Women's Health

Women with a history of stage III to stage IV breast cancer had significantly more pathologic vertebral fractures compared to those with stage I and stage II disease, based on data from approximately 5,000 adult women.

Breast cancer remains associated with increased fracture risk in part because of estrogen deficiency, aromatase inhibitors, frailty, and skeletal metastases, wrote Joan C. Lo, MD, of Kaiser Permanente Northern California, Oakland, and colleagues. Fractures associated with these factors have been studied, but many of the existing epidemiologic studies lack detail on fractures related to cancer, they noted. The researchers examined the association between pathologic fractures and major osteoporotic fractures in women with invasive breast cancer who received endocrine therapy.

In a study published in JAMA Network Open (2021 Nov 18. doi: 10.1001/jamanetworkopen.2021.33861), the researchers reviewed data from 5,010 women enrolled in the Pathways Study (3,312 women) or Research Program on Genes, Environment, and Health (RPGEH) study (1,698 women) with newly diagnosed invasive breast cancer who received endocrine therapy. The women were followed for up to 10 years for incident fracture, with a median follow-up period of 6.7 years.

The average age of the women was 60.2 years; 73.3% were non-Hispanic White, 4.9% were Black, 9.4% were Hispanic, and 1.6% were women whose ethnicity was unknown. Approximately 90% of the women were at stage I to stage II at initial diagnosis.

Overall, 340 (6.8%) had incident fractures during the follow-up period. The incident fractures included 46 hip, 104 vertebral, 78 humerus, and 137 wrist fractures. Significantly more women with hip fracture (43.5%) were age 80 years or older, compared with less than 25% of women with vertebral fractures (22.1%), humerus (19.2%), or wrist fracture (15.3%).

Pathologic fractures accounted for 22 of 104 incident vertebral fractures (21.2%) and fewer than 5 of 46 incident hip fractures (8.7%); few wrist and humerus fractures were pathologic. According to tumor stage, 15 of 87 (17.2%) vertebral fractures in women with initial stage I and II were pathologic, compared to 7 of 17 (41.2%) in women with initial stage III to stage IV breast cancer (P < .05).

The results emphasized the need to consider vertebral fracture risk in women with breast cancer, notably advanced stage cancer, as approximately one-third of the incident vertebral fractures in this subset of patients was deemed cancer-related, the researchers noted.

“As the axial skeleton is a common site for breast cancer metastasis and vertebrae a common site for pathologic fracture, primary care physicians should consider the possibility of pathologic fracture in women with higher risk based on advanced-stage cancer history,” the researchers wrote.

The study findings were limited by several factors, including the lack of data on fracture risk factors, treatment, and chemotherapy, and the inclusion only of clinically diagnosed fractures and not asymptomatic vertebral fractures, the researchers noted. However, the results were strengthened by the large sample size and comprehensive fracture assessment, they said. Additional studies to examine nonpathologic fracture risk according to breast cancer treatment, such as the use of aromatase inhibitors versus cytotoxic chemotherapy, may inform which women would benefit from more aggressive osteoporotic fracture prevention, they concluded.
 

Findings inform shared decision-making

“This study highlights the apparent association between an initial diagnosis of stage III or IV breast cancer and an increased risk for pathologic vertebral fracture,” said Constance Bohon, MD, a gynecologist in private practice in Washington, D.C., in an interview. “Most likely this finding is secondary to breast cancer metastases,” Dr. Bohon noted. However, she questioned whether there is a difference in fracture rates between women who received only aromatase inhibitors, those who received tamoxifen, and those who received both treatments.

“Additional data to determine the age of menopause, exercise frequency, current weight, and family history of osteoporosis may serve to identify those at highest risk for pathologic vertebral fracture,” said Dr. Bohon. “Until further data are available, clinicians should review this study and counsel their patients regarding options to potentially mitigate their apparent increased risk for pathologic vertebral fracture,” she emphasized.

The study was supported by the National Cancer Institute, National Institutes of Health, and the Research Program on Genes, Environment, and Health of Kaiser Permanente Northern California. The researchers had no financial conflicts to disclose. Dr. Bohon had no financial conflicts to disclose but serves on the Editorial Advisory Board of Ob.Gyn. News.

obnews@mdedge.com

Women with a history of stage III to stage IV breast cancer had significantly more pathologic vertebral fractures compared to those with stage I and stage II disease, based on data from approximately 5,000 adult women.

Breast cancer remains associated with increased fracture risk in part because of estrogen deficiency, aromatase inhibitors, frailty, and skeletal metastases, wrote Joan C. Lo, MD, of Kaiser Permanente Northern California, Oakland, and colleagues. Fractures associated with these factors have been studied, but many of the existing epidemiologic studies lack detail on fractures related to cancer, they noted. The researchers examined the association between pathologic fractures and major osteoporotic fractures in women with invasive breast cancer who received endocrine therapy.

In a study published in JAMA Network Open (2021 Nov 18. doi: 10.1001/jamanetworkopen.2021.33861), the researchers reviewed data from 5,010 women enrolled in the Pathways Study (3,312 women) or Research Program on Genes, Environment, and Health (RPGEH) study (1,698 women) with newly diagnosed invasive breast cancer who received endocrine therapy. The women were followed for up to 10 years for incident fracture, with a median follow-up period of 6.7 years.

The average age of the women was 60.2 years; 73.3% were non-Hispanic White, 4.9% were Black, 9.4% were Hispanic, and 1.6% were women whose ethnicity was unknown. Approximately 90% of the women were at stage I to stage II at initial diagnosis.

Overall, 340 (6.8%) had incident fractures during the follow-up period. The incident fractures included 46 hip, 104 vertebral, 78 humerus, and 137 wrist fractures. Significantly more women with hip fracture (43.5%) were age 80 years or older, compared with less than 25% of women with vertebral fractures (22.1%), humerus (19.2%), or wrist fracture (15.3%).

Pathologic fractures accounted for 22 of 104 incident vertebral fractures (21.2%) and fewer than 5 of 46 incident hip fractures (8.7%); few wrist and humerus fractures were pathologic. According to tumor stage, 15 of 87 (17.2%) vertebral fractures in women with initial stage I and II were pathologic, compared to 7 of 17 (41.2%) in women with initial stage III to stage IV breast cancer (P < .05).

The results emphasized the need to consider vertebral fracture risk in women with breast cancer, notably advanced stage cancer, as approximately one-third of the incident vertebral fractures in this subset of patients was deemed cancer-related, the researchers noted.

“As the axial skeleton is a common site for breast cancer metastasis and vertebrae a common site for pathologic fracture, primary care physicians should consider the possibility of pathologic fracture in women with higher risk based on advanced-stage cancer history,” the researchers wrote.

The study findings were limited by several factors, including the lack of data on fracture risk factors, treatment, and chemotherapy, and the inclusion only of clinically diagnosed fractures and not asymptomatic vertebral fractures, the researchers noted. However, the results were strengthened by the large sample size and comprehensive fracture assessment, they said. Additional studies to examine nonpathologic fracture risk according to breast cancer treatment, such as the use of aromatase inhibitors versus cytotoxic chemotherapy, may inform which women would benefit from more aggressive osteoporotic fracture prevention, they concluded.
 

Findings inform shared decision-making

“This study highlights the apparent association between an initial diagnosis of stage III or IV breast cancer and an increased risk for pathologic vertebral fracture,” said Constance Bohon, MD, a gynecologist in private practice in Washington, D.C., in an interview. “Most likely this finding is secondary to breast cancer metastases,” Dr. Bohon noted. However, she questioned whether there is a difference in fracture rates between women who received only aromatase inhibitors, those who received tamoxifen, and those who received both treatments.

“Additional data to determine the age of menopause, exercise frequency, current weight, and family history of osteoporosis may serve to identify those at highest risk for pathologic vertebral fracture,” said Dr. Bohon. “Until further data are available, clinicians should review this study and counsel their patients regarding options to potentially mitigate their apparent increased risk for pathologic vertebral fracture,” she emphasized.

The study was supported by the National Cancer Institute, National Institutes of Health, and the Research Program on Genes, Environment, and Health of Kaiser Permanente Northern California. The researchers had no financial conflicts to disclose. Dr. Bohon had no financial conflicts to disclose but serves on the Editorial Advisory Board of Ob.Gyn. News.

obnews@mdedge.com

Women with a history of stage III to stage IV breast cancer had significantly more pathologic vertebral fractures compared to those with stage I and stage II disease, based on data from approximately 5,000 adult women.

Breast cancer remains associated with increased fracture risk in part because of estrogen deficiency, aromatase inhibitors, frailty, and skeletal metastases, wrote Joan C. Lo, MD, of Kaiser Permanente Northern California, Oakland, and colleagues. Fractures associated with these factors have been studied, but many of the existing epidemiologic studies lack detail on fractures related to cancer, they noted. The researchers examined the association between pathologic fractures and major osteoporotic fractures in women with invasive breast cancer who received endocrine therapy.

In a study published in JAMA Network Open (2021 Nov 18. doi: 10.1001/jamanetworkopen.2021.33861), the researchers reviewed data from 5,010 women enrolled in the Pathways Study (3,312 women) or Research Program on Genes, Environment, and Health (RPGEH) study (1,698 women) with newly diagnosed invasive breast cancer who received endocrine therapy. The women were followed for up to 10 years for incident fracture, with a median follow-up period of 6.7 years.

The average age of the women was 60.2 years; 73.3% were non-Hispanic White, 4.9% were Black, 9.4% were Hispanic, and 1.6% were women whose ethnicity was unknown. Approximately 90% of the women were at stage I to stage II at initial diagnosis.

Overall, 340 (6.8%) had incident fractures during the follow-up period. The incident fractures included 46 hip, 104 vertebral, 78 humerus, and 137 wrist fractures. Significantly more women with hip fracture (43.5%) were age 80 years or older, compared with less than 25% of women with vertebral fractures (22.1%), humerus (19.2%), or wrist fracture (15.3%).

Pathologic fractures accounted for 22 of 104 incident vertebral fractures (21.2%) and fewer than 5 of 46 incident hip fractures (8.7%); few wrist and humerus fractures were pathologic. According to tumor stage, 15 of 87 (17.2%) vertebral fractures in women with initial stage I and II were pathologic, compared to 7 of 17 (41.2%) in women with initial stage III to stage IV breast cancer (P < .05).

The results emphasized the need to consider vertebral fracture risk in women with breast cancer, notably advanced stage cancer, as approximately one-third of the incident vertebral fractures in this subset of patients was deemed cancer-related, the researchers noted.

“As the axial skeleton is a common site for breast cancer metastasis and vertebrae a common site for pathologic fracture, primary care physicians should consider the possibility of pathologic fracture in women with higher risk based on advanced-stage cancer history,” the researchers wrote.

The study findings were limited by several factors, including the lack of data on fracture risk factors, treatment, and chemotherapy, and the inclusion only of clinically diagnosed fractures and not asymptomatic vertebral fractures, the researchers noted. However, the results were strengthened by the large sample size and comprehensive fracture assessment, they said. Additional studies to examine nonpathologic fracture risk according to breast cancer treatment, such as the use of aromatase inhibitors versus cytotoxic chemotherapy, may inform which women would benefit from more aggressive osteoporotic fracture prevention, they concluded.
 

Findings inform shared decision-making

“This study highlights the apparent association between an initial diagnosis of stage III or IV breast cancer and an increased risk for pathologic vertebral fracture,” said Constance Bohon, MD, a gynecologist in private practice in Washington, D.C., in an interview. “Most likely this finding is secondary to breast cancer metastases,” Dr. Bohon noted. However, she questioned whether there is a difference in fracture rates between women who received only aromatase inhibitors, those who received tamoxifen, and those who received both treatments.

“Additional data to determine the age of menopause, exercise frequency, current weight, and family history of osteoporosis may serve to identify those at highest risk for pathologic vertebral fracture,” said Dr. Bohon. “Until further data are available, clinicians should review this study and counsel their patients regarding options to potentially mitigate their apparent increased risk for pathologic vertebral fracture,” she emphasized.

The study was supported by the National Cancer Institute, National Institutes of Health, and the Research Program on Genes, Environment, and Health of Kaiser Permanente Northern California. The researchers had no financial conflicts to disclose. Dr. Bohon had no financial conflicts to disclose but serves on the Editorial Advisory Board of Ob.Gyn. News.

obnews@mdedge.com

SACRAMENTO – With access to abortion at stake across America, California is preparing to become the nation’s abortion provider.

Democratic Gov. Gavin Newsom and legislative leaders have asked a group of reproductive health experts to propose policies to bolster the state’s abortion infrastructure and ready it for more patients. Lawmakers plan to begin debating the ideas when they reconvene in January.

Abortion clinics are already girding themselves for a surge in demand.

Janet Jacobson, MD, medical director of Planned Parenthood of Orange and San Bernardino Counties, said three or four out-of-state patients visit her clinics each day – about double the number that sought treatment before a near-total ban on abortion took effect in Texas in September.

While the nine clinics can absorb that slow trickle, they expect up to 50 out-of-state patients a week if the U.S. Supreme Court’s conservative majority guts abortion rights nationally, Dr. Jacobson said. She bases her estimate on new data from the Guttmacher Institute, a research organization that supports abortion and reproductive health rights.

She is adding staff members and appointment capacity, hoping to accommodate everyone.

“We have to make sure we can still continue to care for all of our California patients,” Dr. Jacobson said. “We don’t want them getting squeezed out” of appointments.

The Texas law banned nearly all abortions after about 6 weeks of pregnancy and empowered private citizens to sue anyone who performs or “aids and abets” an abortion after that time. The Supreme Court heard arguments in that case on Nov. 1 and is expected to announce a ruling on its constitutionality in June. Nonetheless, Florida and Ohio have announced plans for copycat laws.

Next month the high court will hear another abortion case with even broader implications, Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization, a lawsuit challenging the constitutionality of a 2018 Mississippi law that prohibited abortion after 15 weeks. If the court sides with Mississippi, its decision could overturn existing abortion rights set by the landmark Roe v. Wade case.

Should that happen, reproductive rights experts predict, 26 states will ban the procedure altogether, and states with stronger protections for abortion, like California, will draw even more patients. There could be up to a 3,000% increase in people who “may drive to California for abortion care” each year, according to the Guttmacher data.

In 2017, the most recent year for which data are available from Guttmacher, California – by far the nation’s most populous state – had more abortion providers than any other state, with 419 hospitals, clinics, or doctors’ offices performing the procedure. The next highest were New York, with 252, and Florida, with 85. Neighboring Arizona and Nevada each had 11. Of the 862,320 abortions performed in the United States that year, 132.680, about 15% were in California.

Planned Parenthood clinics in California say they already serve about 7,000 out-of-state patients a year and are expecting a surge of new ones, especially in travel hubs like the Los Angeles area.

In September, Planned Parenthood and groups such as Black Women for Wellness convened the California Future of Abortion Council with backing from influential Democratic leaders including Gov. Newsom, state Senate leader Toni Atkins, and Assembly Speaker Anthony Rendon.

Ms. Atkins, who was the director of a San Diego women’s health clinic in the 1980s, said she spent time with women from states where it was hard to get an abortion. She said California is committed to ensuring abortion access in the state and beyond.

The council is focused on increasing funding for abortion services, providing logistical and financial help for women who need to travel, increasing the number of health care providers who perform abortions, and strengthening legal protections for them.

Increasing capacity could mean licensing more practitioners to provide abortions or pumping more resources into telehealth so people can see a doctor online to prescribe pills for a medical abortion – a service California doctors currently can provide to patients only in California.

The most important thing the state should do is fix its shortage of providers, especially those who perform second-trimester abortions, which are more expensive and complicated than first-trimester abortions, said council member Daniel Grossman, MD, director of the Advancing New Standards in Reproductive Health program at the University of California, San Francisco.

It’s not feasible to place an abortion provider in every corner of the state, Dr. Grossman said. Instead, the council should focus on creating “hubs that can provide abortion care for large numbers of people” in easy-to-get-to locations.

California already struggles to provide abortions to all who seek them, especially low-income women covered by Medi-Cal, California’s Medicaid program. For example, 28 counties – home to 10% of Medi-Cal recipients of childbearing age – don’t have facilities that provide abortions to Medi-Cal patients.

A medical abortion, in which pills are used to terminate a pregnancy, costs California patients an average of $306 out-of-pocket, according to an analysis by the California Health Benefits Review Program, but isn’t available after 10 weeks. After that, the only option is a surgical abortion, which costs an average of $887 out-of-pocket in California.

One of the council’s recommendations will likely be to increase the rate Medi-Cal payments for abortions so more providers will perform them, said council member Fabiola Carrión, interim director for reproductive and sexual health at the National Health Law Program.

Medi-Cal pays $354.43 for a second-trimester abortion. A 2020 study in the journal Contraception found that states paid between $79 and $626 for a second-trimester abortion in 2017.

Increasing Medi-Cal rates won’t help patients traveling from outside California. Generally, private insurance doesn’t cover out-of-state abortions, so most women will be on the hook for the full cost, and those enrolled in other states’ Medicaid programs must pay out-of-pocket, too.

The council hopes to reduce costs for state residents and visitors, said Brandon Richards, director of communications for Planned Parenthood Affiliates of California. “It’s about making it easy for people to access abortion in California, whether they reside here or are coming in from out of state,” he said.

One way to target costs is by funding the practical support, like helping to pay for transportation, child care, hotels, or time off work, said council member Jessica Pinckney, executive director of Access Reproductive Justice, a fund that helps people pay for abortions.

Ms. Pinckney said she’s working with Los Angeles County to set up a public abortion fund to cover some of those costs for anyone seeking an abortion in the county. It would be modeled after similar pots maintained by the cities of New York; Austin, Tex.; and Portland, Ore., and could eventually be a template for the first statewide fund, Ms. Pinckney said.

Most Texans seeking abortions since that state’s law took effect are going to nearby states like Colorado, New Mexico, and Oklahoma, said Sierra Harris, deputy director of network strategies for the National Network of Abortion Funds. Women in those states, in turn, are having trouble getting care and are looking to California for appointments.

Practical support is important for out-of-state patients, said Alissa Perrucci, PhD, MPH, operations manager at the Women’s Options Center at Zuckerberg San Francisco General Hospital, one of five abortion clinics inside California hospitals.

Dr. Perrucci’s clinic is focusing on telemedicine, phone counseling, and other ways to save time so it can add appointments for out-of-state patients if necessary.

But more slots are useless if women can’t make it to California. The clinic has booked about 10 appointments for Texans since the state’s ban went into effect, but only half have shown up, mostly women with family connections in California.

“Most people just don’t have the money to get here,” she said. “If the burden of abortion was borne predominantly by the wealthy, yeah, they’d just fly here.”

This story was produced by KHN, which publishes California Healthline, an editorially independent service of the California Health Care Foundation. KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

SACRAMENTO – With access to abortion at stake across America, California is preparing to become the nation’s abortion provider.

Democratic Gov. Gavin Newsom and legislative leaders have asked a group of reproductive health experts to propose policies to bolster the state’s abortion infrastructure and ready it for more patients. Lawmakers plan to begin debating the ideas when they reconvene in January.

Abortion clinics are already girding themselves for a surge in demand.

Janet Jacobson, MD, medical director of Planned Parenthood of Orange and San Bernardino Counties, said three or four out-of-state patients visit her clinics each day – about double the number that sought treatment before a near-total ban on abortion took effect in Texas in September.

While the nine clinics can absorb that slow trickle, they expect up to 50 out-of-state patients a week if the U.S. Supreme Court’s conservative majority guts abortion rights nationally, Dr. Jacobson said. She bases her estimate on new data from the Guttmacher Institute, a research organization that supports abortion and reproductive health rights.

She is adding staff members and appointment capacity, hoping to accommodate everyone.

“We have to make sure we can still continue to care for all of our California patients,” Dr. Jacobson said. “We don’t want them getting squeezed out” of appointments.

The Texas law banned nearly all abortions after about 6 weeks of pregnancy and empowered private citizens to sue anyone who performs or “aids and abets” an abortion after that time. The Supreme Court heard arguments in that case on Nov. 1 and is expected to announce a ruling on its constitutionality in June. Nonetheless, Florida and Ohio have announced plans for copycat laws.

Next month the high court will hear another abortion case with even broader implications, Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization, a lawsuit challenging the constitutionality of a 2018 Mississippi law that prohibited abortion after 15 weeks. If the court sides with Mississippi, its decision could overturn existing abortion rights set by the landmark Roe v. Wade case.

Should that happen, reproductive rights experts predict, 26 states will ban the procedure altogether, and states with stronger protections for abortion, like California, will draw even more patients. There could be up to a 3,000% increase in people who “may drive to California for abortion care” each year, according to the Guttmacher data.

In 2017, the most recent year for which data are available from Guttmacher, California – by far the nation’s most populous state – had more abortion providers than any other state, with 419 hospitals, clinics, or doctors’ offices performing the procedure. The next highest were New York, with 252, and Florida, with 85. Neighboring Arizona and Nevada each had 11. Of the 862,320 abortions performed in the United States that year, 132.680, about 15% were in California.

Planned Parenthood clinics in California say they already serve about 7,000 out-of-state patients a year and are expecting a surge of new ones, especially in travel hubs like the Los Angeles area.

In September, Planned Parenthood and groups such as Black Women for Wellness convened the California Future of Abortion Council with backing from influential Democratic leaders including Gov. Newsom, state Senate leader Toni Atkins, and Assembly Speaker Anthony Rendon.

Ms. Atkins, who was the director of a San Diego women’s health clinic in the 1980s, said she spent time with women from states where it was hard to get an abortion. She said California is committed to ensuring abortion access in the state and beyond.

The council is focused on increasing funding for abortion services, providing logistical and financial help for women who need to travel, increasing the number of health care providers who perform abortions, and strengthening legal protections for them.

Increasing capacity could mean licensing more practitioners to provide abortions or pumping more resources into telehealth so people can see a doctor online to prescribe pills for a medical abortion – a service California doctors currently can provide to patients only in California.

The most important thing the state should do is fix its shortage of providers, especially those who perform second-trimester abortions, which are more expensive and complicated than first-trimester abortions, said council member Daniel Grossman, MD, director of the Advancing New Standards in Reproductive Health program at the University of California, San Francisco.

It’s not feasible to place an abortion provider in every corner of the state, Dr. Grossman said. Instead, the council should focus on creating “hubs that can provide abortion care for large numbers of people” in easy-to-get-to locations.

California already struggles to provide abortions to all who seek them, especially low-income women covered by Medi-Cal, California’s Medicaid program. For example, 28 counties – home to 10% of Medi-Cal recipients of childbearing age – don’t have facilities that provide abortions to Medi-Cal patients.

A medical abortion, in which pills are used to terminate a pregnancy, costs California patients an average of $306 out-of-pocket, according to an analysis by the California Health Benefits Review Program, but isn’t available after 10 weeks. After that, the only option is a surgical abortion, which costs an average of $887 out-of-pocket in California.

One of the council’s recommendations will likely be to increase the rate Medi-Cal payments for abortions so more providers will perform them, said council member Fabiola Carrión, interim director for reproductive and sexual health at the National Health Law Program.

Medi-Cal pays $354.43 for a second-trimester abortion. A 2020 study in the journal Contraception found that states paid between $79 and $626 for a second-trimester abortion in 2017.

Increasing Medi-Cal rates won’t help patients traveling from outside California. Generally, private insurance doesn’t cover out-of-state abortions, so most women will be on the hook for the full cost, and those enrolled in other states’ Medicaid programs must pay out-of-pocket, too.

The council hopes to reduce costs for state residents and visitors, said Brandon Richards, director of communications for Planned Parenthood Affiliates of California. “It’s about making it easy for people to access abortion in California, whether they reside here or are coming in from out of state,” he said.

One way to target costs is by funding the practical support, like helping to pay for transportation, child care, hotels, or time off work, said council member Jessica Pinckney, executive director of Access Reproductive Justice, a fund that helps people pay for abortions.

Ms. Pinckney said she’s working with Los Angeles County to set up a public abortion fund to cover some of those costs for anyone seeking an abortion in the county. It would be modeled after similar pots maintained by the cities of New York; Austin, Tex.; and Portland, Ore., and could eventually be a template for the first statewide fund, Ms. Pinckney said.

Most Texans seeking abortions since that state’s law took effect are going to nearby states like Colorado, New Mexico, and Oklahoma, said Sierra Harris, deputy director of network strategies for the National Network of Abortion Funds. Women in those states, in turn, are having trouble getting care and are looking to California for appointments.

Practical support is important for out-of-state patients, said Alissa Perrucci, PhD, MPH, operations manager at the Women’s Options Center at Zuckerberg San Francisco General Hospital, one of five abortion clinics inside California hospitals.

