Science
The Teacher in Room 1214
It was 45 seconds too late, but the teacher had a plan.
A gunman had just barraged her classroom with an AR-15, killing two students and injuring four others before turning to a classroom across the hall. The bullet-riddled walls were crumbling. Ceiling tiles were falling. If the shooter came back to kill more of her students, the teacher decided, she would stand up and shout, “We love you.”
The teacher was Ivy Schamis, whose husband would be waiting at home with a Valentine’s Day dinner; whose son was planning a wedding she couldn’t imagine missing; whose curriculum for this class — History of the Holocaust — had just moments earlier stirred a discussion about hate on campuses.
We love you. These would surely be her final words, Ms. Schamis thought. She knew her plan was futile — irrational, even. But with no stop-the-bleed kit, no shield, no help, words were all she had to show the children that an adult had put up a fight.
The moment never came. The gunman doubled back to the class across the hall, but not to Room 1214. At the command of a SWAT team, Ms. Schamis climbed over bodies and ran with her surviving students down the blood-smeared hallway, out the doors, and into the blinding light.
What waited for her there, in the days and months and years ahead, would be a whole new role in the lives of the 30 students who had survived. For them, she would be what she couldn’t be for the two who died: a lifeline.
She felt she owed them that. She had been the only adult in the room.
Attending to Her Students
The morning after the 2018 massacre at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Fla., Ms. Schamis rose before dawn and began cleaning her bloodstained suede boots. Seventeen people had been killed, including Nick Dworet and Helena Ramsay, who had been in her class. Some of the surviving students had abandoned their blood- and glass-caked shoes on the school pavement, but Ms. Schamis had the strange feeling she ought to take hers home and wipe them down, over and over, until they came clean.
She left the boots out by the closet to dry and then phoned the moving company that was set to relocate her family to a new neighborhood in a few weeks. She no longer had time to pack boxes, she explained to the movers. She needed to attend to her students.
Within a few hours, Ms. Schamis was corresponding with her students by text. Today, she adamantly denies that she started the Room 1214 text thread, but everyone else seems to remember it that way. She used it to organize car pools to wakes and funerals, to check in on the wounded and to plan a meet-up at Cold Stone Creamery, just so everyone could be together.
When the school reopened two weeks later, Ms. Schamis was there, shuffling between campus buildings with a cart of teaching supplies. The school’s psychological support offerings for students included coloring books and Play-Doh. She found them useless. She arranged to instead have a service dog, Luigi, a golden retriever, join her classes for the rest of the year.
When Luigi arrived, tail wagging madly, students from throughout the school came to play with him — including some who had otherwise refused to return to campus. The following fall, Ms. Schamis arranged to have everyone from Room 1214 placed in her study hall for support.
Ms. Schamis had known some of the students for only six weeks before the shooting, but she seemed to have a preternatural sense of what each of them needed. Rebecca Bogart, who had been a senior, felt so lost after what she had witnessed that Ms. Schamis encouraged her to apply for a scholarship to go abroad to Ecuador. The physical distance finally gave her mental space from the event.
Ally Allen, who had watched the killer approach through a glass door panel, kept waking in the night with tears pouring down her face. When Ms. Schamis dropped a picture of a German shepherd puppy in the Room 1214 group chat — a future service dog, in need of a home — Ally felt deep down the dog was meant to be hers. She received Dakota the morning after the one-year anniversary of the shooting: a new beginning.
And Kelly Plaur, who had called 911 four times during the shooting, was at a music festival when the crowd began running from what sounded like gunshots. This time, it was Ms. Schamis she called. Keep calm, the teacher coached. Keep me on the phone, and keep running.
Students called and texted her with their grief, their panic attacks, their drug use, their suicidal thoughts. What their own parents could not fully understand — the worst moment of their lives — Ms. Schamis could.
