherland feared she might die before the aid in dying bill — first introduced in New York in 2016 — could become law.

‘A Breakthrough Moment’

On June 9, 2025, after the Assembly approved the bill, Netherland was in the state Senate chamber, watching the aye votes mount, and seeing it pass.  an amended version in February; it is scheduled to take effect Aug. 5.

A similar law is  in September in Illinois, which would become the (plus the District of Columbia) where medical aid in dying is legal.

“A breakthrough moment,” said Kevin Díaz, president of Compassion & Choices, which has spearheaded the long campaign for such laws. After almost 30 years — Oregon’s law, the first in the country, was enacted in 1997 — the addition of two populous states means that almost a third of Americans will live in one where medical aid in dying is legally available. “It shows that there’s broad support for this model,” Díaz said.

Polls consistently back that claim. A  last spring found that almost two-thirds of respondents didn’t consider the practice “morally wrong,” either because they thought it was acceptable or not a moral issue. Support crossed many political and religious lines: A narrow majority of Republicans and 76% of Democrats both found “physician-assisted death” (also sometimes called “physician-assisted suicide”) permissible; so did most Catholics, Jews, and nonevangelical white Protestants.

In New York,  that 54% of respondents supported aid in dying, including majorities of men and women, of all age groups, and of city, suburban, and upstate residents. A plurality of Latinos supported it; Black respondents narrowly opposed it.

Passing these laws has grown somewhat easier, said Thaddeus Pope, a bioethicist and professor at Mitchell Hamline School of Law in St. Paul, Minnesota, who tracks such policies. “You can say, ‘We have 10 years in California, 18 years in Washington, and 29 years in Oregon, and nothing bad has happened.’ It becomes more accepted.”

‘You Need A, B, and C’

Yet legalizing medical aid in dying, or MAID, has been and remains a long, contentious process. Catholic leadership and many disability organizations staunchly oppose it. (Pope Leo XIV personally  not to sign the bill.)

The American Medical Association says that “physician-assisted suicide is fundamentally incompatible with the physician’s role as healer” and poses “serious societal risks,” although a number of state medical organizations have opted to remain neutral or, as in New York, to .

The Patients’ Rights Action Fund, through a sister organization, has lawsuits pending or on appeal in California, Delaware, and Colorado, arguing that aid in dying laws discriminate against people with disabilities by steering them toward physician-assisted suicide instead of treatment.

“This is a litigation strategy we’ve developed to ultimately get to the Supreme Court,” said Matt Vallière, the group’s executive director, who declined to say whether it would sue to block the Illinois and New York laws.

Even when aid in dying laws succeed, using them can prove challenging. In every state (except Montana, where it became legal through a court decision, so there is no statute governing eligibility), aid in dying is available only to people with incurable illnesses who are expected to die within six months.

It typically involves oral and written requests to two doctors, with mandated waiting periods between requests. Patients must have the mental capacity to make the decision, which disqualifies those with dementia, and they must ingest the medication without assistance. (An amendment Hochul insisted on adds a psychologist or psychiatrist to the process.)

All but two states require patients to be residents. Oregon and Vermont scrapped their residency requirements  brought by Compassion & Choices. ( a .)

Moreover, any doctor, hospital, or healthcare system can legally decline to provide aid in dying, and religiously affiliated institutions often opt out. Those that participate can add their own requirements.

“The state can say ‘You need A, B, and C,’ and Columbia-Presbyterian can say, ‘We also want D, E, and F,’” said Pope, the Minnesota bioethicist.

Hotly Debated, Seldom Used

Perhaps these restrictions, or a lack of public awareness, help explain why, despite the headlines and fervent debates, the number of people who actually use the law is tiny in every state — usually 1% or fewer of the deaths recorded annually. The support for giving patients this kind of autonomy at the end of life remains widespread, but the desire to personally exercise it apparently is not.

Still, after studies showed that many patients seeking MAID were dying , the trend has been to loosen restrictions. California cut its 15-day waiting period to 48 hours; New Mexico allows physician assistants and advanced-practice nurses to write prescriptions along with doctors.

“Most states have now amended their laws two or three times,” Pope said. “We have liberalized.” Telehealth can also facilitate access to participating doctors.

Compassion & Choices is planning legal challenges to end residency requirements in additional states, Díaz said. It is also considering how to “make inroads in jurisdictions with a much different cultural and political environment,” he added, mentioning Florida and other Southern states.

Medical aid in dying represents a shift in power, Díaz said. “The person who has to bear the burden of the suffering should have the ability to decide when it’s enough,” he added.

Anne Gurnett Bander, 72, a retired research scientist in Carmel, New York, cared for her husband for four years as ALS — the relentlessly disabling neurological disorder also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease — rendered him bedridden and dependent on feeding and breathing tubes. “By the time he died, the only thing he could do was nod his head,” she recalled.

So being diagnosed with ALS herself last year was “my worst possible nightmare,” Gurnett Bander said. She was planning to fly to Switzerland, where the nonprofit organization Dignitas provides medical aid in dying, when she learned about the New York bill and began speaking publicly in support of it, her voice faltering as her illness advanced.

Gurnett Bander and Netherland say they’re not certain they’ll use lethal drugs to end their lives as their symptoms intensify. Not infrequently, patients complete the necessary steps, secure the prescribed medication, decide they don’t need it after all, and die of their diseases. But both women insist that the choice should be theirs.

“It can offer so much peace of mind,” Netherland said. “I thought, ‘People should have this option.’ Now, they will.”

The New Old Age is produced through a partnership with .

This <a target="_blank" href="/aging/physician-assisted-death-suicide-medical-aid-in-dying-legal-new-york-illinois/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">Â鶹ŮÓÅ 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;">

7B Care Clinic has been operating in Sandpoint since 2001 and was previously called Life Choices Pregnancy Center and Sandpoint Crisis Pregnancy Center. It is of a nationwide network of Christian evangelical centers called Care Net. 7B, one of about 1,200 pregnancy centers affiliated with Care Net, offers pregnancy tests, limited ultrasounds, parenting and life skills classes, community support groups, and other free resources, such as children’s clothing. Donations from people, businesses, and more than 40 churches keep 7B’s operations running, Executive Director Janine Shepard said.

Such centers are known as crisis pregnancy centers or pregnancy resource centers. They offer limited resources and medical services to pregnant women and aim to dissuade them from having abortions. Healthcare groups including the have said many crisis pregnancy centers use unethical and deceptive practices to bring women into their organizations.

Traffic at 7B has picked up since the local hospital and its OB-GYNs moved out of state three years ago. The closure left a hole in reproductive health services in this town of more than 10,000 on the shores of Lake Pend Oreille and surrounding rural areas.

“We are seeing a lot more people,” Shepard said.

By December 2024, more than two years after the U.S. Supreme Court overturned nationwide abortion rights in its Dobbs decision, Idaho had of its OB-GYNs. 7B is expanding, with the goal of bringing obstetric care back to Sandpoint. The organization plans to add to its current building once it’s paid off, Shepard said, and it’s in talks with a hospital about 30 miles away in Washington state to bring in an OB-GYN once a week to provide prenatal care.

If obstetric care existed now in Sandpoint, Shepard said, “we wouldn’t even be considering” the expanded services. “But there’s such a need. And our community suffers because of it.”

As rural communities face the and , crisis pregnancy centers are growing in influence. Some states have approved legislation granting the organizations greater protections from oversight and regulation, and clinics have seen a massive and in recent years.

In a town with limited maternity care, 7B has been providing important resources to struggling low-income women. But critics say the religious nonprofit, which is not medically licensed and isn’t required to meet regulatory standards for medical facilities, has an agenda that makes it an inappropriate place for pregnant patients to seek medical care.

Jen Jackson Quintano, a Sandpoint resident and the founder of the Pro-Voice Project, a nonprofit that advocates for abortion rights in Idaho, said crisis pregnancy centers mislead patients by drawing them in with the offer of free pregnancy-related services before delivering their anti-abortion pitch.

“We all need clarity on what those services are: ministry-first, rather than comprehensive medicine,” Quintano said.

Shepard said there are misconceptions about the organization, and she invites people to take a tour of 7B to learn what it does. She said her staff talk to pregnant women about abortion, adoption, and parenting as options and hope they feel supported enough to make a “life-affirming” decision.

7B reflects a trend of crisis pregnancy centers seeking to expand their operations in maternal care deserts and regions with gaps in women’s healthcare, said Andrea Swartzendruber, an associate professor of epidemiology and biostatistics at the University of Georgia College of Public Health. Swartzendruber has studied crisis pregnancy centers in the U.S. since 2018.

“Crisis pregnancy centers have, for years and years, capitalized on gaps in access to healthcare,” she said. “In no way, shape, or form do crisis pregnancy centers have the infrastructure or ability or training to bridge those gaps.”