Dr. Perrucci’s clinic is focusing on telemedicine, phone counseling, and other ways to save time so it can add appointments for out-of-state patients if necessary.

But more slots are useless if women can’t make it to California. The clinic has booked about 10 appointments for Texans since the state’s ban went into effect, but only half have shown up, mostly women with family connections in California.

“Most people just don’t have the money to get here,” she said. “If the burden of abortion was borne predominantly by the wealthy, yeah, they’d just fly here.”

This story was produced by KHN, which publishes California Healthline, an editorially independent service of the California Health Care Foundation. KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

SACRAMENTO – With access to abortion at stake across America, California is preparing to become the nation’s abortion provider.

Democratic Gov. Gavin Newsom and legislative leaders have asked a group of reproductive health experts to propose policies to bolster the state’s abortion infrastructure and ready it for more patients. Lawmakers plan to begin debating the ideas when they reconvene in January.

Abortion clinics are already girding themselves for a surge in demand.

Janet Jacobson, MD, medical director of Planned Parenthood of Orange and San Bernardino Counties, said three or four out-of-state patients visit her clinics each day – about double the number that sought treatment before a near-total ban on abortion took effect in Texas in September.

While the nine clinics can absorb that slow trickle, they expect up to 50 out-of-state patients a week if the U.S. Supreme Court’s conservative majority guts abortion rights nationally, Dr. Jacobson said. She bases her estimate on new data from the Guttmacher Institute, a research organization that supports abortion and reproductive health rights.

She is adding staff members and appointment capacity, hoping to accommodate everyone.

“We have to make sure we can still continue to care for all of our California patients,” Dr. Jacobson said. “We don’t want them getting squeezed out” of appointments.

The Texas law banned nearly all abortions after about 6 weeks of pregnancy and empowered private citizens to sue anyone who performs or “aids and abets” an abortion after that time. The Supreme Court heard arguments in that case on Nov. 1 and is expected to announce a ruling on its constitutionality in June. Nonetheless, Florida and Ohio have announced plans for copycat laws.

Next month the high court will hear another abortion case with even broader implications, Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization, a lawsuit challenging the constitutionality of a 2018 Mississippi law that prohibited abortion after 15 weeks. If the court sides with Mississippi, its decision could overturn existing abortion rights set by the landmark Roe v. Wade case.

Should that happen, reproductive rights experts predict, 26 states will ban the procedure altogether, and states with stronger protections for abortion, like California, will draw even more patients. There could be up to a 3,000% increase in people who “may drive to California for abortion care” each year, according to the Guttmacher data.

In 2017, the most recent year for which data are available from Guttmacher, California – by far the nation’s most populous state – had more abortion providers than any other state, with 419 hospitals, clinics, or doctors’ offices performing the procedure. The next highest were New York, with 252, and Florida, with 85. Neighboring Arizona and Nevada each had 11. Of the 862,320 abortions performed in the United States that year, 132.680, about 15% were in California.

Planned Parenthood clinics in California say they already serve about 7,000 out-of-state patients a year and are expecting a surge of new ones, especially in travel hubs like the Los Angeles area.

In September, Planned Parenthood and groups such as Black Women for Wellness convened the California Future of Abortion Council with backing from influential Democratic leaders including Gov. Newsom, state Senate leader Toni Atkins, and Assembly Speaker Anthony Rendon.

Ms. Atkins, who was the director of a San Diego women’s health clinic in the 1980s, said she spent time with women from states where it was hard to get an abortion. She said California is committed to ensuring abortion access in the state and beyond.

The council is focused on increasing funding for abortion services, providing logistical and financial help for women who need to travel, increasing the number of health care providers who perform abortions, and strengthening legal protections for them.

Increasing capacity could mean licensing more practitioners to provide abortions or pumping more resources into telehealth so people can see a doctor online to prescribe pills for a medical abortion – a service California doctors currently can provide to patients only in California.

The most important thing the state should do is fix its shortage of providers, especially those who perform second-trimester abortions, which are more expensive and complicated than first-trimester abortions, said council member Daniel Grossman, MD, director of the Advancing New Standards in Reproductive Health program at the University of California, San Francisco.

It’s not feasible to place an abortion provider in every corner of the state, Dr. Grossman said. Instead, the council should focus on creating “hubs that can provide abortion care for large numbers of people” in easy-to-get-to locations.

California already struggles to provide abortions to all who seek them, especially low-income women covered by Medi-Cal, California’s Medicaid program. For example, 28 counties – home to 10% of Medi-Cal recipients of childbearing age – don’t have facilities that provide abortions to Medi-Cal patients.

A medical abortion, in which pills are used to terminate a pregnancy, costs California patients an average of $306 out-of-pocket, according to an analysis by the California Health Benefits Review Program, but isn’t available after 10 weeks. After that, the only option is a surgical abortion, which costs an average of $887 out-of-pocket in California.

One of the council’s recommendations will likely be to increase the rate Medi-Cal payments for abortions so more providers will perform them, said council member Fabiola Carrión, interim director for reproductive and sexual health at the National Health Law Program.

Medi-Cal pays $354.43 for a second-trimester abortion. A 2020 study in the journal Contraception found that states paid between $79 and $626 for a second-trimester abortion in 2017.

Increasing Medi-Cal rates won’t help patients traveling from outside California. Generally, private insurance doesn’t cover out-of-state abortions, so most women will be on the hook for the full cost, and those enrolled in other states’ Medicaid programs must pay out-of-pocket, too.

The council hopes to reduce costs for state residents and visitors, said Brandon Richards, director of communications for Planned Parenthood Affiliates of California. “It’s about making it easy for people to access abortion in California, whether they reside here or are coming in from out of state,” he said.

One way to target costs is by funding the practical support, like helping to pay for transportation, child care, hotels, or time off work, said council member Jessica Pinckney, executive director of Access Reproductive Justice, a fund that helps people pay for abortions.

Ms. Pinckney said she’s working with Los Angeles County to set up a public abortion fund to cover some of those costs for anyone seeking an abortion in the county. It would be modeled after similar pots maintained by the cities of New York; Austin, Tex.; and Portland, Ore., and could eventually be a template for the first statewide fund, Ms. Pinckney said.

Most Texans seeking abortions since that state’s law took effect are going to nearby states like Colorado, New Mexico, and Oklahoma, said Sierra Harris, deputy director of network strategies for the National Network of Abortion Funds. Women in those states, in turn, are having trouble getting care and are looking to California for appointments.

Practical support is important for out-of-state patients, said Alissa Perrucci, PhD, MPH, operations manager at the Women’s Options Center at Zuckerberg San Francisco General Hospital, one of five abortion clinics inside California hospitals.

Dr. Perrucci’s clinic is focusing on telemedicine, phone counseling, and other ways to save time so it can add appointments for out-of-state patients if necessary.

But more slots are useless if women can’t make it to California. The clinic has booked about 10 appointments for Texans since the state’s ban went into effect, but only half have shown up, mostly women with family connections in California.

“Most people just don’t have the money to get here,” she said. “If the burden of abortion was borne predominantly by the wealthy, yeah, they’d just fly here.”

This story was produced by KHN, which publishes California Healthline, an editorially independent service of the California Health Care Foundation. KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

Mothers who use cannabis during pregnancy risk disrupting immune gene networks in the placenta and potentially increasing the risk of anxiety and hyperactivity in their children.

These findings emerged from a study led by Yasmin Hurd, PhD, a professor of psychiatry and director of the Addiction Institute at the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai, New York, and Yoko Nomura, PhD, a professor of behavioral neuroscience at Queen’s College, City University of New York, that was published online in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.

The analysis assessed the effects of gestational maternal cannabis use on psychosocial and physiological measures in young children as well as its potentially immunomodulatory effect on the in utero environment as reflected in the placental transcriptome.

Participants were drawn from a larger cohort in a study launched in 2012; the investigators evaluated offspring aged 3-6 years for hair hormone levels, neurobehavioral traits on the Behavioral Assessment System for Children survey, and heart rate variability (HRV) at rest and during auditory startle.

The cohort consisted of 322 mother-child dyads and children with prenatal exposure to cannabis were compared with those having no exposure. The cohort consisted of 251 non–cannabis-using mothers and 71 cannabis-using mothers, with mean maternal ages in the two groups of 28.46 years and 25.91 years, respectively, The mothers gave birth at Mount Sinai and they and their children were assessed annually at affiliated medical centers in Mount Sinai’s catchment area.

For a subset of children with behavioral assessments, placental specimens collected at birth were processed for RNA sequencing.

Among the findings:

• Maternal cannabis use was associated with reduced maternal and paternal age, more single-mother pregnancies, state anxiety, trait anxiety, depression, cigarette smoking, and African American race.
• Hair hormone analysis revealed increased cortisol levels in the children of cannabis-using mothers, and was associated with greater anxiety, aggression, and hyperactivity.
• Affected children showed a reduction in the high-frequency component of HRV at baseline, reflecting reduced vagal tone.
• In the placenta, there was reduced expression of many genes involved in immune system function. These included genes for type I interferon, neutrophil, and cytokine-signaling pathways.

Several of these genes organized into coexpression networks that correlated with child anxiety and hyperactivity.

The principal active component of cannabis, tetrahydrocannabinol (THC), targets the endocannabinoid system in placental tissue and the developing brain, the authors noted. Exposure during pregnancy is associated with a range of adverse outcomes from fetal growth restriction to low birth weight and preterm birth.

“There are cannabinoid receptors on immune cells, and it is known that cannabinoids can alter immune function, which is important for maintaining maternal tolerance and protecting the fetus,” Dr. Hurd said. “It’s not surprising that something that affects the immune cells can have an impact on the developing fetus.”

“Overall, our findings reveal a relationship between [maternal cannabis use] and immune response gene networks in the placenta as a potential mediator of risk for anxiety-related problems in early childhood,” Dr. Hurd and colleagues wrote, adding that the results have significant implications for defining mental health issues in the children gestated by cannabis-smoking mothers.

Their results align with previous research indicating a greater risk for psychiatric illness in children with prenatal cannabis exposure from maternal use.

“While data are pretty limited in this realm, there are other studies that demonstrate a relationship between early child developmental and behavioral measures and cannabis use during pregnancy,” Camille Hoffman, MD, MSc, a high-risk obstetrics specialist and an associate professor at the University of Colorado at Denver, Aurora, said in an interview. “Our research group found children exposed to cannabis in utero at 10 weeks’ gestation and beyond were less interactive and more withdrawn than children who were not exposed.”

And THC remains in maternal breast milk even 6 weeks after usage stops.

The long-term effects of prenatal cannabis exposure remain to be determined and it is unknown whether the effects of gestational THC might attenuate as a child grows older. “We use early childhood measures in research as a proxy for the later development of diagnosed mental health conditions or behavioral problems,” Dr. Hoffman explained. “We know when we do this that not every child with an abnormal score early will go on to develop an actual condition. Fortunately, or unfortunately, other factors and exposures during childhood can change the trajectory for the better or worse.”

According to Dr. Hurd, child development is a dynamic process and epigenetic events in utero need not be deterministic. “The important thing is to identify children at risk early and to be able to go in and try to improve the environment they’re being raised in – not in terms of impoverishment but in terms of positive nurturing and giving the mother and family support.”

At the prenatal level, what’s the best advice for cannabis-using mothers-to-be? “If a woman doesn’t know she’s pregnant and has been using cannabis, taking extra choline for the remainder of the pregnancy can help buffer the potential negative impact of the cannabis exposure,” Dr. Hoffman said. The Food and Drug Administration and the American Medical Association recommend a dose of 550 mg daily. “The same is true for alcohol, which we know is also very bad for fetal brain development. This is not to say go ahead and use these substances and just take choline. The choline is more to try and salvage damage to the fetal brain that may have already occurred.”

This study was supported by the National Institute of Mental Health and the National Institute on Drug Abuse. The authors declared no competing interests. Dr. Hoffman disclosed no conflicts of interest with respect to her comments.

Mothers who use cannabis during pregnancy risk disrupting immune gene networks in the placenta and potentially increasing the risk of anxiety and hyperactivity in their children.

These findings emerged from a study led by Yasmin Hurd, PhD, a professor of psychiatry and director of the Addiction Institute at the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai, New York, and Yoko Nomura, PhD, a professor of behavioral neuroscience at Queen’s College, City University of New York, that was published online in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.

The analysis assessed the effects of gestational maternal cannabis use on psychosocial and physiological measures in young children as well as its potentially immunomodulatory effect on the in utero environment as reflected in the placental transcriptome.

Participants were drawn from a larger cohort in a study launched in 2012; the investigators evaluated offspring aged 3-6 years for hair hormone levels, neurobehavioral traits on the Behavioral Assessment System for Children survey, and heart rate variability (HRV) at rest and during auditory startle.

The cohort consisted of 322 mother-child dyads and children with prenatal exposure to cannabis were compared with those having no exposure. The cohort consisted of 251 non–cannabis-using mothers and 71 cannabis-using mothers, with mean maternal ages in the two groups of 28.46 years and 25.91 years, respectively, The mothers gave birth at Mount Sinai and they and their children were assessed annually at affiliated medical centers in Mount Sinai’s catchment area.

For a subset of children with behavioral assessments, placental specimens collected at birth were processed for RNA sequencing.

Among the findings:

• Maternal cannabis use was associated with reduced maternal and paternal age, more single-mother pregnancies, state anxiety, trait anxiety, depression, cigarette smoking, and African American race.
• Hair hormone analysis revealed increased cortisol levels in the children of cannabis-using mothers, and was associated with greater anxiety, aggression, and hyperactivity.
• Affected children showed a reduction in the high-frequency component of HRV at baseline, reflecting reduced vagal tone.
• In the placenta, there was reduced expression of many genes involved in immune system function. These included genes for type I interferon, neutrophil, and cytokine-signaling pathways.

Several of these genes organized into coexpression networks that correlated with child anxiety and hyperactivity.

The principal active component of cannabis, tetrahydrocannabinol (THC), targets the endocannabinoid system in placental tissue and the developing brain, the authors noted. Exposure during pregnancy is associated with a range of adverse outcomes from fetal growth restriction to low birth weight and preterm birth.

“There are cannabinoid receptors on immune cells, and it is known that cannabinoids can alter immune function, which is important for maintaining maternal tolerance and protecting the fetus,” Dr. Hurd said. “It’s not surprising that something that affects the immune cells can have an impact on the developing fetus.”

“Overall, our findings reveal a relationship between [maternal cannabis use] and immune response gene networks in the placenta as a potential mediator of risk for anxiety-related problems in early childhood,” Dr. Hurd and colleagues wrote, adding that the results have significant implications for defining mental health issues in the children gestated by cannabis-smoking mothers.

Their results align with previous research indicating a greater risk for psychiatric illness in children with prenatal cannabis exposure from maternal use.

“While data are pretty limited in this realm, there are other studies that demonstrate a relationship between early child developmental and behavioral measures and cannabis use during pregnancy,” Camille Hoffman, MD, MSc, a high-risk obstetrics specialist and an associate professor at the University of Colorado at Denver, Aurora, said in an interview. “Our research group found children exposed to cannabis in utero at 10 weeks’ gestation and beyond were less interactive and more withdrawn than children who were not exposed.”

And THC remains in maternal breast milk even 6 weeks after usage stops.

The long-term effects of prenatal cannabis exposure remain to be determined and it is unknown whether the effects of gestational THC might attenuate as a child grows older. “We use early childhood measures in research as a proxy for the later development of diagnosed mental health conditions or behavioral problems,” Dr. Hoffman explained. “We know when we do this that not every child with an abnormal score early will go on to develop an actual condition. Fortunately, or unfortunately, other factors and exposures during childhood can change the trajectory for the better or worse.”

According to Dr. Hurd, child development is a dynamic process and epigenetic events in utero need not be deterministic. “The important thing is to identify children at risk early and to be able to go in and try to improve the environment they’re being raised in – not in terms of impoverishment but in terms of positive nurturing and giving the mother and family support.”

At the prenatal level, what’s the best advice for cannabis-using mothers-to-be? “If a woman doesn’t know she’s pregnant and has been using cannabis, taking extra choline for the remainder of the pregnancy can help buffer the potential negative impact of the cannabis exposure,” Dr. Hoffman said. The Food and Drug Administration and the American Medical Association recommend a dose of 550 mg daily. “The same is true for alcohol, which we know is also very bad for fetal brain development. This is not to say go ahead and use these substances and just take choline. The choline is more to try and salvage damage to the fetal brain that may have already occurred.”

This study was supported by the National Institute of Mental Health and the National Institute on Drug Abuse. The authors declared no competing interests. Dr. Hoffman disclosed no conflicts of interest with respect to her comments.

Mothers who use cannabis during pregnancy risk disrupting immune gene networks in the placenta and potentially increasing the risk of anxiety and hyperactivity in their children.

These findings emerged from a study led by Yasmin Hurd, PhD, a professor of psychiatry and director of the Addiction Institute at the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai, New York, and Yoko Nomura, PhD, a professor of behavioral neuroscience at Queen’s College, City University of New York, that was published online in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.

The analysis assessed the effects of gestational maternal cannabis use on psychosocial and physiological measures in young children as well as its potentially immunomodulatory effect on the in utero environment as reflected in the placental transcriptome.

Participants were drawn from a larger cohort in a study launched in 2012; the investigators evaluated offspring aged 3-6 years for hair hormone levels, neurobehavioral traits on the Behavioral Assessment System for Children survey, and heart rate variability (HRV) at rest and during auditory startle.

The cohort consisted of 322 mother-child dyads and children with prenatal exposure to cannabis were compared with those having no exposure. The cohort consisted of 251 non–cannabis-using mothers and 71 cannabis-using mothers, with mean maternal ages in the two groups of 28.46 years and 25.91 years, respectively, The mothers gave birth at Mount Sinai and they and their children were assessed annually at affiliated medical centers in Mount Sinai’s catchment area.

For a subset of children with behavioral assessments, placental specimens collected at birth were processed for RNA sequencing.

Among the findings:

• Maternal cannabis use was associated with reduced maternal and paternal age, more single-mother pregnancies, state anxiety, trait anxiety, depression, cigarette smoking, and African American race.
• Hair hormone analysis revealed increased cortisol levels in the children of cannabis-using mothers, and was associated with greater anxiety, aggression, and hyperactivity.
• Affected children showed a reduction in the high-frequency component of HRV at baseline, reflecting reduced vagal tone.
• In the placenta, there was reduced expression of many genes involved in immune system function. These included genes for type I interferon, neutrophil, and cytokine-signaling pathways.

Several of these genes organized into coexpression networks that correlated with child anxiety and hyperactivity.

The principal active component of cannabis, tetrahydrocannabinol (THC), targets the endocannabinoid system in placental tissue and the developing brain, the authors noted. Exposure during pregnancy is associated with a range of adverse outcomes from fetal growth restriction to low birth weight and preterm birth.

“There are cannabinoid receptors on immune cells, and it is known that cannabinoids can alter immune function, which is important for maintaining maternal tolerance and protecting the fetus,” Dr. Hurd said. “It’s not surprising that something that affects the immune cells can have an impact on the developing fetus.”

“Overall, our findings reveal a relationship between [maternal cannabis use] and immune response gene networks in the placenta as a potential mediator of risk for anxiety-related problems in early childhood,” Dr. Hurd and colleagues wrote, adding that the results have significant implications for defining mental health issues in the children gestated by cannabis-smoking mothers.

Their results align with previous research indicating a greater risk for psychiatric illness in children with prenatal cannabis exposure from maternal use.

“While data are pretty limited in this realm, there are other studies that demonstrate a relationship between early child developmental and behavioral measures and cannabis use during pregnancy,” Camille Hoffman, MD, MSc, a high-risk obstetrics specialist and an associate professor at the University of Colorado at Denver, Aurora, said in an interview. “Our research group found children exposed to cannabis in utero at 10 weeks’ gestation and beyond were less interactive and more withdrawn than children who were not exposed.”

And THC remains in maternal breast milk even 6 weeks after usage stops.

The long-term effects of prenatal cannabis exposure remain to be determined and it is unknown whether the effects of gestational THC might attenuate as a child grows older. “We use early childhood measures in research as a proxy for the later development of diagnosed mental health conditions or behavioral problems,” Dr. Hoffman explained. “We know when we do this that not every child with an abnormal score early will go on to develop an actual condition. Fortunately, or unfortunately, other factors and exposures during childhood can change the trajectory for the better or worse.”

According to Dr. Hurd, child development is a dynamic process and epigenetic events in utero need not be deterministic. “The important thing is to identify children at risk early and to be able to go in and try to improve the environment they’re being raised in – not in terms of impoverishment but in terms of positive nurturing and giving the mother and family support.”

At the prenatal level, what’s the best advice for cannabis-using mothers-to-be? “If a woman doesn’t know she’s pregnant and has been using cannabis, taking extra choline for the remainder of the pregnancy can help buffer the potential negative impact of the cannabis exposure,” Dr. Hoffman said. The Food and Drug Administration and the American Medical Association recommend a dose of 550 mg daily. “The same is true for alcohol, which we know is also very bad for fetal brain development. This is not to say go ahead and use these substances and just take choline. The choline is more to try and salvage damage to the fetal brain that may have already occurred.”

This study was supported by the National Institute of Mental Health and the National Institute on Drug Abuse. The authors declared no competing interests. Dr. Hoffman disclosed no conflicts of interest with respect to her comments.

How much did you get per tooth from the Tooth Fairy? How much do your children or grandchildren receive each time they lose a baby tooth? In my family the Tooth Fairy seems to be more than keeping with inflation. Has she ever been caught in the act of swapping cash for enamel in your home? Has she every slipped up one night but managed to resurrect her credibility the following night by doubling the reward? And, by the way, what does the Tooth Fairy do with all those teeth, and who’s funding her nocturnal switcheroos?

A recent study from the Center for Genomic Medicine at the Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston may provide an answer to at least one of those questions. It turns out some researchers have been collecting baby teeth in hopes of assessing prenatal and perinatal stress in infants.

Not surprisingly, teeth are like trees, preserving a history of the environment in their growth rings. The Boston researchers hypothesized that the thickness of one particular growth line referred to as the neonatal line (NNL) might reflect prenatal and immediate postnatal environmental stress. Using data and naturally shed teeth collected in an English longitudinal study, the authors discovered that the teeth of children whose mothers had a long history of severe depression or other psychiatric problems and children of mothers who at 32 weeks’ gestation experienced anxiety and/or depression were more likely to have thicker NNLs. On the other hand, the teeth of children whose mothers had received “significant social support” in the immediate postnatal period exhibited thinner NNLs.

Based on anecdotal observations, I think most of us already suspected that the children whose mothers had significant psychiatric illness began life with a challenge, but it is nice to know that we may now have a tool to document one small bit of evidence of the structural damage that occurred during this period of stress. Of course, the prior owners of these baby teeth won’t benefit from the findings in this study; however, the evidence that social support during the critical perinatal period can ameliorate the damage might stimulate more robust prenatal programs for mother and infants at risk in the future.

It will be interesting to see if this investigative tool becomes more widely used to determine the degree to which a variety of potential perinatal stressors are manifesting themselves in structural change in newborns. For example, collecting baby teeth from neonatal ICU graduates may answer some questions about how certain environmental conditions such as sound, vibration, bright light, and temperature may result in long-term damage to the infants. Most of us suspect that skin-to-skin contact with mother and kangaroo care are beneficial. A study that includes a survey of NNLs might go a long way toward supporting our suspicions.

I can even imagine that a deep retrospective study of NNLs in baby teeth collected over the last 100 years might demonstrate the effect of phenomena such as wars, natural disasters, forced migration, and pandemics, to name a few.

It may be time to put out a nationwide call to all Tooth Fairies both active and retired to dig deep in their top bureau drawers. Those little bits of long-forgotten enamel may hold the answers to a plethora of unanswered questions about those critical months surrounding the birth of a child.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

How much did you get per tooth from the Tooth Fairy? How much do your children or grandchildren receive each time they lose a baby tooth? In my family the Tooth Fairy seems to be more than keeping with inflation. Has she ever been caught in the act of swapping cash for enamel in your home? Has she every slipped up one night but managed to resurrect her credibility the following night by doubling the reward? And, by the way, what does the Tooth Fairy do with all those teeth, and who’s funding her nocturnal switcheroos?

A recent study from the Center for Genomic Medicine at the Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston may provide an answer to at least one of those questions. It turns out some researchers have been collecting baby teeth in hopes of assessing prenatal and perinatal stress in infants.

