What you need to know about the Supreme Court case that could overturn Roe v. Wade

Originally published by The 19th

The Supreme Court will hear arguments on Wednesday in a case that could end almost 50 years of guaranteed abortion rights. Audio from the arguments will be streamed on the Supreme Court’s website, beginning at 10 a.m.

Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization examines the constitutionality of a law from Mississippi that would ban abortions after 15 weeks of pregnancy, with no exceptions for rape or incest. The law has been blocked by lower courts and has not taken effect.

Mississippi’s law appears to directly violate several decades of legal precedent on abortion rights. In 1973, the Supreme Court held in Roe v. Wade that the Constitution guaranteed the right to an abortion up until a fetus can live independently outside the womb, a stage known as “fetal viability” that typically occurs around 24 weeks of pregnancy.

That decision was affirmed in a 1992 case, Planned Parenthood v. Casey, which allowed for states to restrict abortion access as long as those laws did not impose an “undue burden” for people looking to end a pregnancy. Such an “undue burden” could involve a requirement that abortions be performed in ambulatory surgical centers — a stipulation that has been shown to have little medical benefit but that has resulted in clinics closing down, making it functionally impossible for many people to get an abortion.

The court has heard cases on specific types of abortion laws, weighing in on whether different types of restrictions and regulations violate that “undue burden” standard.

But this case poses a different kind of question. It’s an outright challenge to the core protections established in 1973. In its legal filings, the state of Mississippi has argued that the court should overturn Roe v. Wade entirely and allow states to individually determine whether abortion remains legal or not.

Such a ruling could spell the end of national abortion rights — resulting in a patchwork system across the country, where someone’s ability to access an abortion easily depends entirely on where they live.

Both anti-abortion and abortion rights advocates believe that the court, which has a 6-3 conservative majority, may be receptive to Mississippi’s arguments. Three members — Neil Gorsuch, Brett Kavanaugh and Amy Coney Barrett — were appointed by former President Donald Trump, who vowed to fill the court with justices who would vote to overturn Roe v. Wade.

All three justices voted earlier this fall to allow Texas’ six-week abortion ban to take effect. In the court’s most recent abortion case, June Medical Services LLC v. Russo, Kavanaugh and Gorsuch both dissented from the majority opinion that struck down Louisiana’s abortion restrictions. In her confirmation hearings, abortion rights advocates emphasized Barrett’s historical skepticism toward Roe v. Wade.

A decision on the case is expected at the end of the court’s term next summer.

The case could have stakes beyond abortion rights. A separate brief filed by Texas Right to Life, an anti-abortion group, argues that overturning Roe v. Wade could also pave the way to undoing two separate landmark court decisions: a 2003 case known as Lawrence v. Texas that said states could not criminalize sexual conduct between two people of the same sex, and the 2015 case Obergefell v. Hodges, which found a constitutional right to LGBTQ+ marriage.

The brief argues that Roe v. Wade’s abortion rights guarantee is a “court-invented right” without constitutional basis and claims that there is no legal basis for the rights protected in Lawrence or Obergefell either.

“Lawrence and Obergefell, while far less hazardous to human life, are as lawless as Roe,” the brief argues.

But it’s not clear how the court’s justices will receive those arguments, or whether they will be a subject of discussion in Wednesday’s hearing.

A decision to overturn Roe v. Wade would have monumental impact. According to the Kaiser Family Foundation, 18 states have laws on the books that would ban abortion entirely in the event that Roe v. Wade were to be overturned.

Entire regions of the country — particularly the South and the Midwest — would likely become abortion deserts. States like Illinois, California, Colorado and Kansas could become havens for the procedure, with people traveling hundreds of miles to access care.

In Mississippi, where Jackson Women’s Health is the only abortion-providing clinic, the next closest places to seek an abortion would be Florida, Illinois and North Carolina.

The court could find another way to uphold Mississippi’s law without giving states full authority to ban abortions completely. But such a decision would still require somehow undoing Roe v. Wade’s guarantee of abortion rights up until fetal viability — suggesting that more pre-viability abortion bans may stand legal scrutiny and allowing states to enact and enforce greater restrictions.