According to Swartzendruber’s research, more than 2,600 crisis pregnancy centers operated in the U.S. as of 2024, more than three times the number of . Many centers have been found to engage in with clients, including putting misleading information on their websites making them appear to be legitimate medical clinics with the goal of attracting women who are seeking abortions.

The organizations are also seeing support from the Trump administration. On May 10 — Mother’s Day — the Department of Health and Human Services sharing resources and information for new and expectant mothers. It includes a map to find pregnancy centers and cites services the centers provide, such as pregnancy tests, ultrasounds, and medical referrals.

‘The Perfect Place for This’

Sandpoint is a small mountain town in a deeply conservative and Christian part of a state with a strict abortion law put into place after the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade.

Amelia Huntsberger, one of the OB-GYNs who left Sandpoint three years ago, said the town is “the perfect place for this,” referring to the expansion of the 7B Care Clinic.

In underresourced areas, the benefits that crisis pregnancy centers may bring are welcome.

Lori Sabin, a licensed midwife in Bonners Ferry, about 30 miles north of Sandpoint, said that 7B is a helpful resource to the community, especially for people who struggle to get healthcare because of a lack of health insurance or who face challenges in traveling for care.

“The nicest thing about 7B is all their services are free,” Sabin said, adding that the classes and free baby items are particularly helpful for young first-time mothers. “They can point them in the right direction. They tell them where the midwives are; they tell them where the OBs are.”

Huntsberger, who practiced in Sandpoint for more than a decade and now lives in Oregon, also acknowledged the benefits she saw 7B bring for patients, including the parenting classes and support groups. But she has concerns about its resemblance to a medical facility that provides healthcare.

Lisa Battisfore, founder of Reproductive Transparency Now, a Chicago-based organization that provides education and outreach about crisis pregnancy centers, acknowledged that the limited services they provide can be helpful but said the bad outweighs the good.

“If someone needs diapers or someone needs formula and a crisis pregnancy center is willing to give that to them, it’s difficult to say that that in isolation is a bad thing, but you have to look at the bigger picture,” Battisfore said.

Crisis pregnancy centers are largely unregulated and are protected by First Amendment rights to free speech and religious exercise. The Supreme Court crisis pregnancy centers to go to court to block a state attorney general’s subpoena for donor funding information. Critics say lack of oversight allows centers to spread misinformation about abortion and abortion pill “reversal,” a procedure the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists has called “.”

Crisis pregnancy centers have against states trying to increase regulation and oversight. Those protections have allowed some of the organizations to blur the line between anti-abortion activism and medical care.

“They seem to be really good at walking on both sides of that line when it suits them best, and that does not suit pregnant people best,” Battisfore said.

She referenced a recent case in Texas in which a woman was hospitalized for an ectopic pregnancy days after she received an ultrasound and a clean bill of health from a crisis pregnancy center. An OB-GYN who works with the Abundant Life Pregnancy Resource Center “there is nothing to fix” when asked about the error. There have been at crisis pregnancy centers.

What’s Next for Sandpoint

angered a lot of locals when it closed its labor and delivery unit three years ago. Residents lamented that women needed to travel farther to give birth and mourned the loss of the OB-GYNs. Since then, the hospital has been working to rebuild trust with the community.

This year, the hospital created a women’s health committee that includes hospital board members, staff, and others. Hospital CEO John Hennessy and Chief Medical Officer Stacey Good, a physician, said their priority is to hear from the community and increase awareness about the women’s healthcare that’s still available.

Women can still receive a range of services, including prenatal care from a nurse practitioner who travels to Bonner General from Coeur d’Alene once a week and other clinicians who can provide more basic gynecological care. A position for a gynecologist at the hospital has been open since May 2023, and Hennessy said filling it remains a priority.

Sandpoint resident Makayla Sundquist, a licensed counselor, grew up in town. She got married last year and has been thinking about starting a family with her husband. She wondered if she would feel safe knowing she’d need to travel at least an hour to the nearest hospital with labor and delivery services.

But she also has doubts about 7B as a potential option for local care. She was skeptical that an anti-abortion, faith-based organization would provide accurate information on the options available to her.

“It is something that I do think about and do have fear about,” Sundquist said. “I wish that wasn’t my reality.”

This <a target="_blank" href="/rural-health/anti-abortion-crisis-pregnancy-center-sandpoint-idaho-obgyn-maternity-care-desert/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">Â鶹ŮÓÅ 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 patient lived alone, and “really struggles with social isolation,” Guzman said. After a serious fall and subsequent surgery, the woman was using a wheelchair. She confided that she would like to attend services at a church down the road but had no way to get there and did not want to seem “a bother.”

“We called the pastor to see if there was someone who could pick her up” on Sundays, Guzman said. And there was.

The next day, Guzman visited a woman with heart failure who required constant oxygen. She lives in “less than ideal housing,” with no kitchen and only a plug-in heater for warmth.

“We were trying to figure out if she qualifies for HUD housing or assisted living,” Guzman said, referring to the federal Department of Housing and Urban Development. “We spent a lot of time talking about the options and came up with a game plan.”

Wednesday’s schedule included a 20-mile drive to Hood River to see an 81-year-old woman whose partner of nearly 40 years was contending with a serious cancer. Guzman, who speaks to her in Spanish, found her distraught at the possibility of losing him.

Guzman had arranged for the woman to begin seeing a therapist to help her through the crisis — no minor achievement. But on this visit, “I just handed her tissues and tried to give words of comfort,” she said. “Honestly, sometimes just sitting and listening” is the best response.

A community healthcare worker, the , is a “trusted member” of a local community or someone who has “an unusually close understanding” of it, enabling the worker to serve as intermediary between patients and the healthcare system.

These workers have been on the job since the 1960s, particularly in rural and low-income areas. Today, their numbers are growing. The Bureau of Labor Statistics , which the National Association of Community Health Workers says is probably an underestimate.

That partly reflects the difficulty of counting workers who go by a variety of names — community health educators, outreach specialists, promotores de salud — and operate under different state regulations, sometimes with no licensure or certification required.

What they have in common is that “they talk like the people they work with,” said Sam Cotton, who directs the curriculum for several such programs at the University of Louisville in Kentucky.

With shortages of healthcare professionals and an aging population, “there’s a lot of momentum for this,” she said.

In Oregon, for example, five rural clinics employ community health workers, who become state-certified after completing 90 hours of online training, through a program called Connected Care for Older Adults. A sixth clinic employing a community health worker operates in neighboring Washington.

Their frail patients are struggling. “They can’t drive, so they can’t get to a grocery store and shop,” said Elizabeth Eckstrom, chief of geriatrics at Oregon Health & Science University, who helped oversee the program’s start in 2022. “They’re not taking their medications, either for cognitive reasons or because they can’t get to a pharmacy.”

Few have completed an advance directive, specifying the care they want — or don’t want — if they suffer a health crisis.

Connected Care’s community health workers tackle many of those not-exactly-medical problems — from installing wheelchair ramps to helping patients apply for food and housing benefits. They are allotted 90 days to work with each patient, usually during home visits.

They help coordinate follow-up appointments. They administer cognitive and mental health screenings and watch for the use of too many medications, entering their observations into the patients’ electronic health records.

“It’s like being the eyes and ears for the doctors, to see what’s happening outside the 20 minutes they get to spend with patients,” said Guzman, whose work has ranged from ordering a bath mat to reporting suspected financial abuse.

In a  (average age: 77), a subsample found substantial decreases in emergency department visits and hospitalizations among those served by community health workers.

More extensive research, not yet published, supports that finding, Eckstrom said.

“ED visits cost thousands, and hospitalizations are tens of thousands,” she pointed out. The cost per patient for the 90-day program is $1,500. Its workers earn $25 an hour, a fairly typical wage, and receive full employee benefits.

Manali Patel, an oncologist at Stanford University, found for older patients with advanced cancer in a clinical trial at the Department of Veterans Affairs’ Palo Alto Health Care System.

“Lots of people were passing away” in the intensive care unit, she recalled. “If we’d asked, they probably would have wanted to be at home.” Oncologists, she added, are “notoriously bad at engaging in and documenting those conversations.”

But when a lay health worker made regular phone calls to help patients understand their options, discuss their preferences with their care team, and file advance directives, the results — published in JAMA Oncology in 2018 — were “very dramatic,” Patel said.

More than 90% of the participating veterans had their goals documented in their records compared with fewer than 20% of the control group. The lay worker’s patients had significantly fewer emergency room visits and hospitalizations and were more likely to enroll in hospice care.

Patel and her co-authors have gone on to document the benefits of lay health workers, the term they used, in undertaking other tasks in other settings.

In oncology clinics in Arizona and California, for instance, two bilingual lay health workers to cancer patients over age 75 to assess symptoms like pain, nausea, breathlessness, and depression.

Alerting healthcare teams to these patients’ problems substantially reduced their emergency department use and hospitalizations, and the cost savings averaged $12,000 a patient.

“This low-tech, human-administered intervention reaped huge dividends,” said an  in JAMA.