One day, she took some of the students to meet with a survivor of the 1999 Columbine High School shooting in Colorado. His experience of being shot and watching a friend die was remarkably similar to theirs, and Ms. Schamis hoped that his journey toward healing would assure them that together, they could persevere.
But weeks later, Ms. Schamis’s phone began buzzing incessantly. It was the Room 1214 text thread. The Columbine survivor had died of an overdose.
Leaving Parkland
Ms. Schamis committed herself to staying at Marjory Stoneman Douglas until every surviving student from Room 1214 graduated in the spring of 2019. It was not easy. On her commute each morning, she had the same troubling premonition: her car plummeting off the expressway overpass. Finally, her husband, Jeff, suggested a daily ritual. When she approached the bridge, she was to call him to discuss something grounding and ordinary, like what they would have for dinner.
At the 2019 graduation ceremony, Ms. Schamis wept: Helena should have received a diploma. Ms. Schamis found Helena’s brother and hugged him, but Helena’s mother stood back. Ms. Schamis wondered what the woman felt seeing the teacher who had been with her daughter.
That fall, she took the semester off and then moved to Washington, D.C., forgoing her full pension in search of peace.
Washington was where Ms. Schamis truly began to mourn. She joined a two-year waiting list for therapy. She reached out to Ally Allen, whom she had referred to a breeder for a service dog, realizing for the first time she needed one of her own.
But two Parkland survivor charities she approached for financial aid to train a dog said they could not help her. As a teacher, she wasn’t entirely surprised: She didn’t recall a school administrator ever once checking in on her. She had never heard any school official admit that she had not received active shooter training, or that her classroom had no stop-the-bleed kit. And she had never been able to reclaim mementos of almost 20 years of teaching that remained inside Room 1214.
Ms. Schamis, who has a master’s degree in education and specialized in Holocaust studies, had spent almost her entire career at Marjory Stoneman Douglas. She had loved teaching social studies in part because it allowed her to watch students see themselves anew: As they made sense of current events in the context of history, she witnessed their opinions changing and their prejudices being renounced.
There was nothing more meaningful to her. But she could not return to another classroom.
So she took a job as an office manager at a small private school, accepting a major pay cut to avoid being in a classroom where she would again be responsible for students’ safety.
When she started, she discovered the office manager station was in the front foyer of the building — in a way, the first line of defense.
‘Always Available’
The students, too, scattered around the country, but the Room 1214 text thread bound them together. Over time, there were updates: Ally Allen, inspired by Ms. Schamis, was preparing to become a teacher. Hannah Carbocci was pursing a career in criminal justice and writing her thesis on warning signs in school shooters. Catie Krakow was getting a degree in mental health counseling and shared tips on how the others could care for themselves as another anniversary approached.
I hope everyone is doing as well as they could be, wrote Elena Blanco, who had been assigned to the seat behind Nick.
You guys are forever family, replied Matt Walker, whose desk had been next to Helena’s.
As long as I am breathing, Ms. Schamis told them, I will always be available for you.
A year later, soon after the Uvalde, Texas, shooting, Ms. Schamis woke up to a message on the thread that had landed during the night: Uvalde was one too many, a student wrote; he couldn’t take his anguish anymore.
Ms. Schamis had taken a suicide prevention course the summer after the massacre. She knew the steps. She called the former student, asking if he had a specific plan to end his life. He did. She kept him engaged with questions — what was something he was looking forward to? — while she sought emergency help for him from five states away.
She spent the next five hours in a maze of dead ends. She tried the suicide hotline, but they could not help her, since she was not the person in distress. She did a 40-minute intake call with a Florida behavioral health center, only to learn they did not serve his region. She connected with a mental health hospital, but it turned out to be private. By now, she was weeping.
Eventually she reached the instructor of her suicide prevention class from all those years ago, who told her to call the West Palm Beach Police Department and explain that the distressed young man was a survivor of Parkland’s school shooting.
The boy ultimately received emergency care and survived. But not before the dispatcher who answered Ms. Schamis’s call admitted that with all the school shootings, she could not specifically recall what happened in Parkland.