Meanwhile, the court is still weighing arguments in two other abortion cases, examining whether either abortion providers or the federal government have the right to challenge a Texas law that bans abortions after six weeks of pregnancy. That law, which has been in effect since September 1, has offered a cursory preview of the potential impact of overturning Roe v. Wade.

The court heard arguments in those cases on November 1. It has not yet issued a decision in either.

Here’s how Texas Republicans are harming neighboring states with their extremism

Texas' six-week abortion ban is causing wait times at clinics in surrounding states to surge, according to a new analysis.

Researchers from the Texas Policy Evaluation Project at the University of Texas at Austin conducted “mystery client calls" to clinics in Oklahoma, Louisiana and New Mexico, as well as in Arkansas, to schedule abortion-related visits. The calls were placed in the middle of September, soon after the Texas law had taken effect.

According to the analysis, wait times longer than two weeks were common, and the length of time it took to get an appointment were longer in most cases compared to July 2020 (the most recent data available).

The analysis confirms reports from clinics in Texas' neighboring states, which have seen their patient loads soar since Senate Bill 8 took effect, with some saying the increase in volume may not be sustainable if it continues.

“There is early evidence, in the form of long wait times for appointments, that Texans seeking out-of-state abortion care are straining capacity at the small number of facilities in nearby states," the report said.

Delays can result in more complex procedures — and more expensive ones. Medication abortions, for instance, are often cheaper and less invasive than surgical abortions, but they are not recommended after 10 weeks of pregnancy.

A two-week delay could push someone from being able to consider a medication option to the point at which only surgery is the only viable option.

In Oklahoma City, for instance, a medication abortion costs $650 at Trust Women, an abortion clinic that has reported a surge in Texas-based patients. Patients further than 10 weeks may receive a surgical abortion instead. The procedure still costs $650 if the patient is earlier than 11.6 weeks. If the patient is later in pregnancy, though, the price goes up.

“Given that they have fewer clinics and needed to take on so many additional patients, it is not surprising to see the wait times go up. It is really putting stress on these facilities," said Kari White, the lead investigator of the Texas Policy Evaluation Project.

In Oklahoma, which has four abortion clinics, wait times ranged from five days to 23, per the report. That's about double the range that existed in July 2020, when wait times ranged between two days and 12. In Louisiana, which has three clinics, patients calling for a first visit might experience a wait time of between eight and 19 days. In July of 2020, the typical wait time was eight days.

Both Oklahoma and Louisiana require patients make two appointments for an abortion — an initial one for counseling, following by a waiting period (three days in Oklahoma and one in Louisiana) before the patient can come for an actual abortion. In Oklahoma, the first visit can be over the phone, but Louisiana's must be in person. The drive to a clinic in either state is typically hundreds of miles. Between the cost of lost wages, travel, child care, lodging and gasoline, such a trip could cost more than $1,000, per the report.

In New Mexico, which has six abortion clinics, including one only 20 miles from El Paso, wait times for an appointment in September ranged from one day to 20. In July of last year, wait times were between one days and 4.

New Mexico is the only one of Texas' neighbors not to be considering new abortion restrictions. If Oklahoma, Louisiana or other states in the region successfully implement new limitations on the procedure, that could force patients to travel even further, going hundreds of miles each way. Those journeys will likely not be affordable for many patients, the report notes.

The Texas law is currently being challenged before the Supreme Court by some of the state's abortion providers and by the Department of Justice. Oral arguments in the case are scheduled for Monday.

Originally published by The 19th

'We need every tool in our toolbox': COVID-19 Delta surge threatens to overwhelm school nurses

Originally published by The 19th

Lisa Kern thought she had a few more years left before retiring.

She had worked as a school nurse across an entire district in Central Florida for 32 years, helping kids get flu shots, managing medical concerns and crafting food allergy safety plans. She loved her job and felt deeply tied to the community. Both her children graduated from the Pasco County School District, where she worked. Her granddaughter is a student there now.