“Community health workers should be part of every healthcare team,” Eckstrom said. “They support the patient in ways the medical system just can’t, no matter how hard we try.”

One obstacle to expanding their use, however, is unstable funding.

In 2024, Medicare began covering some community health worker services, but not all. (The costs of driving 30 miles to remote homes, for example, are not reimbursed.) Medicaid coverage is piecemeal, reimbursing for some services in some states and not others.

“A lot of community health worker roles rely on short-term grants,” said Neena Schultz, a director of the National Association of Community Health Workers. “Sustainability is something we talk about every day.”

The organization and other supporters are pressing for more state and federal funding. The new federal , which is distributing $10 billion a year, will include funding for community health worker programs, but cuts to state Medicaid budgets could more than offset those gains.

The grants funding Connected Care for Older Adults continue, though. Guzman, employed by the nonprofit clinic One Community Health, keeps making her rounds.

One recent victory: A newly widowed patient in his 60s, struggling financially without his wife’s income, lost his housing and was sleeping in his truck. Through another patient, Guzman learned of an unused recreational vehicle whose owner was willing to donate it.

The widower now lives comfortably in a mobile home park.

When you’re in a patient’s home, “there’s a sense of ease,” Guzman said. “They feel safer talking about things. They don’t feel rushed. You develop a relationship, and they feel they have someone to advocate for them.”

The New Old Age is produced through a partnership with .

This <a target="_blank" href="/aging/new-old-age-community-health-workers-promotores-home-visits-senior-support/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">Â鶹ŮÓÅ 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 federal government doesn’t track how many children have entered foster care because of immigration enforcement actions, leaving it unclear how often it happens. In Oregon, as of February two children had been placed in foster care after being separated from their parents in immigration detention cases, according to Jake Sunderland, a spokesperson for the Oregon Department of Human Services.

“Before fall 2025, this simply had never happened before,” Sunderland said.

As of mid-February, nearly by Immigration and Customs Enforcement. The record 73,000 people in detention in January represented an compared with one year before. According to , parents of 11,000 children who are U.S. citizens were detained from the beginning of Trump’s term through August.

The news outlet NOTUS that at least 32 children of detained or deported parents had been placed in foster care in seven states.

Sandy Santana, executive director of Children’s Rights, a legal advocacy organization, said he thinks the actual number is much higher.

“That, to us, seems really, really low,” he said.

Separation from a parent is deeply traumatic for children and can lead to , including post-traumatic stress disorder. Prolonged, intense stress can lead to more-frequent infections in children and developmental issues. That “toxic stress” is also associated with responsible for learning and memory, according to Â鶹ŮÓÅ.

, and amended existing laws during Trump’s first term to allow guardians to be granted temporary parental rights for immigration enforcement reasons. Now the enforcement surge that began after Trump returned to office last year has prompted a new wave of state responses.

In New Jersey, lawmakers are considering to amend a state law that allows parents to nominate standby, or temporary, guardians in the cases of death, incapacity, or debilitation. The bill would add separation due to federal immigration enforcement as another allowable reason.

Nevada and California passed laws last year to protect families separated by immigration enforcement actions. California’s law, called the , allows parents to nominate guardians and share custodial rights, instead of having them suspended, while they’re detained. They regain their full parental rights if they are released and are able to reunite with their children.

There are significant legal barriers to reunification once a child is placed in state custody, said Juan Guzman, director of children’s court and guardianship at the Alliance for Children’s Rights, a legal advocacy organization in Los Angeles.

If a parent’s child is placed in foster care and the parent cannot participate in required court proceedings because they are in detention or have been deported, it’s less likely they will be able to reunite with their child, Guzman said.

are U.S. citizens who live with a parent or family member who does not have legal immigration status, according to research from the Brookings Institution, a Washington, D.C.-based think tank. Within that group, 2.6 million children have two parents lacking legal status.

Santana said he expects the number of family separation cases to grow as the Trump administration continues its immigration enforcement campaign, putting more children at risk of being placed in foster care.

the agency to make efforts to facilitate detained parents’ participation in family court, child welfare, or guardianship proceedings, but Santana said it’s uncertain whether ICE is complying with those rules.

ICE officials did not respond to requests for comment for this report.

Before the change in California’s law, the only way a parent could share custodial rights with another guardian was if the parent was terminally ill, Guzman said.

If parents create a preparedness plan and identify an individual to assume guardianship of their children, the state child welfare agency can begin the process of placing the children with that individual without opening a formal foster care case, he added.

While Nevada lawmakers expanded an existing guardianship law last year to include immigration enforcement, the measure requires the parents to take the additional step of filing notarized paperwork with the secretary of state’s office, said Cristian Gonzalez-Perez, an attorney at Make the Road Nevada, a nonprofit that provides resources to immigrant communities.

Gonzalez-Perez said some immigrants are still hesitant to fill out government forms, out of fear that ICE might access their information and target them. He reassures community members that the state forms are secure and can be accessed only by hospitals and courts.

The Trump administration has taken through the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services, the IRS, the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, the Department of Housing and Urban Development, and other entities.

Gonzalez-Perez and Guzman said that not enough immigrant parents know their rights. Nominating a temporary guardian and creating a plan for their families is one way they can prevent feelings of helplessness, Gonzalez-Perez said.

“Folks don’t want to talk about it, right?” Guzman said. “The parent having to speak to a child about the possibility of separation, it’s scary. It’s not something anybody wants to do.”

This <a target="_blank" href="/courts/immigrants-ice-arrests-family-separation-children-foster-care/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">Â鶹ŮÓÅ 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;">

Raven’s case reveals a little-known gap in the U.S. donation system: There is no clear, nationally binding way to opt out — or to ensure a later “no” overrides an earlier “yes” in a different state.

This gap, along with a range of other issues related to the organ procurement system, has become a point of bipartisan congressional concern. Late last year, the House Ways and Means subcommittee on oversight examining what members described as shortcomings, including alleged consent failures.

The panel’s scrutiny of organ procurement organizations, or OPOs, and their consent practices is a first step toward a more meaningful accountability plan that could help maintain trust across the system, according to some committee staff members.

The trust in our organ procurement and transplant system “has been eroded,” said Rep. Terri Sewell of Alabama, the panel’s senior Democrat, calling for stronger transparency and oversight to rebuild public confidence.

“Respect for autonomy — our ability to make our own decisions (self-determination) — allows for both ‘yes’ and ‘no’ decisions and for changing one’s mind,” Margaret McLean, a bioethicist at Santa Clara University, said in an email.

“Medical decision-making is not well served in a context of ambiguity,” she said.

And if a donor revokes consent, she added, “revocation by that person should carry the same ethical and procedural weight as the initial authorization, perhaps more.”

Raven Kinser Changed Her Mind

Raven was 25 when she died. Her parents, Jeff and Jaime Kinser, were at home in Michigan when they received the phone call that shattered their world. They drove through the night to the Newport News hospital, where they learned Raven’s disposition had been referred to LifeNet Health, the region’s federally designated OPO. LifeNet a failing OPO by the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services, meaning it doesn’t meet the government’s standards for how well it finds donors and recovers usable organs for transplant compared with other organizations.

Under federal law, hospitals are required to refer deaths and imminent deaths to OPOs, which take responsibility for donation-related decisions and discussions.

OPOs occupy a hybrid position in the health care system, as private nonprofit entities that hold exclusive, federally authorized contracts to recover organs within defined regions. They are regulated by CMS and overseen by the Health Resources and Services Administration, but that oversight occurs primarily through certification standards, performance metrics, and periodic audits rather than routine public disclosure requirements. With donor registries largely managed at the state level and no unified federal reporting requirement for removals, comprehensive national data on revocations is elusive.

OPOs are meant to separate bedside care from organ procurement decisions — to help prevent conflicts of interest and preserve the trust that decisions about life-sustaining treatment are made solely in the dying patient’s interest. But the , leaving families unsure who is in control if and when conflicts arise.

The Kinsers, for instance, felt their daughter would not have wanted to go through the donation process, but, at the time, had no evidence. Jaime remembers telling her husband that Raven would have been mad at them for letting it happen. In an effort to stop it, Jaime inquired about whether she would be asked to sign a consent form. But a LifeNet staff member told her that wasn’t an option because donation was Raven’s “living will,” Jaime said. Meanwhile, Raven’s parents said, her personal effects, including her Virginia driver’s license, which bore no donor designation, had not yet been turned over to the family, leaving them no meaningful way to challenge LifeNet’s determination in real time.

Jaime struggled with this outcome, even mentioning in Raven’s obituary that she was an organ donor. “How would you try to make peace with something that you felt was so wrong but had no proof?” Jaime said.

Two months passed before the Kinsers gained possession of the license, which, as they had expected, showed that Raven had not opted to be an organ donor.

According to the Kinsers, LifeNet staff told them that Raven’s status as a registered donor was established by her designation on her older Michigan license.