‘That’s My Girl.’
Four years after the shooting, a process server arrived at Ms. Schamis’s home with a subpoena calling on her to testify at the killer’s sentencing trial. Ms. Schamis hid.
The text thread began to buzz with messages from former students who would also be required to appear. Ms. Schamis reverted to her usual role. I’m with you as you testify, she wrote.
Daniela Menescal, who had gone on to study psychology in Boston and still had shrapnel embedded in her leg and back, was distressed about going alone.
I’ll ask if I can be with you, Ms. Schamis told Daniela.
As the sun rose on a Wednesday morning, she texted the group that it was her turn. Dylan Kraemer, who had already taken the stand, replied fast.
You got this! If you look straight when u testify, he wrote, you can’t see the shooter.
On the witness stand, Ms. Schamis spoke with the tone of a teacher in front of a class, nodding for emphasis and gesturing around the room. Her gold necklace glimmered under the lights as she described the layout of Room 1214, the lesson she had been teaching, the first deafening blasts.
Her eyes trailed over to the defense table. There he was, the man who had stolen Nick’s chance to swim at the Olympics; who had robbed Helena of her plans to attend college in England.
The killer kept his head down. The prosecutor, Mike Satz, brought over a photograph, Exhibit 3S, and asked Ms. Schamis to name the subject.
“That’s my girl,” she said, putting her hand over her mouth, her voice cracking. “Helena. Helena Ramsay.”
Then he brought over another, Exhibit 3R.
“And that’s Nicholas Dworet,” she said. “Handsome boy.”
Parents in the courtroom shifted in their seats. Others shook their heads. Ms. Schamis looked up to the ceiling, blinking the tears from her eyes, patting her cheeks with a tissue and adjusting her glasses back on her nose where they had been.
Hannah Carbocci — watching the trial live from home — knew her teacher wouldn’t see the group chat until later, but she sent an encouraging message anyway: Mrs Schamis you’re a rockstar, she wrote.
There were no further questions, the lawyer in the courtroom said.
Ms. Schamis climbed down from the stand. That afternoon, she typed a response in the thread: Love you so.
A Demolition
As the sixth anniversary of the shooting approached last year, Lexi Gendron was struggling. She had tried to go to college, but like many of the others, found herself too preoccupied with classroom seating arrangements to focus. She couldn’t have her back to the door, but facing it meant watching for a killer.
After one class, she dropped out, instead working at a casino and a winery before moving to Texas. Now, she was about to start nursing school in hopes of a career in pediatrics — which meant returning to a classroom once again.
Just spilling my heart out, she wrote on the thread one night. Lexi had thrown away all her #MSDStrong memorabilia in search of a fresh start in Texas — only to realize that those tangible objects had been her puzzle pieces to a day that had never fully sunk in.
I’m so upset with myself for letting that stuff go, she wrote. I can’t believe I did that.
Ms. Schamis was the first to reply, offering to send T-shirts, bracelets, buttons and pins. Let me know whatever will make you feel better, she wrote.
She understood the pull of Parkland. When the school’s 1200 building was set to be demolished, Ms. Schamis had reached out to the school board, desperate to return to her classroom one more time. The jury, bereaved parents, journalists, and even Vice President Kamala Harris were granted permission to enter the building, but Ms. Schamis was not. Instead, prosecutors sent a package to her home in Washington: a five-year-old box of stale Valentine’s Day chocolates from her desk in Room 1214.
On the morning the demolition was set to begin, Ms. Schamis heard a radio segment as she drove to her new school in Washington. Bereaved families in Parkland were cathartically hammering off bits of the school building before the team came in to clear it away.
Ms. Schamis, shaking, called Jeff. They discussed the weather.
Her last mental image of her own classroom comes from a press pool report in which strangers described the artifacts left inside her fourth-period Holocaust class: a 2017-18 school year planner; a whiteboard bearing Ms. Schamis’s learning objective, “to be aware of the world and its surroundings”; bullet strike marks across the desks; and the dried blood of Nick and Helena coating a book titled “Tell Them We Remember.”