Not surprisingly, teeth are like trees, preserving a history of the environment in their growth rings. The Boston researchers hypothesized that the thickness of one particular growth line referred to as the neonatal line (NNL) might reflect prenatal and immediate postnatal environmental stress. Using data and naturally shed teeth collected in an English longitudinal study, the authors discovered that the teeth of children whose mothers had a long history of severe depression or other psychiatric problems and children of mothers who at 32 weeks’ gestation experienced anxiety and/or depression were more likely to have thicker NNLs. On the other hand, the teeth of children whose mothers had received “significant social support” in the immediate postnatal period exhibited thinner NNLs.

Based on anecdotal observations, I think most of us already suspected that the children whose mothers had significant psychiatric illness began life with a challenge, but it is nice to know that we may now have a tool to document one small bit of evidence of the structural damage that occurred during this period of stress. Of course, the prior owners of these baby teeth won’t benefit from the findings in this study; however, the evidence that social support during the critical perinatal period can ameliorate the damage might stimulate more robust prenatal programs for mother and infants at risk in the future.

It will be interesting to see if this investigative tool becomes more widely used to determine the degree to which a variety of potential perinatal stressors are manifesting themselves in structural change in newborns. For example, collecting baby teeth from neonatal ICU graduates may answer some questions about how certain environmental conditions such as sound, vibration, bright light, and temperature may result in long-term damage to the infants. Most of us suspect that skin-to-skin contact with mother and kangaroo care are beneficial. A study that includes a survey of NNLs might go a long way toward supporting our suspicions.

I can even imagine that a deep retrospective study of NNLs in baby teeth collected over the last 100 years might demonstrate the effect of phenomena such as wars, natural disasters, forced migration, and pandemics, to name a few.

It may be time to put out a nationwide call to all Tooth Fairies both active and retired to dig deep in their top bureau drawers. Those little bits of long-forgotten enamel may hold the answers to a plethora of unanswered questions about those critical months surrounding the birth of a child.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

How much did you get per tooth from the Tooth Fairy? How much do your children or grandchildren receive each time they lose a baby tooth? In my family the Tooth Fairy seems to be more than keeping with inflation. Has she ever been caught in the act of swapping cash for enamel in your home? Has she every slipped up one night but managed to resurrect her credibility the following night by doubling the reward? And, by the way, what does the Tooth Fairy do with all those teeth, and who’s funding her nocturnal switcheroos?

A recent study from the Center for Genomic Medicine at the Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston may provide an answer to at least one of those questions. It turns out some researchers have been collecting baby teeth in hopes of assessing prenatal and perinatal stress in infants.

Not surprisingly, teeth are like trees, preserving a history of the environment in their growth rings. The Boston researchers hypothesized that the thickness of one particular growth line referred to as the neonatal line (NNL) might reflect prenatal and immediate postnatal environmental stress. Using data and naturally shed teeth collected in an English longitudinal study, the authors discovered that the teeth of children whose mothers had a long history of severe depression or other psychiatric problems and children of mothers who at 32 weeks’ gestation experienced anxiety and/or depression were more likely to have thicker NNLs. On the other hand, the teeth of children whose mothers had received “significant social support” in the immediate postnatal period exhibited thinner NNLs.

Based on anecdotal observations, I think most of us already suspected that the children whose mothers had significant psychiatric illness began life with a challenge, but it is nice to know that we may now have a tool to document one small bit of evidence of the structural damage that occurred during this period of stress. Of course, the prior owners of these baby teeth won’t benefit from the findings in this study; however, the evidence that social support during the critical perinatal period can ameliorate the damage might stimulate more robust prenatal programs for mother and infants at risk in the future.

It will be interesting to see if this investigative tool becomes more widely used to determine the degree to which a variety of potential perinatal stressors are manifesting themselves in structural change in newborns. For example, collecting baby teeth from neonatal ICU graduates may answer some questions about how certain environmental conditions such as sound, vibration, bright light, and temperature may result in long-term damage to the infants. Most of us suspect that skin-to-skin contact with mother and kangaroo care are beneficial. A study that includes a survey of NNLs might go a long way toward supporting our suspicions.

I can even imagine that a deep retrospective study of NNLs in baby teeth collected over the last 100 years might demonstrate the effect of phenomena such as wars, natural disasters, forced migration, and pandemics, to name a few.

It may be time to put out a nationwide call to all Tooth Fairies both active and retired to dig deep in their top bureau drawers. Those little bits of long-forgotten enamel may hold the answers to a plethora of unanswered questions about those critical months surrounding the birth of a child.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Giving birth may be so arduous for humans in part because the pelvis is optimized for standing upright, a new study suggests.

The study, published in BMC Biology , relies on computer-based simulations of how bone, soft tissue, and skin work in concert as we move. The same approach has been used to identify key elements of a perfect fastball in baseball and the best marathon gait.

In the new analysis, scientists used digital images to examine how bones and muscles around the pelvis move during daily activities and giving birth. Because the shape of the human pelvic canal doesn’t make for a fast or easy birth, the investigators wondered if its dimensions were linked to some other human feature.

In apes, this canal is a simple oval throughout, so labor and delivery might be easier for these species, the scientists note. But the oval in the human canal changes direction through the pelvis, requiring babies to rotate during delivery so that the head and shoulders can pass through.

Computer modeling with digital images suggested that the stress and pressure of being upright on two legs might give the pelvic canal its twist. When the researchers used a consistently oriented oval, like the one that apes have, the pelvis tilted and destabilized the spine, making it harder to balance on two legs.

Our balance might be even better with a widened outlet at the lower portion of the birth canal, the investigators found. But a wider outlet could make childbirth injuries more likely because it would require an even harder twist of the head and shoulders in the canal. The authors say that the shape of the pelvic canal could represent an “evolutionary compromise” between these competing factors.

These findings rely on computer models using digital images and don’t precisely recreate either the evolutionary or birthing process. But they do offer another feature to consider when answering the question of why human labor and delivery are so difficult, compared with our closest living cousins.

A version of this article first appeared on WebMD.com.

Giving birth may be so arduous for humans in part because the pelvis is optimized for standing upright, a new study suggests.

The study, published in BMC Biology , relies on computer-based simulations of how bone, soft tissue, and skin work in concert as we move. The same approach has been used to identify key elements of a perfect fastball in baseball and the best marathon gait.

In the new analysis, scientists used digital images to examine how bones and muscles around the pelvis move during daily activities and giving birth. Because the shape of the human pelvic canal doesn’t make for a fast or easy birth, the investigators wondered if its dimensions were linked to some other human feature.

In apes, this canal is a simple oval throughout, so labor and delivery might be easier for these species, the scientists note. But the oval in the human canal changes direction through the pelvis, requiring babies to rotate during delivery so that the head and shoulders can pass through.

Computer modeling with digital images suggested that the stress and pressure of being upright on two legs might give the pelvic canal its twist. When the researchers used a consistently oriented oval, like the one that apes have, the pelvis tilted and destabilized the spine, making it harder to balance on two legs.

Our balance might be even better with a widened outlet at the lower portion of the birth canal, the investigators found. But a wider outlet could make childbirth injuries more likely because it would require an even harder twist of the head and shoulders in the canal. The authors say that the shape of the pelvic canal could represent an “evolutionary compromise” between these competing factors.

These findings rely on computer models using digital images and don’t precisely recreate either the evolutionary or birthing process. But they do offer another feature to consider when answering the question of why human labor and delivery are so difficult, compared with our closest living cousins.

A version of this article first appeared on WebMD.com.

Giving birth may be so arduous for humans in part because the pelvis is optimized for standing upright, a new study suggests.

The study, published in BMC Biology , relies on computer-based simulations of how bone, soft tissue, and skin work in concert as we move. The same approach has been used to identify key elements of a perfect fastball in baseball and the best marathon gait.

In the new analysis, scientists used digital images to examine how bones and muscles around the pelvis move during daily activities and giving birth. Because the shape of the human pelvic canal doesn’t make for a fast or easy birth, the investigators wondered if its dimensions were linked to some other human feature.

In apes, this canal is a simple oval throughout, so labor and delivery might be easier for these species, the scientists note. But the oval in the human canal changes direction through the pelvis, requiring babies to rotate during delivery so that the head and shoulders can pass through.

Computer modeling with digital images suggested that the stress and pressure of being upright on two legs might give the pelvic canal its twist. When the researchers used a consistently oriented oval, like the one that apes have, the pelvis tilted and destabilized the spine, making it harder to balance on two legs.

Our balance might be even better with a widened outlet at the lower portion of the birth canal, the investigators found. But a wider outlet could make childbirth injuries more likely because it would require an even harder twist of the head and shoulders in the canal. The authors say that the shape of the pelvic canal could represent an “evolutionary compromise” between these competing factors.

These findings rely on computer models using digital images and don’t precisely recreate either the evolutionary or birthing process. But they do offer another feature to consider when answering the question of why human labor and delivery are so difficult, compared with our closest living cousins.

A version of this article first appeared on WebMD.com.

COVID-19 has been difficult for parents trying to balance careers, home life, and keeping their loved ones safe. A new study indicates that, not only are physicians not immune to these stressors, but the long-term effects could be devastating for health care overall.

Juanmonino/Getty Images

In a study published Nov. 11, 2021, in JAMA Network Open , researchers found that stresses to work/life balance and family life caused by the pandemic have differed among men and women physicians. Women physicians have borne more of the burden, and the consequences could reach far beyond home.

Physicians and other health care workers have been at the front lines of the COVID-19 pandemic, and their work lives have been the focus of a lot of attention in the media and by researchers. Their family lives, not so much. But physicians have families, and the pandemic has upended almost everything about their lives, particularly where work life and home life intersect. School and day care closures, working from home, working extra hours, or working less – all of these changes have consequences on family life and the mental health of parents who are also physicians.

Findings from a Medscape survey published in early 2021 indicate that more female physicians than male physicians were either “conflicted” or “very conflicted” as parents because of work demands (42% vs. 23%) nearly 6 months into the pandemic.

In the current study, researchers from the University of Michigan, Harvard University, and the Medical University of South Carolina teamed up to investigate gender differences in how work/family factors affected the mental health of early-career physician parents in the United States during the first year of the COVID-19 pandemic. The results suggest that the pandemic has increased gender disparity and added disproportionately to the burden of female physicians.
 

Managing the household falls mostly on moms

Participants were physicians enrolled in the Intern Health Study, a longitudinal study that regularly surveys medical interns in the United States to assess stress and mood. When researchers compared survey results from before the onset of the pandemic (2018) with later results (2020), they found a striking gender difference in how the pandemic has changed family and work duties for physicians.

The authors of the study pointed out that previous research had found that female physicians take on a greater share of household and childcare duties than male physicians. The current study found that their share had increased with the pandemic. Physician moms are now 30 times more likely to be in charge of these tasks than physician dads.

In families in which both parents were physicians, none of the men said they took the primary role in managing the extra demands caused by the pandemic. In addition, women were twice as likely as men to work primarily from home and to work reduced hours.

The extra stress seems to be taking a toll on women physicians. In the 2020 survey, physician mothers had higher scores for anxiety and depression symptoms, compared with men. Notably, the 2018 survey did not show a significant difference in depression scores between men and women. Nor were there significant differences in depression and anxiety scores between women and men who were not parents or in reports of work/family conflict before and after the pandemic.

In general, the results indicate that the pandemic has only widened the gender gap between women and men physicians when it comes to managing family life and dealing with the stresses of maintaining a suitable work-life balance.
 

‘Long-term repercussions’ for gender equity in medicine

Although these are serious problems for women physicians and their families, the effects go beyond the home and beyond individuals. Even before the pandemic, women in medicine struggled for parity in career advancement and opportunities as well as in pay, and this new setback could make those challenges even greater.

“Even short-term adjustments can have serious long-term repercussions as they may lead to lower earnings and negatively impact opportunities for promotion, further exacerbating gender inequalities in compensation and advancement,” the study’s authors wrote.

The potential damage extends to the entire profession and the health care system itself. The profession is already struggling to retain young female physicians, and this situation is likely to make that problem worse and have long-term consequences. Citing data showing that female physicians spend more time with patients and that their patients may have better outcomes, the authors wrote that the consequences of losing more early-career female physicians “could be devastating to the U.S. health care system, particularly in the context of a global pandemic and an impending physician shortage.”

The sample size was small (276 U.S. physicians), and the study relied on self-reported data. The findings suggest that more research on this topic is needed, especially research that includes other demographic factors, such as sexual orientation and ethnicity. The authors recommend that institutional and public policymakers take into account the effects of the pandemic on physician mothers to ensure that recent gains in gender equity for women physicians do not fall victim to COVID-19.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

COVID-19 has been difficult for parents trying to balance careers, home life, and keeping their loved ones safe. A new study indicates that, not only are physicians not immune to these stressors, but the long-term effects could be devastating for health care overall.

Juanmonino/Getty Images

In a study published Nov. 11, 2021, in JAMA Network Open , researchers found that stresses to work/life balance and family life caused by the pandemic have differed among men and women physicians. Women physicians have borne more of the burden, and the consequences could reach far beyond home.

Physicians and other health care workers have been at the front lines of the COVID-19 pandemic, and their work lives have been the focus of a lot of attention in the media and by researchers. Their family lives, not so much. But physicians have families, and the pandemic has upended almost everything about their lives, particularly where work life and home life intersect. School and day care closures, working from home, working extra hours, or working less – all of these changes have consequences on family life and the mental health of parents who are also physicians.

Findings from a Medscape survey published in early 2021 indicate that more female physicians than male physicians were either “conflicted” or “very conflicted” as parents because of work demands (42% vs. 23%) nearly 6 months into the pandemic.

In the current study, researchers from the University of Michigan, Harvard University, and the Medical University of South Carolina teamed up to investigate gender differences in how work/family factors affected the mental health of early-career physician parents in the United States during the first year of the COVID-19 pandemic. The results suggest that the pandemic has increased gender disparity and added disproportionately to the burden of female physicians.
 

Managing the household falls mostly on moms

Participants were physicians enrolled in the Intern Health Study, a longitudinal study that regularly surveys medical interns in the United States to assess stress and mood. When researchers compared survey results from before the onset of the pandemic (2018) with later results (2020), they found a striking gender difference in how the pandemic has changed family and work duties for physicians.

The authors of the study pointed out that previous research had found that female physicians take on a greater share of household and childcare duties than male physicians. The current study found that their share had increased with the pandemic. Physician moms are now 30 times more likely to be in charge of these tasks than physician dads.

In families in which both parents were physicians, none of the men said they took the primary role in managing the extra demands caused by the pandemic. In addition, women were twice as likely as men to work primarily from home and to work reduced hours.

The extra stress seems to be taking a toll on women physicians. In the 2020 survey, physician mothers had higher scores for anxiety and depression symptoms, compared with men. Notably, the 2018 survey did not show a significant difference in depression scores between men and women. Nor were there significant differences in depression and anxiety scores between women and men who were not parents or in reports of work/family conflict before and after the pandemic.

In general, the results indicate that the pandemic has only widened the gender gap between women and men physicians when it comes to managing family life and dealing with the stresses of maintaining a suitable work-life balance.
 

‘Long-term repercussions’ for gender equity in medicine

Although these are serious problems for women physicians and their families, the effects go beyond the home and beyond individuals. Even before the pandemic, women in medicine struggled for parity in career advancement and opportunities as well as in pay, and this new setback could make those challenges even greater.

“Even short-term adjustments can have serious long-term repercussions as they may lead to lower earnings and negatively impact opportunities for promotion, further exacerbating gender inequalities in compensation and advancement,” the study’s authors wrote.

The potential damage extends to the entire profession and the health care system itself. The profession is already struggling to retain young female physicians, and this situation is likely to make that problem worse and have long-term consequences. Citing data showing that female physicians spend more time with patients and that their patients may have better outcomes, the authors wrote that the consequences of losing more early-career female physicians “could be devastating to the U.S. health care system, particularly in the context of a global pandemic and an impending physician shortage.”

The sample size was small (276 U.S. physicians), and the study relied on self-reported data. The findings suggest that more research on this topic is needed, especially research that includes other demographic factors, such as sexual orientation and ethnicity. The authors recommend that institutional and public policymakers take into account the effects of the pandemic on physician mothers to ensure that recent gains in gender equity for women physicians do not fall victim to COVID-19.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

COVID-19 has been difficult for parents trying to balance careers, home life, and keeping their loved ones safe. A new study indicates that, not only are physicians not immune to these stressors, but the long-term effects could be devastating for health care overall.

Juanmonino/Getty Images

In a study published Nov. 11, 2021, in JAMA Network Open , researchers found that stresses to work/life balance and family life caused by the pandemic have differed among men and women physicians. Women physicians have borne more of the burden, and the consequences could reach far beyond home.

Physicians and other health care workers have been at the front lines of the COVID-19 pandemic, and their work lives have been the focus of a lot of attention in the media and by researchers. Their family lives, not so much. But physicians have families, and the pandemic has upended almost everything about their lives, particularly where work life and home life intersect. School and day care closures, working from home, working extra hours, or working less – all of these changes have consequences on family life and the mental health of parents who are also physicians.

Findings from a Medscape survey published in early 2021 indicate that more female physicians than male physicians were either “conflicted” or “very conflicted” as parents because of work demands (42% vs. 23%) nearly 6 months into the pandemic.

In the current study, researchers from the University of Michigan, Harvard University, and the Medical University of South Carolina teamed up to investigate gender differences in how work/family factors affected the mental health of early-career physician parents in the United States during the first year of the COVID-19 pandemic. The results suggest that the pandemic has increased gender disparity and added disproportionately to the burden of female physicians.
 

Managing the household falls mostly on moms

Participants were physicians enrolled in the Intern Health Study, a longitudinal study that regularly surveys medical interns in the United States to assess stress and mood. When researchers compared survey results from before the onset of the pandemic (2018) with later results (2020), they found a striking gender difference in how the pandemic has changed family and work duties for physicians.

The authors of the study pointed out that previous research had found that female physicians take on a greater share of household and childcare duties than male physicians. The current study found that their share had increased with the pandemic. Physician moms are now 30 times more likely to be in charge of these tasks than physician dads.

In families in which both parents were physicians, none of the men said they took the primary role in managing the extra demands caused by the pandemic. In addition, women were twice as likely as men to work primarily from home and to work reduced hours.

The extra stress seems to be taking a toll on women physicians. In the 2020 survey, physician mothers had higher scores for anxiety and depression symptoms, compared with men. Notably, the 2018 survey did not show a significant difference in depression scores between men and women. Nor were there significant differences in depression and anxiety scores between women and men who were not parents or in reports of work/family conflict before and after the pandemic.

In general, the results indicate that the pandemic has only widened the gender gap between women and men physicians when it comes to managing family life and dealing with the stresses of maintaining a suitable work-life balance.
 

‘Long-term repercussions’ for gender equity in medicine

Although these are serious problems for women physicians and their families, the effects go beyond the home and beyond individuals. Even before the pandemic, women in medicine struggled for parity in career advancement and opportunities as well as in pay, and this new setback could make those challenges even greater.

“Even short-term adjustments can have serious long-term repercussions as they may lead to lower earnings and negatively impact opportunities for promotion, further exacerbating gender inequalities in compensation and advancement,” the study’s authors wrote.

The potential damage extends to the entire profession and the health care system itself. The profession is already struggling to retain young female physicians, and this situation is likely to make that problem worse and have long-term consequences. Citing data showing that female physicians spend more time with patients and that their patients may have better outcomes, the authors wrote that the consequences of losing more early-career female physicians “could be devastating to the U.S. health care system, particularly in the context of a global pandemic and an impending physician shortage.”

The sample size was small (276 U.S. physicians), and the study relied on self-reported data. The findings suggest that more research on this topic is needed, especially research that includes other demographic factors, such as sexual orientation and ethnicity. The authors recommend that institutional and public policymakers take into account the effects of the pandemic on physician mothers to ensure that recent gains in gender equity for women physicians do not fall victim to COVID-19.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

In September, when Texas’ near-total abortion ban took effect, Planned Parenthood clinics in the Lone Star State started offering every patient who walked in information on Senate Bill 8, as well as emergency contraception, condoms, and two pregnancy tests. The plan is to distribute 22,000 “empowerment kits” this year.

“We felt it was very important for patients to have as many tools on hand to help them meet this really onerous law,” said Elizabeth Cardwell, lead clinician at Planned Parenthood of Greater Texas, which has 24 clinics across the northern and central regions of the state and provides care to tens of thousands of people annually.

Most of their patients – who tend to be uninsured and have annual household incomes of less than $25,000 – had not known about SB 8 the first several weeks after implementation, said Dr. Cardwell. But once they learned about it, patients seemed to rush to get on birth control, she said.

SB 8 allows private citizens, in Texas or elsewhere, to sue anyone who performs an abortion in the state or who “aided or abetted” someone getting an abortion once fetal cardiac activity is detected. This is generally around six weeks, before most people know they’re pregnant. It’s had a chilling effect in Texas, where access to abortion was already limited.

Medical staffs are doubling down on educating patients about birth control. They recognize the strategy isn’t foolproof but are desperate to prevent unintended pregnancies, nearly half of which nationwide end in abortion.

“It’s more important now than it ever has been,” said Dr. Cardwell. “I’ve been in abortion care 30-plus years, and my go-to line was ‘You’ve got plenty of time. You don’t have to feel rushed. Talk with your partner. Talk with your family,’” she said. “Now we don’t have that luxury.”

Patients, too, seem to feel a sense of urgency. During September, according to data from Planned Parenthood of Greater Texas, medical staff provided patients with some form of birth control — for example, pill packs, Depo-Provera shots or IUD implant insertions – in more than 3,750 visits, 5% more than in Sept. 2020.

Dr. Jennifer Liedtke, a family physician in West Texas, said she and her nurse practitioners explain SB 8 to every patient who comes to their private practice and saw a 20% increase in requests for long-acting reversible contraceptive methods, known as LARCs, in September.

LARCs, a category that includes intrauterine devices and hormonal implants, have become increasingly appealing because they are 99% effective at preventing pregnancy and last several years. They are also simpler than the pill, which needs to be taken daily, or the vaginal ring, which needs to be changed monthly.

Still, LARCs are not everyone’s preferred method. For example, inserting an IUD can be painful.

A doctor’s office is one of the few opportunities for reliable birth control education. Texas law doesn’t require schools to teach sex education, and if they do, educators must stress abstinence as the preferred birth control method. Some doctors opt to explain abortion access in the state when naming birth control options.

Dr. Liedtke is used to having to explain new laws passed by the Texas legislature. “It happens all the time,” she said. But the controversy surrounding SB 8 confuses patients all the more as the law works its way through the court system with differing rulings, one of which briefly blocked the measure. The U.S. Supreme Court heard related arguments Nov. 1.

“People just don’t understand,” said Dr. Liedtke. “It was tied up for 48 hours, so they are like, ‘It’s not a law anymore?’ Well, no, technically it is.”

Not all providers are able to talk freely about abortion access. In 2019, the Trump administration barred providers that participate in the federally funded family planning program, Title X, from mentioning abortion care to patients, even if patients themselves raise questions. In early October, the Biden administration reversed that rule. The change will kick in this month. Planned Parenthood can discuss SB 8 in Texas because Texas affiliates do not receive Title X dollars.

Dr. Lindsey Vasquez of Legacy Community Health, the largest federally qualified health center in Texas and a recipient of Title X dollars, said she and other staff members have not discussed abortion or SB 8 because they also must juggle a variety of other priorities. Legacy’s patients are underserved, she said. A majority live at or below the federal poverty level.

Nearly two years into the Covid-19 pandemic, “we’re literally maximizing those visits,” Dr. Vasquez said. Their jobs go beyond offering reproductive care. “We’re making sure they have food resources, that they have their housing stable,” she said. “We really are trying to make sure that all of their needs are met because we know for these types of populations – patients that we serve – this may be our only moment that we get to meet them.”

Specialized family planning clinics that receive Title X dollars do have proactive conversations about contraceptive methods, according to Every Body Texas, the Title X grantee for the state.

Discussions of long-acting reversible contraception must be handled with sensitivity because these forms of birth control have a questionable history among certain populations, primarily lower-income patients. In the 1990s, lawmakers in several states, including Texas, introduced bills to offer cash assistance recipients financial incentives to get an implant or mandate insertion for people on government benefits, a move seen as reproductive coercion.

“It’s important for a client to get on the contraceptive method of their choice,” said Mimi Garcia, communications director for Every Body Texas. “Some people will just say, ‘Let’s get everyone on IUDs’ or ‘Let’s get everybody on hormonal implants’ because those are the most effective methods. ... That’s not something that’s going to work for [every] individual. ... Either they don’t agree with it philosophically, or they don’t like how it makes their body feel.”