An emailed statement attributed to Douglas Wilson, LifeNet executive vice president, said the OPO follows federal law on organ donation, the , and queries applicable state donor registries, relying on time stamps and governing law to determine the , legally valid expression of intent. Under that framework, a prior donor authorization remains enforceable unless a valid revocation is recorded in the regional OPO’s donor registry.

Because of privacy laws, Wilson said, LifeNet could not comment on the specifics of any individual case.

Raven Kinser’s choice not to be a donor when she applied for a Virginia license in July 2024 was not reflected in the registry LifeNet consulted, according to her parents, who said that is what the organization told them. According to Lara Malbon, executive director of Donate Life Virginia, which manages the state’s organ donor registry, if someone changes their donor status while completing a Virginia driver’s license or ID transaction, “that information is sent to our registry, and the registry is updated daily to reflect those changes.” Malbon also said Virginia’s registry includes only people who have “affirmatively said ‘yes’ to becoming an organ, eye, and tissue donor, and it retains records solely for those who have made that decision.”

The Kinsers said they were never told why Raven’s Virginia DMV record was insufficient, or how an older yes from Michigan could outweigh a newer no in Virginia.

In December, the Kinsers filed a complaint with the Health Resources and Services Administration, urging federal regulators to investigate LifeNet’s actions and require OPOs to provide families with documented proof of the donor’s current status at the time of referral. They also called for OPOs, which operate as federally designated regional monopolies but are structured as private nonprofits, to be made subject to public records laws.

When Opting Out Doesn’t Stick

Such confusion is not unique to the Kinser family. It is a consequence of the organ donation consent process in the United States.

“I have also wondered that: why there’s not just one” registry for organ donation, Jaime said. If you go to get a firearm, you have one federal registry, she said.

Here’s how the system works: Americans typically register their organ donation intentions when they apply for driver’s licenses through state DMVs, and that decision remains governed largely by state law. That has led to 50 different sets of rules and very little federal regulation of what has become an in the U.S.

In some states, a donor checkbox is a binding legal document. In other states, the same choice may have different rules about when it takes effect, what it covers, and how it can be revoked.

Those differences can be big. State rules determine whether a person’s “gift” is limited to transplantation or also includes research and education. They determine whether the donation authorization includes tissue. And they can determine what counts as a valid revocation and when it is legally recognized.

Because of the system’s fragmentation, though, signals can cross when someone changes their mind, like Raven; it’s not always reflected from one state system to another.

Under state versions of the Uniform Anatomical Gift Act, a donor’s most recent legally valid expression of intent is meant to control.

“Personal autonomy is paramount to everything,” said Adam Schiavi, a neurointensivist who studies end-of-life decision-making. “If I say I want to be a donor, or if I say I don’t want to be a donor, that has to take precedence over everything else.”

But states differ in how revocation must be recorded and which registry is considered authoritative if someone has lived in more than one state. Those inconsistencies can create uncertainty when records conflict across jurisdictions.

“It has to be the most recent expression, not the most recent yes,” Schiavi said.

In Michigan, a change to someone’s donor status is reflected immediately in the secretary of state’s system, but only affirmative “yes” registrations appear in the registry. Removal information remains in internal motor vehicle records. In Virginia, the state registry includes only those who have affirmatively said “yes,” retaining records solely of donors, creating potential gaps if someone believes a DMV change alone is sufficient.

Elsewhere, processes and volumes differ sharply. New Mexico updates driver records in real time but does not transmit status changes to its donor registry. Instead, donor services receive restricted search access. The state logged nearly 15,000 removals in late 2021 and almost 30,000 in 2022. Florida, which maintains formal removal records through weekly DMV data files, reported 356,161 removals in 2020, more than 1.5 million in 2023, and over 1.2 million in 2025. Kentucky processed 847,371 donor registrations from 2020 to 2025, but only 16,043 icon removals, with registry withdrawal handled separately. In 2025, more than 570,000 Texans opted into the registry, while over 31,000 individuals requested removal.

According to a federal official who asked not to be identified for fear of professional repercussions, OPOs have been highly effective at lobbying states to broaden the definition of consent and authorization — shaping how those terms are applied, whether those statuses must be renewed, and how easy or difficult it is for someone to opt out.

In subsequent correspondence with federal officials, the Kinsers have urged reforms to prevent OPOs from relying on older registry entries when a more recent state DMV record exists, and they have called for criminal penalties in cases in which consent is knowingly misrepresented. Federal regulators have not indicated whether such proposals are under consideration.

Congress Takes a Closer Look

Ethicists have long cautioned that consent must be more than a checkbox and must remain grounded in respect for the donor-patient. In an October on organ transplantation, the American College of Physicians emphasized that clinicians’ primary duty is to the patient in their care, and that maintaining trust requires transparency and safeguards to prevent conflicts of interest from blurring that “bright line.”

Advocates say those steps leave unresolved the core problem raised by the Kinser family: the lack of a clear, legally binding way for people to say “no” and for that decision to follow them across state lines.

The said it “supports strengthening donor registries and enhancing registry interoperability to ensure that an individual’s documented donation decision is honored.” But OPOs have also argued that current policies protect donation as a legally enforceable gift and prevent families from overriding a loved one’s “yes” in the midst of grief. They argue that stronger, more durable consent helps reduce missed donations and saves lives.

Congress and federal regulators are considering changes to the nation’s organ donation system, including how consent is recorded and what should happen when a donor changes their mind.

Sen. Ron Wyden (D-Ore.) last year to create new federal standards for patient safety, transparency, and oversight of organ transplants, including a formal authorization for hospital or OPO staff to pause harvesting if there is any “clinical sign of life.”

HHS press secretary Emily Hilliard said the agency is “committed to holding organ procurement organizations accountable” and to “restoring integrity and transparency” to organ donation policy, calling reforms essential to informed consent and protecting donor rights. CMS issued related March 11, but it does not address the problems highlighted by the Kinsers’ case.

Critics of the organ transplant system say it is difficult for families to obtain documentation or independently verify how consent determinations were made in disputed cases.

HRSA has launched a sweeping modernization of the Organ Procurement and Transplantation Network, the national system that oversees organ allocation and transplant policy. Federal officials have described the overhaul as the most significant restructuring of the transplant system in decades, aimed at breaking up a long-standing contractor monopoly, strengthening patient safety oversight, and replacing aging technology infrastructure.

Central to that effort is modernizing the OPTN’s data systems: improving interoperability, audit trails, and transparency in how decisions are documented and reviewed. A more modern federal data architecture could make it easier to trace which registry was queried, what time stamp controlled, and how a consent determination was reached in disputed donations that span multiple states. But the modernization effort would not change the underlying state-by-state legal framework for donor authorization and what counts as a valid “no.”

Meanwhile, Donate Life America, a national nonprofit that supports state donor registries, also runs the , a central database that allows people to sign up as organ donors directly. Unlike many DMV systems, the national registry lets people log in at any time to view, update, or remove their registration and print proof of their decision. The group is also starting a project to let participating states send registrations directly into the national system, creating one place to track donor sign-ups and removals across state lines.

Each of the proposals comes with trade-offs, and both advocates and OPOs have raised concerns about how they would work in practice.

“Just doing a dump truck dump of information is not going to do much unless you really apply it through checking and auditing,” said Arthur Caplan, a professor of bioethics at New York University’s Grossman School of Medicine. “It could be like the IRS. They don’t have to audit everybody. Just do a spot audit once in a while.”

The Kinsers aren’t opposed to organ donation itself. They celebrated Raven’s donation in her obituary, and in their complaint to federal regulators, they wrote, “We are NOT anti-organ donation, and we will never take away the gift of life our oldest daughter gave to others. However, that was not LifeNet’s choice to make.”

This <a target="_blank" href="/health-industry/organ-donor-state-registries-consent-authorization-optn-opo-raven-kinser-virginia/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">Â鶹ŮÓÅ 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;">

After Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. fired Centers for Disease Control and Prevention Director Susan Monarez for refusing what her lawyers called “,” Newsom to help modernize California’s public health system. He also gave a job to Debra Houry, the agency’s former chief science and medical officer, who had resigned in protest hours after Monarez’s firing.

Newsom also teamed up with fellow Democratic governors Tina Kotek of Oregon, Bob Ferguson of Washington, and Josh Green of Hawaii to form the , a regional public health agency, whose guidance would “uphold scientific integrity in public health as Trump destroys” the CDC’s credibility. Newsom argued establishing the independent alliance was vital as Kennedy leads the Trump administration’s rollback of national vaccine recommendations.

More recently, California became the a global outbreak response network coordinated by the World Health Organization, followed by Illinois and New York. Colorado and Wisconsin signaled they plan to join. They did so after President Donald Trump officially from the agency on the grounds that it had “strayed from its core mission and has acted contrary to the U.S. interests in protecting the U.S. public on multiple occasions.” Newsom said joining the WHO-led consortium would enable California to respond faster to communicable disease outbreaks and other public health threats.