‘The only adult in there.’
Last summer, Ms. Schamis sat on the patio of a Mexican restaurant in Washington, recounting that day in 2018. Her German shepherd, Sayde, sprawled beneath her chair. All these years later, she still seemed uneasy. “That’s what keeps me up at night, thinking I was the only adult in there,” she said.
Jeff sat across from her. He reminded her of the bonds she had forged with her students: the pancake breakfasts at their place; the letters of recommendation for graduate schools; the tattoos that several had gotten — Room 1214 — including one who had it drawn in Ms. Schamis’s handwriting.
“But I didn’t save them — I didn’t save them,” she said. Her words hung in the air, jarring against the faint mariachi music coming through the patio speakers.
Jeff leaned forward and said with a seasoned assurance, “How could anybody save somebody from an AR-15?”
Science
Trump says research links Tylenol and autism; scientists say their paper is being misinterpreted
During this week’s White House press conference in which President Trump named the over-the-counter drug Tylenol as a possible cause of rising autism rates, he did not mince words, urging pregnant women to “fight like hell” not to take it.
But outside those remarks in the Roosevelt Room — during which Trump himself acknowledged “I’m not so careful with what I say” — the discussion on the common fever and pain reliever’s role during pregnancy is a lot more nuanced.
What the research on Tylenol use during pregnancy actually says
Physicians, researchers on the very studies cited in support of Trump’s position and even other members of the president’s administration are largely united on a few key facts: untreated fevers in pregnancy pose real risks to the fetus, acetaminophen (Tylenol’s active ingredient) remains the safest medication to treat them and any pregnant person seeking advice on the issue should consult their doctor.
“All that we should be asking of the medical profession [is] to actually weigh the risks and benefits for the women, with the women, and be cautious about chronic use of pain medications,” said Dr. Beate Ritz, a UCLA professor of epidemiology who co-authored a paper published last month that the White House cited as evidence for the link between Tylenol and autism.
Ritz said it has been misinterpreted.
The conclusion of the paper, which reviewed existing studies on the topic, was that the association between acetaminophen use in pregnancy and later diagnoses of neurodevelopmental disorders in kids was strong enough to merit doctors’ consideration when determining how to treat fever or pain in pregnancy. The group did not determine a causal relationship between the drug and autism, or suggest barring the drug altogether, she said.
“Looking at all of these studies, yes, there is a risk,” Ritz said. “It’s not very big, but it’s there, but the risk increases are more seen in regular users of Tylenol. This is not a woman who has a fever and takes three Tylenols.”
“There is always a weighing of the risks and the benefits, and fever in women is no good either. … Not having to take any pain medications when you are in severe pain or in chronic pain is also very cruel,” she said. “We all should have an interest in helping out here, making the right decisions without blaming the victim and putting it all on the individual woman.”
Her co-author, University of Massachusetts epidemiologist Ann Bauer, has made similar statements.
“What we recommend is judicious use — the lowest effective dose [for] the shortest duration of time under medical guidance and supervision, tailored to the individual,” Bauer told the news outlet Politico.
The administration’s confusing recommendations
Ultimately, that’s what the administration is recommending as well.
The letter that U.S. Food and Drug Administrator Dr. Marty Makary sent to physicians this week made clear that “a causal relationship” between autism and acetaminophen “has not been established and there are contrary studies in the scientific literature.”
It went on to recommend that clinicians consider limiting their use of acetaminophen for routine low-grade fevers during pregnancy, while noting that medical advice “should also be balanced with the fact that acetaminophen is the safest over-the-counter alternative in pregnancy among all analgesics and antipyretics.” (An analgesic is a pain reliever; an antipyretic reduces fever.)