It’s a nuanced subject for providers to broach, so some suggest starting the conversation by asking the patient about their future.

“The best question to ask is ‘When do you want to have another baby?’” said Dr. Liedtke. And then if they say, ‘Oh, gosh, I’m not even sure I want to have more kids’ or ‘Five or six years from now,’ then we start talking LARCs. ... But if it’s like, ‘Man, I really want to start trying in a year,’ then I don’t talk to them about putting one of those in.”

The Biden administration expected more demand for birth control in Texas, so Health & Human Services Secretary Xavier Becerra announced in mid-September that Every Body Texas would receive additional Title X funding, as would local providers experiencing an influx of clients as a result of SB 8.

But providers said improved access to contraception will not blunt the law’s effects. It will not protect patients who want to get pregnant but ultimately decide on abortion because they receive a diagnosis of a serious complication, their relationship status changes, or they lose financial or social support, said Dr. Elissa Serapio, an OB-GYN in the Rio Grande Valley and a fellow with Physicians for Reproductive Health.

“It’s the very best that we can do,” said Dr. Cardwell, of Planned Parenthood of Greater Texas. “There’s no 100% effective method of birth control.”

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

In September, when Texas’ near-total abortion ban took effect, Planned Parenthood clinics in the Lone Star State started offering every patient who walked in information on Senate Bill 8, as well as emergency contraception, condoms, and two pregnancy tests. The plan is to distribute 22,000 “empowerment kits” this year.

“We felt it was very important for patients to have as many tools on hand to help them meet this really onerous law,” said Elizabeth Cardwell, lead clinician at Planned Parenthood of Greater Texas, which has 24 clinics across the northern and central regions of the state and provides care to tens of thousands of people annually.

Most of their patients – who tend to be uninsured and have annual household incomes of less than $25,000 – had not known about SB 8 the first several weeks after implementation, said Dr. Cardwell. But once they learned about it, patients seemed to rush to get on birth control, she said.

SB 8 allows private citizens, in Texas or elsewhere, to sue anyone who performs an abortion in the state or who “aided or abetted” someone getting an abortion once fetal cardiac activity is detected. This is generally around six weeks, before most people know they’re pregnant. It’s had a chilling effect in Texas, where access to abortion was already limited.

Medical staffs are doubling down on educating patients about birth control. They recognize the strategy isn’t foolproof but are desperate to prevent unintended pregnancies, nearly half of which nationwide end in abortion.

“It’s more important now than it ever has been,” said Dr. Cardwell. “I’ve been in abortion care 30-plus years, and my go-to line was ‘You’ve got plenty of time. You don’t have to feel rushed. Talk with your partner. Talk with your family,’” she said. “Now we don’t have that luxury.”

Patients, too, seem to feel a sense of urgency. During September, according to data from Planned Parenthood of Greater Texas, medical staff provided patients with some form of birth control — for example, pill packs, Depo-Provera shots or IUD implant insertions – in more than 3,750 visits, 5% more than in Sept. 2020.

Dr. Jennifer Liedtke, a family physician in West Texas, said she and her nurse practitioners explain SB 8 to every patient who comes to their private practice and saw a 20% increase in requests for long-acting reversible contraceptive methods, known as LARCs, in September.

LARCs, a category that includes intrauterine devices and hormonal implants, have become increasingly appealing because they are 99% effective at preventing pregnancy and last several years. They are also simpler than the pill, which needs to be taken daily, or the vaginal ring, which needs to be changed monthly.

Still, LARCs are not everyone’s preferred method. For example, inserting an IUD can be painful.

A doctor’s office is one of the few opportunities for reliable birth control education. Texas law doesn’t require schools to teach sex education, and if they do, educators must stress abstinence as the preferred birth control method. Some doctors opt to explain abortion access in the state when naming birth control options.

Dr. Liedtke is used to having to explain new laws passed by the Texas legislature. “It happens all the time,” she said. But the controversy surrounding SB 8 confuses patients all the more as the law works its way through the court system with differing rulings, one of which briefly blocked the measure. The U.S. Supreme Court heard related arguments Nov. 1.

“People just don’t understand,” said Dr. Liedtke. “It was tied up for 48 hours, so they are like, ‘It’s not a law anymore?’ Well, no, technically it is.”

Not all providers are able to talk freely about abortion access. In 2019, the Trump administration barred providers that participate in the federally funded family planning program, Title X, from mentioning abortion care to patients, even if patients themselves raise questions. In early October, the Biden administration reversed that rule. The change will kick in this month. Planned Parenthood can discuss SB 8 in Texas because Texas affiliates do not receive Title X dollars.

Dr. Lindsey Vasquez of Legacy Community Health, the largest federally qualified health center in Texas and a recipient of Title X dollars, said she and other staff members have not discussed abortion or SB 8 because they also must juggle a variety of other priorities. Legacy’s patients are underserved, she said. A majority live at or below the federal poverty level.

Nearly two years into the Covid-19 pandemic, “we’re literally maximizing those visits,” Dr. Vasquez said. Their jobs go beyond offering reproductive care. “We’re making sure they have food resources, that they have their housing stable,” she said. “We really are trying to make sure that all of their needs are met because we know for these types of populations – patients that we serve – this may be our only moment that we get to meet them.”

Specialized family planning clinics that receive Title X dollars do have proactive conversations about contraceptive methods, according to Every Body Texas, the Title X grantee for the state.

Discussions of long-acting reversible contraception must be handled with sensitivity because these forms of birth control have a questionable history among certain populations, primarily lower-income patients. In the 1990s, lawmakers in several states, including Texas, introduced bills to offer cash assistance recipients financial incentives to get an implant or mandate insertion for people on government benefits, a move seen as reproductive coercion.

“It’s important for a client to get on the contraceptive method of their choice,” said Mimi Garcia, communications director for Every Body Texas. “Some people will just say, ‘Let’s get everyone on IUDs’ or ‘Let’s get everybody on hormonal implants’ because those are the most effective methods. ... That’s not something that’s going to work for [every] individual. ... Either they don’t agree with it philosophically, or they don’t like how it makes their body feel.”

It’s a nuanced subject for providers to broach, so some suggest starting the conversation by asking the patient about their future.

“The best question to ask is ‘When do you want to have another baby?’” said Dr. Liedtke. And then if they say, ‘Oh, gosh, I’m not even sure I want to have more kids’ or ‘Five or six years from now,’ then we start talking LARCs. ... But if it’s like, ‘Man, I really want to start trying in a year,’ then I don’t talk to them about putting one of those in.”

The Biden administration expected more demand for birth control in Texas, so Health & Human Services Secretary Xavier Becerra announced in mid-September that Every Body Texas would receive additional Title X funding, as would local providers experiencing an influx of clients as a result of SB 8.

But providers said improved access to contraception will not blunt the law’s effects. It will not protect patients who want to get pregnant but ultimately decide on abortion because they receive a diagnosis of a serious complication, their relationship status changes, or they lose financial or social support, said Dr. Elissa Serapio, an OB-GYN in the Rio Grande Valley and a fellow with Physicians for Reproductive Health.

“It’s the very best that we can do,” said Dr. Cardwell, of Planned Parenthood of Greater Texas. “There’s no 100% effective method of birth control.”

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

In September, when Texas’ near-total abortion ban took effect, Planned Parenthood clinics in the Lone Star State started offering every patient who walked in information on Senate Bill 8, as well as emergency contraception, condoms, and two pregnancy tests. The plan is to distribute 22,000 “empowerment kits” this year.

“We felt it was very important for patients to have as many tools on hand to help them meet this really onerous law,” said Elizabeth Cardwell, lead clinician at Planned Parenthood of Greater Texas, which has 24 clinics across the northern and central regions of the state and provides care to tens of thousands of people annually.

Most of their patients – who tend to be uninsured and have annual household incomes of less than $25,000 – had not known about SB 8 the first several weeks after implementation, said Dr. Cardwell. But once they learned about it, patients seemed to rush to get on birth control, she said.

SB 8 allows private citizens, in Texas or elsewhere, to sue anyone who performs an abortion in the state or who “aided or abetted” someone getting an abortion once fetal cardiac activity is detected. This is generally around six weeks, before most people know they’re pregnant. It’s had a chilling effect in Texas, where access to abortion was already limited.

Medical staffs are doubling down on educating patients about birth control. They recognize the strategy isn’t foolproof but are desperate to prevent unintended pregnancies, nearly half of which nationwide end in abortion.

“It’s more important now than it ever has been,” said Dr. Cardwell. “I’ve been in abortion care 30-plus years, and my go-to line was ‘You’ve got plenty of time. You don’t have to feel rushed. Talk with your partner. Talk with your family,’” she said. “Now we don’t have that luxury.”

Patients, too, seem to feel a sense of urgency. During September, according to data from Planned Parenthood of Greater Texas, medical staff provided patients with some form of birth control — for example, pill packs, Depo-Provera shots or IUD implant insertions – in more than 3,750 visits, 5% more than in Sept. 2020.

Dr. Jennifer Liedtke, a family physician in West Texas, said she and her nurse practitioners explain SB 8 to every patient who comes to their private practice and saw a 20% increase in requests for long-acting reversible contraceptive methods, known as LARCs, in September.

LARCs, a category that includes intrauterine devices and hormonal implants, have become increasingly appealing because they are 99% effective at preventing pregnancy and last several years. They are also simpler than the pill, which needs to be taken daily, or the vaginal ring, which needs to be changed monthly.

Still, LARCs are not everyone’s preferred method. For example, inserting an IUD can be painful.

A doctor’s office is one of the few opportunities for reliable birth control education. Texas law doesn’t require schools to teach sex education, and if they do, educators must stress abstinence as the preferred birth control method. Some doctors opt to explain abortion access in the state when naming birth control options.

Dr. Liedtke is used to having to explain new laws passed by the Texas legislature. “It happens all the time,” she said. But the controversy surrounding SB 8 confuses patients all the more as the law works its way through the court system with differing rulings, one of which briefly blocked the measure. The U.S. Supreme Court heard related arguments Nov. 1.

“People just don’t understand,” said Dr. Liedtke. “It was tied up for 48 hours, so they are like, ‘It’s not a law anymore?’ Well, no, technically it is.”

Not all providers are able to talk freely about abortion access. In 2019, the Trump administration barred providers that participate in the federally funded family planning program, Title X, from mentioning abortion care to patients, even if patients themselves raise questions. In early October, the Biden administration reversed that rule. The change will kick in this month. Planned Parenthood can discuss SB 8 in Texas because Texas affiliates do not receive Title X dollars.

Dr. Lindsey Vasquez of Legacy Community Health, the largest federally qualified health center in Texas and a recipient of Title X dollars, said she and other staff members have not discussed abortion or SB 8 because they also must juggle a variety of other priorities. Legacy’s patients are underserved, she said. A majority live at or below the federal poverty level.

Nearly two years into the Covid-19 pandemic, “we’re literally maximizing those visits,” Dr. Vasquez said. Their jobs go beyond offering reproductive care. “We’re making sure they have food resources, that they have their housing stable,” she said. “We really are trying to make sure that all of their needs are met because we know for these types of populations – patients that we serve – this may be our only moment that we get to meet them.”

Specialized family planning clinics that receive Title X dollars do have proactive conversations about contraceptive methods, according to Every Body Texas, the Title X grantee for the state.

Discussions of long-acting reversible contraception must be handled with sensitivity because these forms of birth control have a questionable history among certain populations, primarily lower-income patients. In the 1990s, lawmakers in several states, including Texas, introduced bills to offer cash assistance recipients financial incentives to get an implant or mandate insertion for people on government benefits, a move seen as reproductive coercion.

“It’s important for a client to get on the contraceptive method of their choice,” said Mimi Garcia, communications director for Every Body Texas. “Some people will just say, ‘Let’s get everyone on IUDs’ or ‘Let’s get everybody on hormonal implants’ because those are the most effective methods. ... That’s not something that’s going to work for [every] individual. ... Either they don’t agree with it philosophically, or they don’t like how it makes their body feel.”

It’s a nuanced subject for providers to broach, so some suggest starting the conversation by asking the patient about their future.

“The best question to ask is ‘When do you want to have another baby?’” said Dr. Liedtke. And then if they say, ‘Oh, gosh, I’m not even sure I want to have more kids’ or ‘Five or six years from now,’ then we start talking LARCs. ... But if it’s like, ‘Man, I really want to start trying in a year,’ then I don’t talk to them about putting one of those in.”

The Biden administration expected more demand for birth control in Texas, so Health & Human Services Secretary Xavier Becerra announced in mid-September that Every Body Texas would receive additional Title X funding, as would local providers experiencing an influx of clients as a result of SB 8.

But providers said improved access to contraception will not blunt the law’s effects. It will not protect patients who want to get pregnant but ultimately decide on abortion because they receive a diagnosis of a serious complication, their relationship status changes, or they lose financial or social support, said Dr. Elissa Serapio, an OB-GYN in the Rio Grande Valley and a fellow with Physicians for Reproductive Health.

“It’s the very best that we can do,” said Dr. Cardwell, of Planned Parenthood of Greater Texas. “There’s no 100% effective method of birth control.”

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

New data from England show the success of the national program for vaccinating girls against human papillomavirus (HPV) to prevent cervical cancer.

Among young women who received the HPV vaccine when they were 12-13 years old (before their sexual debut), cervical cancer rates are 87% lower than among previous nonvaccinated generations.

“It’s been incredible to see the impact of HPV vaccination, and now we can prove it prevented hundreds of women from developing cancer in England,” senior author Peter Sasieni, MD, King’s College London, said in a statement. “To see the real-life impact of the vaccine has been truly rewarding.”

“This study provides the first direct evidence of the impact of the UK HPV vaccination campaign on cervical cancer incidence, showing a large reduction in cervical cancer rates in vaccinated cohorts,” Kate Soldan, MD, U.K. Health Security Agency, London, commented in a statement.

Vanessa Saliba, MD, a consultant epidemiologist for the U.K. Health Security Agency, agreed, saying that “these remarkable findings confirm that the HPV vaccine saves lives by dramatically reducing cervical cancer rates among women.

“This reminds us that vaccines are one of the most important tools we have to help us live longer, healthier lives,” she added.

The study was published online Nov. 3, 2021, in The Lancet.

Approached for comment on the new study, Maurice Markman, MD, president, Medicine and Science Cancer Treatment Centers of America, noted that the results of the English study are very similar to those of a Swedish study of the quadrivalent vaccine alone.

“You can put any superlatives you want in here, but these are stunningly positive results,” Dr. Markman said in an interview. He said that, as an oncologist who has been treating cervical cancer for 40 years, particularly patients with advanced cervical cancer, “I can tell you this is one of the most devastating diseases to women, and the ability to eliminate this cancer with something as simple as a vaccine is the goal of cancer therapy, and it’s been remarkably successful.

“I can only emphasize the critical importance of all parents to see that their children who are eligible for the vaccine receive it. This is a cancer prevention strategy that is unbelievably, remarkably effective and safe,” Dr. Markman added.
 

National vaccination program

The national HPV vaccination program in England began in 2008. Initially, the bivalent Cervarix vaccine against HPV 16 and 18 was used. HPV 16 and 18 are responsible for 70% to 80% of all cervical cancers in England, the researchers note in their article.

In 2012, the program switched to the quadrivalent HPV vaccine (Gardasil), which is effective against two additional HPV types, HPV 6 and 11. Those strains cause genital warts.

The prevention program originally recommended a three-dose regimen in which both HPV vaccines were used. Currently, two doses are given to girls younger than 15 years. In addition, a single dose of the HPV vaccine provides good protection against persistent infection. The efficacy rate of a single dose is similar to that of three doses, the authors comment.
 

Population-based registry

The new data come from a population-based cancer registry that shows the incidence of cervical cancer and noninvasive cervical carcinoma (CIN3) in England between January 2006 and June 2019.

The study included seven cohorts of women who were aged 20-64 years at the end of 2019. Three of these cohorts composed the vaccinated population.

The team reports that overall, from January 2006 to June 2019, there were 27,946 cases of cervical cancer and 318,058 cases of CIN3.

In the three vaccinated cohorts, there were around 450 fewer cases of cervical cancer and 17,200 fewer cases of CIN3 than would be expected in a nonvaccinated population.

The three vaccinated cohorts had been eligible to receive Cervarix when they were aged 12-13 years. A catch-up scheme aimed at 14- to 16-year-olds and 16- to 18-year-olds. Most of these persons were vaccinated through a school vaccination program.

The team analyzed the data for each of these cohorts.

Among the cohort eligible for vaccination at 12-13 years of age, 89% received at least one dose of the HPV vaccine; 85% received three shots and were fully vaccinated. Among these persons, the rate of cervical cancer was 87% lower than expected in a nonvaccinated population, and the rate of CIN3 was 97% lower than expected.

For the cohort that was eligible to be vaccinated between the ages of 14 and 16 years, the corresponding reductions were 62% for cervical cancer and 75% for CIN3.

For the cohort eligible for vaccination between the ages of 16 and 18 years (of whom 60% had received at least one dose and 45% were fully vaccinated), the corresponding reduction were 34% for cervical cancer and 39% for CIN3.

The authors acknowledge some limitations with the study, principally that cervical cancer is rare in young women, and these vaccinated populations are still young. The youngest would have been vaccinated at age 12 in 2008 and so would be only 23 years old in 2019, when the follow-up in this current study ended. The authors emphasize that because the vaccinated populations are still young, it is too early to assess the full impact of HPV vaccination on cervical cancer rates.
 

Editorial commentary

“The relative reductions in cervical cancer, expected as a result of the HPV vaccination program, support the anticipated vaccine effectiveness,” commented two authors of an accompanying editorial, Maggie Cruickshank, MD, University of Aberdeen (Scotland), and Mihaela Grigore, MD, University of Medicine and Pharmacy, Lasi, Romania.

“The scale of the HPV vaccination effect reported by this study should also stimulate vaccination programs in low-income and middle-income countries where the problem of cervical cancer is a far greater public health issue than in those with well established systems of vaccination and screening,” they comment.

“The most important issue, besides the availability of the vaccine ... is the education of the population to accept the vaccination because a high rate of immunization is a key element of success,” they emphasize. “Even in a wealthy country, such as England with free access to HPV immunization, uptake has not reached the 90% vaccination target of girls aged 15 years set by WHO [World Health Organization].”

The authors and editorialists disclosed no relevant financial relationships. Dr. Markman is a regular contributor to Medscape Oncology. He has received income of $250 or more from Genentech, AstraZeneca, Celgene, Clovis, and Amgen.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

New data from England show the success of the national program for vaccinating girls against human papillomavirus (HPV) to prevent cervical cancer.

Among young women who received the HPV vaccine when they were 12-13 years old (before their sexual debut), cervical cancer rates are 87% lower than among previous nonvaccinated generations.

“It’s been incredible to see the impact of HPV vaccination, and now we can prove it prevented hundreds of women from developing cancer in England,” senior author Peter Sasieni, MD, King’s College London, said in a statement. “To see the real-life impact of the vaccine has been truly rewarding.”

“This study provides the first direct evidence of the impact of the UK HPV vaccination campaign on cervical cancer incidence, showing a large reduction in cervical cancer rates in vaccinated cohorts,” Kate Soldan, MD, U.K. Health Security Agency, London, commented in a statement.

Vanessa Saliba, MD, a consultant epidemiologist for the U.K. Health Security Agency, agreed, saying that “these remarkable findings confirm that the HPV vaccine saves lives by dramatically reducing cervical cancer rates among women.

“This reminds us that vaccines are one of the most important tools we have to help us live longer, healthier lives,” she added.

The study was published online Nov. 3, 2021, in The Lancet.

Approached for comment on the new study, Maurice Markman, MD, president, Medicine and Science Cancer Treatment Centers of America, noted that the results of the English study are very similar to those of a Swedish study of the quadrivalent vaccine alone.

“You can put any superlatives you want in here, but these are stunningly positive results,” Dr. Markman said in an interview. He said that, as an oncologist who has been treating cervical cancer for 40 years, particularly patients with advanced cervical cancer, “I can tell you this is one of the most devastating diseases to women, and the ability to eliminate this cancer with something as simple as a vaccine is the goal of cancer therapy, and it’s been remarkably successful.

“I can only emphasize the critical importance of all parents to see that their children who are eligible for the vaccine receive it. This is a cancer prevention strategy that is unbelievably, remarkably effective and safe,” Dr. Markman added.
 

National vaccination program

The national HPV vaccination program in England began in 2008. Initially, the bivalent Cervarix vaccine against HPV 16 and 18 was used. HPV 16 and 18 are responsible for 70% to 80% of all cervical cancers in England, the researchers note in their article.

In 2012, the program switched to the quadrivalent HPV vaccine (Gardasil), which is effective against two additional HPV types, HPV 6 and 11. Those strains cause genital warts.

The prevention program originally recommended a three-dose regimen in which both HPV vaccines were used. Currently, two doses are given to girls younger than 15 years. In addition, a single dose of the HPV vaccine provides good protection against persistent infection. The efficacy rate of a single dose is similar to that of three doses, the authors comment.
 

Population-based registry

The new data come from a population-based cancer registry that shows the incidence of cervical cancer and noninvasive cervical carcinoma (CIN3) in England between January 2006 and June 2019.

The study included seven cohorts of women who were aged 20-64 years at the end of 2019. Three of these cohorts composed the vaccinated population.

The team reports that overall, from January 2006 to June 2019, there were 27,946 cases of cervical cancer and 318,058 cases of CIN3.

In the three vaccinated cohorts, there were around 450 fewer cases of cervical cancer and 17,200 fewer cases of CIN3 than would be expected in a nonvaccinated population.

The three vaccinated cohorts had been eligible to receive Cervarix when they were aged 12-13 years. A catch-up scheme aimed at 14- to 16-year-olds and 16- to 18-year-olds. Most of these persons were vaccinated through a school vaccination program.

The team analyzed the data for each of these cohorts.

Among the cohort eligible for vaccination at 12-13 years of age, 89% received at least one dose of the HPV vaccine; 85% received three shots and were fully vaccinated. Among these persons, the rate of cervical cancer was 87% lower than expected in a nonvaccinated population, and the rate of CIN3 was 97% lower than expected.

For the cohort that was eligible to be vaccinated between the ages of 14 and 16 years, the corresponding reductions were 62% for cervical cancer and 75% for CIN3.

For the cohort eligible for vaccination between the ages of 16 and 18 years (of whom 60% had received at least one dose and 45% were fully vaccinated), the corresponding reduction were 34% for cervical cancer and 39% for CIN3.

The authors acknowledge some limitations with the study, principally that cervical cancer is rare in young women, and these vaccinated populations are still young. The youngest would have been vaccinated at age 12 in 2008 and so would be only 23 years old in 2019, when the follow-up in this current study ended. The authors emphasize that because the vaccinated populations are still young, it is too early to assess the full impact of HPV vaccination on cervical cancer rates.
 

Editorial commentary

“The relative reductions in cervical cancer, expected as a result of the HPV vaccination program, support the anticipated vaccine effectiveness,” commented two authors of an accompanying editorial, Maggie Cruickshank, MD, University of Aberdeen (Scotland), and Mihaela Grigore, MD, University of Medicine and Pharmacy, Lasi, Romania.

“The scale of the HPV vaccination effect reported by this study should also stimulate vaccination programs in low-income and middle-income countries where the problem of cervical cancer is a far greater public health issue than in those with well established systems of vaccination and screening,” they comment.

“The most important issue, besides the availability of the vaccine ... is the education of the population to accept the vaccination because a high rate of immunization is a key element of success,” they emphasize. “Even in a wealthy country, such as England with free access to HPV immunization, uptake has not reached the 90% vaccination target of girls aged 15 years set by WHO [World Health Organization].”

The authors and editorialists disclosed no relevant financial relationships. Dr. Markman is a regular contributor to Medscape Oncology. He has received income of $250 or more from Genentech, AstraZeneca, Celgene, Clovis, and Amgen.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

New data from England show the success of the national program for vaccinating girls against human papillomavirus (HPV) to prevent cervical cancer.

Among young women who received the HPV vaccine when they were 12-13 years old (before their sexual debut), cervical cancer rates are 87% lower than among previous nonvaccinated generations.

“It’s been incredible to see the impact of HPV vaccination, and now we can prove it prevented hundreds of women from developing cancer in England,” senior author Peter Sasieni, MD, King’s College London, said in a statement. “To see the real-life impact of the vaccine has been truly rewarding.”

“This study provides the first direct evidence of the impact of the UK HPV vaccination campaign on cervical cancer incidence, showing a large reduction in cervical cancer rates in vaccinated cohorts,” Kate Soldan, MD, U.K. Health Security Agency, London, commented in a statement.