Although other Democratic governors and public health leaders have openly criticized the federal government, few have been as outspoken as Newsom, who is considering a run for president in 2028 and is in his second and final term as governor. Members of the scientific community have praised his effort to build a public health bulwark against the Trump administration’s slashing of funding and scaling back of vaccine recommendations.

What Newsom is doing “is a great idea,” said Paul Offit, an outspoken critic of Kennedy and a vaccine expert who formerly served on the Food and Drug Administration’s vaccine advisory committee but was removed under Trump in 2025.

“Public health has been turned on its head,” Offit said. “We have an anti-vaccine activist and science denialist as the head of U.S. Health and Human Services. It’s dangerous.”

The White House did not respond to questions about Newsom’s stance and HHS declined requests to interview Kennedy. Instead, federal health officials criticized Democrats broadly, arguing that blue states are participating in fraud and mismanagement of federal funds in public health programs.

HHS spokesperson Emily Hilliard said the administration is going after “Democrat-run states that pushed unscientific lockdowns, toddler mask mandates, and draconian vaccine passports during the covid era.” She said those moves have “completely eroded the American people’s trust in public health agencies.”

Public Health Guided by Science

Since Trump returned to office, Newsom has criticized the president and his administration for engineering policies that he sees as an affront to public health and safety, labeling federal leaders as “extremists” trying to “weaponize the CDC and spread misinformation.” He has for erroneously linking vaccines to autism, the administration is endangering the lives of infants and young children in scaling back childhood vaccine recommendations. And he argued that the White House is unleashing “chaos” on America’s public health system in backing out of the WHO.

The governor declined an interview request. Newsom spokesperson Marissa Saldivar said it’s a priority of the governor “to protect public health and provide communities with guidance rooted in science and evidence, not politics and conspiracies.”

The Trump administration’s moves have triggered financial uncertainty that local officials said has reduced morale within public health departments and left states unprepared for disease outbreaks and . The White House last year proposed cutting HHS spending , including . Congress largely rejected those cuts last month, although funding for programs focusing on social drivers of health, such as access to food, housing, and education, .

The Trump administration announced that it would claw back in public health funds from California, Colorado, Illinois, and Minnesota, arguing that the Democratic-led states were funding “woke” initiatives that didn’t reflect White House priorities. Within days, and a judge the cut.

“They keep suddenly canceling grants and then it gets overturned in court,” said Kat DeBurgh, executive director of the Health Officers Association of California. “A lot of the damage is already done because counties already stopped doing the work.”

Federal funding has accounted for of state and local health department budgets nationwide, with money going toward fighting HIV and other sexually transmitted infections, preventing chronic diseases, and boosting public health preparedness and communicable disease response, according to a 2025 analysis by Â鶹ŮÓÅ, a health information nonprofit that includes Â鶹ŮÓÅ Health News.

Federal funds account for $2.4 billion of California’s $5.3 billion public health budget, making it difficult for Newsom and state lawmakers to backfill potential cuts. That money helps fund state operations and is vital for local health departments.

Funding Cuts Hurt All

Los Angeles County public health director Barbara Ferrer said if the federal government is allowed to cut that $600 million, the county of nearly 10 million residents would lose an estimated $84 million over the next two years, in addition to other grants for prevention of HIV and other sexually transmitted infections. Ferrer said the county depends on nearly $1 billion in federal funding annually to track and prevent communicable diseases and combat chronic health conditions, including diabetes and high blood pressure. Already, the the closure of that provided vaccinations and disease testing, largely because of funding losses tied to federal grant cuts.

“It’s an ill-informed strategy,” Ferrer said. “Public health doesn’t care whether your political affiliation is Republican or Democrat. It doesn’t care about your immigration status or sexual orientation. Public health has to be available for everyone.”

A single case of measles requires public health workers to track down 200 potential contacts, Ferrer said.

The U.S. but is close to losing that status as a result of vaccine skepticism and misinformation spread by vaccine critics. The U.S. had , the most since 1991, with 93% in people who were unvaccinated or whose vaccination status was unknown. This year, the highly contagious disease has been reported at , , and .

Public health officials hope the West Coast Health Alliance can help counteract Trump by building trust through evidence-based public health guidance.

“What we’re seeing from the federal government is partisan politics at its worst and retaliation for policy differences, and it puts at extraordinary risk the health and well-being of the American people,” said Georges Benjamin, executive director of the American Public Health Association, a coalition of public health professionals.

Robust Vaccine Schedule

Erica Pan, California’s top public health officer and director of the state Department of Public Health, said the West Coast Health Alliance is defending science by recommending a vaccine schedule than the federal government. California is part of a coalition over its decision to rescind recommendations for seven childhood vaccines, including for hepatitis A, hepatitis B, influenza, and covid-19.

Pan expressed deep concern about the state of public health, particularly the uptick in measles. “We’re sliding backwards,” Pan said of immunizations.

Sarah Kemble, Hawaii’s state epidemiologist, said Hawaii joined the alliance after hearing from pro-vaccine residents who wanted assurance that they would have access to vaccines.

“We were getting a lot of questions and anxiety from people who did understand science-based recommendations but were wondering, ‘Am I still going to be able to go get my shot?’” Kemble said.

Other states led mostly by Democrats have also formed alliances, with Pennsylvania, New York, New Jersey, Massachusetts, and several other East Coast states banding together to create the .

HHS’ Hilliard said that even as Democratic governors establish vaccine advisory coalitions, the federal “remains the scientific body guiding immunization recommendations in this country, and HHS will ensure policy is based on rigorous evidence and gold standard science, not the failed politics of the pandemic.”

Influencing Red States

Newsom, for his part, has approved a recurring annual infusion of nearly $300 million to support the state Department of Public Health, as well as the 61 local public health agencies across California, and last year authorizing the state to issue its own immunization guidance. It requires health insurers in California to provide patient coverage for vaccinations the state recommends even if the federal government doesn’t.

Jeffrey Singer, a doctor and senior fellow at the libertarian Cato Institute, said decentralization can be beneficial. That’s because local media campaigns that reflect different political ideologies and community priorities may have a better chance of influencing the public.

A Â鶹ŮÓÅ analysis found some red states are joining blue states in decoupling their vaccine recommendations from the federal government’s. Singer said some doctors in his home state of Arizona are looking to more liberal California for vaccine recommendations.

“Science is never settled, and there are a lot of areas of this country where there are differences of opinion,” Singer said. “This can help us challenge our assumptions and learn.”

This <a target="_blank" href="/public-health/gavin-newsom-california-public-health-fight-west-coast-alliance-trump-hhs-rfk/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">Â鶹ŮÓÅ 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 city’s mobile crisis team had just gotten a call about a man walking around outside without shoes. The man’s family told the team he was having a mental health crisis and wouldn’t come inside.

As they drove down the highway toward the city’s outskirts, team member Evan Thiessen spoke with the relative who had reached out.

“You’re doing the right thing, and we’re going to make sure he gets help today, OK?” he said.

They pulled up the man’s police record on a laptop and saw that he did have a record of some previous encounters with police, including some that had turned violent.

, a licensed therapist, had that in mind as they pulled into a neighborhood of single-family homes. He stepped out of the Ford Bronco and headed toward the front door.

A Funding Problem

Many communities around the country send out teams like this one to help people in psychiatric crisis, rather than dispatching regular police.

A found there were at least 1,800 mobile teams nationwide in 2023. But financial support for them is often inadequate and inconsistent, leaving many communities struggling to keep the teams operating.

Two programs — one in Great Falls, in central Montana, and one in Billings, in south-central Montana — recently shut down. Six units remain in Montana.

The strategy in Eugene, Oregon, but gained momentum nationally over the past 10 years.

Recent about police killing people who are experiencing a psychiatric crisis have sparked conversations about how to safely and effectively respond. Most police officers are not trained to deal with people experiencing delusions or hallucinations, nor to de-escalate situations involving threatening behaviors to themselves or others.

An across 27 states found that about a third of the victims showed signs of being in crisis. Another study found that people with a serious mental illness were at least to experience use of force by police as those without.

By contrast, crisis response teams have been trained to de-escalate such situations and provide appropriate therapeutic care.

When the team arrived at the house in Bozeman, the man had already gone back inside. The team then talked with the man’s family for about half an hour and helped them devise a plan to keep him at home — and safe. Before they left, team members determined the man wasn’t a threat to himself or others.

Also, they planned to follow up within a few days to connect him with ongoing mental health care. After an encounter with the team, some clients might need follow-up therapy, assistance with psychiatric medications, or help finding treatment for substance abuse.

The Bozeman team is available 12 hours a day, seven days a week, and costs roughly $1 million a year to run.

Police departments are generally funded by local taxpayers. Mobile crisis teams don’t have a single, reliable source of funding.

Some, despite successful operations and , are or have closed entirely. One that shuttered was Oregon’s .

Most crisis calls end with people staying where they are, avoiding a trip to the emergency room or going to jail, according to , which runs the mobile crisis program in Bozeman.

