An art deco sign still marks the main entrance, but the front doors are locked, and the parking lot is empty. These days, a convenience store across North Edwards Avenue is far busier than the old Taborian Hospital, which first shut down more than 40 years ago.

Myrna Smith-Thompson, who serves as executive director of the civic group that owns the property, lives 100 miles away in Memphis, Tennessee, and doesn’t know what’s to become of the deteriorating building.

“I am open to suggestions,” said Smith-Thompson, whose grandfather led a Black fraternal organization now called the Knights and Daughters of Tabor. In 1942, that group established Taborian Hospital, a place staffed by Black doctors and nurses that exclusively admitted Black patients, during a time when Jim Crow laws barred them from accessing the same health care facilities as white patients.

“This is a very painful conversation,” said Smith-Thompson, who was born at Taborian Hospital in 1949. “It’s a part of my being.”

A similar scenario has played out in hundreds of other rural communities across the United States, where hospitals have faced closure over the past 40 years. In that regard, the story of Mound Bayou’s hospital isn’t unique.

But there’s more to this hospital closure than the loss of inpatient beds, historians say. It’s also a tale of how hundreds of Black hospitals across the U.S. fell casualty to social progress.

The Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the enactment of Medicare and Medicaid in 1965 benefited millions of people. The federal campaign to desegregate hospitals, culminating in a 1969 court case out of Charleston, South Carolina, guaranteed Black patients across the South access to the same health care facilities as white patients. No longer were Black doctors and nurses prohibited from training or practicing medicine in white hospitals. But the end of legal racial segregation precipitated the demise of many Black hospitals, which were a major source of employment and a center of pride for Black Americans.

“And not just for physicians,” said Vanessa Northington Gamble, a medical doctor and historian at George Washington University. “They were social institutions, financial institutions, and also medical institutions.”

In Charleston, staff members at a historically Black hospital on Cannon Street started publishing a monthly journal in 1899 called The Hospital Herald, which focused on hospital work and public hygiene, among other topics. When Kansas City, Missouri, opened a hospital for Black patients in 1918, people held a parade. Taborian Hospital in Mound Bayou included two operating rooms and state-of-the-art equipment. It’s also where famed civil rights activist Fannie Lou Hamer died in 1977.

“There were Swedish hospitals. There were Jewish hospitals. There were Catholic hospitals. That’s also part of the story,” said Gamble, author of “Making a Place for Ourselves: The Black Hospital Movement, 1920-1945.”

“But racism in medicine was the main reason why there was an establishment of Black hospitals,” she said.

By the early 1990s, Gamble estimated, there were only eight left.

“It has ripple effects in a way that affect the fabric of the community,” said Bizu Gelaye, an epidemiologist and program director of Harvard University’s Mississippi Delta Partnership in Public Health.

Researchers have largely concluded that hospital desegregation improved the health of Black patients over the long term.

One 2009 study focusing on motor vehicle accidents in Mississippi in the ’60s and ’70s found that Black people were less likely to die after hospital desegregation. They could access hospitals closer to the scene of a crash, reducing the distance they would have otherwise traveled by approximately 50 miles.

An analysis of infant mortality, published in 2006 by economists at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, found that hospital desegregation in the South substantially helped close the mortality gap between Black and white infants. That’s partly because Black infants suffering from illnesses such as diarrhea and pneumonia got better access to hospitals, the researchers found.

A new analysis, recently accepted for publication in the Review of Economics and Statistics, suggests that racism continued to harm the health of Black patients in the years after hospital integration. White hospitals were compelled to integrate starting in the mid-1960s if they wanted to receive Medicare funding. But they didn’t necessarily provide the same quality of care to Black and white patients, said Mark Anderson, an economics professor at Montana State University and co-author of the paper. His analysis found that hospital desegregation had “little, if any, effect on Black postneonatal mortality” in the South between 1959 and 1973.

