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Strangers in the middle of a city: The John and Jane Does of L.A. General Medical Center

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Strangers in the middle of a city: The John and Jane Does of L.A. General Medical Center

He had a buzz cut and brown eyes, a stubbly beard and a wrestler’s build.

He did not have a wallet or phone; he could not state his name. He arrived at Los Angeles General Medical Center one cloudy day this winter just as thousands of people do every year: alone and unknown.

Some 130,000 people are brought each year to L.A. General’s emergency room. Many are unconscious, incapacitated or too unwell to tell staff who they are.

Nearly all these Jane and John Does are identified within 48 hours or so of admission. But every year, a few dozen elude social workers’ determined efforts to figure out who they are.

Too sick to be discharged yet lacking the identification they need to be transferred to a more appropriate facility, they stay at L.A.’s busiest trauma hospital for weeks. Sometimes months. Occasionally years.

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That’s an outcome no one wants. And so hospital staff did for the buzz cut man what they do once every other possibility is exhausted.

Social workers cobbled together the tiny bit of information they could legally share: his height and weight, his estimated age, his date of admission, the place where he was found. They stood over his hospital bed and took his photograph.

Then they asked the 10 million people of Los Angeles County: Does anyone know who this is?

This unidentified patient arrived at L.A. General on Feb. 6 after being found unconscious in East Hollywood.

(Los Angeles General Medical Center)

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Just before 8 a.m. on Feb. 16, paramedics responded to a medical emergency at 1037 N. Vermont Ave.

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The man was face-down on a stretch of sidewalk lined with chain-link fences and sandbags, near a public restroom and the entrance to the Vermont/Santa Monica subway stop. Pink scrape marks blossomed above and below his right eye.

Paramedics estimated he was about 30 years old. Hospital staff guessed 35 to 40.

He had no possessions that might offer clues: no phone, no wallet, no tickets or receipts crumpled in his pockets.

He could not state his name or answer any questions. The hospital admitted him under a name the English-speaking world has used for centuries when a legal name can’t be verified: John Doe.

The vast majority of patients admitted as John Does leave as themselves. The unconscious wake up. The intoxicated sober up. Frantic relatives call the hospital looking for a missing loved one, or police arrive seeking their suspect.

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None of these things happened for the man from North Vermont. When he finally opened his eyes, his language was minimal: a few indistinct words — possibly English, possibly Spanish — and nothing that sounded like a name.

Social workers wrote down everything they knew for sure about their patient: his height (4 feet, 10 inches), his weight (181 pounds), the color of his eyes (dark brown).

Then they started following the trail that typically leads to identification.

The ambulance crew didn’t recognize him, and the run sheet — the document paramedics use to record patients’ condition and care — had no revelatory details.

They checked Google Maps. Any nearby shelter whose manager they could call to ask about a missing resident? Nope. Was there an apartment building whose residents might recognize his photo? Nothing.

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A man lays in a hospital bed looking at the camera.

A second photo L.A. General released to the public in search of a name or next of kin for this unidentified patient found in East Hollywood.

(Los Angeles General Medical Center)

They clicked through county databases. His details didn’t align with any previously admitted hospital patient, or anyone in the mental health system. No missing-persons report matched his description; social workers couldn’t find a mention of someone like him in any social media posts.

An anonymous patient is an administrative problem. It’s also a safety concern. If a patient can’t state their name, they probably also can’t say if they have life-threatening allergies or are taking any medications, said Dr. Chase Coffey, who oversees the hospital’s social work team.

“We do our darndest to deliver safe, effective, high-quality care in these scenarios, but we run into limits there,” he said.

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Federal law requires hospitals to guard patient privacy zealously, and L.A. General is no exception. But given that virtually every hospital deals with unnamed patients, California carves out an exception for unidentified people who can’t make their own healthcare decisions. In such instances, hospitals can go public with information that could locate their patient’s next of kin.

On March 3, nearly two weeks after the man’s arrival, a press release went live on the county’s website and pinged in the inboxes of reporters across the region.

“Los Angeles General Medical Center, a public hospital run by the L.A. County Department of Health Services, is seeking the media and public’s help in identifying a patient,” the flier said. In the photograph the man gazed up from his hospital bed, eyes fixed somewhere past the camera, looking as lost as could be.

The buzz cut man from North Vermont was not the only Doe in the hospital’s care.

On the same March 3 morning, the county asked for help identifying a wisp-thin elderly man with a grizzled beard and swollen black eye who’d been found in Monterey Park’s Edison Trails Park.