But after 2020, Kern, 62, realized she couldn't keep going.

“The circumstances we were faced with, that probably pushed me in the direction of retirement a bit sooner," she said. “Nurses across the spectrum — not just school — are leaving the field. Teachers, too. It's been hard. It's been very difficult."

Many school nurses say they — like health care professionals in all sectors — have burned out after a year of running point on coronavirus mitigation, other responsibilities, and addressing indirect health consequences of the pandemic, such as delays in kids getting other critical vaccines or soaring mental health concerns. Per CDC data, children's vaccinations dropped precipitously in 2020, as more families skipped regular wellness checks. That adds to the risk of spreading other preventable infections through the classroom.

Now, as schools reopen even with a surging Delta variant, those challenges are reemerging. Many school nurses say they are afraid, exhausted and unsure how to plan for the year ahead.

“Some days I want to stay in bed with the covers over my head. I was looking at the calendar today and I was like, 'OK, four weeks from today I'll be back in school.' And I'm like, 'What's it going to look like? Do I want to go?'" said Robin Cogan, a New Jersey-based school nurse. “I'm concerned about my colleagues. I'm concerned about kids. I'm concerned about the community."

School nurses — a workforce of almost entirely women, who are typically paid less than their hospital-based counterparts — serve as a one-stop shop for any assortment of ailments students might face: mental health concerns, chronic illnesses, playground scrapes. They monitor cases of strep throat and other common childhood infections to keep it from spreading through the school.

But in 2020, they became schools' first line of defense against COVID-19 outbreaks: serving as full-time contact tracers, coronavirus testers, disease-mitigation specialists and, eventually, vaccine administrators. Last year, Kern said, COVID-19 consumed her job. Finally, the nursing team figured out a system to make in-person schooling during a pandemic tenable, if not sustainable.

“We had mask mandates in place. We had specific protocols in place that we were following for social distancing. There was a lot of work the district did to create a safe environment for students," she said.

The COVID-19 vaccine offered a glimmer of hope of that by fall of 2021. But a new surge in cases coupled with a lagging American vaccination campaign has dimmed that optimism. As schools across the country reopen, and parents worry about the risk to children, school nurses are facing a workload once again overwhelmed by efforts to keep the pandemic at bay.

Students younger than 12 are not yet eligible for the COVID vaccine. And even among middle and high school students, vaccination rates remain low: Just more than 40 percent of kids aged 12 to 14 have gotten at least one dose of a COVID-19 vaccine, per data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. About 50 percent of people between ages 15 and 16 have gotten at least one shot. While most states are not tracking how vaccination rates of young people compare across races, what little data exists suggests that White children are far more likely to have gotten their shots than Black or Latinx kids.

The Biden administration is calling on school districts to host on-site vaccination clinics for students and eligible family members, a policy also endorsed by the National Association of School Nurses. School nurses would likely play a lead role in those efforts.

Many told The 19th they are unsure about what role they can play in encouraging students and parents to get vaccinated — they don't know how to persuade vaccine-resistant families to get a shot. If a school even has a nurse (between a fifth and a quarter of schools have no part- or full-time nurse on staff), many work in states such as Texas, Florida and Iowa, whose governments have prohibited in-school mask requirements and otherwise limited what they can do to address COVID-19.

Others don't believe it is their job to argue in favor of vaccination, but simply to make families aware of the option — even though a vast body of evidence clearly shows the shots offer high levels of protection that outweigh any risks.

“Our nurses run the spectrum from feeling like they're vaccine advocates, or trying to advocate where students can receive vaccines, all the way to the end of their jobs is just simply to report vaccination statistics," said Jennifer Kraschnewski, a professor at Penn State College of Medicine, who has studied ways the COVID-19 pandemic affected school nurses. “It's very school-dependent and nurse-dependent, what the nurse feels their role is around vaccination."

In general, young people are less vulnerable to COVID-19 complications than older adults. The Delta variant may have augmented the risk, though, with hospitals across the country reporting climbing numbers of pediatric cases. As a result, the CDC and National Association of School Nurses recommend that all people in schools this year wear masks while indoors. But states can set their own rules, directly influencing what's possible.

