Early in his first quarter at the University of California-Davis, Ryan Manriquez realized he needed help. A combination of pressures — avoiding COVID-19, enduring a breakup, dealing with a disability, trying to keep up with a tough slate of classes — hit him hard.
"I felt the impact right away," said Manriquez, 21.
After learning of UC-Davis' free counseling services, Manriquez showed up at the student health center and lined up an emergency Zoom session the same day. He was referred to other resources within days and eventually settled into weekly group therapy.
That was September 2020. Manriquez, now president of the student union, considers himself lucky. It can take up to a month to get a counseling appointment, he said, and that's "at a school that's trying really hard to make services available."
Across the country, college students are seeking mental health therapy on campus in droves, part of a 15-year upswing that has spiked during the pandemic. U.S. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy in December issued a rare public health advisory noting the increasing number of suicide attempts by young people.
Colleges and universities are struggling to keep up with the demand for mental health services. Amid a nationwide shortage of mental health professionals, they are competing with hospital systems, private practices, and the burgeoning telehealth industry to recruit and retain counselors. Too often, campus officials say, they lose.
At UC-Davis, Dr. Cory Vu, an associate vice chancellor, said the campus is competing with eight other UC system universities, 23 California State universities, and multiple other health systems and practices as it tries to add 10 counselors to its roster of 34.
"Every college campus is looking for counselors, but so is every other health entity, public and private," he said.
According to data compiled by KFF, more than 129 million Americans live in areas with a documented shortage of mental healthcare professionals. Roughly 25,000 psychiatrists were working in the U.S. in 2020, according to the Bureau of Labor Statistics. The KFF data indicates that more than 6,500 additional psychiatrists are needed to eliminate the shortfall.
On campuses, years of public awareness campaigns have led to more students examining their mental health and trying to access school services. "That's a very good thing," said Jamie Davidson, associate vice president for student wellness at the University of Nevada-Las Vegas. The problem is "we don't have enough staff to deal with everyone who needs help."
About three years ago, administrators at the University of Southern California decided to respond aggressively to the skyrocketing demand for student mental health services. Since then, "we've gone from 30 mental health counselors to 65," said Dr. Sarah Van Orman, the university's chief medical officer for student health.
The result? "We're still overwhelmed," Van Orman said.
Van Orman, past president of the American College Health Association, said the severity of college students' distress is rising. More and more students come in with "active suicidal ideation, who are in crisis, with such severe distress that they are not functioning," Van Orman said. For counselors, "this is like working in a psychiatric ER."
As a result, wait times routinely stretch into weeks for students with nonemergency needs like help dealing with class-related stress or the transition to college. Professionals at campus counseling centers, meanwhile, have seen both their workloads and the serious nature of individual cases rise dramatically, prompting some to seek employment elsewhere.
"This is an epidemic in its own right," Van Orman said, "and it has exploded over the last two years to the point that it is not manageable for many of our campuses — and, ultimately, our students."
The pandemic has exacerbated the challenges students face, said UNLV's Davidson. Lockdown measures leave them feeling isolated and disconnected, unable to establish crucial relationships and develop the sense of self that normally comes with campus life. They also lose out on professional opportunities like internships and fall behind on self-care like going to the gym.
A study by the Center for Collegiate Mental Health at Pennsylvania State University found that among 43,000 students who sought help last fall at 137 campus counseling centers, 72% said the pandemic had negatively affected their mental health. An online survey of 33,000 students last fall found that half of them "screened positive for depression and/or anxiety," according to Boston University researcher Sarah Ketchen Lipson.
Even before the pandemic, university counseling center staff members were overwhelmed, Northwestern University staff psychiatrist Bettina Bohle-Frankel wrote in a recent letter to The New York Times. "Now, overburdened, underpaid and burned out, many therapists are leaving college counseling centers for less stressful work and better pay. Many are doing so to protect their own mental health."
On average, a counselor position at UC-Davis requiring a master's or doctorate degree pays $150,000 a year in salary and benefits, but compensation can vary widely based on experience, Vu said. Even at that rate, Vu said, "we sometimes cannot compete with Kaiser [Permanente], other hospital settings, or private practice."
Tatyana Foltz, a licensed clinical social worker in San Jose, California, spent three years as a mental health services case manager at Santa Clara University. "I absolutely enjoyed working with the college students — they're intelligent, dynamic, and complex, and they are working things out," Foltz said. But she left the university a few years ago, lured by the flexibility of private practice and frustrated by a campus system that Foltz felt did not reflect the diverse needs of its students.
Foltz returned to campus in December to support Santa Clara students as they protested what they said were inadequate services on campus, including insufficient numbers of diverse counselors representing Black, Indigenous, and LGBTQ+ communities and other people of color. The protests followed the deaths of three students during the fall quarter, two by suicide.
"It should not be taking student deaths to get us better mental health resources," said junior Megan Wu, one of the rally's organizers. After the rally, the chair of Santa Clara's board of trustees pledged several million dollars in new funding for campus counseling.
Replacing therapists who leave universities is difficult, Davidson said. UNLV currently has funding for eight new counselors, but the salaries it can offer are limiting in a competitive hiring market.
Universities are getting creative in their attempts to spread mental health resources around on their campuses, however. UC-Davis embeds counselors in student-utilized groups like the Cross-Cultural Center and the LGBTQIA Resource Center. Stanford University's Bridge Peer Counseling Center offers anonymous counseling 24/7 to students who are more comfortable speaking with a trained fellow student.
Mental health services that can be accessed online or by phone, which many schools did not offer before the pandemic, may become a lifeline for colleges and universities. Students often prefer remote to on-site counseling, Davidson said, and campuses likely will begin offering their counselors the option to work remotely as well — something that private practices and some medical systems have done for years.
"You have to work hard and also smart," Foltz said. "You need numbers, but you also need the right mix of counselors. There is a constant need to have culturally competent staff members on a university campus."
Jamie Taylor received two letters from the Missouri Department of Social Services Family Support Division that began, "Good news," before stating that she was denied Medicaid coverage. Her income exceeded the state's limits for the federal-state public health insurance program for people with low incomes.
Missouri officials now blame the incongruous greeting for the decidedly bad news on a computer programming error, but it was just the beginning of Taylor's ongoing saga trying to get assistance from Missouri's safety net. Taylor, now 41, spent hours on the phone, enduring four-hour hold times and dropped calls, and received delayed mailings of time-sensitive documents to her home in Sikeston.