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Three days later, it sent out a bulletin for a gray-haired Jane Doe picked up near Echo Park Lake. In her photo she was unconscious and intubated, a bruise forming on her forehead, wires curling around her.

An intubated woman lays in a hospital bed with eyes closed.

L.A. General seeks identification for a female patient who arrived in late May.

(Los Angeles General Medical Center)

By the end of the month, L.A. General would ask the public to identify four more men and women found alone in parks and on streets across the county, people whose cognitive state or medical condition left them unable to speak for themselves.

All of the hospital’s Does are found in L.A. County. That doesn’t mean they live here.

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L.A. General is 2 miles from Union Station, where buses and trains deposit people traveling from all over North America. A few years ago, Coffey and social work supervisor Jose Hernandez found themselves trying to place an elderly couple from Nevada, both suffering from cognitive decline, who arrived at the station and couldn’t recall who they were or where they meant to go.

Fingerprinting is rarely an option. The federal fingerprint database can be accessed only for patients who are dying or are the subject of a police investigation, hospital staff said.

Even if those criteria are met, the database will only yield a name if the person’s fingerprints are already in the system. And even that’s not always enough.

Late last year, law enforcement ran the prints of an unidentified female patient who had been involved in a police incident. The system returned a name — one the patient adamantly insisted was not hers.

“Now the question is, is she confused? Do we have the wrong fingerprints-to-name match? Is there a mismatch? Is there a person using a different identity?” said Coffey. “Now what do we do?”

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In end-of-the-rope scenarios such as this, the hospital turns to the public.

The press releases are carefully phrased. The hospital can disclose just enough information to make the patient recognizable to those who know them, but not a word more. Federal laws forbid references to the patient’s mental health, substance use, developmental disability or HIV status.

A man looks into the camera while laying in a hospital bed.

The hospital is trying to find next of kin for a 26-year-old man admitted in March.

(Los Angeles General Medical Center)

The releases are posted on the county’s website and social media channels. Local media outlets often publicize them further.

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In “the best outcome that we get, we send [the notice] out and we get a hit within a couple of days. We start getting calls from the community saying, ‘Oh, we know who this patient is,’” Hernandez said.

About 50% of releases lead to such positive outcomes. For the other half of patients, the chance of being named gets a little smaller with every day that the phone doesn’t ring.

“If we don’t know who you are after a month, that’s when it becomes decreasingly likely that we’re going to figure it out,” said Dr. Brad Spellberg, the hospital’s chief medical officer.

On April 9, nearly two months after the buzz cut man’s arrival at L.A. General, the hospital sent out a second release about him. His scrapes had healed. His black hair was longer. His stubble had grown into a wispy beard.

“Patient occasionally mentions that he lives on 41st Street and Walton Avenue,” the release said. “Primarily Spanish speaking.” But he still had no name.

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It is possible for a person in this situation to be stuck at L.A. General for the rest of their lives.

One man hit by a car on Santa Monica Boulevard in January 2017 lived for nearly two years with a traumatic brain injury before dying unidentified in the hospital. As of late 2024, a few Does had been there for more than a year.

1 a woman lays in a hospital bed intubated

2 a man lays in a hospital bed and looks into the camera

3 a man lays in a hospital bed intubated

1. This woman, believed to be 55, was found outside Los Angeles General Medical Center. 2. This patient, who was found in Pasadena, has a tattoo of a small cross on his left forearm and small star tattoo on his left bicep. 3. This patient, believed to be about 50 years old, was found on East 5th Street in downtown Los Angeles. (Los Angeles General Medical Center)

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If a patient has no identity, L.A. General can’t figure out who insures them. And in the U.S. healthcare system, not having a guarantee of payment is almost worse than not having a name.

Skilled nursing facilities, group homes and rehabilitation centers won’t take people who don’t have anyone to pay for them, Spellberg said. The county Public Guardian serves as a conservator for vulnerable disabled residents, but can’t accept nameless cases.

Unless a patient recovers sufficiently to check themselves out, they are stuck in a lose-lose scenario. They can’t be discharged from L.A. General, whose 600 beds are desperately needed by the county’s most critically ill and injured, but also can’t move on to a facility that provides the care they need.

“We’re the busiest trauma center west of Texas in the United States,” Spellberg said. “If our bed is taken up by someone who really doesn’t need to be in the [trauma] hospital but can’t leave … that’s a bed that’s not available for other patients who need it.”

L.A. General is staffed to handle crises, not long-term care of people with dementia or traumatic brain injuries.