Nearly 3,000 babies were born at Taborian Hospital before it closed its doors in 1983. The building remained vacant for decades until 10 years ago, when a $3 million federal grant helped renovate the facility into a short-lived urgent care center. It closed again only one year later amid a legal battle over its ownership, Smith-Thompson said, and has since deteriorated.

“We would need at least millions, probably,” she said, estimating the cost of reopening the building. “Now, we’re back where we were prior to the renovation.”

In 2000, the hospital was listed as one of the most endangered historic places in Mississippi by the Mississippi Heritage Trust. That’s why some people would like to see it reopened in any capacity that ensures its survival as an important historical site.

Hermon Johnson Jr., director of the Mound Bayou Museum, who was born at Taborian Hospital in 1956, suggested the building could be used as a meeting space or museum. “It would be a huge boost to the community,” he said.

Meanwhile, most of the hospital’s former patients have died or left Mound Bayou. The city’s population has dropped by roughly half since 1980, U.S. Census Bureau records show. Bolivar County ranks among the poorest in the nation and life expectancy is a decade shorter than the national average.

A community health center is still open in Mound Bayou, but the closest hospital is in Cleveland, Mississippi, a 15-minute drive.

Mound Bayou Mayor Leighton Aldridge, also a board member of the Knights and Daughters of Tabor, said he wants Taborian Hospital to remain a health care facility, suggesting it might be considered for a new children’s hospital or a rehabilitation center.

“We need to get something back in there as soon as possible,” he said.

Smith-Thompson agreed and feels the situation is urgent. “The health care services that are available to folks in the Mississippi Delta are deplorable,” she said. “People are really, really sick.”

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“During the summer, it’s kind of hectic,” she said after greeting the pharmacist and technician by name.

That’s because Schulz’s pharmacy is tucked inside Wall Drug, a tourist attraction that takes up almost an entire block and draws more than 2 million visitors a year to a community of fewer than 700 residents.

The business is named after the town of Wall, which is just off Interstate 90 near Badlands National Park. Colorful, hand-painted billboards dot the roadside for hundreds of miles, telling motorists how far they are from Wall Drug’s free ice water, 5-cent coffee, and homemade doughnuts. Visitors can pan for gold, listen to singing animatronic cowboys, try on Western wear, and shop for souvenirs, including plush jackalopes — mythical jackrabbits with antelope horns.

Despite being part of a booming tourist attraction, Wall Drug’s pharmacy faces challenges common to independent rural pharmacies.

It’s the lone pharmacy in Wall, serving locals year-round. Some, like Schulz, live in town, while others live on ranches as far as 60 miles away. The next-nearest pharmacy is a 30-minute drive northeast.

Wall Drug also serves tourists who forget their prescriptions at home, get sick while roaming the country in their RVs, or hurt themselves while hiking through the otherworldly rock formations of the scorching Badlands, said Cindy Dinger, its sole pharmacist.

Wall has no hospital, but a clinic is open four days a week. Schulz, a medical assistant there, said she and her co-workers see a lot of summer tourists. They send them to Wall Drug to pick up prescriptions.

“And then we tell them to get fudge before they leave,” Schulz said.

Rural pharmacies, especially independent ones, closed at a higher rate from 2003 to 2021 than pharmacies in other areas, according to a study by the Rural Policy Research Institute. By 2021, the institute found, nearly 8% of rural counties were left with no pharmacy. The Wall Drug pharmacy has fewer customers than a typical city pharmacy, which can mean less profit, Dinger said.

She said some of its prices are higher because the store can’t negotiate discounts as steep as the deals suppliers grant chain pharmacies. Rural drugstores also lack leverage with insurers, and they face increasing competition from mail-order pharmacies.

Another challenge is staffing. When Dinger needs time off, she finds a fill-in from Rapid City, nearly an hour’s drive away.

“It’s a challenge getting relief if I want to go on vacation or if I need a cover so that I can go to a doctor’s appointment,” she said. “You take what you can get and try to schedule around it.”

Dinger said her pharmacy would struggle without the rest of Wall Drug.

“All this stuff around us — the poster and print shop, the boot shop, the fudge shop, the café — they pay our bills,” she said.