Untreated fevers during pregnancy are associated with higher rates of birth defects, particularly those of the heart, brain and spinal cord; premature birth; low birth weight; neurodevelopmental disorders including autism; and fetal death, said Dr. E. Nicole Teal, an assistant professor of maternal-fetal medicine at UC San Diego.
“The FDA’s letter, while significantly more nuanced than the president’s comments on the issue, still gives too much weight to findings from poorly designed studies,” she said.
She said she will continue to prescribe acetaminophen to pregnant patients who need to treat fevers or severe pain, as it has the fewest known risks in pregnancy.
Are there other pain-relief and fever-reducing drugs that can be used during pregnancy?
Nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs like ibuprofen (often sold as Advil) or naproxen (often sold as Aleve) are linked to problems with blood vessel and kidney development, as well as oligohydramnios, a condition in which there isn’t enough amniotic fluid to support a healthy pregnancy. Aspirin raises the risk of bleeding complications, and narcotics — which can relieve pain but not fever — pose addiction risks for the mother and infant alike, Teal said.
She referred to a statement from the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists noting that two decades of research on the question had failed to find a causal relationship between acetaminophen and autism.
“Acetaminophen is one of the few options available to pregnant patients to treat pain and fever, which can be harmful to pregnant people when left untreated,” American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists president Dr. Steven J. Fleischman said in the statement.
The group also noted that reviews in 2015 and 2017 from the FDA and the Society for Maternal-Fetal Medicine respectively found no risks associated with appropriate usage of the drug in pregnancy.
How to navigate government communications around Tylenol use
Nonetheless, the mixed messaging from the Trump administration about Tylenol seems likely to continue.
The Department of Health and Human Services this week reposted a 2017 tweet from the Tylenol brand’s account that said, “We actually don’t recommend using any of our products while pregnant.”
A spokesperson for Kenvue, the company that owns Tylenol, said the post was taken out of context and incomplete.
“Consistent with regulations, our label states clearly ‘if pregnant or breast-feeding, ask a health professional before use,’ ” Melissa Witt said in an email. “We do not make recommendations on taking any medications in pregnancy because that is the job of a healthcare provider.”
Vice President JD Vance offered similar guidance this week.
“My guidance to pregnant women would be very simple, which is follow your doctor. Right?” Vance said in an interview with the outlet NewsNation after Trump’s press conference. “Talk to your doctor about these things.”
Science
How California families are already bracing for looming Medicaid cuts
Ever since Elijah Maldonado was born at just 29 weeks, he has needed specialty treatments that his family could afford only with publicly funded healthcare.
Diagnosed with cerebral palsy as an infant, he spent his first three months at a public hospital in Orange County, where the familiy lives.
Now 7, Elijah receives physical and speech therapy among a host of other services paid for through Medicaid. He relies on a wheelchair funded by the government. An assistant paid for with taxpayer dollars makes sure he’s safe on the bus ride to and from school.
Each month, he receives a $957 disability check that helps to cover his and his family’s living expenses.
Josephine Rios wipes her grandson Elijah’s face.
(Juliana Yamada / Los Angeles Times)
Still learning to speak on his own, he uses a Proloquo speech app on an iPad provided by his school to tell his family when he’s hungry, needs to use the restroom or wants to play with his favorite toys.
“It’s his voice — his lifeline,” his aunt and primary caretaker Cassandra Gonzalez says of the app. Her compensation for his in-home care comes from taxpayer dollars too.
Now that lifeline — and much of the government assistance Elijah receives — is at risk of going away.
With hundreds of billions of dollars worth of cuts to Medicaid and food aid kicking in this fall thanks to the passage of the Republican-backed “One Big Beautiful Bill Act” — on top of earlier cuts imposed by Elon Musk’s Department of Government Efficiency — a host of federally funded healthcare and nutrition programs that serve low-income Americans will be scaled back, revamped with expanded work requirements and other restrictions or canceled altogether if individual states can’t find alternate funding sources.