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Bedbound patients could get pressure sores if they aren’t turned frequently enough. Mobile patients could wander the hospital’s corridors, or fall and injure themselves.

“You’re trapping the patient in the wrong care environment,” Spellberg said. “They literally become a hostage in the hospital, for months to years.”

The man found in Edison Trails Park eventually left the hospital. So did the gray-haired woman, whose name was at last confirmed.

The man from North Vermont is still at L.A. General, his identity as much a mystery as the day he arrived four months ago.

The Does keep coming: An elderly man found near Seventh and Flower streets. A young man found near railroad tracks. A man with burn injuries and a graying beard; another unconscious and badly bruised.

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All sick or injured, all separated from their names, all their futures riding on a single question: Does anyone know who this is?

If you have information about an individual pictured here, contact L.A. General’s Social Work Department from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. Monday through Friday at (323) 409-5253. Outside of those hours, call the Department of Emergency Medicine’s Social Work Department at (323) 409-6883.

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Owners of fire-destroyed Palisades mobile home park seek to displace residents for development deal

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Owners of fire-destroyed Palisades mobile home park seek to displace residents for development deal

For months, former residents of the Pacific Palisades Bowl Mobile Estates have feared the uncommunicative owners of the property would seek to displace them in favor of a more lucrative development deal after the Palisades fire destroyed the rent-controlled, roughly 170-unit mobile home park.

A confidential memorandum listing the Bowl for sale indicates the owners intend to do exactly that.

The memorandum, quietly posted on a website associated with the global commercial real estate company CBRE, says that the Palisades fire created a “blank canvas for redevelopment” at a site “ideally positioned for a transformative residential or mixed-use project.”

“I just thought, oh my god, this is so much propaganda and false advertising,” said Lisa Ross, a 33-year resident of the Bowl and a Realtor. “How can they even get away with printing this?”

Neither the current owners of the Bowl nor the real estate companies listed on the memorandum responded to requests for comment.

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The memorandum describes the current single-family residential zoning as “favorable” for developers; however, the city and mobile housing law experts have painted a different picture.

Fire debris at Pacific Palisades Bowl in January 2026.

(Myung J. Chun / Los Angeles Times)

“Multifamily and mixed-use development on this site is not allowed by existing zoning and land use regulations,” Mayor Karen Bass’s office said in a statement Wednesday, adding only low density single-family housing or reconstructing the mobile home park are currently allowed. “Mayor Bass will continue taking action and [work] with residents to restore the Palisades community.”

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City Councilmember Traci Park also reiterated her focus on getting the mobile home park rebuilt and allowing residents to return, with a spokesperson noting she is not entertaining the potential for any rezoning efforts from a developer.

Zoning changes typically require a city council vote and are subject to the mayor’s approval or veto.

Beyond the zoning laws, the site is also currently governed by a state law requiring cities to preserve affordable housing along the coast and a city ordinance protecting mobile home residents against sudden displacement.

Spencer Pratt, a resident of the Palisades and an outspoken supporter of the neighborhood’s mobile home community, criticized the mayor and the owners in a statement to The Times. “It’s unfortunate that Karen Bass has not advocated for mobile home residents impacted by the fire,” he said, “and that the current owner of the Bowl is ignoring good faith offers from residents to buy the property.”

The mayor’s office disputed this, noting Bass recently led a delegation of Palisadians, including mobile home owners, to Sacramento to advocate for recovery. “Mayor Bass’ priority is getting every Palisadian home — single-family homeowners, town home owners, renters, mobile home owners.”

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Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass in Los Angeles on Jan. 7, 2026.

Los Angeles Mayor Karen Bass speaks during a private ceremony outside City Hall with faith leaders, LAPD officers and city officials to commemorate the one-year anniversary of the Eaton and Palisades fires on Jan. 7, 2026.

(Allen J. Schaben / Los Angeles Times)

Bass also advocated for the federal government to include the Bowl in its debris cleanup efforts; however, the Federal Emergency Management Agency ultimately refused to include it, unlike other mobile home parks impacted by the Palisades fire. Its reasoning: It could not trust the owners to rebuild the park as affordable housing.

Court rulings over the years found the owners routinely failed to maintain the infrastructure and worked to replace the park with an “upscale resort community.” Residents also accused the owners of attempting to circumvent rent control regulations.

After the fire, it ultimately took more than 13 months to begin cleaning up the debris.