Taylor's struggles are not uncommon in Missouri or even nationally. Instead, they are part of what the National Association of State Medicaid Directors' executive director, Matt Salo, called "the next great challenge that government has to solve." Namely: the extremely outdated technology used by a humongous web of government agencies, from local public health to state-run benefits programs.
Although many people like Taylor struggled with these systems before the pandemic began, COVID-19 exposed just how antiquated and ill equipped many of them were to handle unprecedented demand. For example, while private-sector businesses beefed up the ability to stream TV shows, created apps for food deliveries, and moved offices online, public health officials tracked COVID outbreaks by fax machine.
In response to the new light shed on these long-standing problems, momentum is building for government tech updates. The pandemic also has created once-in-a-generation pools of money from pandemic relief funding and higher-than-expected tax revenues to fund such projects.
President Joe Biden issued an executive order in December calling on benefits enrollment to be streamlined. State lawmakers are urging the use of unspent COVID relief money to address the issue.
That's critical because outdated information systems can trigger ripple effects throughout the public benefits system, according to Jessica Kahn, who is a partner at the McKinsey & Co. consulting firm and previously led data and systems for Medicaid at the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services. One example: Online benefits applications that are not user-friendly can push more applicants to call phone help lines. That can strain call centers that, like many industries, are having difficulty meeting staffing needs.
Some states are already eyeing improvements:
In Wisconsin, Democratic Gov. Tony Evers has directed up to $80 million to replace the state's dated unemployment infrastructure.
Kansas is among the first states working with the U.S. Department of Labor's newly created Office of Unemployment Insurance Modernization set to manage $2 billion in funds appropriated by the American Rescue Plan Act last year.
In Missouri, a bipartisan state Senate committee recommended using surplus COVID relief funds for the Department of Social Services to update the benefit computer systems. The department also has proposed using federal pandemic money on artificial intelligence to process some 50,000 documents per week. That work is currently done manually at an average of two minutes per document.
Recent history suggests these fixes may be easier said than done. More than 10 years ago, the Obama administration invested $36 billion to develop and mandate the national use of electronic health records for patients. Despite the billions invested, the digitizing of patients' records has been plagued with problems. Indeed, to get reimbursed by their insurers for purchases of rapid COVID tests, a requirement imposed by the Biden administration, patients have to fax or mail in claims and receipts.
The Affordable Care Act also offered a chance to improve state technology infrastructure, according to Salo. From 2011 through 2018, the federal government offered to cover up to 90% of the funds necessary to replace or update old Medicaid IT systems, many of which were programmed in COBOL, a computer programming language dating to 1959. Those updates could have benefited other parts of the government safety net as well, since state-administered assistance programs frequently share technology and personnel.
But, Salo said, the ACA required these new Medicaid computer systems to communicate directly with the healthcare exchanges created under the law. States faced varying degrees of trouble. Tennessee applications got lost, leading to a class-action lawsuit. Many states never fully overhauled their benefit systems.
During the pandemic, tech issues have become impossible to ignore. Amid the early lockdowns, hundreds of thousands of people waited months for unemployment help as states such as New Jersey, Kansas, and Wisconsin struggled to program newly created benefits into existing software. Local and state vaccine registration sites were plagued with so many problems they were inaccessible to many, including blind people, a violation of federal disability laws.
Underfunding is nothing new to public health and safety-net programs. Public officials have been reluctant to allocate the money necessary to overhaul dated computer systems — projects that can cost tens of millions of dollars.
Missouri's safety-net technology woes are well documented. A 2019 McKinsey assessment of the state's Medicaid program noted the system was made up of about 70 components, partially developed within a mainframe from 1979, that was "not positioned to meet both current and future needs." In a 2020 report for the state, Department of Social Services staffers called the benefits enrollment process "siloed" and "built on workarounds," while participants called it "dehumanizing."
Taylor has experienced that frustration. Eight years ago, a mysterious medical condition forced her out of the workforce, causing her to lose her job-based health insurance. At various times, she's been diagnosed with ulcerative colitis, Crohn's disease, gastritis, inflammatory bowel disease, and gastroparesis, but lacking insurance and unable to qualify for Medicaid, she was forced to seek treatment in emergency rooms. She has been hospitalized repeatedly over the years, including for 21 days combined since July. She estimated her medical debt tops $100,000.
When Taylor applied for Medicaid over the phone again in October, she received a rejection letter within days.
At a loss because her family of three's $1,300 monthly income now falls within state income limits since Missouri's 2021 expansion of Medicaid, Taylor reached out to state Rep. Sarah Unsicker. The Democratic lawmaker represents a district 145 miles away in St. Louis, but Taylor had seen her championing Medicaid expansion on Twitter. After Unsicker queried the department, she learned that a default application answer had disqualified Taylor from getting Medicaid because it incorrectly listed her as receiving Medicare — the public insurance designed for older Americans that Taylor does not qualify for.
"Within 24 hours, I had a message back from Sarah saying that another letter was on the way and I should be much happier with the answer," Taylor recalled.
Finally enrolled in Medicaid, Taylor is now struggling to get nutrition assistance, called SNAP, which in Missouri is processed through a separate eligibility system. The programs have similar income requirements, but Taylor was not able to verify her income over the phone for SNAP as she could for Medicaid.
Instead, she received a letter on Nov. 26 requesting her tax returns by Nov. 29. By the time she was able to locate and email those documents on Dec. 1, she had been denied. Every call to sort out the issue has been met with hold times upward of four hours or queues so full that her call gets dropped.
Medicaid and SNAP applications are combined in 31 states, according to a 2019 analysis from the Code for America advocacy group. But not in hers.
"It just doesn't make sense to me why Medicaid can verify my tax income over the phone, but SNAP needs me to send them a copy of the whole thing," Taylor said.
Eventually, she gave up and started the whole process over. She's still waiting.
Dina Halperin had been cooped up alone for three weeks in her nursing home room after her two unvaccinated roommates were moved out at the onset of the omicron surge. "I'm frustrated," she said, "and so many of the nursing staff are burned out or just plain tired."
The situation wasn't terrifying, as it was in September 2020, when disease swept through the Victorian Post Acute facility in San Francisco and Halperin, a 63-year-old former English as a Second Language teacher, became severely ill with COVID. She spent 10 days in the hospital and required supplemental oxygen. Since the pandemic began, 14 residents of the nursing home have died of COVID, according to state figures.