Beyond police and firefighters, members of the public can call the team directly.

“I’ve been out on calls where individuals have barricaded themselves in residences or in their vehicles with a firearm. So, helping to assist not only law enforcement, the negotiators, but consulting on the behavioral health side of that,” said Ryan Mattson, who leads the Bozeman crisis team.

The program has reduced the time that Bozeman police officers must spend on mental health calls by nearly 80%, according to Mattson, and prevented unnecessary ER visits.

Residents and political leaders see that value, he said, but finding a way to pay for the service has been difficult.

“I’m confident we’ll be here through next fiscal year. That’s about as confident as I am at this point,” Mattson said.

Mobile crisis programs in Montana, which began operating about five years ago, have cost more than the state originally projected.

Health insurance is sometimes a revenue source for mobile crisis teams. That’s because a crisis call is a type of mental health service, provided by trained professionals such as therapists or crisis intervention specialists. Still, many private insurance companies don’t reimburse for mobile crisis services.

What Medicaid Pays For — And Doesn’t

Medicaid, the government-funded insurance program for low-income and disabled Americans, is another funding source. Two-thirds of states allow Medicaid reimbursement for such calls, but rates vary.

In Montana, Medicaid reimburses the team only for the time they spend responding to a call in the field. Additional time spent on a case — documenting the encounters, or waiting for the next call — isn’t reimbursed.

“You need to pay for the capacity to be at the ready, just like we do with fire or police, regardless of whether somebody is going to be called out,” said of Inseparable, a nonprofit that advocates for mental health policy reform.

It’s not feasible for mobile crisis teams to rely solely on reimbursement from insurance companies, she said.

To deal with the shortfalls, many mobile teams rely on a patchwork of grants and other funding, according to , who studies Medicaid policy at Â鶹ŮÓÅ, a health information nonprofit that includes Â鶹ŮÓÅ Health News.

Some state governments have stepped in to help.

Eight states, including New Jersey, California, and Washington, mandate that private insurers cover the cost of mobile crisis calls for people on their plans, according to Kimball. At least 10 states have implemented fees on cellphone bills to help pay for service.

Montana hasn’t followed suit.

The state provides about $2 million annually in supplemental funds to help the mobile teams pay for service calls that aren’t reimbursed through Medicaid, according to an emailed statement from Jon Ebelt, a state health department spokesperson.

But program managers counter that the paperwork to access that funding is complicated and often isn’t worth the staff time.

Will Montana Step In?

Despite this state support, mobile teams are still struggling to stay afloat, Ebelt acknowledged. He said Montana officials are considering boosting what Medicaid reimburses for each service call.

In Missoula, the mobile crisis team turned to local taxpayers for additional help. Their annual expenditure is $1.4 million, but Medicaid reimbursements were covering only about 20% of the cost, according to program manager John LaRocque. Even with local tax dollars, the program faces a $250,000 shortfall, so LaRocque is looking for grants.

Mobile crisis is still a relatively new concept, and growing pains are to be expected, said Sierra Riesberg, director of the .

Still, abrupt closures create instability and lead some patients to the ER, placing financial pressure on another distressed part of the local health system.

“A much-needed service is available and then not available, available and then not available. These things need to be taken into consideration when developing programs in communities,” she said.

If more mobile crisis teams shut down, that might interfere with Montana’s recent efforts to overhaul an outdated and underfunded mental health system. The state’s only psychiatric hospital hasn’t kept up with the to the facility.

Later this year, Montana hopes to join a federal pilot program to open a new type of clinic: , or CCBHCs. Those clinics will receive boosted levels of federal funding, but they are required to offer round-the-clock mobile crisis services as well as other crisis care.

That could be a tall order for rural communities, said , an executive at in Great Falls.

Alluvion used to operate the mobile crisis team in Great Falls before it shuttered the service. One major reason it closed was that the expected Medicaid payments covered less than anticipated. Before Alluvion would consider getting involved again, the state would need to “completely revamp” the way the service is funded, Schreiner said.

“Is it a priority for our state or not?” he asked.

This article is from a partnership with and .

This <a target="_blank" href="/health-industry/police-mental-health-calls-988-911-mobile-crisis-teams-funding/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">Â鶹ŮÓÅ 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 Millers resettled on Vancouver Island, their scenic refuge accessible only by ferry or plane. Justin went to work in the emergency room at Nanaimo Regional General Hospital, where he became one of at least 20 U.S.-trained nurses hired since April.

Fear of Trump, some of the nurses said, was why they left.

“There are so many like-minded people out there,” said Justin, who now works elbow to elbow with Americans in Canada. “You aren’t trapped. You don’t have to stay. Health care workers are welcomed with open arms around the world.”

The Millers are part of a new surge of American nurses, doctors, and other health care workers moving to Canada, and specifically British Columbia, where more than 1,000 U.S.-trained nurses have been approved to work since April. As the Trump administration enacts increasingly authoritarian policies and decimates funding for , insurance, and medical research, many nurses have felt the draw of Canada’s progressive politics, friendly reputation, and universal health care system.

Additionally, some nurses were incensed last year when the Trump administration said it would reclassify nursing as a , which would impose strict federal limits on the loans nursing students could receive.

Canada is poised to capitalize. Two of its most populous provinces, Ontario and British Columbia, have streamlined the licensing process for American nurses since Trump returned to the White House. British Columbia also launched a last year to recruit nurses from California, Oregon, and Washington state.

“With the chaos and uncertainty happening in the U.S., we are seizing the opportunity to attract the talent we need,” Josie Osborne, the province’s health minister, said in a statement announcing the campaign.

Fears Realized

Amy Miller, a nurse practitioner, said she and her husband were determined to move their children out of the country because they felt Trump’s second term would inevitably spiral into violence.

First, the Millers got nursing licenses in New Zealand, but when the job search took too long, they pivoted to Canada.

Justin was offered a job within weeks.

Amy found one within three months.

So they moved. And just a few days later, the Millers watched with horror from afar as their fears came true.

As federal immigration forces clashed with protesters in Minneapolis on Jan. 24, federal agents fatally shot an ICU nurse, Alex Pretti, as he filmed a confrontation and appeared to be trying to shield a woman who was knocked down. Video of the killing showed border agents pinning Pretti to the ground before seizing his concealed, licensed handgun and opening fire on him.

The Trump administration quickly called Pretti a “domestic terrorist” who intended to kill federal agents. That allegation was disputed by eyewitness videos that circulated on social media and spurred widespread outrage, including from nurses and nursing organizations, some of whom invoked the profession’s duty to care for the vulnerable.

“I don’t want to say it was expected, but that’s why we are here,” Amy Miller said. “Even our oldest kid, she was like: ‘It’s OK, Mom, because we are not there anymore. We are safe here.’ So she recognizes that, and she’s not even in middle school yet.”

Both the U.S. and Canada have a severe need for nurses. The U.S. is projected to be short about 270,000 registered nurses, plus at least 120,000 licensed practical nurses, by 2028, according to from the Health Resources and Services Administration. In Canada, nursing job vacancies tripled from 2018 to 2023, when they reached nearly 42,000, according to from the Montreal Economic Institute, a Canadian think tank.

When asked to comment, the White House noted that shows the number of nurses licensed in the U.S. increased in 2025. It dismissed accounts of nurses moving to Canada as “anecdotes of individuals with severe cases of Trump derangement syndrome.”

“The American health care workforce is the finest in the world, and it continues to expand under President Trump,” White House spokesperson Kush Desai said. “Employment opportunities in the American health care system remain robust, with career advancement and pay that far exceed that of other developed nations.”

‘A Sense of Relief’

It is unknown precisely how many American nurses have moved north since Trump returned to office, because some Canadian provinces do not track or release such statistics.

British Columbia, which has done the most to recruit Americans, approved the licensing applications of 1,028 U.S.-trained nurses from when the province’s streamlined application process took effect in April 2025 through January, according to the British Columbia College of Nurses and Midwives. In all of 2023, only 112 applicants from the U.S. were approved, the agency said. In 2024, it was 127.

Increased interest from American nurses was also confirmed by nursing associations in Ontario and Alberta, as well as by the nationwide Canadian Nurses Association.

Angela Wignall, CEO of Nurses and Nurse Practitioners of British Columbia, said American nurses used to move north because they had fallen in love with Canada (or a Canadian). But more recently, she said, she had met nurses who feared the White House would spur violence and vigilantism, particularly against families that included same-sex couples.

“Some of them were living in fear of the administration, and they shared a sense of relief when crossing the border,” Wignall said. “As a Canadian, it’s heartbreaking. And also a joy to welcome them.”

Vancouver Island, which has a population of about 860,000, has gained 64 U.S.-trained nurses since April, including those at Nanaimo Regional, said Andrew Leyne, a spokesperson for the island’s health agency.

One of the nurses was Susan Fleishman, a Canadian who moved to the U.S. as a child, then worked for 23 years in American emergency rooms before leaving the country in November.