The pharmacy’s white facade, with stained-glass signs and windows, is modeled after that of the original drugstore, which was across the street. The window displays and top shelves inside the store are filled with vintage pharmacy supplies, including manuals, glass medicine bottles, and a suppository-making machine.

Tourists carrying shopping bags and sporting new cowboy hats stop to look at the displays. “It’s a real pharmacy,” a woman said, sounding surprised.

Dinger and Sylvia Smith, the store’s only pharmacy tech, ring customers up below a Tiffany-style light fixture and retrieve prescriptions stored behind a wooden desk and wall.

Customer Will Lovitt said a friend advised him and his wife to stop at Wall Drug during their drive from Indiana to the Black Hills in western South Dakota. Lovitt developed a rash on the trip and ended up using the visit to get Dinger’s advice on treating it.

He said it can be difficult for tourists to know where to find medical help, especially when driving through rural states like South Dakota.

“I think it’s time that America gets back to the grass roots of the small-town doctor and the small-town pharmacist,” Lovitt said.

Alex Davis and a friend decided to visit Wall Drug on their road trip from Kansas to Yellowstone National Park.

“Then, when I saw there was a little pharmacy, I thought I’d grab something that I needed,” she said.

Davis bought Dramamine to treat car sickness on the long drive.

Dinger said she occasionally sees unusual situations, like the time several years ago when a park ranger needed antibiotics after getting bitten by a prairie dog.

“You never know what kind of diseases they might be carrying,” she said of the animals, which recently were hit with an outbreak of plague.

Rick Hustead is the chairman of Wall Drug. The store was opened in 1931 by his grandfather, pharmacist Ted Hustead. Ted’s wife, Dorothy, had the idea to advertise its soda fountain and free ice water to tourists traveling along unpaved roads during the hot years of the Dust Bowl era. Rick’s father, pharmacist Bill Hustead, began expanding the store in the ’50s, turning it into the tourist magnet it is today.

Rick Hustead didn’t follow his father and grandfather’s path to pharmacy school, so he had to recruit pharmacists from elsewhere.

Hustead found Dinger in 2010 after writing a letter to each pharmacist in the state.

Dinger said she was living at the time in Sioux Falls, South Dakota’s most populous city. But she and her husband were interested in raising their kids in a small town, the way she grew up. Dinger was also attracted by the store’s limited hours: She’d be done working by 5 p.m. on weekdays and have the weekends off.

Hustead said his family has never considered closing the pharmacy, even though it’s not the main attraction for most visitors.

“We can’t be Wall Drug without being a drugstore,” he said.

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It had been days since Hurricane Beryl blew ashore from the Gulf of Mexico on July 8, causing widespread destruction and knocking out power to more than 2 million people, including the Houston senior independent living facility where Kitzmiller lives. Outdoor temperatures had reached at least 90 degrees most days, and the heat inside the building was stifling.

Kitzmiller moved there not long ago with Kai, her 12-year-old dog, shortly after riding out 90-plus-mph winds from a May derecho under a comforter on the floor of the 33-foot RV she called home. She didn’t need medical care, as a nursing home would offer, and thought she and Kai could be safer at an independent senior facility than in the RV. She assumed her new home would have an emergency power system in place at least equivalent to that of the post offices she’d worked in for 35 years.

“I checked out the food. I checked out the activities,” said Kitzmiller, 61, now retired. “I didn’t know I needed to inquire about a generator.”

Even after multiple incidents of extreme weather — including a 2021 Texas winter storm that caused widespread blackouts and prompted a U.S. Senate investigation — not much has changed for those living in long-term care facilities when natural disasters strike in Texas or elsewhere.

“There has been some movement, but I think it’s been way too slow,” said David Grabowski, a professor of health care policy at Harvard Medical School. “We keep getting tested and we keep failing the test. But I do think we are going to have to face this issue.”

A power outage can be difficult for anyone, but older adults are especially vulnerable to temperature extremes, with medications or medical conditions affecting their bodies’ ability to regulate heat and cold. Additionally, some medications need refrigeration while others cannot get too cold.