Over time, Victorian Post Acute has gotten better at dealing with the virus, especially its milder omicron form, which accounted for 31 cases as of Jan. 27 but not a single illness serious enough to cause hospitalization, said Dan Kramer, a spokesperson for Victorian Post Acute. But the ongoing safety protocols at this and other nursing homes — including visitor restrictions and frequent testing of staff and residents — can be soul-killing. For the 1.4 million residents of the nation's roughly 15,000 nursing homes, the rules have led to renewed isolation and separation.
"I'm feeling very restless," Halperin said. She has Cushing's syndrome, an autoimmune disease that caused tumors and a spinal fracture that left her mostly wheelchair-bound and unable to live independently. Although she has residual COVID symptoms, including headaches and balance problems, Halperin, who has lived in the nursing home for nine years, is usually quite sociable. She volunteers in the dining room, helps other residents with their activities, and shops and runs errands during her frequent forays outside the building.
But COVID infections are again spiking at nursing homes around the country. In California, 792 new nursing home cases were reported on Jan. 19, compared with fewer than 11 cases on Dec. 19, 2021. However, the death rates are not nearly as bad as they were during pre-vaccine COVID surges. From Dec. 23, 2021, to Jan. 23, 2022, 217 nursing home residents died of COVID in California. By contrast, in just the week from Christmas 2020 to New Year's Day 2021, 555 people died at nursing homes in the state.
To keep nursing home residents out of overwhelmed hospitals, California public health officials have mandated masking and imposed strict vaccination and testing requirements for visitors and staffers at the homes, said Dr. Zachary Rubin, a medical epidemiologist with the Los Angeles County Department of Public Health. "Our approach is to prevent cases from coming into the facility, stop transmission once it gets into the facility, and to prevent serious outcomes," he said.
Rubin acknowledged that some of these policies may seem like they're doing more harm than good — but only temporarily, he hopes.
The omicron surge has created staffing shortages as nurses and aides call in sick, and the strict testing requirements have the effect of limiting visits by friends and relatives who provide crucial care and contact for some residents, bathing and grooming them, overseeing their diets and medications, and making sure they're not being neglected.
Nationally, a federal mandate requires all workers in federally funded facilities to be fully vaccinated by Feb. 28. The deadline was extended to March 15 for 24 states that challenged the requirement in court. Last month, California issued a similar order, which also requires nursing home staffers to receive booster shots by Feb. 1.
However, while vaccination rates for staff members and residents are high in California (96% for staffers and 89% for residents), only 52% of nursing home workers and 68% of their residents in California have received boosters, according to Jan. 23 figures from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. At Victorian Post Acute, 95% of staff and 92% of residents had been vaccinated with boosters as of Jan. 27, Kramer said.
Across the state, many unvaccinated staff members claim religious exemptions. Others say they can't get vaccinated at their workplaces and don't have time to get shots on their own, said Deborah Pacyna, a spokesperson for the California Association of Health Facilities, which represents the nursing home industry in Sacramento.
"We're going to have to deal with that as the deadline approaches. If they're not boosted, does that mean they can't work?" she asked. "That would be an extraordinary development."
The state hasn't indicated how it will enforce mandates, especially for boosters, said Tony Chicotel, a staff attorney for California Advocates for Nursing Home Reform.
Most nursing home visitors, as of Jan. 7, must be fully vaccinated — including boosters, if eligible — under California Department of Public Health requirements. Guests also must present a negative COVID test taken within one or two days, depending on the type of test. The federal government is sending four rapid tests to families that request them, and the state of California has distributed 300,000 tests to nursing homes.
That's "better than nothing," said Pacyna, but it may not be enough for families that visit several times a week. Some experts think any policy that tends to restrict visitors sets the wrong priority.
"Limiting visitation is bad psychologically," said Charlene Harrington, a professor emeritus in social and behavioral sciences at the University of California-San Francisco who has done extensive research on nursing homes. Numerous studies have shown that social isolation and loneliness can lead to depression, worsening dementia and cognitive decline, anxiety, a loss of the will to live — and increased risk of mortality from other causes.
Besides, Harrington said, most nursing home outbreaks are caused by infected staffers, who often work multiple jobs because of the low pay.
Maitely Weismann visits her 79-year-old mother, who has dementia and uses a wheelchair, at a Los Angeles residential facility several times a week. Her mother deteriorated considerably during the initial lockdown, and Weismann is doing her best to slow her mother's decline, she said.
"It's much harder to do this during the pandemic because there are so many barriers to entry," said Weismann, co-founder of the advocacy group Essential Caregivers Coalition. "Family caregivers can't actually tell if a loved one is doing OK through a screen, or a window, or a phone call."
Responding to the critical healthcare staff shortages, the CDC issued emergency guidelines in December — California followed suit in January — that allow workers who have been exposed to or test positive for COVID to return to work if they are asymptomatic.
It's a short-term, last-resort measure, Rubin said. "It's just not possible to adequately take care of people and do the daily activities of living if you don't have a nurse or caregivers. You just can't operate the place."
On one recent day alone — Jan. 24 — more than 10,300 workers were out sick — which is roughly a tenth of the combined staff in California nursing homes. To deal with the crunch, said Pacyna, "we're asking people to work extra hours, knowing that the peak is near and this isn't going to last forever."
In the meantime, families continue to worry about their loved ones. "When residents are isolated, they become completely dependent on the caregivers in the facility," Weismann said. "But when staff stops coming to work, the system falls apart."
Dina Halperin had been cooped up alone for three weeks in her nursing home room after her two unvaccinated roommates were moved out at the onset of the omicron surge. "I'm frustrated," she said, "and so many of the nursing staff are burned out or just plain tired."
The situation wasn't terrifying, as it was in September 2020, when disease swept through the Victorian Post Acute facility in San Francisco and Halperin, a 63-year-old former English as a Second Language teacher, became severely ill with COVID. She spent 10 days in the hospital and required supplemental oxygen. Since the pandemic began, 14 residents of the nursing home have died of COVID, according to state figures.
Over time, Victorian Post Acute has gotten better at dealing with the virus, especially its milder omicron form, which accounted for 31 cases as of Jan. 27 but not a single illness serious enough to cause hospitalization, said Dan Kramer, a spokesperson for Victorian Post Acute. But the ongoing safety protocols at this and other nursing homes — including visitor restrictions and frequent testing of staff and residents — can be soul-killing. For the 1.4 million residents of the nation's roughly 15,000 nursing homes, the rules have led to renewed isolation and separation.