Fleishman said hateful rhetoric from Trump has fueled an angry division that has permeated and soured American life.

“It wasn’t an easy move — that’s for sure. But I think it’s definitely worth it,” she said, happily back in Canada. “I find there is a lot more kindness here. And I think that will keep me here.”

Brandy Frye, who also worked for decades in American ERs, said she moved to Vancouver Island last year after waiting to see whether Mark Carney would become Canada’s prime minister. Carney’s rise was widely viewed as a rejection of Trumpism.

Meanwhile, Frye said, the California hospital where she worked had been stripping words associated with diversity and equity out of its paperwork to appease the Trump administration. She couldn’t stand it.

“It felt like a step against everything I believe in,” Frye said. “And I didn’t feel like I belonged there anymore.”

Like many of the American nurses who have moved to Vancouver Island, Frye was first wooed to the area by a that was meant to attract tourist dollars but ended up doing much more.

About a year ago, Tod Maffin, a and former CBC Radio host, invited Americans to the port city of Nanaimo for a weekend event designed to offset the impact of Trump’s tariffs on the local economy.

Maffin said about the April event.

“A lot of them were health care workers looking for an escape route,” Maffin said. “They were there to help support our economy but also to look into Canada.”

Maffin saw an opportunity. He repurposed the event website into a recruiting tool and launched a Discord chatroom to help Americans relocate.

Maffin said he believes the campaign helped about 35 health care workers move to Vancouver Island. Volunteers in have since duplicated his website in an effort to attract their own American nurses and doctors.

“There are communities across Canada where the emergency room closes at night because one nurse is out. That’s how thin staffing is,” Maffin said.

“One new nurse in a small town, or in a midsized city like Nanaimo,” he said, “makes a difference.”

This <a target="_blank" href="/health-industry/us-nurses-move-to-canada-trump-policies-care-shortages/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">Â鶹ŮÓÅ 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;">

Warning patients could deter them from signing up for a program called Emergency Medicaid, through which the government reimburses hospitals for the cost of emergency treatment for immigrants who are ineligible for standard Medicaid coverage.

But if hospitals don’t disclose that the patients’ information is shared with federal law enforcement, they might not know that their medical coverage puts them at risk of being located by Immigration and Customs Enforcement.

“If hospitals tell people that their Emergency Medicaid information will be shared with ICE, it is foreseeable that many immigrants would simply stop getting emergency medical treatment,” said , a research professor at Georgetown University’s Center for Children and Families. “Half of the Emergency Medicaid cases are for the delivery of U.S. citizen babies. Do we want these mothers avoiding the hospital when they go into labor?”

For more than a decade, hospitals and states have assured patients that their personal information, including their home addresses and immigration status, would not be shared with immigration enforcement officials when they apply for federal health care coverage. guaranteed the agency would not use information from health coverage applications for enforcement activities.

But that changed last year, after President Donald Trump returned to the White House and ordered one of the most aggressive immigration crackdowns in recent history. His administration began funneling data from a variety of government agencies to the Department of Homeland Security, including filed with the IRS.

The Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services, part of the Department of Health and Human Services, agreed last spring to give ICE officials direct access to a Medicaid database that includes enrollees’ addresses and citizenship status.

Twenty-two states, all but one led by Democratic governors, the Medicaid data-sharing agreement, which the administration did not formally announce until a federal judge ordered it to do so last summer. The judge that in those states, ICE could access information in the Medicaid database only about people in the country unlawfully. Â鶹ŮÓÅ Health News contacted more than a dozen hospitals and hospital associations in states and cities that have been targets of ICE sweeps. Many declined to comment on whether they’ve updated their disclosure policies after the ruling.

Of those that responded, none said they are directly warning patients that their personal information may be shared with ICE when they apply for Medicaid coverage.

“We do not provide legal advice about federal government data-sharing between agencies,” Aimee Jordon, a spokesperson for M Health Fairview, a Minneapolis-based hospital system, said in an email to Â鶹ŮÓÅ Health News. “We encourage patients with questions about benefits or immigration-related concerns to seek guidance from appropriate state resources and qualified legal counsel.”

Information on Applications

Some states’ Emergency Medicaid applications specifically ask for a patient’s immigration status — and still assure people that their information will be kept secure and out of the hands of immigration enforcement officials.

For example, as of Feb. 3, California’s application still included language advising applicants that their immigration information is “confidential.”

“We only use it to see if you qualify for health insurance,” states the 44-page form, which the state’s Medicaid program, known as Medi-Cal, in January.

California Department of Health Care Services spokesperson Anthony Cava said in a statement that the agency, which oversees Medi-Cal, will “ensure that Californians have accurate information on the privacy of their data, including by revising additional publications as necessary.”

Until late January, Utah’s Medicaid website also claimed its Emergency Medicaid program did not share its information with immigration officials. After Â鶹ŮÓÅ Health News contacted the state agency, Kolbi Young, a spokesperson, said Jan. 23 that the language would be taken down immediately. It was removed that day.

Oregon Health & Science University, a hospital system based in Portland, offers immigrant patients developed by the state Medicaid program for those with concerns about how their information might be used. The document does not directly say that Medicaid enrollees’ information is shared with ICE officials.

Hospitals rely on Emergency Medicaid to reimburse them for treating people who would qualify for Medicaid if not for their citizenship status — those in the country illegally and lawfully present immigrants, such as those with a student or work visa. The coverage pays only for emergency medical and pregnancy care. Typically, hospital representatives help patients apply while they are still in the medical facility.

The main Medicaid program, which covers a much broader range of services for over 77 million low-income and disabled people, does not cover people living in the country illegally.

Examining Emergency Medicaid enrollment is the most obvious way, then, for deportation officials to identify immigrants, including those who might not reside in the U.S. lawfully.

HHS spokesperson Rich Danker said in an email that CMS — which oversees Medicaid, a joint state-federal program — is sharing data with ICE after the judge’s ruling. But he would not answer how the agency is ensuring it is sharing information only on people who are not lawfully present, as the judge required.

With ICE now getting direct access to the personal information of millions of Medicaid enrollees, hospitals — while “definitely in a tough position” — should be up-front about the changes, said Sarah Grusin, at the National Health Law Program, an advocacy group.

“They need to be telling people that the judge has permitted sharing of information, including their address, for people who are not lawfully residing,” she said. “Once this information is submitted, you can’t protect it from disclosure at this point.”

Grusin said she advises families to weigh the importance of seeking medical care against the risk of having their information shared with ICE.

“We want to give candid, honest information even if it means the decision people have to make is really hard,” she said.

Those who have previously enrolled in Medicaid or can easily search their address online should assume that immigration officials already have their information, she added.

Emergency Medicaid

Emergency Medicaid coverage was established in the mid-1980s, when a federal law began requiring hospitals to treat and stabilize all patients who show up at their doors with a life-threatening condition.

Federal government spending on Emergency Medicaid accounted for nearly $4 billion in 2023, or of total federal spending on Medicaid.

States send monthly reports to the federal government with detailed information about who enrolls in Medicaid and what services they receive. The judge’s ruling in December limited what CMS can share with ICE to only basic information, including addresses, about Medicaid enrollees in the 22 states that sued over the data-sharing arrangement. ICE officials are not supposed to access information about the medical services people receive, per the judge’s order.

The judge also prohibited the agency from sharing the data of U.S. citizens or lawfully present immigrants from those states.

Deportation officials have access to personal Medicaid information of all enrollees in the remaining 28 states.

The federal health agency has not clarified how it is ensuring that certain states’ information on citizens and legal residents is not shared with ICE. But Medicaid experts say it would be nearly impossible for the agency to separate the data, raising questions about whether the Trump administration is complying with the judge’s order.

The Trump administration’s efforts to deport immigrants living in the country illegally have had implications on immigrant families seeking care. About a third of adult immigrants reported skipping or postponing health care in the past year, according to a released in November. (Â鶹ŮÓÅ is a health information nonprofit that includes Â鶹ŮÓÅ Health News.)

Bethany Pray, the chief legal and policy officer at the Colorado Center on Law and Policy, warned that sharing Medicaid data directly with deportation officials will force even tougher decisions upon some families.

“This is very concerning,” Pray said. “People should not have to choose between giving birth in a hospital and wondering if that means they risk deportation.”

This <a target="_blank" href="/medicaid/ice-immigrants-medicaid-data-sharing-hospitals-states-deportation/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">Â鶹ŮÓÅ 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 week earlier, immigration agents had grabbed Julio César Peña from his front yard in Glendale, California. Now, he was in a hospital after suffering a ministroke. He was shackled to the bed by his hand and foot, he told Romero, and agents were in the room, listening to the call. He was scared he would die and wanted his wife there.

“What hospital are you at?” Romero asked.

“I can’t tell you,” he replied.

Viridiana Chabolla, Peña’s attorney, couldn’t get an answer to that question, either. Peña’s deportation officer and the medical contractor at the Adelanto ICE Processing Center refused to tell her. Exasperated, she tried calling a nearby hospital, Providence St. Mary Medical Center.