Federal guidelines require nursing homes to maintain safe indoor temperatures but do not regulate how. For example, facilities face no requirement that generators or other alternative energy sources support heating and air conditioning systems. States are largely responsible for compliance, Grabowski said, and if states are failing in that regard, change doesn’t happen.

Furthermore, while nursing homes face such federal oversight, lower-care-level facilities that provide some medical care — known as assisted living — are regulated at the state level, so the rules for emergency preparedness vary widely.

Some states have toughened those guidelines. Maryland adopted rules for generators in assisted living facilities following Hurricane Isabel, which left more than 1.2 million residents in the state without power in 2003. Florida did so for nursing homes and assisted living facilities in 2018, after Hurricane Irma led to deaths at one facility.

But Texas has not. And no requirements for generators exist in Texas for the roughly 2,000 assisted living facilities or the even less regulated independent living sites, like Kitzmiller’s.

Generally, apartment complexes marketed to senior citizens, known in the industry as independent living facilities, don’t have any special regulations in Texas and many other states.

Nationally, assisted living facilities and independent living facilities have been the fastest-growing sectors in senior living. Residents at such facilities often have medical needs, Grabowski said, but for a variety of reasons have chosen to live in an environment that allows more independence than a nursing home, which would provide medical care. That doesn’t mean the residents in these lower-care-level facilities are any less susceptible to extreme temperatures when the power goes out.

“If you’re overwhelmed by the heat in your apartment, that’s unsafe,” he said.

Republican state Rep. Ed Thompson tried several times since 2020 to pass legislation requiring assisted living facilities in Texas to have backup generators. But the bills failed. He is not seeking reelection this year.

“It’s horrible what the state of Texas is doing,” said Thompson, blaming corporate greed and politicians more interested in stirring up their base and raising their national profile than improving the lives of Texans. “How we treat our elderly says something about us — and they’re not being treated right.”

Nim Kidd, chief of the Texas Division of Emergency Management, said at a July 11 press conference that senior facility operators are accountable if they do not keep residents safe. “That location is responsible for the health, safety, and welfare of the patients and residents that are there,” he told reporters. “It is that facility’s responsibility.”

Under Texas law, power restoration is supposed to be prioritized for nursing, assisted living, and hospice facilities.

The resistance to adding oversight or more governmental protections has not surprised Gregory Shelley, a senior manager at the Harris County Long-Term Care Ombudsman Program at UTHealth Houston’s Cizik School of Nursing. He said that while he believes the safety and health of residents are paramount, he recognizes that installing generators is expensive. He also said some people within the industry continue to believe extreme events are rare.

“But all of us in Houston this year already learned that they’re happening more frequently,” Shelley said. “This is already the third time since May that big portions of Houston have been without power for long periods of time.”

After the 2021 blackouts, Texas’ Health and Human Services Commission conducted a voluntary survey that found 47% of the assisted living and 99% of the nursing care facilities that responded reported having generators.

The U.S. Senate investigation following the 2021 Texas storm recommended a national requirement that assisted living facilities have emergency power supplies to both maintain safe temperatures and keep medical equipment running.

A 2023 annual report from Texas’ long-term care ombudsman, Patty Ducayet, also recommended requiring generators at assisted living centers. The report suggested that all long-term care facilities maintain safe temperatures in a location that can be accessed by every resident. The report recommended requiring assisted living facilities to annually submit emergency response plans to state regulators to be reviewed by state officials. The recommendations have not been adopted.

On July 15 — more than a week after Beryl hit — Kitzmiller said she just wanted the power back on. She praised the staff at her facility but said she worried for residents who were isolated on her building’s second and third floors, which were hotter amid the outage. Some were unable to keep required medicine refrigerated, she said. And without functioning elevators, many couldn’t get to the first floor, where it was cooler.

Mostly, Kitzmiller said, she was frustrated with companies and politicians who hadn’t yet fixed the problem.