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Ross said she approached the owners with independent mobile home park developers who were interested in buying the fire-destroyed lot and letting residents rebuild within months. She also approached the owners with a proposition that the former residents band together to buy the park. She heard nothing back.

“They don’t communicate,” Ross said. “It’s a feuding family. That’s also why we had so many problems with maintenance and with upgrades in the park.”

Pratt, who is running for mayor against Bass, also called on private developers like Rick Caruso to step in and save the Bowl. (Caruso’s team noted his rebuilding nonprofit is looking into how to help residents of the Bowl.)

Ross is a fan of Pratt’s proposition. “We need those kinds of people — we need Rick Caruso. That would be great,” Ross said. To sweeten the deal: “I’ll cook for him. I would make him all his favorite dishes.”

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A virus without a vaccine or treatment is hitting California. What you need to know

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A virus without a vaccine or treatment is hitting California. What you need to know

A respiratory virus that doesn’t have a vaccine or a specific treatment regimen is spreading in some parts of California — but there’s no need to sound the alarm just yet, public health officials say.

A majority of Northern California communities have seen high concentrations of human metapneumovirus, or HMPV, detected in their wastewater, according to data from the WastewaterScan Dashboard, a public database that monitors sewage to track the presence of infectious diseases.

A Los Angeles Times data analysis found the communities of Merced in the San Joaquin Valley, and Novato and Sunnyvale in the San Francisco Bay Area have seen increases in HMPV levels in their wastewater between mid-December and the end of February.

HMPV has also been detected in L.A. County, though at levels considered low to moderate at this point, data show.

While HMPV may not necessarily ring a bell, it isn’t a new virus. Its typical pattern of seasonal spread was upended by the COVID-19 pandemic, and its resurgence could signal a return to a more typical pre-coronavirus respiratory disease landscape.

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Here’s what you need to know.

What is HMPV?

HMPV was first detected in 2001, according to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. It’s transmitted by close contact with someone who is infected or by touching a contaminated surface, said Dr. Neha Nanda, chief of infectious diseases and hospital epidemiologist for Keck Medicine of USC.

Like other respiratory illnesses, such as influenza, HMPV spreads and is more durable in colder temperatures, infectious-disease experts say.

Human metapneumovirus cases commonly start showing up in January before peaking in March or April and then tailing off in June, said Dr. Jessica August, chief of infectious diseases at Kaiser Permanente Santa Rosa.

However, as was the case with many respiratory viruses, COVID disrupted that seasonal trend.

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Why are we talking about HMPV now?

Before the pandemic hit in 2020, Americans were regularly exposed to seasonal viruses like HMPV and developed a degree of natural immunity, August said.

That protection waned during the pandemic, as people stayed home or kept their distance from others. So when people resumed normal activities, they were more vulnerable to the virus. Unlike other viruses, there isn’t a vaccine for human metapneumovirus.

“That’s why after the pandemic we saw record-breaking childhood viral illnesses because we lacked the usual immunity that we had, just from lack of exposure,” August said. “All of that also led to longer viral seasons, more severe illness. But all of these things have settled down in many respects.”

In 2024, the national test positivity for HMPV peaked at 11.7% at the end of March, according to the National Respiratory and Enteric Virus Surveillance System. The following year’s peak was 7.15% in late April.

So far this year, the highest test positivity rate documented was 6.1%, reported on Feb. 21 — the most recent date for which complete data are available.

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While the seasonal spread of viruses like HMPV is nothing new, people became more aware of infectious diseases and how to prevent them during the pandemic, and they’ve remained part of the public consciousness in the years since, August and Nanda said.

What are the symptoms of HMPV?

Most people won’t go to the doctor if they have HMPV because it typically causes mild, cold-like symptoms that include cough, fever, nasal congestion and sore throat.

HMPV infection can progress to:

  • An asthma attack and reactive airway disease (wheezing and difficulty breathing)
  • Middle ear infections behind the ear drum
  • Croup, also known as “barking” cough — an infection of the vocal cords, windpipe and sometimes the larger airways in the lungs
  • Bronchitis
  • Fever

Anyone can contract human metapneumovirus, but those who are immunocompromised or have other underlying medical conditions are at particular risk of developing severe disease — including pneumonia. Young children and older adults are also considered higher-risk groups, Nanda said.

What is the treatment for HMPV?

There is no specified treatment protocol or antiviral medication for HMPV. However, it’s common for an infection to clear up on its own and treatment is mostly geared toward soothing symptoms, according to the American Lung Assn.

A doctor will likely send you home and tell you to rest and drink plenty of fluids, Nanda said.