Vanessa Saliba, MD, a consultant epidemiologist for the U.K. Health Security Agency, agreed, saying that “these remarkable findings confirm that the HPV vaccine saves lives by dramatically reducing cervical cancer rates among women.

“This reminds us that vaccines are one of the most important tools we have to help us live longer, healthier lives,” she added.

The study was published online Nov. 3, 2021, in The Lancet.

Approached for comment on the new study, Maurice Markman, MD, president, Medicine and Science Cancer Treatment Centers of America, noted that the results of the English study are very similar to those of a Swedish study of the quadrivalent vaccine alone.

“You can put any superlatives you want in here, but these are stunningly positive results,” Dr. Markman said in an interview. He said that, as an oncologist who has been treating cervical cancer for 40 years, particularly patients with advanced cervical cancer, “I can tell you this is one of the most devastating diseases to women, and the ability to eliminate this cancer with something as simple as a vaccine is the goal of cancer therapy, and it’s been remarkably successful.

“I can only emphasize the critical importance of all parents to see that their children who are eligible for the vaccine receive it. This is a cancer prevention strategy that is unbelievably, remarkably effective and safe,” Dr. Markman added.
 

National vaccination program

The national HPV vaccination program in England began in 2008. Initially, the bivalent Cervarix vaccine against HPV 16 and 18 was used. HPV 16 and 18 are responsible for 70% to 80% of all cervical cancers in England, the researchers note in their article.

In 2012, the program switched to the quadrivalent HPV vaccine (Gardasil), which is effective against two additional HPV types, HPV 6 and 11. Those strains cause genital warts.

The prevention program originally recommended a three-dose regimen in which both HPV vaccines were used. Currently, two doses are given to girls younger than 15 years. In addition, a single dose of the HPV vaccine provides good protection against persistent infection. The efficacy rate of a single dose is similar to that of three doses, the authors comment.
 

Population-based registry

The new data come from a population-based cancer registry that shows the incidence of cervical cancer and noninvasive cervical carcinoma (CIN3) in England between January 2006 and June 2019.

The study included seven cohorts of women who were aged 20-64 years at the end of 2019. Three of these cohorts composed the vaccinated population.

The team reports that overall, from January 2006 to June 2019, there were 27,946 cases of cervical cancer and 318,058 cases of CIN3.

In the three vaccinated cohorts, there were around 450 fewer cases of cervical cancer and 17,200 fewer cases of CIN3 than would be expected in a nonvaccinated population.

The three vaccinated cohorts had been eligible to receive Cervarix when they were aged 12-13 years. A catch-up scheme aimed at 14- to 16-year-olds and 16- to 18-year-olds. Most of these persons were vaccinated through a school vaccination program.

The team analyzed the data for each of these cohorts.

Among the cohort eligible for vaccination at 12-13 years of age, 89% received at least one dose of the HPV vaccine; 85% received three shots and were fully vaccinated. Among these persons, the rate of cervical cancer was 87% lower than expected in a nonvaccinated population, and the rate of CIN3 was 97% lower than expected.

For the cohort that was eligible to be vaccinated between the ages of 14 and 16 years, the corresponding reductions were 62% for cervical cancer and 75% for CIN3.

For the cohort eligible for vaccination between the ages of 16 and 18 years (of whom 60% had received at least one dose and 45% were fully vaccinated), the corresponding reduction were 34% for cervical cancer and 39% for CIN3.

The authors acknowledge some limitations with the study, principally that cervical cancer is rare in young women, and these vaccinated populations are still young. The youngest would have been vaccinated at age 12 in 2008 and so would be only 23 years old in 2019, when the follow-up in this current study ended. The authors emphasize that because the vaccinated populations are still young, it is too early to assess the full impact of HPV vaccination on cervical cancer rates.
 

Editorial commentary

“The relative reductions in cervical cancer, expected as a result of the HPV vaccination program, support the anticipated vaccine effectiveness,” commented two authors of an accompanying editorial, Maggie Cruickshank, MD, University of Aberdeen (Scotland), and Mihaela Grigore, MD, University of Medicine and Pharmacy, Lasi, Romania.

“The scale of the HPV vaccination effect reported by this study should also stimulate vaccination programs in low-income and middle-income countries where the problem of cervical cancer is a far greater public health issue than in those with well established systems of vaccination and screening,” they comment.

“The most important issue, besides the availability of the vaccine ... is the education of the population to accept the vaccination because a high rate of immunization is a key element of success,” they emphasize. “Even in a wealthy country, such as England with free access to HPV immunization, uptake has not reached the 90% vaccination target of girls aged 15 years set by WHO [World Health Organization].”

The authors and editorialists disclosed no relevant financial relationships. Dr. Markman is a regular contributor to Medscape Oncology. He has received income of $250 or more from Genentech, AstraZeneca, Celgene, Clovis, and Amgen.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

In the longest study of bone loss in postmenopausal women to date, on average, bone mineral density (BMD) at the femoral neck (the most common location for a hip fracture) had dropped by 10% in 25 years – less than expected based on shorter studies.

Specifically, average BMD loss at the femoral neck was 0.4% per year during 25 years in this new study from Finland, compared with a drop of 1.6% per year over 15 years reported in other cohorts.

Five-year BMD change appeared to predict long-term bone loss. However, certain women had faster bone loss, indicating that they should be followed more closely.

“Although the average bone loss was 10.1% ... there is a significant variation in the bone loss rate” among women in the study, senior author Joonas Sirola, MD, PhD, associate professor, University of Eastern Finland, and coauthor Heikki Kröger, MD, PhD, a professor at the same university, explained to this news organization in an email, so “women with fast bone loss should receive special attention.

The findings from the Kuopio Osteoporosis Risk Factor and Prevention study by Anna Moilanen and colleagues were published online October 19 in the Journal of Bone and Mineral Research.

Several factors might explain the lower than expected drop in femoral neck BMD (the site that is used to diagnose osteoporosis), Dr. Sirola and Dr. Kröger said. BMD depends on a person’s age, race, sex, and genes. And compared with other countries, people in Finland consume more dairy products, and more postmenopausal women there take hormone replacement therapy (HRT).

“If otherwise indicated, HRT seemed to effectively protect from bone loss,” the researchers noted.

Also, the number of women who smoked or used corticosteroids was low, so bone loss in other populations may be higher. Moreover, the women who completed the study may have been healthier to start with, so the results should be interpreted with caution, they urge.

Nevertheless, the study sheds light on long-term changes in BMD in postmenopausal women and “stresses the importance of high peak bone mass before menopause and keeping a healthy weight” during aging to protect bone health, they say.

Indeed the work “changes our understanding of bone loss in older women,” said Dr. Kröger in a press release from the university.
 

Check BMD every 5 years after menopause

Invited to comment, American Society of Bone and Mineral Research President Peter R. Ebeling, MD, who was not involved with the research, noted key findings are that the rate of femoral neck bone loss after perimenopause was far less than previously expected, and 5-year BMD change appeared to predict long-term bone loss in postmenopausal women.

“We know bone loss begins 1 year before menopause and accelerates over the next 5 years,” Dr. Ebeling, from Monash University, Melbourne, added in an email. “This study indicates some stabilization of bone loss thereafter with lesser effects of low estrogen levels on bone.”

“It probably means bone density does not need to be measured as frequently following the menopause transition and could be every 5 years, rather than every 2 years, if there was concern about continuing bone loss.”
 

Baseline risk factors and long-term changes in BMD

For the study, researchers examined the association between risk factors for bone loss and long-term changes in femoral neck BMD in 2,695 women living in Kuopio who were 47 to 56 years old in 1989. The women were a mean age of 53 years, and 62% were postmenopausal.

They answered questionnaires and had femoral neck BMD measured by DEXA every 5 years.

A total of 2,695, 2,583, 2,482, 2,135, 1,305, and 686 women were assessed at baseline and 5-, 10-, 15-, 20- and 25-year follow-ups, respectively, indicating significant study drop-out by 25 years. 

By then, 17% of patients had died, 9% needed long-term care, some were unwilling to continue in the study, and others had factors that would have resulted in DEXA measurement errors (for example, hip implants, spine degeneration).

Researchers divided participants into quartiles of mean initial femoral neck BMD: 1.09 g/cm2, 0.97 g/cm2, 0.89 g/cm2, and 0.79 g/cm2, corresponding with quartiles 1 to 4 respectively (where quartile 1 had the highest initial femoral BMD and quartile 4 the lowest).

At 25 years, the mean femoral BMD had dropped to 0.97 g/cm2, 0.87 g/cm2, 0.80 g/cm2, and 0.73 g/cm2 in these respective quartiles.

Women lost 0.9%, 0.5%, 3.0%, and 1.0% of their initial BMD each year in quartiles 1 to 4, respectively.

And at 25 years, the women had lost 22.5%, 12.5%, 7.5%, and 2.5% of their initial BMD in the four quartiles, respectively.

Women in quartile 1 had the greatest drop in femoral BMD at 25 years, although their mean BMD at 25 years was higher than the mean initial BMD of the other women. 

The prevalence of bone-affecting diseases, smoking, and use of vitamin D/calcium supplementation, corticosteroids, or alcohol was similar in the four quartiles and was not associated with significant differences in annual bone loss.
 

The most important protective factor was HRT

However, body mass index (BMI) and HRT were significantly different in the four quartiles.

On average, women in quartile 1 had a mean BMI of 26.7 kg/m2 at baseline and 27.8 kg/m2 at 25 years. Women in quartile 4 (lowest initial BMD and lowest drop in BMD) had a mean BMI of 24.9 kg/m2 at baseline and 28.4 kg/m2 at 25 years.

Women in quartile 4 (lowest initial BMD and lowest drop in BMD) were more likely to take HRT than women in quartile 1 (highest initial BMD and highest drop in BMD), at 41% versus 26%, respectively.

“The average decrease in bone mineral density was lower than has been assumed on the basis of earlier, shorter follow-ups where the bone loss rate at the femoral neck has been estimated to be even more than 20%,” Dr. Sirola commented in the press release.

“There were also surprisingly few risk factors affecting bone mineral density. The most significant factor protecting against bone loss was hormone replacement therapy. Weight gain during the follow-up also protected against bone loss,” Dr. Sirola added.

The study was funded by the Academy of Finland, Finnish Ministry of Education and Culture, and the Päivikki and Sakari Sohlberg Foundation. The authors and Dr. Ebeling have reported no relevant financial relationships.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

In the longest study of bone loss in postmenopausal women to date, on average, bone mineral density (BMD) at the femoral neck (the most common location for a hip fracture) had dropped by 10% in 25 years – less than expected based on shorter studies.

Specifically, average BMD loss at the femoral neck was 0.4% per year during 25 years in this new study from Finland, compared with a drop of 1.6% per year over 15 years reported in other cohorts.

Five-year BMD change appeared to predict long-term bone loss. However, certain women had faster bone loss, indicating that they should be followed more closely.

“Although the average bone loss was 10.1% ... there is a significant variation in the bone loss rate” among women in the study, senior author Joonas Sirola, MD, PhD, associate professor, University of Eastern Finland, and coauthor Heikki Kröger, MD, PhD, a professor at the same university, explained to this news organization in an email, so “women with fast bone loss should receive special attention.

The findings from the Kuopio Osteoporosis Risk Factor and Prevention study by Anna Moilanen and colleagues were published online October 19 in the Journal of Bone and Mineral Research.

Several factors might explain the lower than expected drop in femoral neck BMD (the site that is used to diagnose osteoporosis), Dr. Sirola and Dr. Kröger said. BMD depends on a person’s age, race, sex, and genes. And compared with other countries, people in Finland consume more dairy products, and more postmenopausal women there take hormone replacement therapy (HRT).

“If otherwise indicated, HRT seemed to effectively protect from bone loss,” the researchers noted.

Also, the number of women who smoked or used corticosteroids was low, so bone loss in other populations may be higher. Moreover, the women who completed the study may have been healthier to start with, so the results should be interpreted with caution, they urge.

Nevertheless, the study sheds light on long-term changes in BMD in postmenopausal women and “stresses the importance of high peak bone mass before menopause and keeping a healthy weight” during aging to protect bone health, they say.

Indeed the work “changes our understanding of bone loss in older women,” said Dr. Kröger in a press release from the university.
 

Check BMD every 5 years after menopause

Invited to comment, American Society of Bone and Mineral Research President Peter R. Ebeling, MD, who was not involved with the research, noted key findings are that the rate of femoral neck bone loss after perimenopause was far less than previously expected, and 5-year BMD change appeared to predict long-term bone loss in postmenopausal women.

“We know bone loss begins 1 year before menopause and accelerates over the next 5 years,” Dr. Ebeling, from Monash University, Melbourne, added in an email. “This study indicates some stabilization of bone loss thereafter with lesser effects of low estrogen levels on bone.”

“It probably means bone density does not need to be measured as frequently following the menopause transition and could be every 5 years, rather than every 2 years, if there was concern about continuing bone loss.”
 

Baseline risk factors and long-term changes in BMD

For the study, researchers examined the association between risk factors for bone loss and long-term changes in femoral neck BMD in 2,695 women living in Kuopio who were 47 to 56 years old in 1989. The women were a mean age of 53 years, and 62% were postmenopausal.

They answered questionnaires and had femoral neck BMD measured by DEXA every 5 years.

A total of 2,695, 2,583, 2,482, 2,135, 1,305, and 686 women were assessed at baseline and 5-, 10-, 15-, 20- and 25-year follow-ups, respectively, indicating significant study drop-out by 25 years. 

By then, 17% of patients had died, 9% needed long-term care, some were unwilling to continue in the study, and others had factors that would have resulted in DEXA measurement errors (for example, hip implants, spine degeneration).

Researchers divided participants into quartiles of mean initial femoral neck BMD: 1.09 g/cm2, 0.97 g/cm2, 0.89 g/cm2, and 0.79 g/cm2, corresponding with quartiles 1 to 4 respectively (where quartile 1 had the highest initial femoral BMD and quartile 4 the lowest).

At 25 years, the mean femoral BMD had dropped to 0.97 g/cm2, 0.87 g/cm2, 0.80 g/cm2, and 0.73 g/cm2 in these respective quartiles.

Women lost 0.9%, 0.5%, 3.0%, and 1.0% of their initial BMD each year in quartiles 1 to 4, respectively.

And at 25 years, the women had lost 22.5%, 12.5%, 7.5%, and 2.5% of their initial BMD in the four quartiles, respectively.

Women in quartile 1 had the greatest drop in femoral BMD at 25 years, although their mean BMD at 25 years was higher than the mean initial BMD of the other women. 

The prevalence of bone-affecting diseases, smoking, and use of vitamin D/calcium supplementation, corticosteroids, or alcohol was similar in the four quartiles and was not associated with significant differences in annual bone loss.
 

The most important protective factor was HRT

However, body mass index (BMI) and HRT were significantly different in the four quartiles.

On average, women in quartile 1 had a mean BMI of 26.7 kg/m2 at baseline and 27.8 kg/m2 at 25 years. Women in quartile 4 (lowest initial BMD and lowest drop in BMD) had a mean BMI of 24.9 kg/m2 at baseline and 28.4 kg/m2 at 25 years.

Women in quartile 4 (lowest initial BMD and lowest drop in BMD) were more likely to take HRT than women in quartile 1 (highest initial BMD and highest drop in BMD), at 41% versus 26%, respectively.

“The average decrease in bone mineral density was lower than has been assumed on the basis of earlier, shorter follow-ups where the bone loss rate at the femoral neck has been estimated to be even more than 20%,” Dr. Sirola commented in the press release.

“There were also surprisingly few risk factors affecting bone mineral density. The most significant factor protecting against bone loss was hormone replacement therapy. Weight gain during the follow-up also protected against bone loss,” Dr. Sirola added.

The study was funded by the Academy of Finland, Finnish Ministry of Education and Culture, and the Päivikki and Sakari Sohlberg Foundation. The authors and Dr. Ebeling have reported no relevant financial relationships.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

In the longest study of bone loss in postmenopausal women to date, on average, bone mineral density (BMD) at the femoral neck (the most common location for a hip fracture) had dropped by 10% in 25 years – less than expected based on shorter studies.

Specifically, average BMD loss at the femoral neck was 0.4% per year during 25 years in this new study from Finland, compared with a drop of 1.6% per year over 15 years reported in other cohorts.

Five-year BMD change appeared to predict long-term bone loss. However, certain women had faster bone loss, indicating that they should be followed more closely.

“Although the average bone loss was 10.1% ... there is a significant variation in the bone loss rate” among women in the study, senior author Joonas Sirola, MD, PhD, associate professor, University of Eastern Finland, and coauthor Heikki Kröger, MD, PhD, a professor at the same university, explained to this news organization in an email, so “women with fast bone loss should receive special attention.

The findings from the Kuopio Osteoporosis Risk Factor and Prevention study by Anna Moilanen and colleagues were published online October 19 in the Journal of Bone and Mineral Research.

Several factors might explain the lower than expected drop in femoral neck BMD (the site that is used to diagnose osteoporosis), Dr. Sirola and Dr. Kröger said. BMD depends on a person’s age, race, sex, and genes. And compared with other countries, people in Finland consume more dairy products, and more postmenopausal women there take hormone replacement therapy (HRT).

“If otherwise indicated, HRT seemed to effectively protect from bone loss,” the researchers noted.

Also, the number of women who smoked or used corticosteroids was low, so bone loss in other populations may be higher. Moreover, the women who completed the study may have been healthier to start with, so the results should be interpreted with caution, they urge.

Nevertheless, the study sheds light on long-term changes in BMD in postmenopausal women and “stresses the importance of high peak bone mass before menopause and keeping a healthy weight” during aging to protect bone health, they say.

Indeed the work “changes our understanding of bone loss in older women,” said Dr. Kröger in a press release from the university.
 

Check BMD every 5 years after menopause

Invited to comment, American Society of Bone and Mineral Research President Peter R. Ebeling, MD, who was not involved with the research, noted key findings are that the rate of femoral neck bone loss after perimenopause was far less than previously expected, and 5-year BMD change appeared to predict long-term bone loss in postmenopausal women.

“We know bone loss begins 1 year before menopause and accelerates over the next 5 years,” Dr. Ebeling, from Monash University, Melbourne, added in an email. “This study indicates some stabilization of bone loss thereafter with lesser effects of low estrogen levels on bone.”

“It probably means bone density does not need to be measured as frequently following the menopause transition and could be every 5 years, rather than every 2 years, if there was concern about continuing bone loss.”
 

Baseline risk factors and long-term changes in BMD

For the study, researchers examined the association between risk factors for bone loss and long-term changes in femoral neck BMD in 2,695 women living in Kuopio who were 47 to 56 years old in 1989. The women were a mean age of 53 years, and 62% were postmenopausal.

They answered questionnaires and had femoral neck BMD measured by DEXA every 5 years.

A total of 2,695, 2,583, 2,482, 2,135, 1,305, and 686 women were assessed at baseline and 5-, 10-, 15-, 20- and 25-year follow-ups, respectively, indicating significant study drop-out by 25 years. 

By then, 17% of patients had died, 9% needed long-term care, some were unwilling to continue in the study, and others had factors that would have resulted in DEXA measurement errors (for example, hip implants, spine degeneration).

Researchers divided participants into quartiles of mean initial femoral neck BMD: 1.09 g/cm2, 0.97 g/cm2, 0.89 g/cm2, and 0.79 g/cm2, corresponding with quartiles 1 to 4 respectively (where quartile 1 had the highest initial femoral BMD and quartile 4 the lowest).

At 25 years, the mean femoral BMD had dropped to 0.97 g/cm2, 0.87 g/cm2, 0.80 g/cm2, and 0.73 g/cm2 in these respective quartiles.

Women lost 0.9%, 0.5%, 3.0%, and 1.0% of their initial BMD each year in quartiles 1 to 4, respectively.

And at 25 years, the women had lost 22.5%, 12.5%, 7.5%, and 2.5% of their initial BMD in the four quartiles, respectively.

Women in quartile 1 had the greatest drop in femoral BMD at 25 years, although their mean BMD at 25 years was higher than the mean initial BMD of the other women. 

The prevalence of bone-affecting diseases, smoking, and use of vitamin D/calcium supplementation, corticosteroids, or alcohol was similar in the four quartiles and was not associated with significant differences in annual bone loss.
 

The most important protective factor was HRT

However, body mass index (BMI) and HRT were significantly different in the four quartiles.

On average, women in quartile 1 had a mean BMI of 26.7 kg/m2 at baseline and 27.8 kg/m2 at 25 years. Women in quartile 4 (lowest initial BMD and lowest drop in BMD) had a mean BMI of 24.9 kg/m2 at baseline and 28.4 kg/m2 at 25 years.

Women in quartile 4 (lowest initial BMD and lowest drop in BMD) were more likely to take HRT than women in quartile 1 (highest initial BMD and highest drop in BMD), at 41% versus 26%, respectively.

“The average decrease in bone mineral density was lower than has been assumed on the basis of earlier, shorter follow-ups where the bone loss rate at the femoral neck has been estimated to be even more than 20%,” Dr. Sirola commented in the press release.

“There were also surprisingly few risk factors affecting bone mineral density. The most significant factor protecting against bone loss was hormone replacement therapy. Weight gain during the follow-up also protected against bone loss,” Dr. Sirola added.

The study was funded by the Academy of Finland, Finnish Ministry of Education and Culture, and the Päivikki and Sakari Sohlberg Foundation. The authors and Dr. Ebeling have reported no relevant financial relationships.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

This story was originally published on ProPublica and was co-published with NPR.

When Mai Yang is looking for a patient, she travels light. She dresses deliberately — not too formal, so she won’t be mistaken for a police officer; not too casual, so people will look past her tiny 4-foot-10 stature and youthful face and trust her with sensitive health information. Always, she wears closed-toed shoes, “just in case I need to run.”

Yang carries a stack of cards issued by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention that show what happens when the Treponema pallidum bacteria invades a patient’s body. There’s a photo of an angry red sore on a penis. There’s one of a tongue, marred by mucus-lined lesions. And there’s one of a newborn baby, its belly, torso and thighs dotted in a rash, its mouth open, as if caught midcry.

It was because of the prospect of one such baby that Yang found herself walking through a homeless encampment on a blazing July day in Huron, Calif., an hour’s drive southwest of her office at the Fresno County Department of Public Health. She was looking for a pregnant woman named Angelica, whose visit to a community clinic had triggered a report to the health department’s sexually transmitted disease program. Angelica had tested positive for syphilis. If she was not treated, her baby could end up like the one in the picture or worse — there was a 40% chance the baby would die.

Ms. Yang knew, though, that if she helped Angelica get treated with three weekly shots of penicillin at least 30 days before she gave birth, it was likely that the infection would be wiped out and her baby would be born without any symptoms at all. Every case of congenital syphilis, when a baby is born with the disease, is avoidable. Each is considered a “sentinel event,” a warning that the public health system is failing.

The alarms are now clamoring. In the United States, more than 129,800 syphilis cases were recorded in 2019, double the case count of five years prior. In the same time period, cases of congenital syphilis quadrupled: 1,870 babies were born with the disease; 128 died. Case counts from 2020 are still being finalized, but the CDC has said that reported cases of congenital syphilis have already exceeded the prior year. Black, Hispanic, and Native American babies are disproportionately at risk.

There was a time, not too long ago, when CDC officials thought they could eliminate the centuries-old scourge from the United States, for adults and babies. But the effort lost steam and cases soon crept up again. Syphilis is not an outlier. The United States goes through what former CDC director Dr. Tom Frieden calls “a deadly cycle of panic and neglect” in which emergencies propel officials to scramble and throw money at a problem — whether that’s Ebola, Zika, or COVID-19. Then, as fear ebbs, so does the attention and motivation to finish the task.

The last fraction of cases can be the hardest to solve, whether that’s eradicating a bug or getting vaccines into arms, yet too often, that’s exactly when political attention gets diverted to the next alarm. The result: The hardest to reach and most vulnerable populations are the ones left suffering, after everyone else looks away.

Ms. Yang first received Angelica’s lab report on June 17. The address listed was a P.O. box, and the phone number belonged to her sister, who said Angelica was living in Huron. That was a piece of luck: Huron is tiny; the city spans just 1.6 square miles. On her first visit, a worker at the Alamo Motel said she knew Angelica and directed Ms. Yang to a nearby homeless encampment. Angelica wasn’t there, so Ms. Yang returned a second time, bringing one of the health department nurses who could serve as an interpreter.

They made their way to the barren patch of land behind Huron Valley Foods, the local grocery store, where people took shelter in makeshift lean-tos composed of cardboard boxes, scrap wood ,and scavenged furniture, draped with sheets that served as ceilings and curtains. Yang stopped outside one of the structures, calling a greeting.