"I'm feeling very restless," Halperin said. She has Cushing's syndrome, an autoimmune disease that caused tumors and a spinal fracture that left her mostly wheelchair-bound and unable to live independently. Although she has residual COVID symptoms, including headaches and balance problems, Halperin, who has lived in the nursing home for nine years, is usually quite sociable. She volunteers in the dining room, helps other residents with their activities, and shops and runs errands during her frequent forays outside the building.
But COVID infections are again spiking at nursing homes around the country. In California, 792 new nursing home cases were reported on Jan. 19, compared with fewer than 11 cases on Dec. 19, 2021. However, the death rates are not nearly as bad as they were during pre-vaccine COVID surges. From Dec. 23, 2021, to Jan. 23, 2022, 217 nursing home residents died of COVID in California. By contrast, in just the week from Christmas 2020 to New Year's Day 2021, 555 people died at nursing homes in the state.
To keep nursing home residents out of overwhelmed hospitals, California public health officials have mandated masking and imposed strict vaccination and testing requirements for visitors and staffers at the homes, said Dr. Zachary Rubin, a medical epidemiologist with the Los Angeles County Department of Public Health. "Our approach is to prevent cases from coming into the facility, stop transmission once it gets into the facility, and to prevent serious outcomes," he said.
Rubin acknowledged that some of these policies may seem like they're doing more harm than good — but only temporarily, he hopes.
The omicron surge has created staffing shortages as nurses and aides call in sick, and the strict testing requirements have the effect of limiting visits by friends and relatives who provide crucial care and contact for some residents, bathing and grooming them, overseeing their diets and medications, and making sure they're not being neglected.
Nationally, a federal mandate requires all workers in federally funded facilities to be fully vaccinated by Feb. 28. The deadline was extended to March 15 for 24 states that challenged the requirement in court. Last month, California issued a similar order, which also requires nursing home staffers to receive booster shots by Feb. 1.
However, while vaccination rates for staff members and residents are high in California (96% for staffers and 89% for residents), only 52% of nursing home workers and 68% of their residents in California have received boosters, according to Jan. 23 figures from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. At Victorian Post Acute, 95% of staff and 92% of residents had been vaccinated with boosters as of Jan. 27, Kramer said.
Across the state, many unvaccinated staff members claim religious exemptions. Others say they can't get vaccinated at their workplaces and don't have time to get shots on their own, said Deborah Pacyna, a spokesperson for the California Association of Health Facilities, which represents the nursing home industry in Sacramento.
"We're going to have to deal with that as the deadline approaches. If they're not boosted, does that mean they can't work?" she asked. "That would be an extraordinary development."
The state hasn't indicated how it will enforce mandates, especially for boosters, said Tony Chicotel, a staff attorney for California Advocates for Nursing Home Reform.
Most nursing home visitors, as of Jan. 7, must be fully vaccinated — including boosters, if eligible — under California Department of Public Health requirements. Guests also must present a negative COVID test taken within one or two days, depending on the type of test. The federal government is sending four rapid tests to families that request them, and the state of California has distributed 300,000 tests to nursing homes.
That's "better than nothing," said Pacyna, but it may not be enough for families that visit several times a week. Some experts think any policy that tends to restrict visitors sets the wrong priority.
"Limiting visitation is bad psychologically," said Charlene Harrington, a professor emeritus in social and behavioral sciences at the University of California-San Francisco who has done extensive research on nursing homes. Numerous studies have shown that social isolation and loneliness can lead to depression, worsening dementia and cognitive decline, anxiety, a loss of the will to live — and increased risk of mortality from other causes.
Besides, Harrington said, most nursing home outbreaks are caused by infected staffers, who often work multiple jobs because of the low pay.
Maitely Weismann visits her 79-year-old mother, who has dementia and uses a wheelchair, at a Los Angeles residential facility several times a week. Her mother deteriorated considerably during the initial lockdown, and Weismann is doing her best to slow her mother's decline, she said.
"It's much harder to do this during the pandemic because there are so many barriers to entry," said Weismann, co-founder of the advocacy group Essential Caregivers Coalition. "Family caregivers can't actually tell if a loved one is doing OK through a screen, or a window, or a phone call."
Responding to the critical healthcare staff shortages, the CDC issued emergency guidelines in December — California followed suit in January — that allow workers who have been exposed to or test positive for COVID to return to work if they are asymptomatic.
It's a short-term, last-resort measure, Rubin said. "It's just not possible to adequately take care of people and do the daily activities of living if you don't have a nurse or caregivers. You just can't operate the place."
On one recent day alone — Jan. 24 — more than 10,300 workers were out sick — which is roughly a tenth of the combined staff in California nursing homes. To deal with the crunch, said Pacyna, "we're asking people to work extra hours, knowing that the peak is near and this isn't going to last forever."
In the meantime, families continue to worry about their loved ones. "When residents are isolated, they become completely dependent on the caregivers in the facility," Weismann said. "But when staff stops coming to work, the system falls apart."
In a few short months, states have gone from donating surplus rapid COVID-19 tests to states with shortages to hoarding them as demand driven by the spike in cases strains supplies.
Last January, North Dakota had amassed 2.7 million Abbott Laboratories BinaxNOW rapid COVID tests from the federal government — roughly 3½ tests for each person in the state of 775,000 people.
The state had so many COVID tests that it donated a total of 1 million of them to Montana and Pennsylvania as part of a sharing program among states that formed when the delta variant was the dominant strain and COVID outbreaks rippled across the nation in waves. But now that omicron has turned the entire nation into a coronavirus hot spot and driven up demand for tests everywhere, that system has been upended.
Some states are holding on to expired tests for use as a last resort. In early January, North Dakota was one of them, with a stockpile of 600,000 expired rapid tests.
"I want to make sure that our state is covered," said Nicole Brunelle, North Dakota's chief nursing officer. "The entire nation is fighting for these tests."
Jasmine Reed, a spokesperson for the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, said the state exchange program has stopped operating, and while federal health officials are working to get it going again, the timing is unclear. "Once COVID-19 and its variants began to ramp up and more testing was needed, states no longer had a surplus to provide extra tests," Reed said.
By early January, some states, including Montana and Indiana, had depleted their inventory of rapid COVID tests for distribution. Along with North Dakota, Florida and Maryland have held on to expired tests in hopes the federal government would extend the tests' shelf life.
The inevitable result: States have gone from cooperation to competition.
"Emergency management and federal assistance across the country is built on the idea that we won't have a need everywhere at once," said Ken Sturrock, a Colorado-based regional emergency coordinator for the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services.