The budget reduces federal spending on Medicaid alone by about $1 trillion over the next 10 years nationwide, with initial reductions taking effect in the coming weeks.
Gov. Gavin Newsom responded by accusing the Trump administration of “ripping care from cancer patients, meals from children and money from working families — just to give tax breaks to the ultra-rich.”
L.A. public health officials called the cuts devastating for a county where nearly 40% of the population is enrolled in Medi-Cal, the state’s Medicaid program. L.A. County’s Department of Health Services, which oversees four public hospitals and about two dozen clinics, projects a budget reduction amounting to $750 million a year, and federal funding for the Department of Public Health, which inspects food, provides substance-use treatment and tracks disease outbreaks, will drop by an estimated $200 million a year. Spending cuts have prompted hiring freezes and projections of ballooning budget deficits, county health officials said.
Spending reductions, combined with recent changes to the Affordable Care Act and Medicare, could leave an additional 1.7 million people in California uninsured by 2034, according to an analysis by the nonprofit healthcare research organization KFF.
Cuts to the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP), colloquially known as “food stamps,” will exceed $280 billion over the next decade, according to projections from the Congressional Budget Office.
It’s not just that the cuts to these programs are massive by historical standards.
The new rules and restrictions are confusing and states have been given little guidance from the federal agencies that oversee health and nutrition programs on how, or even when, to implement them, experts at the Center on Budget Policy and Priorities wrote in a recent report.
What’s clear, the CBPP said, is that millions of children, older adults, people with disabilities and veterans stand to lose not just Medicaid coverage but federal aid to access the type of healthy foods that could prevent illness and chronic conditions.
More than 5 million California households receive food aid through the state’s CalFresh program and 97% percent of them will see their benefits either slashed or eliminated because of federal spending cuts, changes to eligibility requirements or financial constraints at the state level, according to an analysis by the nonpartisan California Budget Policy Center.
Elijah plays with toy cars outside his aunt’s home in Tustin.
(Juliana Yamada / Los Angeles Times)
In Orange County, where Elijah’s family lives, public health officials were already reeling from federal spending cuts in the months before the budget bill passed, said Dr. Veronica Kelley, director of the OC Health Care Agency. For example, there was the $13.2-million cut to funding for family planning services in the county, and the $4-million reduction in funding to Women, Infants and Children nutrition (WIC).
The agency has worked to prevent mass layoffs by moving public-health workers in canceled programs to other departments or leaving some positions unfilled in order to save jobs elsewhere, and it has sought out nonprofit social service organizations and philanthropies to either take over programs or help fund them, Kelley said.
Now, Kelley is preparing for possible cuts to programs to combat obesity, maintain community gardens, help seniors make better healthcare decisions and reduce the use of tobacco. The agency also has to figure out how to make up for a $4.8-million reduction in federal funds for the county’s SNAP program that takes effect on Wednesday — another casualty of the federal spending bill.
The measures that the agency has leaned on to get through the year are not sustainable, Kelley said. “We can only do that for so long,” she said. “It’s chaotic. In terms of healthcare, it’s devastating… It feels like we’re taking so many steps backward.”
The looming cuts and changes have also set off alarm bells at Kaiser Permanente, California’s largest private healthcare provider with 9.5 million members statewide, 1.1 million of whom are enrolled in Medi-Cal.
“Without the ability to pay, newly uninsured people will find themselves having to delay care, leading to more serious and complex health conditions, increasing the use of emergency services and more intensive medical services,” Kaiser Permanente Southern California Regional spokeswoman Candice Lee said in a statement to The Times.
“This will affect all of us as the cost of this uncompensated care leads hospitals and care providers to charge paying customers more to cover their costs. Some hospitals and providers, especially those in rural and underserved areas, will be unable to make up for these unreimbursed costs, and will be financially threatened by these changes.”
Standing in front of her sister Cassandra’s town home in Tustin, a quiet suburban city of 80,000 about 10 miles south of Disneyland, Elijah’s mother, Samantha Rios; grandmother Josephine Rios; and Aunt Cassandra are filled with worry.