“Hi, I’m from the health department, I’m looking for Angelica.”

The nurse echoed her in Spanish.

Angelica emerged, squinting in the sunlight. Ms. Yang couldn’t tell if she was visibly pregnant yet, as her body was obscured by an oversized shirt. The two women were about the same age: Ms. Yang 26 and Angelica 27. Ms. Yang led her away from the tent, so they could speak privately. Angelica seemed reticent, surprised by the sudden appearance of the two health officers. “You’re not in trouble,” Ms. Yang said, before revealing the results of her blood test.

Angelica had never heard of syphilis.

“Have you been to prenatal care?”

Angelica shook her head. The local clinic had referred her to an obstetrician in Hanford, a 30-minute drive away. She had no car. She also mentioned that she didn’t intend to raise her baby; her two oldest children lived with her mother, and this one likely would, too.

Ms. Yang pulled out the CDC cards, showing them to Angelica and asking if she had experienced any of the symptoms illustrated. No, Angelica said, her lips pursed with disgust.

“Right now you still feel healthy, but this bacteria is still in your body,” Ms. Yang pressed. “You need to get the infection treated to prevent further health complications to yourself and your baby.”

The community clinic was just across the street. “Can we walk you over to the clinic and make sure you get seen so we can get this taken care of?”

Angelica demurred. She said she hadn’t showered for a week and wanted to wash up first. She said she’d go later.

Ms. Yang tried once more to extract a promise: “What time do you think you’ll go?”

“Today, for sure.”

Syphilis is called The Great Imitator: It can look like any number of diseases. In its first stage, the only evidence of infection is a painless sore at the bacteria’s point of entry. Weeks later, as the bacteria multiplies, skin rashes bloom on the palms of the hands and bottoms of the feet. Other traits of this stage include fever, headaches, muscle aches, sore throat, and fatigue. These symptoms eventually disappear and the patient progresses into the latent phase, which betrays no external signs. But if left untreated, after a decade or more, syphilis will reemerge in up to 30% of patients, capable of wreaking horror on a wide range of organ systems. Dr. Marion Sims, president of the American Medical Association in 1876, called it a “terrible scourge, which begins with lamb-like mildness and ends with lion-like rage that ruthlessly destroys everything in its way.”

The corkscrew-shaped bacteria can infiltrate the nervous system at any stage of the infection. Ms. Yang is haunted by her memory of interviewing a young man whose dementia was so severe that he didn’t know why he was in the hospital or how old he was. And regardless of symptoms or stage, the bacteria can penetrate the placenta to infect a fetus. Even in these cases the infection is unpredictable: Many babies are born with normal physical features, but others can have deformed bones or damaged brains, and they can struggle to hear, see, or breathe.

From its earliest days, syphilis has been shrouded in stigma. The first recorded outbreak was in the late 15th century, when Charles VIII led the French army to invade Naples. Italian physicians described French soldiers covered with pustules, dying from a sexually transmitted disease. As the affliction spread, Italians called it the French Disease. The French blamed the Neopolitans. It was also called the German, Polish, or Spanish disease, depending on which neighbor one wanted to blame. Even its name bears the taint of divine judgement: It comes from a 16th-century poem that tells of a shepherd, Syphilus, who offended the god Apollo and was punished with a hideous disease.

By 1937 in America, when former Surgeon General Thomas Parran wrote the book “Shadow on the Land,” he estimated some 680,000 people were under treatment for syphilis; about 60,000 babies were being born annually with congenital syphilis. There was no cure, and the stigma was so strong that public health officials feared even properly documenting cases.

Thanks to Dr. Parran’s ardent advocacy, Congress in 1938 passed the National Venereal Disease Control Act, which created grants for states to set up clinics and support testing and treatment. Other than a short-lived funding effort during World War I, this was the first coordinated federal push to respond to the disease.

Around the same time, the Public Health Service launched an effort to record the natural history of syphilis. Situated in Tuskegee, Ala., the infamous study recruited 600 black men. By the early 1940s, penicillin became widely available and was found to be a reliable cure, but the treatment was withheld from the study participants. Outrage over the ethical violations would cast a stain across syphilis research for decades to come and fuel generations of mistrust in the medical system among Black Americans that continues to this day.

With the introduction of penicillin, cases began to plummet. Twice, the CDC has announced efforts to wipe out the disease — once in the 1960s and again in 1999.

In the latest effort, the CDC announced that the United States had “a unique opportunity to eliminate syphilis within its borders,” thanks to historically low rates, with 80% of counties reporting zero cases. The concentration of cases in the South “identifies communities in which there is a fundamental failure of public health capacity,” the agency noted, adding that elimination — which it defined as fewer than 1,000 cases a year — would “decrease one of our most glaring racial disparities in health.”

Two years after the campaign began, cases started climbing, first among gay men and later, heterosexuals. Cases in women started accelerating in 2013, followed shortly by increasing numbers of babies born with syphilis.The reasons for failure are complex; people relaxed safer sex practices after the advent of potent HIV combination therapies, increased methamphetamine use drove riskier behavior and an explosion of online dating made it hard to track and test sexual partners, according to Dr. Ina Park, medical director of the California Prevention Training Center at the University of California San Francisco.

But federal and state public health efforts were hamstrung from the get-go. In 1999, the CDC said it would need about $35 million to $39 million in new federal funds annually for at least five years to eliminate syphilis. The agency got less than half of what it asked for, according to Jo Valentine, former program coordinator of the CDC’s Syphilis Elimination Effort. As cases rose, the CDC modified its goals in 2006 from 0.4 primary and secondary syphilis cases per 100,000 in population to 2.2 cases per 100,000. By 2013, as elimination seemed less and less viable, the CDC changed its focus to ending congenital syphilis only.

Since then, funding has remained anemic. From 2015 to 2020, the CDC’s budget for preventing sexually transmitted infections grew by 2.2%. Taking inflation into account, that’s a 7.4% reduction in purchasing power. In the same period, cases of syphilis, gonorrhea and chlamydia — the three STDs that have federally funded control programs — increased by nearly 30%.

“We have a long history of nearly eradicating something, then changing our attention, and seeing a resurgence in numbers,” said David Harvey, executive director of the National Coalition of STD Directors. “We have more congenital syphilis cases today in America than we ever had pediatric AIDS at the height of the AIDS epidemic. It’s heartbreaking.”

Adriane Casalotti, chief of government and public affairs at the National Association of County and City Health Officials, warns that the United States should not be surprised to see case counts continue to climb. “The bugs don’t go away,” she said. “They’re just waiting for the next opportunity, when you’re not paying attention.”

Ms. Yang waited until the end of the day, then called the clinic to see if Angelica had gone for her shot. She had not. Ms. Yang would have to block off another half day to visit Huron again, but she had three dozen other cases to deal with.

States in the South and West have seen the highest syphilis rates in recent years. In 2017, 64 babies in Fresno County were born with syphilis at a rate of 440 babies per 100,000 live births — about 19 times the national rate. While the county had managed to lower case counts in the two years that followed, the pandemic threatened to unravel that progress, forcing STD staffers to do COVID-19 contact tracing, pausing field visits to find infected people, and scaring patients from seeking care. Ms. Yang’s colleague handled three cases of stillbirth in 2020; in each, the woman was never diagnosed with syphilis because she feared catching the coronavirus and skipped prenatal care.

Ms. Yang, whose caseload peaked at 70 during a COVID-19 surge, knew she would not be able handle them all as thoroughly as she’d like to. “When I was being mentored by another investigator, he said: ‘You’re not a superhero. You can’t save everybody,’” she said. She prioritizes men who have sex with men, because there’s a higher prevalence of syphilis in that population, and pregnant people, because of the horrific consequences for babies.

The job of a disease intervention specialist isn’t for everyone: It means meeting patients whenever and wherever they are available — in the mop closet of a bus station, in a quiet parking lot — to inform them about the disease, to extract names of sex partners and to encourage treatment. Patients are often reluctant to talk. They can get belligerent, upset that “the government” has their personal information or shattered at the thought that a partner is likely cheating on them. Salaries typically start in the low $40,000s.

Jena Adams, Ms. Yang’s supervisor, has eight investigators working on HIV and syphilis. In the middle of 2020, she lost two and replaced them only recently. “It’s been exhausting,” Ms. Adams said. She has only one specialist who is trained to take blood samples in the field, crucial for guaranteeing that the partners of those who test positive for syphilis also get tested. Ms. Adams wants to get phlebotomy training for the rest of her staff, but it’s $2,000 per person. The department also doesn’t have anyone who can administer penicillin injections in the field; that would have been key when Ms. Yang met Angelica. For a while, a nurse who worked in the tuberculosis program would ride along to give penicillin shots on a volunteer basis. Then he, too, left the health department.

Much of the resources in public health trickle down from the CDC, which distributes money to states, which then parcel it out to counties. The CDC gets its budget from Congress, which tells the agency, by line item, exactly how much money it can spend to fight a disease or virus, in an uncommonly specific manner not seen in many other agencies. The decisions are often politically driven and can be detached from actual health needs.

When the House and Senate appropriations committees meet to decide how much the CDC will get for each line item, they are barraged by lobbyists for individual disease interests. Stephanie Arnold Pang, senior director of policy and government relations at the National Coalition of STD Directors, can pick out the groups by sight: breast cancer wears pink, Alzheimer’s goes in purple, multiple sclerosis comes in orange, HIV in red. STD prevention advocates, like herself, don a green ribbon, but they’re far outnumbered.

And unlike diseases that might already be familiar to lawmakers, or have patient and family spokespeople who can tell their own powerful stories, syphilis doesn’t have many willing poster children. “Congressmen don’t wake up one day and say, ‘Oh hey, there’s congenital syphilis in my jurisdiction.’ You have to raise awareness,” Arnold Pang said. It can be hard jockeying for a meeting. “Some offices might say, ‘I don’t have time for you because we’ve just seen HIV.’ ... Sometimes, it feels like you’re talking into a void.”

The consequences of the political nature of public health funding have become more obvious during the coronavirus pandemic. The 2014 Ebola epidemic was seen as a “global wakeup call” that the world wasn’t prepared for a major pandemic, yet in 2018, the CDC scaled back its epidemic prevention work as money ran out. “If you’ve got to choose between Alzheimer’s research and stopping an outbreak that may not happen? Stopping an outbreak that might not happen doesn’t do well,” said Dr. Frieden, the former CDC director. “The CDC needs to have more money and more flexible money. Otherwise, we’re going to be in this situation long term.”

In May 2021, President Joe Biden’s administration announced it would set aside $7.4 billion over the next five years to hire and train public health workers, including $1.1 billion for more disease intervention specialists like Ms. Yang. Public health officials are thrilled to have the chance to expand their workforce, but some worry the time horizon may be too short. “We’ve seen this movie before, right?” Dr. Frieden said. “Everyone gets concerned when there’s an outbreak, and when that outbreak stops, the headlines stop, and an economic downturn happens, the budget gets cut.”

Fresno’s STD clinic was shuttered in 2010 amid the Great Recession. Many others have vanished since the passage of the Affordable Care Act. Health leaders thought “by magically beefing up the primary care system, that we would do a better job of catching STIs and treating them,” said Mr. Harvey, the executive director of the National Coalition of STD Directors. That hasn’t worked out; people want access to anonymous services, and primary care doctors often don’t have STDs top of mind. The coalition is lobbying Congress for funding to support STD clinical services, proposing a three-year demonstration project funded at $600 million.

It’s one of Ms. Adams’ dreams to see Fresno’s STD clinic restored as it was. “You could come in for an HIV test and get other STDs checked,” she said. “And if a patient is positive, you can give a first injection on the spot.”

On Aug. 12, Ms. Yang set out for Huron again, speeding past groves of almond trees and fields of grapes in the department’s white Chevy Cruze. She brought along a colleague, Jorge Sevilla, who had recently transferred to the STD program from COVID-19 contact tracing. Ms. Yang was anxious to find Angelica again. “She’s probably in her second trimester now,” she said.

They found her outside of a pale yellow house a few blocks from the homeless encampment; the owner was letting her stay in a shed tucked in the corner of the dirt yard. This time, it was evident that she was pregnant. Ms. Yang noted that Angelica was wearing a wig; hair loss is a symptom of syphilis.

“Do you remember me?” Ms. Yang asked.

Angelica nodded. She didn’t seem surprised to see Ms. Yang again. (I came along, and Mr. Sevilla explained who I was and that I was writing about syphilis and the people affected by it. Angelica signed a release for me to report about her case, and she said she had no problem with me writing about her or even using her full name. ProPublica chose to only print her first name.)

“How are you doing? How’s the baby?”

“Bien.”

“So the last time we talked, we were going to have you go to United Healthcare Center to get treatment. Have you gone since?”

Angelica shook her head.

“We brought some gift cards...” Mr. Sevilla started in Spanish. The department uses them as incentives for completing injections. But Angelica was already shaking her head. The nearest Walmart was the next town over.

Ms. Yang turned to her partner. “Tell her: So the reason why we’re coming out here again is because we really need her to go in for treatment. ... We really are concerned for the baby’s health especially since she’s had the infection for quite a while.”

Angelica listened while Mr. Sevilla interpreted, her eyes on the ground. Then she looked up. “Orita?” she asked. Right now?

“I’ll walk with you,” Ms. Yang offered. Angelica shook her head. “She said she wants to shower first before she goes over there,” Mr. Sevilla said.

Ms. Yang made a face. “She said that to me last time.” Ms. Yang offered to wait, but Angelica didn’t want the health officers to linger by the house. She said she would meet them by the clinic in 15 minutes.

Ms. Yang was reluctant to let her go but again had no other option. She and Mr. Sevilla drove to the clinic, then stood on the corner of the parking lot, staring down the road.

Talk to the pediatricians, obstetricians, and families on the front lines of the congenital syphilis surge and it becomes clear why Ms. Yang and others are trying so desperately to prevent cases. Dr. J. B. Cantey, associate professor in pediatrics at UT Health San Antonio, remembers a baby girl born at 25 weeks gestation who weighed a pound and a half. Syphilis had spread through her bones and lungs. She spent five months in the neonatal intensive care unit, breathing through a ventilator, and was still eating through a tube when she was discharged.

Then, there are the miscarriages, the stillbirths and the inconsolable parents. Dr. Irene Stafford, an associate professor and maternal-fetal medicine specialist at UT Health in Houston, cannot forget a patient who came in at 36 weeks for a routine checkup, pregnant with her first child. Dr. Stafford realized that there was no heartbeat. “She could see on my face that something was really wrong,” Dr. Stafford recalled. She had to let the patient know that syphilis had killed her baby. “She was hysterical, just bawling,” Dr. Stafford said. “I’ve seen people’s families ripped apart and I’ve seen beautiful babies die.” Fewer than 10% of patients who experience a stillbirth are tested for syphilis, suggesting that cases are underdiagnosed.

A Texas grandmother named Solidad Odunuga offers a glimpse into what the future could hold for Angelica’s mother, who may wind up raising her baby.

In February of last year, Ms. Odunuga got a call from the Lyndon B. Johnson Hospital in Houston. A nurse told her that her daughter was about to give birth and that child protective services had been called. Ms. Odunuga had lost contact with her daughter, who struggled with homelessness and substance abuse. She arrived in time to see her grandson delivered, premature at 30 weeks old, weighing 2.7 pounds. He tested positive for syphilis.

When a child protective worker asked Ms. Odunuga to take custody of the infant, she felt a wave of dread. “I was in denial,” she recalled. “I did not plan to be a mom again.” The baby’s medical problems were daunting: “Global developmental delays ... concerns for visual impairments ... high risk of cerebral palsy,” read a note from the doctor at the time.

Still, Ms. Odunuga visited her grandson every day for three months, driving to the NICU from her job at the University of Houston. “I’d put him in my shirt to keep him warm and hold him there.” She fell in love. She named him Emmanuel.

Once Emmanuel was discharged, Ms. Odunuga realized she had no choice but to quit her job. While Medicaid covered the costs of Emmanuel’s treatment, it was on her to care for him. From infancy, Emmanuel’s life has been a whirlwind of constant therapy. Today, at 20 months old, Odunuga brings him to physical, occupational, speech, and developmental therapy, each a different appointment on a different day of the week.

Emmanuel has thrived beyond what his doctors predicted, toddling so fast that Ms. Odunuga can’t look away for a minute and beaming as he waves his favorite toy phone. Yet he still suffers from gagging issues, which means Ms. Odunuga can’t feed him any solid foods. Liquid gets into his lungs when he aspirates; it has led to pneumonia three times. Emmanuel has a special stroller that helps keep his head in a position that won’t aggravate his persistent reflux, but Odunuga said she still has to pull over on the side of the road sometimes when she hears him projectile vomiting from the backseat.

The days are endless. Once she puts Emmanuel to bed, Ms. Odunuga starts planning the next day’s appointments. “I’ve had to cry alone, scream out alone,” she said. “Sometimes I wake up and think, Is this real? And then I hear him in the next room.”

Putting aside the challenge of eliminating syphilis entirely, everyone agrees it’s both doable and necessary to prevent newborn cases. “There was a crisis in perinatal HIV almost 30 years ago and people stood up and said this is not OK — it’s not acceptable for babies to be born in that condition. ... [We] brought it down from 1,700 babies born each year with perinatal HIV to less than 40 per year today,” said Virginia Bowen, an epidemiologist at the CDC. “Now here we are with a slightly different condition. We can also stand up and say, ‘This is not acceptable.’” Belarus, Bermuda, Cuba, Malaysia, Thailand, and Sri Lanka are among countries recognized by the World Health Organization for eliminating congenital syphilis.

Success starts with filling gaps across the health care system.

For almost a century, public health experts have advocated for testing pregnant patients more than once for syphilis in order to catch the infection. But policies nationwide still don’t reflect this best practice. Six states have no prenatal screening requirement at all. Even in states that require three tests, public health officials say that many physicians aren’t aware of the requirements. Dr. Stafford, the maternal-fetal medicine specialist in Houston, says she’s tired of hearing her own peers in medicine tell her, “Oh, syphilis is a problem?”

It costs public health departments less than 25 cents a dose to buy penicillin, but for a private practice, it’s more than $1,000, according to Dr. Park of the University of California San Francisco. “There’s no incentive for a private physician to stock a dose that could expire before it’s used, so they often don’t have it. So a woman comes in, they say, ‘We’ll send you to the emergency department or health department to get it,’ then [the patients] don’t show up.”

A vaccine would be invaluable for preventing spread among people at high risk for reinfection. But there is none. Scientists only recently figured out how to grow the bacteria in the lab, prompting grants from the National Institutes of Health to fund research into a vaccine. Dr. Justin Radolf, a researcher at the University of Connecticut School of Medicine, said he hopes his team will have a vaccine candidate by the end of its five-year grant. But it’ll likely take years more to find a manufacturer and run human trials.

Public health agencies also need to recognize that many of the hurdles to getting pregnant people treated involve access to care, economic stability, safe housing and transportation. In Fresno, Ms. Adams has been working on ways her department can collaborate with mental health services. Recently, one of her disease intervention specialists managed to get a pregnant woman treated with penicillin shots and, at the patient’s request, connected her with an addiction treatment center.

Gaining a patient’s cooperation means seeing them as complex humans instead of just a case to solve. “There may be past traumas with the health care system,” said Cynthia Deverson, project manager of the Houston Fetal Infant Morbidity Review. “There’s the fear of being discovered if she’s doing something illegal to survive. ... She may need to be in a certain place at a certain time so she can get something to eat, or maybe it’s the only time of the day that’s safe for her to sleep. They’re not going to tell you that. Yes, they understand there’s a problem, but it’s not an immediate threat, maybe they don’t feel bad yet, so obviously this is not urgent. ...

“What helps to gain trust is consistency,” she said. “Literally, it’s seeing that [disease specialist] constantly, daily. ... The woman can see that you’re not going to harm her, you’re saying, ‘I’m here at this time if you need me.’”

Ms. Yang stood outside the clinic, waiting for Angelica to show up, baking in the 90-degree heat. Her feelings ranged from irritation — Why didn’t she just go? I’d have more energy for other cases — to an appreciation for the parts of Angelica’s story that she didn’t know — She’s in survival mode. I need to be more patient.

Fifteen minutes ticked by, then 20.

“OK,” Ms. Yang announced. “We’re going back.”

She asked Sevilla if he would be OK if they drove Angelica to the clinic; they technically weren’t supposed to because of coronavirus precautions, but Ms. Yang wasn’t sure she could convince Angelica to walk. Mr. Sevilla gave her the thumbs up.

When they pulled up, they saw Angelica sitting in the backyard, chatting with a friend. She now wore a fresh T-shirt and had shoes on her feet. Angelica sat silently in the back seat as Ms. Yang drove to the clinic. A few minutes later, they pulled up to the parking lot.

Finally, Ms. Yang thought. We got her here.

The clinic was packed with people waiting for COVID-19 tests and vaccinations. A worker there had previously told Ms. Yang that a walk-in would be fine, but a receptionist now said they were too busy to treat Angelica. She would have to return.

Ms. Yang felt a surge of frustration, sensing that her hard-fought opportunity was slipping away. She tried to talk to the nurse supervisor, but he wasn’t available. She tried to leave the gift cards at the office to reward Angelica if she came, but the receptionist said she couldn’t hold them. While Ms. Yang negotiated, Mr. Sevilla sat with Angelica in the car, waiting.

Finally, Ms. Yang accepted this was yet another thing she couldn’t control.

She drove Angelica back to the yellow house. As they arrived, she tried once more to impress on her just how important it was to get treated, asking Mr. Sevilla to interpret. “We don’t want it to get any more serious, because she can go blind, she could go deaf, she could lose her baby.”

Angelica already had the door halfway open.

“So on a scale from one to 10, how important is this to get treated?” Ms. Yang asked.

“Ten,” Angelica said. Ms. Yang reminded her of the appointment that afternoon. Then Angelica stepped out and returned to the dusty yard.

Ms. Yang lingered for a moment, watching Angelica go. Then she turned the car back onto the highway and set off toward Fresno, knowing, already, that she’d be back.

Postscript: A reporter visited Huron twice more in the months that followed, including once independently to try to interview Angelica, but she wasn’t in town. Ms. Yang has visited Huron twice more as well — six times in total thus far. In October, a couple of men at the yellow house said Angelica was still in town, still pregnant. Ms. Yang and Mr. Sevilla spent an hour driving around, talking to residents, hoping to catch Angelica. But she was nowhere to be found.

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This story was originally published on ProPublica and was co-published with NPR.

When Mai Yang is looking for a patient, she travels light. She dresses deliberately — not too formal, so she won’t be mistaken for a police officer; not too casual, so people will look past her tiny 4-foot-10 stature and youthful face and trust her with sensitive health information. Always, she wears closed-toed shoes, “just in case I need to run.”

Yang carries a stack of cards issued by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention that show what happens when the Treponema pallidum bacteria invades a patient’s body. There’s a photo of an angry red sore on a penis. There’s one of a tongue, marred by mucus-lined lesions. And there’s one of a newborn baby, its belly, torso and thighs dotted in a rash, its mouth open, as if caught midcry.

It was because of the prospect of one such baby that Yang found herself walking through a homeless encampment on a blazing July day in Huron, Calif., an hour’s drive southwest of her office at the Fresno County Department of Public Health. She was looking for a pregnant woman named Angelica, whose visit to a community clinic had triggered a report to the health department’s sexually transmitted disease program. Angelica had tested positive for syphilis. If she was not treated, her baby could end up like the one in the picture or worse — there was a 40% chance the baby would die.

Ms. Yang knew, though, that if she helped Angelica get treated with three weekly shots of penicillin at least 30 days before she gave birth, it was likely that the infection would be wiped out and her baby would be born without any symptoms at all. Every case of congenital syphilis, when a baby is born with the disease, is avoidable. Each is considered a “sentinel event,” a warning that the public health system is failing.

The alarms are now clamoring. In the United States, more than 129,800 syphilis cases were recorded in 2019, double the case count of five years prior. In the same time period, cases of congenital syphilis quadrupled: 1,870 babies were born with the disease; 128 died. Case counts from 2020 are still being finalized, but the CDC has said that reported cases of congenital syphilis have already exceeded the prior year. Black, Hispanic, and Native American babies are disproportionately at risk.

There was a time, not too long ago, when CDC officials thought they could eliminate the centuries-old scourge from the United States, for adults and babies. But the effort lost steam and cases soon crept up again. Syphilis is not an outlier. The United States goes through what former CDC director Dr. Tom Frieden calls “a deadly cycle of panic and neglect” in which emergencies propel officials to scramble and throw money at a problem — whether that’s Ebola, Zika, or COVID-19. Then, as fear ebbs, so does the attention and motivation to finish the task.