The state test exchange program was created amid concerns that tests would expire unused. Federal health agencies built an online platform that states could use to relay what they had or needed.
Some states have gone outside the program to exchange tests. For example, Mississippi donated more than 79,000 tests to Pennsylvania in November, said Jim Craig, senior deputy for the Mississippi State Department of Health.
For the states that participated, the exchange program was effective in identifying and shipping tests to places in need across the country through much of 2021. Colorado, for instance, received tests from five states from May through August of last year, bringing in about 340,000 kits that were close to expiring.
Some donations went farther. When nationwide demand for testing diminished early last year, the Arkansas Department of Health couldn't find a state to take 300,000 tests close to expiring. Danyelle McNeill, a department spokesperson, said Arkansas donated the tests to India, where the delta variant was first identified, in late winter 2021.
Brunelle, North Dakota's chief nursing officer, said the state expanded access to its supply of tests to schools, businesses, health providers, and others, offering free kits and training to those who would use them. Even then, Brunelle said, the state had more tests than it could distribute before they expired.
In January 2021, North Dakota sent 250,000 tests to Montana. Demand in Montana was low at the time, but Jon Ebelt, a spokesperson for the state Department of Public Health and Human Services, said the state "did not want to turn down free tests" after supplies had been tight earlier in the pandemic.
That summer, Montana sent 51,000 of those tests to Colorado.
But by January 2022, Montana's supplies had been depleted. Health officials notified school districts that the pool of BinaxNOW test kits had run dry. The state worked through suppliers to order 650,000 tests and planned to start distributing them on Jan. 30. Montana Gov. Greg Gianforte, a Republican, blamed the Biden administration, saying it had repeatedly failed to increase testing supplies.
The Biden administration has created a website where households can sign up to receive four free tests, and officials have said tests are expected to ship within seven to 12 days of orders being placed. But that initial rollout raised access issues for some of the most vulnerable.
In fall 2021, North Dakota sent 750,000 rapid tests to the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia. Dr. David Rubin, the hospital's director of population health innovation, said the hospital distributed those supplies to a school-based testing program in southeastern Pennsylvania.
Rubin said that without the federal platform, the hospital is trying to get more tests for the program through federal agencies but that the line for them is long.
"We're starting to imagine a world with less testing right now because it's the reality," Rubin said.
In some cases, the FDA has extended the shelf life for certain tests, most recently this month when it put a 15-month life span on Abbott's at-home tests.
Amid the shortage, states have also sought permission to use outdated stock still on their shelves. Andy Owen, a spokesperson for the Maryland Department of Health, said that on Jan. 18, the FDA gave the state an additional three months to use 97,000 expired rapid tests that must be administered by a provider. That's after Florida got another three-month extension to use roughly 1 million test kits that had expired at the end of December.
The Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services released guidelines in 2020 that allowed states to use expired tests "until non-expired supplies become available."
New Mexico Department of Health spokesperson Katy Diffendorfer said the state told a school that it could use older tests after the school's supply dwindled to outdated kits. "They desperately needed to be able to test," Diffendorfer said, adding that the state would send non-expired tests as soon as possible.
In North Dakota, which once had an abundance of tests, Brunelle said the state was starting to see access issues this winter, especially in rural places. The state has been careful about sending tests out, even within the state. North Dakota stalled its program to distribute tests to businesses, which Brunelle hopes is temporary.
"Right now, we need to keep our priority with our healthcare system, our first responders, our vulnerable populations," she said.
Because of a significant increase in federal tax credits, many people qualify for generous coverage without paying a penny in monthly premiums.
This audio presentation was released on Friday, January 28, 2022 by Kaiser Health News.
KHN Southern California correspondent Bernard J. Wolfson was on "Línea Abierta," a Radio Bilingüe weekday news program, answering questions for a Spanish-speaking audience about his recent column on health plan enrollment through California's Affordable Care Act marketplace, Covered California.
Wolfson's column discusses the extraordinary deals available through Covered California. Because of a significant increase in federal tax credits, many people qualify for generous coverage without paying a penny in monthly premiums. Others, with higher incomes, qualify for tax credits large enough to reduce their premiums to easily affordable levels.
But, as Wolfson notes, some enrollees are facing sticker shock: People who received unemployment benefits for at least one week last year paid only $1 a month for comprehensive coverage in 2021, as a result of a federal rule that looks unlikely to be renewed for 2022.
Covered California's annual enrollment period ends Jan. 31, but people who undergo certain life-altering changes — losing a job, getting divorced, having or adopting a child, for example — can enroll anytime.
A three-judge federal appeals court panel in Connecticut has likely ended an 11-year fight against a frustrating and confusing rule that left hundreds of thousands of Medicare beneficiaries without coverage for nursing home care, and no way to challenge a denial.
The Jan. 25 ruling, which came in response to a 2011 class-action lawsuit eventually joined by 14 beneficiaries against the Department of Health and Human Services, will guarantee patients the right to appeal to Medicare for nursing home coverage if they were admitted to a hospital as an inpatient but were switched to observation care, an outpatient service.
The court's decision applies only to people with traditional Medicare whose status was changed from inpatient to observation. A hospital services review team can make this change during or after a patient's stay.
Observation care is a classification designed for patients who are not well enough to go home but still need the kind of care they can get only in a hospital. But it can have serious repercussions.
Without a three-day inpatient stay, beneficiaries are ineligible for Medicare's nursing home benefit. So if they need follow-up care in a nursing home after leaving the hospital, they can face charges of about $290 a day, the average national cost of nursing home care, according to a 2021 survey. Also, since observation care is categorized as outpatient treatment — even if the patient is on a hospital ward — they can get stuck with significant copays under Medicare rules.
"You can appeal almost every issue affecting your Medicare coverage except this one, and that is unfair," said Alice Bers, litigation director at the Center for Medicare Advocacy, which represented the patients in their lawsuit along with Justice in Aging, another advocacy group, and the California law firm of Wilson Sonsini Goodrich and Rosati.
Until Congress passed a law that took effect in 2017, hospitals weren't required to tell patients whether they were receiving observation care and had not been admitted. Under that law, hospitals must provide written notice, but it does not trigger any right to appeal.
The Department of Justice, representing HHS and the Medicare program, tried numerous times to get the case dismissed, arguing that the decision to admit patients or classify them as "observation patients" was based on a doctor's or hospital's medical expertise. Patients had nothing to appeal because the government can't change a decision it didn't make, so no Medicare rule had been violated.