“It’s their mothers, their grandmothers, and their family in these homes, these facilities,” she said. “All I can think is ‘Shame on you.’”

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In a storage unit, Lomax has a thousand canvasses, she estimates, mostly of young people who died from gunfire, and others of the mothers, sisters, friends, and mourners left to ask why.

“The purpose is not to make people cry,” said Lomax, a Philadelphia native who has traveled to New York, Atlanta, and Miami to collaborate on similar exhibitions on trauma. “It is for families and for people who have gone through this to know that they are not forgotten.”

Each person “is not a number. This is somebody’s child. Somebody’s son, somebody’s daughter who was working toward something,” she said. “The portraits are not just portraits. They are telling us what the consequences are for what’s happening in our cities.”

Firearms in 2020 became the No. 1 cause of death for children and teens under 18 — from both suicides and assaults — and fresh research on the public health crisis from Harvard Medical School’s Blavatnik Institute show how those losses ripple through families and neighborhoods with significant economic and psychological costs.

On June 25, U.S. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy declared gun violence a public health crisis, noting: “Every day that passes we lose more kids to gun violence. The more children who are witnessing episodes of gun violence, the more children who are shot and survive that are dealing with a lifetime of physical and mental health impacts.”

Philadelphia has recorded more than 9,000 fatal and nonfatal shootings since 2020, with about 80% of the victims identified as Black, according to the city controller. Among those injured or dead, about 60% were age 30 or younger.

Lomax has been a singular, and perhaps unlikely, force in making the statistics unforgettable. Since 2018, when a young friend poised to graduate from Penn State University was shot to death on a Sunday afternoon in Philadelphia, Lomax has set out to support healing among those who experience violence.

She launched a show on PhillyCAM, a community access media channel, to encourage people to talk about guns and opioids and grief. She organized fashion shows with local artists and families that focused on bearing witness to distress. She seized on portraiture, reaching out to local artists to memorialize the lives, not the deaths, of Philadelphia’s young. She began tracking shootings on social media, in news accounts, and sometimes by word of mouth. In 2022, City Hall opened three floors to a remarkable exhibition of lost lives, organized by Lomax and created by dozens of artists.

She recently shared the portraits at a summit sponsored by the nonprofit Brady: United Against Gun Violence and CeaseFirePA. The meeting offered guidance on enforcing regulations to prevent straw gun purchases that propel crime and provided data on weapon trafficking across state lines. Lomax knew the art, displayed along the stage, brought home the stakes.

Look at these faces, she said. These people had promise. What happened? What can be done?

Lomax, now 40, said the conversations she starts have purpose. Some paintings she gives to families. Others she stores for future exhibits.

“This is not what I set out to do in life,” she said. “When I was growing up, I thought I’d be a nurse. But I guess I am kind of nursing people this way.”

So far this year, Philadelphia has seen a drop in the number of murders, according to an online database by AH Datalytics, but ranks among the top five cities in murder count. Last year, the Harvard researchers established that communities and families are left vulnerable by gun injuries.

The 2023 study led by Zirui Song, an associate professor of health care policy at Harvard Medical School, examined data related to newborns through age 19. The research documented a “massive” economic toll, with health care spending increasing by an average of $35,000 for survivors in the year after a shooting, and life-altering mental health challenges.

Survivors of shootings and their caregivers, whether dealing with physical injuries or generalized fear, often struggle with “long-lasting, invisible injuries, including psychological and substance-use disorders,” according to Song, who is also a general internist at Massachusetts General Hospital. His study found that parents of injured children experienced a 30% increase in psychiatric disorders compared with parents whose children did not sustain gunshot injuries.

Desiree Norwood, who paints with acrylics, has been helping Lomax since 2021. Like all the artists, she’s paid by Lomax. She has completed about 30 portraits, always after sitting down with the subject’s family. “I get a backstory so I can incorporate that in the portrait,” she said. “Sometimes we cry. Sometimes we pray. Sometimes we try to uplift each other. It is hard to do.”