Elijah points to a command on his Proloquo speech app, which he uses to communicate his needs.
(Juliana Yamada / Los Angeles Times)
Josephine, a nursing assistant who works at a Kaiser hospital in Orange County, said she hears the panic in patients’ voices when they describe rushing to schedule needed medical procedures in anticipation of losing their Medicaid benefits.
Earlier this year, Josephine joined delegations of unionized California healthcare workers who traveled to Washington with the aim of pressing lawmakers to oppose spending cuts.
Rep. Young Kim, the Republican who represents the Rios family’s district in Congress, was receptive to the delegation’s pleas to vote no on the budget bill, Josephine recalls. The congresswoman ultimately voted for the bill, saying on her official webpage the legislation was good for Californians because it would relieve the tax burden on families, ensure that government dollars are used effectively and “strengthen Medicaid and SNAP for our most vulnerable citizens who truly need it.”
Elijah’s Aunt Cassandra and grandmother Josephine look over his shoulder as he watches a TV show.
(Juliana Yamada / Los Angeles Times)
Now, Josephine looked on as Elijah, seated in his wheelchair, played on his iPad and watched a Disney program on his phone. He can press a tab on the touchscreen to make the tablet say “My name’s Elijah” if he’s feeling unsafe away from home, another to tell his family he needs space when upset.
Watching Elijah enjoy himself, the women said they feel awkward broadcasting their woes to strangers when all they desire is what’s best for him. They don’t need the public’s pity.
The family wants lawmakers and the public to understand how seemingly abstract healthcare decisions involving billions of dollars, and made 2,000-plus miles away in Washington, have brought new financial turmoil to a family that’s already on the edge financially.
Samantha, a single mom, works full time to provide a home for Elijah and his two sisters, ages 10 and 8. A subscription to the Proloquo speech app alone would cost $300 a year out-of-pocket — more than she can afford on her shoestring budget.
Due to changes in household income requirements, Samantha had already lost Medicaid coverage for herself and her two girls, she said, as well as her SNAP food assistance, leaving her at a loss for how to fill the gap. She now pays about $760 a month to cover her daughters and herself through her employer-based health plan.
The cut to food aid has forced her to compensate by getting free vegetables, milk, eggs and chicken from the food pantry at a local school, a reality that she said she was at first too ashamed to disclose even to relatives.
Then came the bad news Samantha recently received about Elijah’s monthly Social Security Insurance for his disability. She was stunned to hear that because of stricter income cut-offs for that type of aid, Elijah would no longer receive those checks as of Oct. 1.
“Before, he was getting $957 a month — obviously that’s grocery money for me,” Samantha said. The money also went to buy baby wipes, as well as knee pads to help him move more comfortably on the floor when not using his wheelchair.
“I don’t get food stamps. I don’t get Medi-Cal for my girls. I don’t get any of that,” Samantha said. “As of Oct. 1, now I’ve got to figure out how am I going to pay my rent? How am I going to buy groceries?”
Luckily, the sisters said, the physical, speech and behavioral-health therapies that Elijah receives are safe — for now.
And the women know they can lean on each other in tough times. The sisters and Josephine all live within minutes of each other in Tustin, close enough for Samantha’s children to eat at someone’s home when their own cupboards are bare.
Every few months, Samantha said, Elijah experiences severe seizures that can last up to 90 minutes and require hospitalization.
Cassandra and Josephine like that they can run over to help if Elijah has a medical emergency. Another sister who lives farther away is on hand when needed too.
“What’s going to happen to other families who don’t have that support system?” Samantha said.
Given the potential for further cuts to programs that pay for home-based healthcare and assistants for people with disabilities, Cassandra wonders what will happen to her own family if she can no longer work as Elijah’s caregiver.