Doctors rejected that notion and have long complained that the Medicare rule undermined their clinical judgment and produced "absurd results" that can hurt patients. The American Medical Association and state medical societies filed legal papers in support of the patients challenging the rule, as did several other organizations, including AARP, the National Disability Rights Network, and the American Healthcare Association, which represents nursing homes across the country.
But U.S. District Judge Michael Shea ruled against HHS in 2020, and estimated that hundreds of thousands of Medicare patients would be able to seek refunds for nursing home care and other costs that admitted patients don't pay. The trial took place in 2019.
The government continued to back the rule, however, and asked a federal appeals court panel to reverse Shea's decision — despite comments from then-chief of Medicare Seema Verma, who questioned these policies in a 2019 tweet, saying that "government doesn't always make sense."
On Jan. 25, the appeals court judges upheld Shea's decision, agreeing that when hospitals switched a patient's status they were following Medicare's 2013 "two-midnight rule." It requires hospitals to admit patients who are expected to stay through two midnights. The ruling applies to people in traditional Medicare.
"The decision to reclassify a hospital patient from an inpatient to one receiving observation services may have significant and detrimental impacts on plaintiffs' financial, psychological, and physical well-being," the judges wrote. "That there is currently no recourse available to challenge that decision also weighs heavily in favor of a finding that plaintiffs have not been afforded the process required by the Constitution."
A DOJ spokesperson declined to comment on whether government lawyers would appeal the new ruling.
Three groups of Medicare patients who were switched from inpatient to observation status after Jan.1, 2009, will be able to file appeals for nursing home coverage and reimbursement for out-of-pocket costs. People currently in the hospital will be able to request an expedited appeal, and others who have recently incurred costs can file a standard appeal by following instructions in their Medicare Summary Notice. A plan for appealing older claims has not yet been arranged, said Bers. The latest details are available on the Center for Medicare Advocacy's website. (The three-day inpatient hospital stay requirement is temporarily suspended due to the COVID-19 pandemic.)
Observation status also causes trouble for people like Andrew Roney, 70, of Teaneck, New Jersey, who was caught unawares when he was switched from inpatient to observation status. He had Medicare's Part A hospitalization coverage, which is free for most people 65 and older. But he didn't sign up for Part B, which carries a monthly premium and covers outpatient services, including observation care, doctor visits, lab tests, and X-rays. He spent three days in a nearby hospital for an intestinal infection in 2016.
Roney, a freelance editor and substitute teacher, didn't think he needed Part B and assumed Part A would cover his hospital stay. Instead, he was surprised to get a $5,000 bill because he was classified as an observation patient and was not admitted. Despite his best efforts, there was nothing he could do about it except to pay up.
"It came as a shock to the system," said Roney, who testified in the 2019 trial. "I don't want anybody else to go through that." Although he had given up hope of getting his money back, he intends to file an appeal now that he can. "It's a nice chunk of change."
In a state with the motto "Freedom and Unity," freedom has largely yielded to unity, and the state's pandemic response has been met with eager compliance.
This article was published on Friday, January 28, 2022 in Kaiser Health News.
Even Eden, a snow-covered paradise in northern Vermont, is poisoned by omicron.
The nearly vertical ascent of new coronavirus cases in recent weeks, before peaking in mid-January, affected nearly every mountain hamlet, every shuttered factory town, every frozen bucolic college campus in this state despite its near-perfect vaccination record.
Of all the states, Vermont appeared best prepared for the omicron battle: It is the nation's most vaccinated state against COVID, with nearly 80% of residents fully vaccinated — and 95% of residents age 65 and up, the age group considered most vulnerable to serious risk of COVID.
Yet, even this super-vaxxed state has not proved impenetrable. The state in mid-January hit record highs for residents hospitalized with COVID-19; elective surgeries in some Vermont hospitals are on hold; and schools and day care centers are in a tailspin from the numbers of staff and teacher absences and students quarantined at home. Hospitals are leaning on Federal Emergency Management Agency paramedics and EMTs.
And, in a troubling sign of what lies ahead for the remaining winter months: about 1 in 10 COVID tests in Vermont are positive, a startling rise from the summer months when the delta variant on the loose elsewhere in the country barely registered here.
"It shows how transmissible omicron is," said Dr. Trey Dobson, chief medical officer at Southwestern Vermont Medical Center, a nonprofit hospital in Bennington. "Even if someone is vaccinated, you're going to breathe it in, it's going to replicate, and if you test, you're going to be positive."
But experts are quick to note that Vermont also serves as a window into what's possible as the U.S. learns to live with COVID. Although nearly universal vaccination could not keep the highly mutated omicron variant from sweeping through the state, Vermont's collective measures do appear to be protecting residents from the worst of the contagion's damage. Vermont's COVID-related hospitalization rates, while higher than last winter's peak, still rank last in the nation. And overall death rates also rank comparatively low.
Children in Vermont are testing positive for COVID, and pediatric hospitalizations have increased. But an accompanying decrease in other seasonal pediatric illnesses, like influenza and respiratory syncytial virus, and the vaccinated status of the majority of the state's eligible children has eased the strain on hospitals that many other states are facing.
"I have to remind people that cases don't mean disease, and I think we're seeing that in Vermont," said Dr. Rebecca Bell, a pediatric critical care specialist at the University of Vermont Health Network in Burlington, the only pediatric intensive care hospital in the state. "We have a lot of cases, but we're not seeing a lot of severe disease and hospitalization."
She added, "I have not admitted a vaccinated child to the hospital with COVID."
Vermont in many ways embodies the future the Biden administration and public health officials aim to usher in: high vaccination rates across all races and ethnicities; adherence to evolving public health guidelines; and a stick-to-itiveness and social cohesion when the virus is swarming. There is no "good enough" in Vermont, a state of just 645,000 residents. While vaccination efforts among adults and children have stalled elsewhere, Vermont is pressing hard to better its near-perfect score.
"We have a high percentage of kids vaccinated, but we could do better," said Dobson.
He continues to urge unvaccinated patients to attend his weekly vaccination clinic. The "first-timers" showing up seem to have held off due to schedules or indifference rather than major reservations about the vaccines. "They are nonchalant about it," he said. "I ask, 'Why now?' And they say, 'My job required it.'"
Replicating Vermont's success may prove difficult.