“Schools will take direction from the state, and states will vary widely on how they recommend handling this," Kraschnewski said.

Doreen Crowe, a school nurse, said her district west of Boston is already planning school-based vaccine clinics for the coming year. Indoor masking will be required for everyone. But in her community, a Democratic suburb in a blue state, it's an easier load. Two-thirds of the county population is already fully vaccinated against COVID-19, per data from the CDC.

In many redder states, the conservative backlash toward mask mandates has created challenges for nurses, many of whom say they feel hamstrung and unable to do their jobs.

In both Texas and Florida — which have the nation's second and third highest populations, respectively, and which together account for more than a third of new coronavirus infections right now — governors have told public schools that requiring indoor masking could jeopardize state funding. The Texas Education Association has also said parents can choose to keep sending their children to school even if they are identified as someone who was recently exposed to the coronavirus.

That creates a particular kind of challenge for nurses: balancing a job that requires caring for students and preventing disease outbreaks with state guidance that runs counter to those goals.

“There are a handful of things in Texas we have been told we are not allowed to do, and that's hard because these are things we know work," said Becca Harkleroad, a school nurse in Central Texas and advocacy chair for the Texas School Nurses Association. “You can't ask people to wear a mask. You can't require people to stay home. You can't require people to get tested. I felt safer last year coming back to school than I do this year."

Harkleroad and her team of nurses have all been vaccinated. She has told her staff that they are “ethically and duty bound to advocate for our families to vaccinate their kids if they're able." But she's unsure how to convince people who have not gotten a shot yet to do so now. And even more critically, she feels unable to plan for a safe school year.

“We need every tool in our toolbox, and it feels like they're getting taken away," she said.

Her district's plan changes almost daily, based on what the state has allowed. They are so focused on simply trying to devise some kind of COVID-safe protocol that she can hardly imagine having the resources or bandwidth to host something like a vaccine clinic.

And on top of their work, they've faced verbal harassment from parents critical of mask requirements, or skeptical of vaccines. They're exhausted.

“Our nurses have been yelled at a lot and cussed at. That's stressful and undesirable, but it's thrown on top of all the things we already do as school nurses," she said. “In addition to the stuff we already do, having COVID placed on top of that — it's exhausting. It's physically and mentally exhausting."

Meanwhile, many worry, the coming year will bring concerns well beyond COVID-19 mitigation: other school health concerns have been exacerbated by the pandemic. Nurses expressed worries about how to address student mental health, which experts say has suffered over the past year. Already, school nurses were frequently the first point of contact for students experiencing physical symptoms of anxiety or depression.

“The mental health piece, I think that's going to be huge," said Crowe, the Massachusetts school nurse. “School nurses provide a lot of mental health and behavioral interventions and I suspect we'll see a lot more of that."

How high uninsured rates could be contributing to America's pregnancy-related death crisis

The United States ranks worse than any other wealthy nation for pregnancy-related health, and new data suggests high rates of uninsurance among low-income people could be a reason why.

The research, published Monday in the journal Health Affairs, looks specifically at pregnant people covered by Medicaid, the public insurance program for low-income people. Though eligibility varies from state to state, people can generally qualify for Medicaid coverage even with higher incomes while they are pregnant and can keep that insurance for up to six weeks postpartum.

Experts have long worried that isn't sufficient to ensure healthy births. If people are uninsured before they get pregnant, they could develop conditions that lead to complications in the delivery room. And more than a third of all pregnancy-related deaths actually occur between 45 days and a year postpartum — deaths that are mostly preventable if the person has access to high-quality medical care.

But so far, data has been lacking to show the extent of the problem. The Health Affairs study offers a first look. And the numbers, experts say, are both unsurprising and troubling.

Of people who are covered while pregnant by Medicaid — which insures about half of all the country's births — more than 34.5 percent were uninsured either before pregnancy or between two and six months postpartum, what's known as the perinatal period.