“They said even if they had a person in ICE custody under their care, they wouldn’t be able to confirm whether he’s there or not, that only ICE can give me the information,” Chabolla said. The hospital confirmed this policy to Â鶹ŮÓÅ Health News.

Family members and attorneys for patients hospitalized after being detained by federal immigration officials said they are facing extreme difficulty trying to locate patients, get information about their well-being, and provide them emotional and legal support. They say many hospitals refuse to provide information or allow contact with these patients. Instead, hospitals allow immigration officers to call the shots on how much — if any — contact is allowed, which can deprive patients of their constitutional right to seek legal advice and leave them vulnerable to abuse, attorneys said.

Hospitals say they are trying to protect the safety and privacy of patients, staff, and law enforcement officials, even while hospital employees in , , and , cities where Immigration and Customs Enforcement has conducted immigration raids, say it’s made their jobs difficult. Hospitals have used what are sometimes called blackout procedures, which can include registering a patient under a pseudonym, removing their name from the hospital directory, or prohibiting staff from even confirming that a patient is in the hospital.

“We’ve heard incidences of this blackout process being used at multiple hospitals across the state, and it’s very concerning,” said Shiu-Ming Cheer, the deputy director of immigrant and racial justice at the California Immigrant Policy Center, an advocacy group.

Some Democratic-led states, including California, Colorado, and Maryland, have enacted legislation that seeks to protect patients from immigration enforcement in hospitals. However, those policies do not address protections for people already in ICE custody.

More Detainees Hospitalized

Peña is among arrested by federal immigration authorities since President Donald Trump returned to the White House. As arrests and detentions have climbed, so too have reports of people taken to hospitals by immigration agents because of illness or injury — due to preexisting conditions or problems stemming from their arrest or detention.

ICE has for using and tactics, as well as for and at its facilities. Sen. Adam Schiff (D-Calif.) told reporters at a Jan. 20 news conference outside a detention center he visited in California City that he spoke to a diabetic woman held there who had not received treatment in .

While there are no publicly available statistics on the number of people sick or injured in ICE detention, the agency’s news releases point to who died in immigration custody in 2025. Six more have died this year.

The Department of Homeland Security, which oversees ICE, did not respond to a request for information about its policies or Peña’s case.

According to , people in custody should be given access to a telephone, visits from family and friends, and private consultation with legal counsel. The agency can make administrative decisions, including about visitation, when a patient is in the hospital, but should defer to hospital policies on contacting next of kin when a patient is seriously ill, the guidelines state.

Asked in detail about hospital practices related to patients in immigration custody and whether there are best practices that hospitals should follow, Ben Teicher, a spokesperson for the American Hospital Association, declined to comment.

David Simon, a spokesperson for the California Hospital Association, said that “there are times when hospitals will — at the request of law enforcement — maintain confidentiality of patients’ names and other identifying characteristics.”

Although policies vary, members of the public can typically call a hospital and ask for a patient by name to find out whether they’re there, and often be transferred to the patient’s room, said William Weber, an emergency physician in Minneapolis and medical director for the Medical Justice Alliance, which advocates for the medical needs of people in law enforcement custody. Family members and others authorized by the patient can visit. And medical staff routinely call relatives to let them know a loved one is in the hospital, or to ask for information that could help with their care.

But when a patient is in law enforcement custody, hospitals frequently agree to restrict this kind of information sharing and access, Weber said. The rationale is that these measures prevent unauthorized outsiders from threatening the patient or law enforcement personnel, given that hospitals lack the security infrastructure of a prison or detention center. High-profile patients such as celebrities sometimes also request this type of protection.

Several attorneys and health care providers questioned the need for such restrictions. Immigration detention is civil, not criminal, detention. The Trump administration says it’s focused on , yet most of those arrested have no criminal conviction, according to data compiled by the and several news outlets.

Taken Outside His Home

According to Peña’s wife, Romero, he has no criminal record. Peña came to the United States from Mexico in sixth grade and has an adult son in the U.S. military. The 43-year-old has terminal kidney disease and survived a heart attack in November. He has trouble walking and is partially blind, his wife said. He was detained Dec. 8 while resting outside after coming home from dialysis treatment.

Initially, Romero was able to find her husband through the . She visited him at a temporary holding facility in downtown Los Angeles, bringing him his medicines and a sweater. She then saw he’d been moved to the Adelanto detention center. But the locator did not show where he was after he was hospitalized.

When she and other relatives drove to the detention facility to find him, they were turned away, she said. Romero received occasional calls from her husband in the hospital but said they were less than 10 minutes long and took place under ICE surveillance. She wanted to know where he was so she could be at the hospital to hold his hand, make sure he was well cared for, and encourage him to stay strong, she said.

Shackling him and preventing him from seeing his family was unfair and unnecessary, she said.

“He’s weak,” Romero said. “It’s not like he’s going to run away.”

say contact and visits from family and friends should be allowed “within security and operational constraints.” Detainees have a constitutional right to speak confidentially with an attorney. Weber said immigration authorities should tell attorneys where their clients are and allow them to talk in person or use an unmonitored phone line.

Hospitals, though, fall into a gray area on enforcing these rights, since they are primarily focused on treating medical needs, Weber said. Still, he added, hospitals should ensure their policies align with the law.

Family Denied Access

Numerous immigration attorneys have spent weeks trying to locate clients detained by ICE, with their efforts sometimes thwarted by hospitals.

Nicolas Thompson-Lleras, a Los Angeles attorney who counsels immigrants facing deportation, said two of his clients were registered under aliases at different hospitals in Los Angeles County last year. Initially, the hospitals denied the clients were there and refused to let Thompson-Lleras meet with them, he said. Family members were also denied access, he said.

One of his clients was , a car wash worker injured during a raid in August. Immigration agents surveilled him for over a month at Harbor-UCLA Medical Center, a county-run facility, without charging him.

In November, the Los Angeles County Board of Supervisors voted to of blackout policies for patients under civil immigration custody at county-run hospitals. In a statement, Arun Patel, the chief patient safety and clinical risk management officer for the Los Angeles County Department of Health Services, said the policies are designed to reduce safety risks for patients, doctors, nurses, and custody officers.

“In some situations, there may be concerns about threats to the patient, attempts to interfere with medical care, unauthorized visitors, or the introduction of contraband,” Patel said. “Our goal is not to restrict care but to allow care to happen safely and without disruption.”

Leaving Patients Vulnerable

Thompson-Lleras said he’s concerned that hospitals are cooperating with federal immigration authorities at the expense of patients and their families and leaving patients vulnerable to abuse.

“It allows people to be treated suboptimally,” Thompson-Lleras said. “It allows people to be treated on abbreviated timelines, without supervision, without family intervention or advocacy. These people are alone, disoriented, being interrogated, at least in Bayron’s case, under pain and influence of medication.”

Such incidents are alarming to hospital workers. In Los Angeles, two health care professionals who asked not to be identified by Â鶹ŮÓÅ Health News, out of concern for their livelihoods, said that ICE and hospital administrators, at public and private hospitals, frequently block staff from contacting family members for people in custody, even to find out about their health conditions or what medications they’re on. That violates medical ethics, they said.

Blackout procedures are another concern.

“They help facilitate, whether intentionally or not, the disappearance of patients,” said one worker, a physician for the county’s Department of Health Services and part of a coalition of concerned health workers from across the region.

At Legacy Emanuel Medical Center in Portland, nurses publicly expressed outrage over what they saw as hospital cooperation with ICE and the flouting of patient rights. Legacy Health has to the nurses’ union, accusing it of making “false or misleading statements.”

“I was really disgusted,” said Blaire Glennon, a nurse who quit her job at the hospital in December. She said numerous patients were brought to the hospital by ICE with serious injuries they sustained while being detained. “I felt like Legacy was doing massive human rights violations.”

Handcuffed While Unconscious

Two days before Christmas, Chabolla, Peña’s attorney, received a call from ICE with the answer she and Romero had been waiting for. Peña was at Victor Valley Global Medical Center, about 10 miles from Adelanto, and about to be released.

Excited, Romero and her family made the two-hour-plus drive from Glendale to the hospital to take him home.

When they got there, they found Peña intubated and unconscious, his arm and leg still handcuffed to the hospital bed. He’d had a severe seizure on Dec. 20, but no one had told his family or legal team, his attorney said.

Tim Lineberger, a spokesperson for Victor Valley Global Medical Center’s parent company, KPC Health, said he could not comment on specific patient cases, because of privacy protections. He said the hospital’s policies on patient information disclosure comply with state and federal law.

Peña was finally cleared to go home on Jan. 5. No court date has been set, and his family is filing a petition to adjust his legal status based on his son’s military service. For now, he still faces deportation proceedings.

This <a target="_blank" href="/courts/ice-immigrants-hospitals-detainees-patients-rights-family-blackout-policies-california/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">Â鶹ŮÓÅ 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;">