"There is a New England small-town dynamic," said Dr. Tim Lahey, director of clinical ethics at the University of Vermont Medical Center in Burlington. "It's easy to imagine how your behavior impacts your neighbor and an expectation that we take care of each other."
While other rural states in the Midwest and South have struggled to boost vaccination rates, New England, in general, is outpacing the pack. Behind Vermont, Rhode Island, Maine, and Connecticut have the highest percentage of fully vaccinated residents in the country.
"It's something beyond just the size," said Dr. Ben Lee, an associate professor at the Robert Larner, M.D. College of Medicine at the University of Vermont. "There is a sense of communal responsibility here that is a bit unique."
In a state with the motto "Freedom and Unity," freedom has largely yielded to unity, and the state's pandemic response has been met with eager compliance. "The general attitude here has been enthusiasm to be safer," said Lahey.
Lahey credits the state's Republican governor, Phil Scott, who has been "unambivalent about pro-vax messaging." Combined with a "tendency to trust the vaccine, you get a different outcome than in places where political leaders are exploiting that minority voice and whipping people up in anger."
Vermont's medical leaders are advising state leaders to shift from a COVID war footing — surveillance testing, contact tracing, quarantines, and lockdowns — to rapprochement: testing for COVID only if the outcome will change how doctors treat a patient; ceasing school-based surveillance testing and contact tracing; and recommending that students with symptoms simply recuperate at home.
Once the omicron wave passes and less virus is circulating, Dobson said, a highly vaccinated state like Vermont "could really drop nearly all mitigation measures and society would function well." Vermonters will become accustomed to taking appropriate measures to protect themselves, he said, not unlike wearing seat belts and driving cautiously to mitigate the risk of a car accident. "And yet," he added, "it's never zero risk."
Spared the acrimony and bitterness that has alienated neighbor from neighbor in other states, Vermont may have something else in short supply elsewhere: stamina.
"All of us are just exhausted," said Lahey, the ethics director. But "we're exhausted with friends."
A boisterous political battle over a proposed expansion by the largest and most expensive hospital system in Massachusetts is spotlighting questions about whether similar expansions by big health systems around the country drive up healthcare costs.
Mass General Brigham, which owns 11 hospitals in the state, has proposed a $2.3 billion expansion including a new 482-bed tower at its flagship Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston and a 78-bed addition to Brigham and Women's Faulkner Hospital. The most controversial element, however, is a plan to build three comprehensive ambulatory care centers, offering physician services, surgery, and diagnostic imaging, in three suburbs west of Boston.
On Jan. 25, the state's 11-member Health Policy Commission unanimously concluded that these expansions would drive up spending for commercially insured residents by as much as $90 million a year and boost health insurance premiums.
The commission also ordered Mass General Brigham to develop an 18-month "performance improvement plan" to slow its cost growth. The action, believed to be the first time in the country a hospital has been ordered to develop a plan to control costs, reflects concern about giant hospitals' role in rising healthcare costs.
Other states, including California, Delaware, Oregon, Rhode Island, and Washington, have created or are considering commissions on healthcare costs with the authority to analyze the market impact of mergers and expansions. That's happening because the traditional "determination of need" process for approving health facility expansions, which nearly three dozen states still have in place, has not been effective in the current era of health system giants, said Maureen Hensley-Quinn, a senior program director at the National Academy for State Health Policy.
The Mass General Brigham health system, which generates $15.7 billion in annual operating revenue, announced that the massive expansion would better serve its existing patients, including 227,000 who live outside Boston. Its leaders said the new facilities would not raise health spending in the state, where policymakers are alarmed that cost growth in 2019 hit 4.3%, exceeding the state's target of 3.1%.
The hospitals' cost-analysis report, submitted to the state last month, concluded that the system's existing patients would pay lower prices at the new suburban sites than at its downtown locations. John Fernandez, president of Mass General Brigham Integrated Care, projected that prices at the new centers would be 25% less, and he said patients will not have to pay extra hospital "facility fees" at the new outpatient sites.
"We're all going to have a tsunami of patients over the next 20 years given the aging population, and everyone has to step up to meet that demand," he said in explaining the expansion.
But a well-funded coalition of competing hospitals, labor unions, and chambers of commerce argues that Mass General Brigham's invasion of the Boston suburbs would spike total spending by drawing in patients from lower-priced physicians and hospitals. They cite the health system's own planning projection, unearthed by the attorney general's office in a November report, that the expansion would boost annual profits by $385 million.
"How could you be fooled?" said Dr. Eric Dickson, CEO of UMass Memorial Healthcare, a safety-net health system serving the towns west of Boston that is part of the coalition of expansion opponents. "If you let the state's most expensive system grow wildly, it will drive up the cost of care."
The controversy signals a shift in the concerns about the cause of rapidly escalating healthcare costs. Up to now, state and federal policymakers examining how hospital system growth affects costs have largely focused on hospital mergers and purchases of physician practices. Studies have found that these deals significantly boost prices to consumers, employers, and insurers. State and federal regulators have stepped up antitrust scrutiny of mergers and acquisitions.
Deep-pocketed hospital systems increasingly are turning to solo expansion to gain a bigger share of the market. These expansions fall outside the legal authority of antitrust enforcers.
Health systems are building satellite ambulatory care centers to attract more well-insured patients and steer them to their own hospitals and other facilities, said Glenn Melnick, a health economist at the University of Southern California.
"The outcome is the same as a merger — capturing patients and keeping them," he said. "That's not necessarily good for consumers in terms of access to care or cost efficiency."
Critics of Mass General Brigham's plans also warn that the expansion would financially destabilize providers that heavily serve lower-income and minority residents because some of their more affluent patients would move to the new facilities. Those patients' commercial insurance plans pay nearly three times what the state's Medicaid program pays.
"It's a very, very good business move for MGB," said Dickson, whose system serves a large percentage of Medicaid patients. "But they know quite well this will impact our ability to care for vulnerable populations."
The Health Policy Commission agreed with those opposing the expansion and said it would advise the state Public Health Council — which will decide on the three expansion applications by April — that the proposals are not consistent with the state's goals for cost containment.
"Our strong assessment is this would substantially increase spending," said Stuart Altman, a health policy professor at Brandeis University who chairs the commission. In addition, "there is a clear indication it would reduce revenues to those institutions we count on to provide services to lower-income and historically marginalized communities."
In a written statement, Mass General Brigham ripped the commission's findings as flawed. It also disagreed with the commission's decision to require a cost-improvement plan but said it would work with the agency to address the challenge.