Where would the family get the money to pay a new caregiver who is qualified enough to work with a special-needs child who can speak a few words thanks to speech therapy but who cannot eat, walk or use the restroom without supervision? What if funding is eliminated for the assistant who travels with Elijah to school?
“People think that cutting Medi-Cal, cutting food stamps or whatever isn’t going to affect that many people,” Cassandra said. “It’s affecting my nephew and nieces. It’s affecting my sister. But it’s not just affecting her household. It’s affecting my household.”
“We’re not saying we’re going to Disneyland or going out to eat every day,” Cassandra said. “This is just living. We can’t even live at this point, with things being cut.”
The women offered up principles they feel are in short supply lately in the discourse over the government’s role in public health — among them “morals” and “empathy.” Samantha adds one more word to the list.
“Humanity,” she says. “We lack it.”
Science
New form of bird flu hospitalizes Washington state resident
Health officials say a person in the state of Washington has a new form of bird flu virus.
The virus, H5N5, never has been seen in a person before. It appeared first in 2023 in birds and mammals in eastern Canada. The strain was confirmed by the Washington State Department of Health on Friday.
“Given the rarity of such infections in humans and the fact that this person was hospitalized, there is an urgency to figure out how this person may have come in contact with the virus and whether anyone else was infected,” said Jennifer Nuzzo, director of the Pandemic Center at Brown University in Providence, R.I.
Epidemiologists and virologists worry that avian influenzas could generate a pandemic if allowed to spread and mutate. For instance, the H5N1 virus circulating in dairy cattle in North America is one mutation away from being able spread easily between people.
“Anytime someone is infected with a novel influenza virus, we want to gather as much information as we can to be sure the virus hasn’t gained the ability to more easily infect and spread between humans, which would trigger a pandemic,” Nuzzo said.
The case involves a person who lives in Grays Harbor County on the Olympic Peninsula. Their illness became severe enough that they were transferred to a hospital in more populous Thurston County and then to King County, where Seattle is located.
Melissa Dibble, a spokesperson for the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, confirmed the Washington health department’s finding, and said the patient had a backyard flock of “mixed domestic poultry.”
“The domestic poultry or wild birds are the most likely source of virus exposure,” she said in an email.
According to a news release from county health officials, the person is “older” and has underlying health conditions. Their symptoms included a high fever, confusion and trouble breathing. The person has been hospitalized since early November.
“The fact that the patient experienced severe illness from this infection only increases the urgency to know more about this particular case,” Nuzzo said.
Henry Niman, an evolutionary molecular biologist and founder of Recombinomics Inc., a virus and vaccine research company in Pittsburgh, said other animals and birds in Canada also have been infected, including a red fox, cat and raccoon.
According to research published last year on the novel strain, some infected animals carried a key mutation in the virus that allows it to transfer more easily between mammals.
Every time a bird flu virus infects a person, concerns grow that it could change, becoming more transmissible or more deadly. For instance, if a sickened person also has another flu virus replicating in their body, there’s concern the viruses could exchange genetic material. Just by having an opportunity to replicate and evolve millions of times in the human body, it could acquire deadly mutations.
Samples of a virus taken from a critically ill teenager in Canada, for example, showed the virus acquired genes that allowed it to target human cells more easily and cause severe disease.
Richard Webby, an influenza expert at St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital in Memphis, Tenn., said the new virus is “interesting,” but he isn’t overly concerned yet.
“No reason to expect an elevated risk,” he said.
However, Niman, the molecular biologist, said the fact that it has presented as a severe clinical case in the first person infected with it should be cause for concern.
“I think this is a big deal,” he said.
Dibble, the CDC spokeswoman, said they are investigating the case with Washington’s health department and maintain that the the risk of bird flu to the general public remains low. The CDC urges caution, however, for people who work with or have recreational contact with infected birds, cattle or other potentially infected domestic or wild animals. They should wear gloves, masks and eye protection.
They also recommend people (and their pets) avoid raw or undercooked meat and eggs and raw milk or cheeses.
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