Rates of uninsured people were significantly higher in states that declined the Affordable Care Act's option to expand the qualifying income bracket for Medicaid — about 50 percent were uninsured during the perinatal period. Across racial groups, the uninsured rate was greatest among people identified as Hispanic and who primarily spoke Spanish. About 37 percent indicated they lacked insurance before pregnancy or after giving birth.

That's a big problem, said study author Emily Johnston, a senior research associate at the Urban Institute, a Washington, D.C.-based think tank.

“The system has been so focused on the prenatal period because it's when there is lots of health care use, and it's a finite period of care," she said. “But people's lives outside of that period impact health during pregnancy."

Untreated diabetes, hypertension and obesity can result in far worse outcomes for people who give birth but can be managed if someone has regular access to good medical care before conceiving. People without insurance also may not be able to access family planning, making it harder to choose if they even want to get pregnant. (About half of the nation's pregnancies are unintended.)

After delivery, there are concerns about postpartum depression and physical complications. Without insurance, getting treatment for any of those is far more difficult.

“It just really shows the gaps in coverage during this important period," Johnston said.

But the access problems aren't uniform. Johnston pointed to the high percentage of Spanish-speaking people who lacked insurance — a category the researchers used as a proxy to estimate coverage rates for people who had recently immigrated.

That's not surprising, said Kelsie Landers, policy director at EverThrive, an Illinois-based organization that advocates for pregnancy-related health. It's long been clear that people who are recent immigrants are less likely to use public benefits such as Medicaid. It's a consequence, she said, of the Trump administration's four years of anti-immigrant rhetoric, which included a regulatory effort to count use of public benefits such against people's green card applications. (The policy never took effect, and the Biden administration has taken steps toward undoing it.)

And in general, she said, there has been little outreach to ensure that recent immigrants know if they are eligible for Medicaid — meaning they aren't likely to have had regular health care leading up to when they get pregnant.

“The immigration coverage issue is one we've been talking about for a really long time," Landers said.

The recent American Rescue Plan Act took steps toward making more people eligible for some form of health insurance. It gave states the option to extend pregnancy-related Medicaid, so that people could stay insured for a year, rather than six weeks, postpartum. It also included incentives meant to steer more states toward adopting the ACA Medicaid expansion. (Currently, 29 million Americans are uninsured — 2.2 million of them lack coverage because they live in a state that did not expand Medicaid.)

But experts worry that still isn't enough. Not everyone who lacks coverage will be able to afford a health plan. And it's not clear how many states that have declined to expand Medicaid will suddenly change their minds.

Meanwhile, some states, such as Mississippi, have already opted not to extend postpartum Medicaid, meaning pregnant people will still lose that coverage after six weeks. So while caring for a new baby, those new parents will either have to scramble to find new coverage — a cumbersome and often expensive option — or they will stay uninsured.

Health insurance is only one part of the puzzle. The Health Affairs data, for instance, showed roughly equal perinatal uninsurance rates for Black and White people who had Medicaid coverage while pregnant. But pregnancy-related outcomes are far worse for Black people than they are for White — a disparity that plays a large role in the nation's disastrous international health ranking.

“Just because you have access to health insurance, doesn't mean you have access to care, or that the care you have access to is beneficial or good to you," said Katy Kozhimannil, an associate professor at the University of Minnesota School of Public Health.

Research shows that coverage plays a large role, she added — and evidence has linked higher insurance rates to better health outcomes. But other problems, like implicit bias, also need to be addressed.

“There's more we have to do than expanding access to Medicaid to address racial equity in birth. It's a 'both, and,'" Kozhimannil said.

Data shows that even when White and Black people enter pregnancy with the same health conditions, death is more likely for Black people. Qualitative analyses suggest it's in part because doctors are more prone to misdiagnose or dismiss health concerns when the patients are Black.

“There's not one solution," Landers said. “We need implicit bias training, more perinatal support, more coverage for families — and more ways people can keep their coverage, not just fall off because they didn't check the right box."

Originally published by The 19th

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