Under Massachusetts' determination of need process, Mass General Brigham must show the Public Health Council that its expansion proposals would contribute to the state's goals for cost containment, improved public health outcomes, and delivery system transformation.
The council has never blocked a project on cost grounds in its nearly 50-year history, said Dr. Paul Hattis, a former member of the Health Policy Commission. He argues that Massachusetts needs more explicit statutory power to decide whether health system expansions are good for the public, because he doesn't think the council understands its own regulation.
A bill passed by the Massachusetts House of Representatives last fall would give the commission, which was created in 2012, greater authority to investigate the cost and market impact of such expansions. Its legislative fate is uncertain.
Upping the stakes in the Massachusetts expansion fight: Massachusetts General Hospital charges by far the highest prices in the state, and Brigham and Women's Hospital isn't far behind.
Patients with a Mass General Brigham primary care physician had the highest total per-member spending in 2019, nearly $700 per month, according to the Health Policy Commission. That was 45% higher than spending for patients served by doctors at Reliant, which is owned by UnitedHealth Group's Optum unit. Average payments for major outpatient surgery at Massachusetts General and Brigham and Women's were nearly twice as high as at the state's lowest-paid high-volume hospital.
For three years, Rachel Makkar said, she thrived in her job as a broker and asset manager at J&B Building Co. in Colorado. She excelled at her work — she said her performance reviews noted that — and she thought it was "the best place I've ever worked."
That changed in August. After trying for "a really long time" to conceive a second child, she suffered an early miscarriage at home one weekend. She couldn't go to work that Monday. "I was really traumatized," she said. "That entire first week was like a heightened level of emotion that I hadn't really been through before." She also had a doctor's appointment to ensure she wasn't experiencing an ectopic pregnancy, which would have required immediate surgery.
She had emailed her bosses, informing them of the miscarriage and her need to take Monday off, which she had enough paid leave to cover. Because of the pandemic, she had been working from home several days a week and opted to do that again Tuesday because she was still bleeding and her face was "so puffy from crying," she said. She returned to the office, as scheduled, on Wednesday, she said, and then, given that her managers were out of the office, worked from home the rest of the week.
The following week, 10 days after her miscarriage, one of the company owners called her and fired her, allegedly for working from home repeatedly, even though others at the firm had similar hybrid schedules, according to Makkar. She was "shocked."
When Makkar reminded him that she had worked from home because of her miscarriage, she said he responded, "When my wife had a miscarriage in the beginning of our marriage, she only took a half a day off work."
Getting fired right after her miscarriage "was really, really awful," she said through tears. "You're already so devastated, and it's just another blow."
Makker filed a complaint based on her allegations against J&B with the Colorado Civil Rights Division, accusing the company of gender and pregnancy discrimination for her firing, in violation of Colorado state laws. "This shouldn't have to happen to other women," she said.
A lawyer for J&B said its policy is not to comment on ongoing litigation and declined to provide any responses the company may have filed with the state. "We're just confident that once the facts are reviewed the company will be vindicated," he said.
Miscarriage, which occurs in about a quarter of all pregnancies, is the most common form of loss of a pregnancy. And yet there are no national laws that protect people when they need time off from work to deal with the loss.
The physical needs of someone who experiences a miscarriage vary greatly. Within the first week or two, symptoms may resemble a heavy menstrual period with cramping and some pain. The later in the pregnancy that a miscarriage occurs, the more likely there will be significant bleeding, "to the point where it leads to anemia in some cases," said Dr. Wael Salem, a reproductive endocrinologist and fertility specialist with CCRM San Francisco. Some people have such heavy contractions that they need pain management, he added. Miscarriages in the second trimester or later may require procedures needing hospital admission. The aftereffects are often unpredictable and can last for weeks or months.
"Miscarriage is not a one-and-done thing at all," Salem said. "It drags on physically, mentally, and emotionally."
The emotional aspect "can be a very traumatic experience," noted Maria Brann, a professor of communications studies at Indiana University who has studied miscarriage for a decade. Some people blame themselves even though the vast majority of early miscarriages are due to chromosomal abnormalities beyond people's control. Compounding the grief is the lack of established rituals that accompany other losses, as well as a stigma some people attach to miscarriage.
In the wake of such trauma, "it's very difficult to focus," Brann said. "An individual is probably not going to be as productive."
"It is really important that we encourage women to take care of themselves," Brann said. Otherwise, the grief won't be processed and it can "cause even greater mental anguish later on."
But many workers find it difficult to get time off from work. The federal Pregnancy Discrimination Act prohibits employers from treating workers who are pregnant, give birth, or have related medical conditions — including miscarriage — worse than comparable co-workers. Courts, however, have interpreted that law differently, even after a 2015 Supreme Court decision decided in favor of a plaintiff who claimed pregnancy discrimination. Judges have dismissed two-thirds of cases in the aftermath, according to a review by A Better Balance, a national legal nonprofit promoting workplace rights.
Thirty states and five localities — including Colorado — have enacted laws that require employers to offer workers accommodations related to pregnancy, which can include time off to recover from a miscarriage. But outside those states, workers are protected only by the pregnancy act or the Americans with Disabilities Act, if a miscarriage is severe enough to substantially limit a "life activity."
Currently, 13 states, 20 cities, and four counties, also including Colorado, have enacted laws requiring some employers to provide paid sick leave to workers for medical needs, such as for the physical and mental health impacts of miscarriage. They don't require employees to say why they need the time off, other than perhaps producing a doctor's note.
"It's not putting the onus on the worker to have to reveal something that might be very personal and very sensitive," said Sarah Brafman, a senior policy counsel at A Better Balance.
Nine states and the District of Columbia have paid family leave programs, which can be used for more serious complications resulting from miscarriage. Elsewhere workers can take unpaid leave through the Family and Medical Leave Act if they qualify.
To fill the gaps, Sen. Tammy Duckworth (D-Ill.) and Rep. Ayanna Pressley (D-Mass.) introduced legislation that would ensure three days of paid leave for miscarriage and other fertility challenges. Democrats have also put forward federal legislation to guarantee paid sick leave, and they've included paid family leave in President Joe Biden's social spending plan, although that provision is meeting stiff opposition from some lawmakers and the bill is languishing in Congress.
Makkar is living with the repercussions of her miscarriage. "It's all so traumatizing still," she said. She's trying to find a new job, but the search is complicated. She's "terrified of getting myself in this situation again," she said, because she wants to have more children. "I don't want to be somewhere that that's not going to be supported."