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If symptoms worsen, experts say you should contact your healthcare provider.

How to avoid contracting HMPV

Infectious-disease experts said the best way to avoid contracting HMPV is similar to preventing other respiratory illnesses.

The American Lung Assn.’s recommendations include:

  • Wash your hands often with soap and water. If that’s not available, clean your hands with an alcohol-based hand sanitizer.
  • Clean frequently touched surfaces.
  • Crack open a window to improve air flow in crowded spaces.
  • Avoid being around sick people if you can.
  • Avoid touching your eyes, nose and mouth.

Assistant data and graphics editor Vanessa Martínez contributed to this report.

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After rash of overdose deaths, L.A. banned sales of kratom. Some say they lost lifeline for pain and opioid withdrawal

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After rash of overdose deaths, L.A. banned sales of kratom. Some say they lost lifeline for pain and opioid withdrawal

Nearly four months ago, Los Angeles County banned the sale of kratom, as well as 7-OH, the synthetic version of the alkaloid that is its active ingredient. The idea was to put an end to what at the time seemed like a rash of overdose deaths related to the drug.

It’s too soon to tell whether kratom-related deaths have dissipated as a result — or, really, whether there was ever actually an epidemic to begin with. But many L.A. residents had become reliant on kratom as something of a panacea for debilitating pain and opioid withdrawal symptoms, and the new rules have made it harder for them to find what they say has been a lifesaving drug.

Robert Wallace started using kratom a few years ago for his knees. For decades he had been in pain, which he says stems from his days as a physical education teacher for the Glendale Unified School District between 1989 and 1998, when he and his students primarily exercised on asphalt.

In 2004, he had arthroscopic surgery on his right knee, followed by varicose vein surgery on both legs. Over the next couple of decades, he saw pain-management specialists regularly. But the primary outcome was a growing dependence on opioid-based painkillers. “I found myself seeking doctors who would prescribe it,” he said.

He leaned on opioids when he could get them and alcohol when he couldn’t, resulting in a strain on his marriage.

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When Wallace was scheduled for his first knee replacement in 2021 (he had his other knee replaced a few years later), his brother recommended he take kratom for the post-surgery pain.

It seemed to work: Wallace said he takes a quarter of a teaspoon of powdered kratom twice a day, and it lets him take charge of managing his pain without prescription painkillers and eases harsh opiate-withdrawal symptoms.

He’s one of many Angelenos frustrated by recent efforts by the county health department to limit access to the drug. “Kratom has impacted my life in only positive ways,” Wallace told The Times.

For now, Wallace is still able to get his kratom powder, called Red Bali, by ordering from a company in Florida.

However, advocates say that the county crackdown on kratom could significantly affect the ability of many Angelenos to access what they say is an affordable, safer alternative to prescription painkillers.

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Kratom comes from the leaves of a tree native to Southeast Asia called Mitragyna speciosa. It has been used for hundreds of years to treat chronic pain, coughing and diarrhea as well as to boost energy — in low doses, kratom appears to act as a stimulant, though in higher doses, it can have effects more like opioids.

Though advocates note that kratom has been used in the U.S. for more than 50 years for all sorts of health applications, there is limited research that suggests kratom could have therapeutic value, and there is no scientific consensus.

Then there’s 7-OH, or 7-Hydroxymitragynine, a synthetic alkaloid derived from kratom that has similar effects and has been on the U.S. market for only about three years. However, because of its ability to bind to opioid receptors in the body, it has a higher potential for abuse than kratom.

Public health officials and advocates are divided on kratom. Some say it should be heavily regulated — and 7-OH banned altogether — while others say both should be accessible, as long as there are age limitations and proper labeling, such as with alcohol or cannabis.

In the U.S., kratom and 7-OH can be found in all sorts of forms, including powder, capsules and liquids — though it depends on exactly where you are in the country. Though the Food and Drug Administration has recommended that 7-OH be included as a Schedule 1 controlled substance under the Controlled Substances Act, that hasn’t been made official. And the plant itself remains unscheduled on the federal level.

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That has left states, counties and cities to decide how to regulate the substances.

California failed to approve an Assembly bill in 2024 that would have required kratom products to be registered with the state, have labeling and warnings, and be prohibited from being sold to anyone younger than 21.

It would also have banned products containing synthetic versions of kratom alkaloids. The state Legislature is now considering another bill that basically does the same without banning 7-OH — while also limiting the amount of synthetic alkaloids in kratom and 7-OH products sold in the state.