The last fraction of cases can be the hardest to solve, whether that’s eradicating a bug or getting vaccines into arms, yet too often, that’s exactly when political attention gets diverted to the next alarm. The result: The hardest to reach and most vulnerable populations are the ones left suffering, after everyone else looks away.

Ms. Yang first received Angelica’s lab report on June 17. The address listed was a P.O. box, and the phone number belonged to her sister, who said Angelica was living in Huron. That was a piece of luck: Huron is tiny; the city spans just 1.6 square miles. On her first visit, a worker at the Alamo Motel said she knew Angelica and directed Ms. Yang to a nearby homeless encampment. Angelica wasn’t there, so Ms. Yang returned a second time, bringing one of the health department nurses who could serve as an interpreter.

They made their way to the barren patch of land behind Huron Valley Foods, the local grocery store, where people took shelter in makeshift lean-tos composed of cardboard boxes, scrap wood ,and scavenged furniture, draped with sheets that served as ceilings and curtains. Yang stopped outside one of the structures, calling a greeting.

“Hi, I’m from the health department, I’m looking for Angelica.”

The nurse echoed her in Spanish.

Angelica emerged, squinting in the sunlight. Ms. Yang couldn’t tell if she was visibly pregnant yet, as her body was obscured by an oversized shirt. The two women were about the same age: Ms. Yang 26 and Angelica 27. Ms. Yang led her away from the tent, so they could speak privately. Angelica seemed reticent, surprised by the sudden appearance of the two health officers. “You’re not in trouble,” Ms. Yang said, before revealing the results of her blood test.

Angelica had never heard of syphilis.

“Have you been to prenatal care?”

Angelica shook her head. The local clinic had referred her to an obstetrician in Hanford, a 30-minute drive away. She had no car. She also mentioned that she didn’t intend to raise her baby; her two oldest children lived with her mother, and this one likely would, too.

Ms. Yang pulled out the CDC cards, showing them to Angelica and asking if she had experienced any of the symptoms illustrated. No, Angelica said, her lips pursed with disgust.

“Right now you still feel healthy, but this bacteria is still in your body,” Ms. Yang pressed. “You need to get the infection treated to prevent further health complications to yourself and your baby.”

The community clinic was just across the street. “Can we walk you over to the clinic and make sure you get seen so we can get this taken care of?”

Angelica demurred. She said she hadn’t showered for a week and wanted to wash up first. She said she’d go later.

Ms. Yang tried once more to extract a promise: “What time do you think you’ll go?”

“Today, for sure.”

Syphilis is called The Great Imitator: It can look like any number of diseases. In its first stage, the only evidence of infection is a painless sore at the bacteria’s point of entry. Weeks later, as the bacteria multiplies, skin rashes bloom on the palms of the hands and bottoms of the feet. Other traits of this stage include fever, headaches, muscle aches, sore throat, and fatigue. These symptoms eventually disappear and the patient progresses into the latent phase, which betrays no external signs. But if left untreated, after a decade or more, syphilis will reemerge in up to 30% of patients, capable of wreaking horror on a wide range of organ systems. Dr. Marion Sims, president of the American Medical Association in 1876, called it a “terrible scourge, which begins with lamb-like mildness and ends with lion-like rage that ruthlessly destroys everything in its way.”

The corkscrew-shaped bacteria can infiltrate the nervous system at any stage of the infection. Ms. Yang is haunted by her memory of interviewing a young man whose dementia was so severe that he didn’t know why he was in the hospital or how old he was. And regardless of symptoms or stage, the bacteria can penetrate the placenta to infect a fetus. Even in these cases the infection is unpredictable: Many babies are born with normal physical features, but others can have deformed bones or damaged brains, and they can struggle to hear, see, or breathe.

From its earliest days, syphilis has been shrouded in stigma. The first recorded outbreak was in the late 15th century, when Charles VIII led the French army to invade Naples. Italian physicians described French soldiers covered with pustules, dying from a sexually transmitted disease. As the affliction spread, Italians called it the French Disease. The French blamed the Neopolitans. It was also called the German, Polish, or Spanish disease, depending on which neighbor one wanted to blame. Even its name bears the taint of divine judgement: It comes from a 16th-century poem that tells of a shepherd, Syphilus, who offended the god Apollo and was punished with a hideous disease.

By 1937 in America, when former Surgeon General Thomas Parran wrote the book “Shadow on the Land,” he estimated some 680,000 people were under treatment for syphilis; about 60,000 babies were being born annually with congenital syphilis. There was no cure, and the stigma was so strong that public health officials feared even properly documenting cases.

Thanks to Dr. Parran’s ardent advocacy, Congress in 1938 passed the National Venereal Disease Control Act, which created grants for states to set up clinics and support testing and treatment. Other than a short-lived funding effort during World War I, this was the first coordinated federal push to respond to the disease.

Around the same time, the Public Health Service launched an effort to record the natural history of syphilis. Situated in Tuskegee, Ala., the infamous study recruited 600 black men. By the early 1940s, penicillin became widely available and was found to be a reliable cure, but the treatment was withheld from the study participants. Outrage over the ethical violations would cast a stain across syphilis research for decades to come and fuel generations of mistrust in the medical system among Black Americans that continues to this day.

With the introduction of penicillin, cases began to plummet. Twice, the CDC has announced efforts to wipe out the disease — once in the 1960s and again in 1999.

In the latest effort, the CDC announced that the United States had “a unique opportunity to eliminate syphilis within its borders,” thanks to historically low rates, with 80% of counties reporting zero cases. The concentration of cases in the South “identifies communities in which there is a fundamental failure of public health capacity,” the agency noted, adding that elimination — which it defined as fewer than 1,000 cases a year — would “decrease one of our most glaring racial disparities in health.”

Two years after the campaign began, cases started climbing, first among gay men and later, heterosexuals. Cases in women started accelerating in 2013, followed shortly by increasing numbers of babies born with syphilis.The reasons for failure are complex; people relaxed safer sex practices after the advent of potent HIV combination therapies, increased methamphetamine use drove riskier behavior and an explosion of online dating made it hard to track and test sexual partners, according to Dr. Ina Park, medical director of the California Prevention Training Center at the University of California San Francisco.

But federal and state public health efforts were hamstrung from the get-go. In 1999, the CDC said it would need about $35 million to $39 million in new federal funds annually for at least five years to eliminate syphilis. The agency got less than half of what it asked for, according to Jo Valentine, former program coordinator of the CDC’s Syphilis Elimination Effort. As cases rose, the CDC modified its goals in 2006 from 0.4 primary and secondary syphilis cases per 100,000 in population to 2.2 cases per 100,000. By 2013, as elimination seemed less and less viable, the CDC changed its focus to ending congenital syphilis only.

Since then, funding has remained anemic. From 2015 to 2020, the CDC’s budget for preventing sexually transmitted infections grew by 2.2%. Taking inflation into account, that’s a 7.4% reduction in purchasing power. In the same period, cases of syphilis, gonorrhea and chlamydia — the three STDs that have federally funded control programs — increased by nearly 30%.

“We have a long history of nearly eradicating something, then changing our attention, and seeing a resurgence in numbers,” said David Harvey, executive director of the National Coalition of STD Directors. “We have more congenital syphilis cases today in America than we ever had pediatric AIDS at the height of the AIDS epidemic. It’s heartbreaking.”

Adriane Casalotti, chief of government and public affairs at the National Association of County and City Health Officials, warns that the United States should not be surprised to see case counts continue to climb. “The bugs don’t go away,” she said. “They’re just waiting for the next opportunity, when you’re not paying attention.”

Ms. Yang waited until the end of the day, then called the clinic to see if Angelica had gone for her shot. She had not. Ms. Yang would have to block off another half day to visit Huron again, but she had three dozen other cases to deal with.

States in the South and West have seen the highest syphilis rates in recent years. In 2017, 64 babies in Fresno County were born with syphilis at a rate of 440 babies per 100,000 live births — about 19 times the national rate. While the county had managed to lower case counts in the two years that followed, the pandemic threatened to unravel that progress, forcing STD staffers to do COVID-19 contact tracing, pausing field visits to find infected people, and scaring patients from seeking care. Ms. Yang’s colleague handled three cases of stillbirth in 2020; in each, the woman was never diagnosed with syphilis because she feared catching the coronavirus and skipped prenatal care.

Ms. Yang, whose caseload peaked at 70 during a COVID-19 surge, knew she would not be able handle them all as thoroughly as she’d like to. “When I was being mentored by another investigator, he said: ‘You’re not a superhero. You can’t save everybody,’” she said. She prioritizes men who have sex with men, because there’s a higher prevalence of syphilis in that population, and pregnant people, because of the horrific consequences for babies.

The job of a disease intervention specialist isn’t for everyone: It means meeting patients whenever and wherever they are available — in the mop closet of a bus station, in a quiet parking lot — to inform them about the disease, to extract names of sex partners and to encourage treatment. Patients are often reluctant to talk. They can get belligerent, upset that “the government” has their personal information or shattered at the thought that a partner is likely cheating on them. Salaries typically start in the low $40,000s.

Jena Adams, Ms. Yang’s supervisor, has eight investigators working on HIV and syphilis. In the middle of 2020, she lost two and replaced them only recently. “It’s been exhausting,” Ms. Adams said. She has only one specialist who is trained to take blood samples in the field, crucial for guaranteeing that the partners of those who test positive for syphilis also get tested. Ms. Adams wants to get phlebotomy training for the rest of her staff, but it’s $2,000 per person. The department also doesn’t have anyone who can administer penicillin injections in the field; that would have been key when Ms. Yang met Angelica. For a while, a nurse who worked in the tuberculosis program would ride along to give penicillin shots on a volunteer basis. Then he, too, left the health department.

Much of the resources in public health trickle down from the CDC, which distributes money to states, which then parcel it out to counties. The CDC gets its budget from Congress, which tells the agency, by line item, exactly how much money it can spend to fight a disease or virus, in an uncommonly specific manner not seen in many other agencies. The decisions are often politically driven and can be detached from actual health needs.

When the House and Senate appropriations committees meet to decide how much the CDC will get for each line item, they are barraged by lobbyists for individual disease interests. Stephanie Arnold Pang, senior director of policy and government relations at the National Coalition of STD Directors, can pick out the groups by sight: breast cancer wears pink, Alzheimer’s goes in purple, multiple sclerosis comes in orange, HIV in red. STD prevention advocates, like herself, don a green ribbon, but they’re far outnumbered.

And unlike diseases that might already be familiar to lawmakers, or have patient and family spokespeople who can tell their own powerful stories, syphilis doesn’t have many willing poster children. “Congressmen don’t wake up one day and say, ‘Oh hey, there’s congenital syphilis in my jurisdiction.’ You have to raise awareness,” Arnold Pang said. It can be hard jockeying for a meeting. “Some offices might say, ‘I don’t have time for you because we’ve just seen HIV.’ ... Sometimes, it feels like you’re talking into a void.”

The consequences of the political nature of public health funding have become more obvious during the coronavirus pandemic. The 2014 Ebola epidemic was seen as a “global wakeup call” that the world wasn’t prepared for a major pandemic, yet in 2018, the CDC scaled back its epidemic prevention work as money ran out. “If you’ve got to choose between Alzheimer’s research and stopping an outbreak that may not happen? Stopping an outbreak that might not happen doesn’t do well,” said Dr. Frieden, the former CDC director. “The CDC needs to have more money and more flexible money. Otherwise, we’re going to be in this situation long term.”

In May 2021, President Joe Biden’s administration announced it would set aside $7.4 billion over the next five years to hire and train public health workers, including $1.1 billion for more disease intervention specialists like Ms. Yang. Public health officials are thrilled to have the chance to expand their workforce, but some worry the time horizon may be too short. “We’ve seen this movie before, right?” Dr. Frieden said. “Everyone gets concerned when there’s an outbreak, and when that outbreak stops, the headlines stop, and an economic downturn happens, the budget gets cut.”

Fresno’s STD clinic was shuttered in 2010 amid the Great Recession. Many others have vanished since the passage of the Affordable Care Act. Health leaders thought “by magically beefing up the primary care system, that we would do a better job of catching STIs and treating them,” said Mr. Harvey, the executive director of the National Coalition of STD Directors. That hasn’t worked out; people want access to anonymous services, and primary care doctors often don’t have STDs top of mind. The coalition is lobbying Congress for funding to support STD clinical services, proposing a three-year demonstration project funded at $600 million.

It’s one of Ms. Adams’ dreams to see Fresno’s STD clinic restored as it was. “You could come in for an HIV test and get other STDs checked,” she said. “And if a patient is positive, you can give a first injection on the spot.”

On Aug. 12, Ms. Yang set out for Huron again, speeding past groves of almond trees and fields of grapes in the department’s white Chevy Cruze. She brought along a colleague, Jorge Sevilla, who had recently transferred to the STD program from COVID-19 contact tracing. Ms. Yang was anxious to find Angelica again. “She’s probably in her second trimester now,” she said.

They found her outside of a pale yellow house a few blocks from the homeless encampment; the owner was letting her stay in a shed tucked in the corner of the dirt yard. This time, it was evident that she was pregnant. Ms. Yang noted that Angelica was wearing a wig; hair loss is a symptom of syphilis.

“Do you remember me?” Ms. Yang asked.

Angelica nodded. She didn’t seem surprised to see Ms. Yang again. (I came along, and Mr. Sevilla explained who I was and that I was writing about syphilis and the people affected by it. Angelica signed a release for me to report about her case, and she said she had no problem with me writing about her or even using her full name. ProPublica chose to only print her first name.)

“How are you doing? How’s the baby?”

“Bien.”

“So the last time we talked, we were going to have you go to United Healthcare Center to get treatment. Have you gone since?”

Angelica shook her head.

“We brought some gift cards...” Mr. Sevilla started in Spanish. The department uses them as incentives for completing injections. But Angelica was already shaking her head. The nearest Walmart was the next town over.

Ms. Yang turned to her partner. “Tell her: So the reason why we’re coming out here again is because we really need her to go in for treatment. ... We really are concerned for the baby’s health especially since she’s had the infection for quite a while.”

Angelica listened while Mr. Sevilla interpreted, her eyes on the ground. Then she looked up. “Orita?” she asked. Right now?

“I’ll walk with you,” Ms. Yang offered. Angelica shook her head. “She said she wants to shower first before she goes over there,” Mr. Sevilla said.

Ms. Yang made a face. “She said that to me last time.” Ms. Yang offered to wait, but Angelica didn’t want the health officers to linger by the house. She said she would meet them by the clinic in 15 minutes.

Ms. Yang was reluctant to let her go but again had no other option. She and Mr. Sevilla drove to the clinic, then stood on the corner of the parking lot, staring down the road.

Talk to the pediatricians, obstetricians, and families on the front lines of the congenital syphilis surge and it becomes clear why Ms. Yang and others are trying so desperately to prevent cases. Dr. J. B. Cantey, associate professor in pediatrics at UT Health San Antonio, remembers a baby girl born at 25 weeks gestation who weighed a pound and a half. Syphilis had spread through her bones and lungs. She spent five months in the neonatal intensive care unit, breathing through a ventilator, and was still eating through a tube when she was discharged.

Then, there are the miscarriages, the stillbirths and the inconsolable parents. Dr. Irene Stafford, an associate professor and maternal-fetal medicine specialist at UT Health in Houston, cannot forget a patient who came in at 36 weeks for a routine checkup, pregnant with her first child. Dr. Stafford realized that there was no heartbeat. “She could see on my face that something was really wrong,” Dr. Stafford recalled. She had to let the patient know that syphilis had killed her baby. “She was hysterical, just bawling,” Dr. Stafford said. “I’ve seen people’s families ripped apart and I’ve seen beautiful babies die.” Fewer than 10% of patients who experience a stillbirth are tested for syphilis, suggesting that cases are underdiagnosed.

A Texas grandmother named Solidad Odunuga offers a glimpse into what the future could hold for Angelica’s mother, who may wind up raising her baby.

In February of last year, Ms. Odunuga got a call from the Lyndon B. Johnson Hospital in Houston. A nurse told her that her daughter was about to give birth and that child protective services had been called. Ms. Odunuga had lost contact with her daughter, who struggled with homelessness and substance abuse. She arrived in time to see her grandson delivered, premature at 30 weeks old, weighing 2.7 pounds. He tested positive for syphilis.

When a child protective worker asked Ms. Odunuga to take custody of the infant, she felt a wave of dread. “I was in denial,” she recalled. “I did not plan to be a mom again.” The baby’s medical problems were daunting: “Global developmental delays ... concerns for visual impairments ... high risk of cerebral palsy,” read a note from the doctor at the time.

Still, Ms. Odunuga visited her grandson every day for three months, driving to the NICU from her job at the University of Houston. “I’d put him in my shirt to keep him warm and hold him there.” She fell in love. She named him Emmanuel.

Once Emmanuel was discharged, Ms. Odunuga realized she had no choice but to quit her job. While Medicaid covered the costs of Emmanuel’s treatment, it was on her to care for him. From infancy, Emmanuel’s life has been a whirlwind of constant therapy. Today, at 20 months old, Odunuga brings him to physical, occupational, speech, and developmental therapy, each a different appointment on a different day of the week.

Emmanuel has thrived beyond what his doctors predicted, toddling so fast that Ms. Odunuga can’t look away for a minute and beaming as he waves his favorite toy phone. Yet he still suffers from gagging issues, which means Ms. Odunuga can’t feed him any solid foods. Liquid gets into his lungs when he aspirates; it has led to pneumonia three times. Emmanuel has a special stroller that helps keep his head in a position that won’t aggravate his persistent reflux, but Odunuga said she still has to pull over on the side of the road sometimes when she hears him projectile vomiting from the backseat.

The days are endless. Once she puts Emmanuel to bed, Ms. Odunuga starts planning the next day’s appointments. “I’ve had to cry alone, scream out alone,” she said. “Sometimes I wake up and think, Is this real? And then I hear him in the next room.”

Putting aside the challenge of eliminating syphilis entirely, everyone agrees it’s both doable and necessary to prevent newborn cases. “There was a crisis in perinatal HIV almost 30 years ago and people stood up and said this is not OK — it’s not acceptable for babies to be born in that condition. ... [We] brought it down from 1,700 babies born each year with perinatal HIV to less than 40 per year today,” said Virginia Bowen, an epidemiologist at the CDC. “Now here we are with a slightly different condition. We can also stand up and say, ‘This is not acceptable.’” Belarus, Bermuda, Cuba, Malaysia, Thailand, and Sri Lanka are among countries recognized by the World Health Organization for eliminating congenital syphilis.

Success starts with filling gaps across the health care system.

For almost a century, public health experts have advocated for testing pregnant patients more than once for syphilis in order to catch the infection. But policies nationwide still don’t reflect this best practice. Six states have no prenatal screening requirement at all. Even in states that require three tests, public health officials say that many physicians aren’t aware of the requirements. Dr. Stafford, the maternal-fetal medicine specialist in Houston, says she’s tired of hearing her own peers in medicine tell her, “Oh, syphilis is a problem?”

It costs public health departments less than 25 cents a dose to buy penicillin, but for a private practice, it’s more than $1,000, according to Dr. Park of the University of California San Francisco. “There’s no incentive for a private physician to stock a dose that could expire before it’s used, so they often don’t have it. So a woman comes in, they say, ‘We’ll send you to the emergency department or health department to get it,’ then [the patients] don’t show up.”

A vaccine would be invaluable for preventing spread among people at high risk for reinfection. But there is none. Scientists only recently figured out how to grow the bacteria in the lab, prompting grants from the National Institutes of Health to fund research into a vaccine. Dr. Justin Radolf, a researcher at the University of Connecticut School of Medicine, said he hopes his team will have a vaccine candidate by the end of its five-year grant. But it’ll likely take years more to find a manufacturer and run human trials.

Public health agencies also need to recognize that many of the hurdles to getting pregnant people treated involve access to care, economic stability, safe housing and transportation. In Fresno, Ms. Adams has been working on ways her department can collaborate with mental health services. Recently, one of her disease intervention specialists managed to get a pregnant woman treated with penicillin shots and, at the patient’s request, connected her with an addiction treatment center.

Gaining a patient’s cooperation means seeing them as complex humans instead of just a case to solve. “There may be past traumas with the health care system,” said Cynthia Deverson, project manager of the Houston Fetal Infant Morbidity Review. “There’s the fear of being discovered if she’s doing something illegal to survive. ... She may need to be in a certain place at a certain time so she can get something to eat, or maybe it’s the only time of the day that’s safe for her to sleep. They’re not going to tell you that. Yes, they understand there’s a problem, but it’s not an immediate threat, maybe they don’t feel bad yet, so obviously this is not urgent. ...

“What helps to gain trust is consistency,” she said. “Literally, it’s seeing that [disease specialist] constantly, daily. ... The woman can see that you’re not going to harm her, you’re saying, ‘I’m here at this time if you need me.’”

Ms. Yang stood outside the clinic, waiting for Angelica to show up, baking in the 90-degree heat. Her feelings ranged from irritation — Why didn’t she just go? I’d have more energy for other cases — to an appreciation for the parts of Angelica’s story that she didn’t know — She’s in survival mode. I need to be more patient.

Fifteen minutes ticked by, then 20.

“OK,” Ms. Yang announced. “We’re going back.”

She asked Sevilla if he would be OK if they drove Angelica to the clinic; they technically weren’t supposed to because of coronavirus precautions, but Ms. Yang wasn’t sure she could convince Angelica to walk. Mr. Sevilla gave her the thumbs up.

When they pulled up, they saw Angelica sitting in the backyard, chatting with a friend. She now wore a fresh T-shirt and had shoes on her feet. Angelica sat silently in the back seat as Ms. Yang drove to the clinic. A few minutes later, they pulled up to the parking lot.

Finally, Ms. Yang thought. We got her here.

The clinic was packed with people waiting for COVID-19 tests and vaccinations. A worker there had previously told Ms. Yang that a walk-in would be fine, but a receptionist now said they were too busy to treat Angelica. She would have to return.

Ms. Yang felt a surge of frustration, sensing that her hard-fought opportunity was slipping away. She tried to talk to the nurse supervisor, but he wasn’t available. She tried to leave the gift cards at the office to reward Angelica if she came, but the receptionist said she couldn’t hold them. While Ms. Yang negotiated, Mr. Sevilla sat with Angelica in the car, waiting.

Finally, Ms. Yang accepted this was yet another thing she couldn’t control.

She drove Angelica back to the yellow house. As they arrived, she tried once more to impress on her just how important it was to get treated, asking Mr. Sevilla to interpret. “We don’t want it to get any more serious, because she can go blind, she could go deaf, she could lose her baby.”

Angelica already had the door halfway open.

“So on a scale from one to 10, how important is this to get treated?” Ms. Yang asked.

“Ten,” Angelica said. Ms. Yang reminded her of the appointment that afternoon. Then Angelica stepped out and returned to the dusty yard.

Ms. Yang lingered for a moment, watching Angelica go. Then she turned the car back onto the highway and set off toward Fresno, knowing, already, that she’d be back.

Postscript: A reporter visited Huron twice more in the months that followed, including once independently to try to interview Angelica, but she wasn’t in town. Ms. Yang has visited Huron twice more as well — six times in total thus far. In October, a couple of men at the yellow house said Angelica was still in town, still pregnant. Ms. Yang and Mr. Sevilla spent an hour driving around, talking to residents, hoping to catch Angelica. But she was nowhere to be found.

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This story was originally published on ProPublica and was co-published with NPR.

When Mai Yang is looking for a patient, she travels light. She dresses deliberately — not too formal, so she won’t be mistaken for a police officer; not too casual, so people will look past her tiny 4-foot-10 stature and youthful face and trust her with sensitive health information. Always, she wears closed-toed shoes, “just in case I need to run.”

Yang carries a stack of cards issued by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention that show what happens when the Treponema pallidum bacteria invades a patient’s body. There’s a photo of an angry red sore on a penis. There’s one of a tongue, marred by mucus-lined lesions. And there’s one of a newborn baby, its belly, torso and thighs dotted in a rash, its mouth open, as if caught midcry.

It was because of the prospect of one such baby that Yang found herself walking through a homeless encampment on a blazing July day in Huron, Calif., an hour’s drive southwest of her office at the Fresno County Department of Public Health. She was looking for a pregnant woman named Angelica, whose visit to a community clinic had triggered a report to the health department’s sexually transmitted disease program. Angelica had tested positive for syphilis. If she was not treated, her baby could end up like the one in the picture or worse — there was a 40% chance the baby would die.