“Until kratom and its pharmacologically active key ingredients mitragynine and 7-OH are approved for use, they will remain classified as adulterants in drugs, dietary supplements and foods,” a California Department of Public Health spokesperson previously told The Times.

On Tuesday, California Gov. Gavin Newsom announced that the state’s efforts to crack down on kratom products has resulted in the removal of more than 3,300 kratom and 7-OH products from retail stores. According to a news release from the governor’s office, there has been a 95% compliance rate from businesses in removing the products.

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(Los Angeles Times photo illustration; source photos by Getty Images)

Newsom has equated these actions to the state’s efforts in 2024 to quash the sale of hemp products containing cannabinoids such as THC. Under emergency state regulations two years ago, California banned these specific hemp products and agents with the state Department of Alcoholic Beverage Control seized thousands of products statewide.

Since the beginning of 2026, there have been no reported violations of the ban on sales of such products.

“We’ve shown with illegal hemp products that when the state sets clear expectations and partners with businesses, compliance follows,” Newsom said in a statement. “This effort builds on that model — education first, enforcement where necessary — to protect Californians.”

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Despite the state’s actions, the Los Angeles County Board of Supervisors is still considering whether to regulate kratom, or ban it altogether.

The county Public Health Department’s decision to ban the sale of kratom didn’t come out of nowhere. As Maral Farsi, deputy director of the California Department of Public Health, noted during a Feb. 18 state Senate hearing, the agency “identified 362 kratom-related overdose deaths in California between 2019 and 2023, with a steady increase from 38 in 2019 up to 92 in 2023.”

However, some experts say those numbers aren’t as clear-cut as they seem.

For example, a Los Angeles Times investigation found that in a number of recent L.A. County deaths that were initially thought to be caused by kratom or 7-OH, there wasn’t enough evidence to say those drugs alone caused the deaths; it might be the case that the danger is in mixing them with other substances.

Meanwhile, the actual application of this new policy seems to be piecemeal at best.

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The county Public Health Department told The Times it conducted 2,696 kratom-related inspections between Nov. 10 and Jan. 27, and found 352 locations selling kratom products. The health department said the majority stopped selling kratom after those inspections; there were nine locations that ignored the warnings, and in those cases, inspectors impounded their kratom products.

But the reality is that people who need kratom will buy it on the black market, drive far enough so they get to where it’s sold legally or, like Wallace, order it online from a different state.

For now, retailers who sell kratom products are simply carrying on until they’re investigated by county health inspectors.

Ari Agalopol, a decorated pianist and piano teacher, saw her performances and classes abruptly come to a halt in 2012 after a car accident resulted in severe spinal and knee injuries.

“I tried my best to do traditional acupuncture, physical therapy and hydrocortisone shots in my spine and everything,” she said. “Finally, after nothing was working, I relegated myself to being a pain-management patient.”

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She was prescribed oxycodone, and while on the medication, battled depression, anhedonia and suicidal ideation. She felt as though she were in a fog when taking oxycodone, and when it ran out, ”the pain would rear its ugly head.” Agalopol struggled to get out of bed daily and could manage teaching only five students a week.

Then, looking for alternatives to opioids, she found a Reddit thread in which people were talking up the benefits of kratom.

“I was kind of hesitant at first because there’re so many horror stories about 7-OH, but then I researched and I realized that the natural plant is not the same as 7-OH,” she said.

She went to a local shop, Authentic Kratom in Woodland Hills, and spoke to a sales associate who helped her decide which of the 47 strains of kratom it sold would best suit her needs.

Agalopol currently takes a 75-milligram dose of mitragynine, the primary alkaloid in kratom, when necessary. It has enabled her to get back to where she was before her injury: teaching 40 students a week and performing every weekend.

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Agalopol believes the county hasn’t done its homework on kratom. “They’re just taking these actions because of public pressure, and public pressure is happening because of ignorance,” she said.

During the course of reporting this story, Authentic Kratom has shut down its three locations; it’s unclear if the closures are temporary. The owner of the business declined to comment on the matter.

When she heard the news of the recent closures, Agalopol was seething. She told The Times she has enough capsules of kratom for now, but when she runs out, her option will have to be Tylenol and ibuprofen, “which will slowly kill my liver.”

“Prohibition is not a public health strategy,” said Jackie Subeck, executive director of 7-Hope Alliance, a nonprofit that promotes safe and responsible access to 7-OH for consumers, at the Feb. 18 Senate hearing. “[It’s] only going to make things worse, likely resulting in an entirely new health crisis for Californians.”

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