Ms. Yang knew, though, that if she helped Angelica get treated with three weekly shots of penicillin at least 30 days before she gave birth, it was likely that the infection would be wiped out and her baby would be born without any symptoms at all. Every case of congenital syphilis, when a baby is born with the disease, is avoidable. Each is considered a “sentinel event,” a warning that the public health system is failing.

The alarms are now clamoring. In the United States, more than 129,800 syphilis cases were recorded in 2019, double the case count of five years prior. In the same time period, cases of congenital syphilis quadrupled: 1,870 babies were born with the disease; 128 died. Case counts from 2020 are still being finalized, but the CDC has said that reported cases of congenital syphilis have already exceeded the prior year. Black, Hispanic, and Native American babies are disproportionately at risk.

There was a time, not too long ago, when CDC officials thought they could eliminate the centuries-old scourge from the United States, for adults and babies. But the effort lost steam and cases soon crept up again. Syphilis is not an outlier. The United States goes through what former CDC director Dr. Tom Frieden calls “a deadly cycle of panic and neglect” in which emergencies propel officials to scramble and throw money at a problem — whether that’s Ebola, Zika, or COVID-19. Then, as fear ebbs, so does the attention and motivation to finish the task.

The last fraction of cases can be the hardest to solve, whether that’s eradicating a bug or getting vaccines into arms, yet too often, that’s exactly when political attention gets diverted to the next alarm. The result: The hardest to reach and most vulnerable populations are the ones left suffering, after everyone else looks away.

Ms. Yang first received Angelica’s lab report on June 17. The address listed was a P.O. box, and the phone number belonged to her sister, who said Angelica was living in Huron. That was a piece of luck: Huron is tiny; the city spans just 1.6 square miles. On her first visit, a worker at the Alamo Motel said she knew Angelica and directed Ms. Yang to a nearby homeless encampment. Angelica wasn’t there, so Ms. Yang returned a second time, bringing one of the health department nurses who could serve as an interpreter.

They made their way to the barren patch of land behind Huron Valley Foods, the local grocery store, where people took shelter in makeshift lean-tos composed of cardboard boxes, scrap wood ,and scavenged furniture, draped with sheets that served as ceilings and curtains. Yang stopped outside one of the structures, calling a greeting.

“Hi, I’m from the health department, I’m looking for Angelica.”

The nurse echoed her in Spanish.

Angelica emerged, squinting in the sunlight. Ms. Yang couldn’t tell if she was visibly pregnant yet, as her body was obscured by an oversized shirt. The two women were about the same age: Ms. Yang 26 and Angelica 27. Ms. Yang led her away from the tent, so they could speak privately. Angelica seemed reticent, surprised by the sudden appearance of the two health officers. “You’re not in trouble,” Ms. Yang said, before revealing the results of her blood test.

Angelica had never heard of syphilis.

“Have you been to prenatal care?”

Angelica shook her head. The local clinic had referred her to an obstetrician in Hanford, a 30-minute drive away. She had no car. She also mentioned that she didn’t intend to raise her baby; her two oldest children lived with her mother, and this one likely would, too.

Ms. Yang pulled out the CDC cards, showing them to Angelica and asking if she had experienced any of the symptoms illustrated. No, Angelica said, her lips pursed with disgust.

“Right now you still feel healthy, but this bacteria is still in your body,” Ms. Yang pressed. “You need to get the infection treated to prevent further health complications to yourself and your baby.”

The community clinic was just across the street. “Can we walk you over to the clinic and make sure you get seen so we can get this taken care of?”

Angelica demurred. She said she hadn’t showered for a week and wanted to wash up first. She said she’d go later.

Ms. Yang tried once more to extract a promise: “What time do you think you’ll go?”

“Today, for sure.”

Syphilis is called The Great Imitator: It can look like any number of diseases. In its first stage, the only evidence of infection is a painless sore at the bacteria’s point of entry. Weeks later, as the bacteria multiplies, skin rashes bloom on the palms of the hands and bottoms of the feet. Other traits of this stage include fever, headaches, muscle aches, sore throat, and fatigue. These symptoms eventually disappear and the patient progresses into the latent phase, which betrays no external signs. But if left untreated, after a decade or more, syphilis will reemerge in up to 30% of patients, capable of wreaking horror on a wide range of organ systems. Dr. Marion Sims, president of the American Medical Association in 1876, called it a “terrible scourge, which begins with lamb-like mildness and ends with lion-like rage that ruthlessly destroys everything in its way.”

The corkscrew-shaped bacteria can infiltrate the nervous system at any stage of the infection. Ms. Yang is haunted by her memory of interviewing a young man whose dementia was so severe that he didn’t know why he was in the hospital or how old he was. And regardless of symptoms or stage, the bacteria can penetrate the placenta to infect a fetus. Even in these cases the infection is unpredictable: Many babies are born with normal physical features, but others can have deformed bones or damaged brains, and they can struggle to hear, see, or breathe.

From its earliest days, syphilis has been shrouded in stigma. The first recorded outbreak was in the late 15th century, when Charles VIII led the French army to invade Naples. Italian physicians described French soldiers covered with pustules, dying from a sexually transmitted disease. As the affliction spread, Italians called it the French Disease. The French blamed the Neopolitans. It was also called the German, Polish, or Spanish disease, depending on which neighbor one wanted to blame. Even its name bears the taint of divine judgement: It comes from a 16th-century poem that tells of a shepherd, Syphilus, who offended the god Apollo and was punished with a hideous disease.

By 1937 in America, when former Surgeon General Thomas Parran wrote the book “Shadow on the Land,” he estimated some 680,000 people were under treatment for syphilis; about 60,000 babies were being born annually with congenital syphilis. There was no cure, and the stigma was so strong that public health officials feared even properly documenting cases.

Thanks to Dr. Parran’s ardent advocacy, Congress in 1938 passed the National Venereal Disease Control Act, which created grants for states to set up clinics and support testing and treatment. Other than a short-lived funding effort during World War I, this was the first coordinated federal push to respond to the disease.

Around the same time, the Public Health Service launched an effort to record the natural history of syphilis. Situated in Tuskegee, Ala., the infamous study recruited 600 black men. By the early 1940s, penicillin became widely available and was found to be a reliable cure, but the treatment was withheld from the study participants. Outrage over the ethical violations would cast a stain across syphilis research for decades to come and fuel generations of mistrust in the medical system among Black Americans that continues to this day.

With the introduction of penicillin, cases began to plummet. Twice, the CDC has announced efforts to wipe out the disease — once in the 1960s and again in 1999.

In the latest effort, the CDC announced that the United States had “a unique opportunity to eliminate syphilis within its borders,” thanks to historically low rates, with 80% of counties reporting zero cases. The concentration of cases in the South “identifies communities in which there is a fundamental failure of public health capacity,” the agency noted, adding that elimination — which it defined as fewer than 1,000 cases a year — would “decrease one of our most glaring racial disparities in health.”

Two years after the campaign began, cases started climbing, first among gay men and later, heterosexuals. Cases in women started accelerating in 2013, followed shortly by increasing numbers of babies born with syphilis.The reasons for failure are complex; people relaxed safer sex practices after the advent of potent HIV combination therapies, increased methamphetamine use drove riskier behavior and an explosion of online dating made it hard to track and test sexual partners, according to Dr. Ina Park, medical director of the California Prevention Training Center at the University of California San Francisco.

But federal and state public health efforts were hamstrung from the get-go. In 1999, the CDC said it would need about $35 million to $39 million in new federal funds annually for at least five years to eliminate syphilis. The agency got less than half of what it asked for, according to Jo Valentine, former program coordinator of the CDC’s Syphilis Elimination Effort. As cases rose, the CDC modified its goals in 2006 from 0.4 primary and secondary syphilis cases per 100,000 in population to 2.2 cases per 100,000. By 2013, as elimination seemed less and less viable, the CDC changed its focus to ending congenital syphilis only.

Since then, funding has remained anemic. From 2015 to 2020, the CDC’s budget for preventing sexually transmitted infections grew by 2.2%. Taking inflation into account, that’s a 7.4% reduction in purchasing power. In the same period, cases of syphilis, gonorrhea and chlamydia — the three STDs that have federally funded control programs — increased by nearly 30%.

“We have a long history of nearly eradicating something, then changing our attention, and seeing a resurgence in numbers,” said David Harvey, executive director of the National Coalition of STD Directors. “We have more congenital syphilis cases today in America than we ever had pediatric AIDS at the height of the AIDS epidemic. It’s heartbreaking.”

Adriane Casalotti, chief of government and public affairs at the National Association of County and City Health Officials, warns that the United States should not be surprised to see case counts continue to climb. “The bugs don’t go away,” she said. “They’re just waiting for the next opportunity, when you’re not paying attention.”

Ms. Yang waited until the end of the day, then called the clinic to see if Angelica had gone for her shot. She had not. Ms. Yang would have to block off another half day to visit Huron again, but she had three dozen other cases to deal with.

States in the South and West have seen the highest syphilis rates in recent years. In 2017, 64 babies in Fresno County were born with syphilis at a rate of 440 babies per 100,000 live births — about 19 times the national rate. While the county had managed to lower case counts in the two years that followed, the pandemic threatened to unravel that progress, forcing STD staffers to do COVID-19 contact tracing, pausing field visits to find infected people, and scaring patients from seeking care. Ms. Yang’s colleague handled three cases of stillbirth in 2020; in each, the woman was never diagnosed with syphilis because she feared catching the coronavirus and skipped prenatal care.

Ms. Yang, whose caseload peaked at 70 during a COVID-19 surge, knew she would not be able handle them all as thoroughly as she’d like to. “When I was being mentored by another investigator, he said: ‘You’re not a superhero. You can’t save everybody,’” she said. She prioritizes men who have sex with men, because there’s a higher prevalence of syphilis in that population, and pregnant people, because of the horrific consequences for babies.

The job of a disease intervention specialist isn’t for everyone: It means meeting patients whenever and wherever they are available — in the mop closet of a bus station, in a quiet parking lot — to inform them about the disease, to extract names of sex partners and to encourage treatment. Patients are often reluctant to talk. They can get belligerent, upset that “the government” has their personal information or shattered at the thought that a partner is likely cheating on them. Salaries typically start in the low $40,000s.

Jena Adams, Ms. Yang’s supervisor, has eight investigators working on HIV and syphilis. In the middle of 2020, she lost two and replaced them only recently. “It’s been exhausting,” Ms. Adams said. She has only one specialist who is trained to take blood samples in the field, crucial for guaranteeing that the partners of those who test positive for syphilis also get tested. Ms. Adams wants to get phlebotomy training for the rest of her staff, but it’s $2,000 per person. The department also doesn’t have anyone who can administer penicillin injections in the field; that would have been key when Ms. Yang met Angelica. For a while, a nurse who worked in the tuberculosis program would ride along to give penicillin shots on a volunteer basis. Then he, too, left the health department.

Much of the resources in public health trickle down from the CDC, which distributes money to states, which then parcel it out to counties. The CDC gets its budget from Congress, which tells the agency, by line item, exactly how much money it can spend to fight a disease or virus, in an uncommonly specific manner not seen in many other agencies. The decisions are often politically driven and can be detached from actual health needs.

When the House and Senate appropriations committees meet to decide how much the CDC will get for each line item, they are barraged by lobbyists for individual disease interests. Stephanie Arnold Pang, senior director of policy and government relations at the National Coalition of STD Directors, can pick out the groups by sight: breast cancer wears pink, Alzheimer’s goes in purple, multiple sclerosis comes in orange, HIV in red. STD prevention advocates, like herself, don a green ribbon, but they’re far outnumbered.

And unlike diseases that might already be familiar to lawmakers, or have patient and family spokespeople who can tell their own powerful stories, syphilis doesn’t have many willing poster children. “Congressmen don’t wake up one day and say, ‘Oh hey, there’s congenital syphilis in my jurisdiction.’ You have to raise awareness,” Arnold Pang said. It can be hard jockeying for a meeting. “Some offices might say, ‘I don’t have time for you because we’ve just seen HIV.’ ... Sometimes, it feels like you’re talking into a void.”

The consequences of the political nature of public health funding have become more obvious during the coronavirus pandemic. The 2014 Ebola epidemic was seen as a “global wakeup call” that the world wasn’t prepared for a major pandemic, yet in 2018, the CDC scaled back its epidemic prevention work as money ran out. “If you’ve got to choose between Alzheimer’s research and stopping an outbreak that may not happen? Stopping an outbreak that might not happen doesn’t do well,” said Dr. Frieden, the former CDC director. “The CDC needs to have more money and more flexible money. Otherwise, we’re going to be in this situation long term.”

In May 2021, President Joe Biden’s administration announced it would set aside $7.4 billion over the next five years to hire and train public health workers, including $1.1 billion for more disease intervention specialists like Ms. Yang. Public health officials are thrilled to have the chance to expand their workforce, but some worry the time horizon may be too short. “We’ve seen this movie before, right?” Dr. Frieden said. “Everyone gets concerned when there’s an outbreak, and when that outbreak stops, the headlines stop, and an economic downturn happens, the budget gets cut.”

Fresno’s STD clinic was shuttered in 2010 amid the Great Recession. Many others have vanished since the passage of the Affordable Care Act. Health leaders thought “by magically beefing up the primary care system, that we would do a better job of catching STIs and treating them,” said Mr. Harvey, the executive director of the National Coalition of STD Directors. That hasn’t worked out; people want access to anonymous services, and primary care doctors often don’t have STDs top of mind. The coalition is lobbying Congress for funding to support STD clinical services, proposing a three-year demonstration project funded at $600 million.

It’s one of Ms. Adams’ dreams to see Fresno’s STD clinic restored as it was. “You could come in for an HIV test and get other STDs checked,” she said. “And if a patient is positive, you can give a first injection on the spot.”

On Aug. 12, Ms. Yang set out for Huron again, speeding past groves of almond trees and fields of grapes in the department’s white Chevy Cruze. She brought along a colleague, Jorge Sevilla, who had recently transferred to the STD program from COVID-19 contact tracing. Ms. Yang was anxious to find Angelica again. “She’s probably in her second trimester now,” she said.

They found her outside of a pale yellow house a few blocks from the homeless encampment; the owner was letting her stay in a shed tucked in the corner of the dirt yard. This time, it was evident that she was pregnant. Ms. Yang noted that Angelica was wearing a wig; hair loss is a symptom of syphilis.

“Do you remember me?” Ms. Yang asked.

Angelica nodded. She didn’t seem surprised to see Ms. Yang again. (I came along, and Mr. Sevilla explained who I was and that I was writing about syphilis and the people affected by it. Angelica signed a release for me to report about her case, and she said she had no problem with me writing about her or even using her full name. ProPublica chose to only print her first name.)

“How are you doing? How’s the baby?”

“Bien.”

“So the last time we talked, we were going to have you go to United Healthcare Center to get treatment. Have you gone since?”

Angelica shook her head.

“We brought some gift cards...” Mr. Sevilla started in Spanish. The department uses them as incentives for completing injections. But Angelica was already shaking her head. The nearest Walmart was the next town over.

Ms. Yang turned to her partner. “Tell her: So the reason why we’re coming out here again is because we really need her to go in for treatment. ... We really are concerned for the baby’s health especially since she’s had the infection for quite a while.”

Angelica listened while Mr. Sevilla interpreted, her eyes on the ground. Then she looked up. “Orita?” she asked. Right now?

“I’ll walk with you,” Ms. Yang offered. Angelica shook her head. “She said she wants to shower first before she goes over there,” Mr. Sevilla said.

Ms. Yang made a face. “She said that to me last time.” Ms. Yang offered to wait, but Angelica didn’t want the health officers to linger by the house. She said she would meet them by the clinic in 15 minutes.

Ms. Yang was reluctant to let her go but again had no other option. She and Mr. Sevilla drove to the clinic, then stood on the corner of the parking lot, staring down the road.

Talk to the pediatricians, obstetricians, and families on the front lines of the congenital syphilis surge and it becomes clear why Ms. Yang and others are trying so desperately to prevent cases. Dr. J. B. Cantey, associate professor in pediatrics at UT Health San Antonio, remembers a baby girl born at 25 weeks gestation who weighed a pound and a half. Syphilis had spread through her bones and lungs. She spent five months in the neonatal intensive care unit, breathing through a ventilator, and was still eating through a tube when she was discharged.

Then, there are the miscarriages, the stillbirths and the inconsolable parents. Dr. Irene Stafford, an associate professor and maternal-fetal medicine specialist at UT Health in Houston, cannot forget a patient who came in at 36 weeks for a routine checkup, pregnant with her first child. Dr. Stafford realized that there was no heartbeat. “She could see on my face that something was really wrong,” Dr. Stafford recalled. She had to let the patient know that syphilis had killed her baby. “She was hysterical, just bawling,” Dr. Stafford said. “I’ve seen people’s families ripped apart and I’ve seen beautiful babies die.” Fewer than 10% of patients who experience a stillbirth are tested for syphilis, suggesting that cases are underdiagnosed.

A Texas grandmother named Solidad Odunuga offers a glimpse into what the future could hold for Angelica’s mother, who may wind up raising her baby.

In February of last year, Ms. Odunuga got a call from the Lyndon B. Johnson Hospital in Houston. A nurse told her that her daughter was about to give birth and that child protective services had been called. Ms. Odunuga had lost contact with her daughter, who struggled with homelessness and substance abuse. She arrived in time to see her grandson delivered, premature at 30 weeks old, weighing 2.7 pounds. He tested positive for syphilis.

When a child protective worker asked Ms. Odunuga to take custody of the infant, she felt a wave of dread. “I was in denial,” she recalled. “I did not plan to be a mom again.” The baby’s medical problems were daunting: “Global developmental delays ... concerns for visual impairments ... high risk of cerebral palsy,” read a note from the doctor at the time.

Still, Ms. Odunuga visited her grandson every day for three months, driving to the NICU from her job at the University of Houston. “I’d put him in my shirt to keep him warm and hold him there.” She fell in love. She named him Emmanuel.

Once Emmanuel was discharged, Ms. Odunuga realized she had no choice but to quit her job. While Medicaid covered the costs of Emmanuel’s treatment, it was on her to care for him. From infancy, Emmanuel’s life has been a whirlwind of constant therapy. Today, at 20 months old, Odunuga brings him to physical, occupational, speech, and developmental therapy, each a different appointment on a different day of the week.

Emmanuel has thrived beyond what his doctors predicted, toddling so fast that Ms. Odunuga can’t look away for a minute and beaming as he waves his favorite toy phone. Yet he still suffers from gagging issues, which means Ms. Odunuga can’t feed him any solid foods. Liquid gets into his lungs when he aspirates; it has led to pneumonia three times. Emmanuel has a special stroller that helps keep his head in a position that won’t aggravate his persistent reflux, but Odunuga said she still has to pull over on the side of the road sometimes when she hears him projectile vomiting from the backseat.

The days are endless. Once she puts Emmanuel to bed, Ms. Odunuga starts planning the next day’s appointments. “I’ve had to cry alone, scream out alone,” she said. “Sometimes I wake up and think, Is this real? And then I hear him in the next room.”

Putting aside the challenge of eliminating syphilis entirely, everyone agrees it’s both doable and necessary to prevent newborn cases. “There was a crisis in perinatal HIV almost 30 years ago and people stood up and said this is not OK — it’s not acceptable for babies to be born in that condition. ... [We] brought it down from 1,700 babies born each year with perinatal HIV to less than 40 per year today,” said Virginia Bowen, an epidemiologist at the CDC. “Now here we are with a slightly different condition. We can also stand up and say, ‘This is not acceptable.’” Belarus, Bermuda, Cuba, Malaysia, Thailand, and Sri Lanka are among countries recognized by the World Health Organization for eliminating congenital syphilis.

Success starts with filling gaps across the health care system.

For almost a century, public health experts have advocated for testing pregnant patients more than once for syphilis in order to catch the infection. But policies nationwide still don’t reflect this best practice. Six states have no prenatal screening requirement at all. Even in states that require three tests, public health officials say that many physicians aren’t aware of the requirements. Dr. Stafford, the maternal-fetal medicine specialist in Houston, says she’s tired of hearing her own peers in medicine tell her, “Oh, syphilis is a problem?”

It costs public health departments less than 25 cents a dose to buy penicillin, but for a private practice, it’s more than $1,000, according to Dr. Park of the University of California San Francisco. “There’s no incentive for a private physician to stock a dose that could expire before it’s used, so they often don’t have it. So a woman comes in, they say, ‘We’ll send you to the emergency department or health department to get it,’ then [the patients] don’t show up.”

A vaccine would be invaluable for preventing spread among people at high risk for reinfection. But there is none. Scientists only recently figured out how to grow the bacteria in the lab, prompting grants from the National Institutes of Health to fund research into a vaccine. Dr. Justin Radolf, a researcher at the University of Connecticut School of Medicine, said he hopes his team will have a vaccine candidate by the end of its five-year grant. But it’ll likely take years more to find a manufacturer and run human trials.

Public health agencies also need to recognize that many of the hurdles to getting pregnant people treated involve access to care, economic stability, safe housing and transportation. In Fresno, Ms. Adams has been working on ways her department can collaborate with mental health services. Recently, one of her disease intervention specialists managed to get a pregnant woman treated with penicillin shots and, at the patient’s request, connected her with an addiction treatment center.

Gaining a patient’s cooperation means seeing them as complex humans instead of just a case to solve. “There may be past traumas with the health care system,” said Cynthia Deverson, project manager of the Houston Fetal Infant Morbidity Review. “There’s the fear of being discovered if she’s doing something illegal to survive. ... She may need to be in a certain place at a certain time so she can get something to eat, or maybe it’s the only time of the day that’s safe for her to sleep. They’re not going to tell you that. Yes, they understand there’s a problem, but it’s not an immediate threat, maybe they don’t feel bad yet, so obviously this is not urgent. ...

“What helps to gain trust is consistency,” she said. “Literally, it’s seeing that [disease specialist] constantly, daily. ... The woman can see that you’re not going to harm her, you’re saying, ‘I’m here at this time if you need me.’”

Ms. Yang stood outside the clinic, waiting for Angelica to show up, baking in the 90-degree heat. Her feelings ranged from irritation — Why didn’t she just go? I’d have more energy for other cases — to an appreciation for the parts of Angelica’s story that she didn’t know — She’s in survival mode. I need to be more patient.

Fifteen minutes ticked by, then 20.

“OK,” Ms. Yang announced. “We’re going back.”

She asked Sevilla if he would be OK if they drove Angelica to the clinic; they technically weren’t supposed to because of coronavirus precautions, but Ms. Yang wasn’t sure she could convince Angelica to walk. Mr. Sevilla gave her the thumbs up.

When they pulled up, they saw Angelica sitting in the backyard, chatting with a friend. She now wore a fresh T-shirt and had shoes on her feet. Angelica sat silently in the back seat as Ms. Yang drove to the clinic. A few minutes later, they pulled up to the parking lot.

Finally, Ms. Yang thought. We got her here.

The clinic was packed with people waiting for COVID-19 tests and vaccinations. A worker there had previously told Ms. Yang that a walk-in would be fine, but a receptionist now said they were too busy to treat Angelica. She would have to return.

Ms. Yang felt a surge of frustration, sensing that her hard-fought opportunity was slipping away. She tried to talk to the nurse supervisor, but he wasn’t available. She tried to leave the gift cards at the office to reward Angelica if she came, but the receptionist said she couldn’t hold them. While Ms. Yang negotiated, Mr. Sevilla sat with Angelica in the car, waiting.

Finally, Ms. Yang accepted this was yet another thing she couldn’t control.

She drove Angelica back to the yellow house. As they arrived, she tried once more to impress on her just how important it was to get treated, asking Mr. Sevilla to interpret. “We don’t want it to get any more serious, because she can go blind, she could go deaf, she could lose her baby.”

Angelica already had the door halfway open.

“So on a scale from one to 10, how important is this to get treated?” Ms. Yang asked.

“Ten,” Angelica said. Ms. Yang reminded her of the appointment that afternoon. Then Angelica stepped out and returned to the dusty yard.

Ms. Yang lingered for a moment, watching Angelica go. Then she turned the car back onto the highway and set off toward Fresno, knowing, already, that she’d be back.

Postscript: A reporter visited Huron twice more in the months that followed, including once independently to try to interview Angelica, but she wasn’t in town. Ms. Yang has visited Huron twice more as well — six times in total thus far. In October, a couple of men at the yellow house said Angelica was still in town, still pregnant. Ms. Yang and Mr. Sevilla spent an hour driving around, talking to residents, hoping to catch Angelica. But she was nowhere to be found.

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