“I hope one day I would not have to paint another portrait,” said Norwood, a mother of five children. “The idea that Zarinah has had so many exhibits, with numerous people who have died, is scary and heartbreaking.”

Mike Doughty, a self-taught digital artist, was among those who wanted to help to “honor and to offer a better look at who these people were.” Doughty, a city employee who works at a courthouse, may be best known within Philadelphia for a series of fanciful murals in which he has grouped famous natives such as Will Smith, Grace Kelly, and Kevin Hart.

He has produced about 150 portraits on his iPad and laptop, working with Lomax’s nonprofit group, The Apologues, to best match a face with a phrase, embedded in the scene, that telegraphs the lost potential of youth.

“At the beginning it was hard to do,” said Doughty, who works from family photographs. “I look and I think: They are kids. Just kids.”

One time, he received a text from Lomax seeking a portrait of a rapper he recognized from art and music shows. Another day, he opened an email to find a photo of a man he knew from high school. In May, Doughty shared on Instagram his work process for a portrait of Derrick Gant, a rapper with the stage name Phat Geez, who was gunned down in March. The killing happened a few weeks after the rapper released “No Gunzone,” a music video referring to an Instagram account that promotes anti-violence efforts in the city.

Doughty, 33, who grew up in the Nicetown section of north Philadelphia, wryly noted: “It wasn’t so nice.” Lomax’s exhibitions, he said, allow families, even neighborhoods, to sort through sorrow and pain.

“I went to the last one and a mother came up and said, ‘Did you draw my child’s portrait?’ She just fell into my arms, crying. It was such a moment,” he said. “And a reminder on why we do what we do.”

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En un depósito, Lomax estima que tiene unos mil lienzos, en su mayoría de jóvenes que murieron por disparos, y otros de madres, hermanas, amigos y dolientes que se preguntan por qué.

“El propósito no es hacer llorar a la gente”, dijo Lomax, una nativa de Philadelphia que ha viajado a Nueva York, Atlanta y Miami para colaborar en exhibiciones similares sobre este trauma. “Es para que las familias y las personas que han pasado por esto sepan que no son olvidadas”.

Cada persona “no es un número. Este es el hijo de alguien. La hija de alguien que estaba trabajando en algo”, dijo. “Los retratos no son solo retratos. Nos están diciendo cuáles son las consecuencias de lo que está sucediendo en nuestras ciudades”.

Las armas de fuego en 2020 se convirtieron en la causa número uno de muerte en niños y adolescentes menores de 18 años —tanto por suicidios como por agresiones— y una nueva investigación sobre la crisis de salud pública del Instituto Blavatnik de la Escuela de Medicina de Harvard muestra cómo esas pérdidas se extienden a través de familias y vecindarios, con costos económicos y psicológicos significativos.

El 25 de junio, Vivek Murthy, cirujano general de Estados Unidos, declaró a la violencia armada como una crisis de salud pública, remarcando: “Cada día que pasa perdemos más niños por la violencia armada. Cuantos más niños presencian episodios de violencia armada, más niños que son heridos por disparos y sobreviven están lidiando con impactos físicos y mentales de por vida”.

Philadelphia ha registrado más de 9,000 tiroteos fatales y no fatales desde 2020, con aproximadamente el 80% de las víctimas identificadas como negras no hispanas, según el controlador de la ciudad. Entre los heridos o muertos, aproximadamente el 60% tenía 30 años o menos.

Lomax ha sido una fuerza singular para que las estadísticas no se olviden. Desde 2018, cuando un joven amigo que estaba a punto de graduarse de la Universidad Estatal de Pennsylvania fue asesinada a tiros un domingo por la tarde en Philadelphia, Lomax se propuso apoyar la sanación entre aquellos que experimentan violencia.

Lanzó un programa en PhillyCAM, un canal de medios de acceso comunitario, para alentar a las personas a hablar sobre armas, opioides y el duelo. Organizó desfiles de moda con artistas locales y familias que se centraron en dar testimonio del sufrimiento. Se centró en el retrato, contactando a artistas locales para conmemorar las vidas, no las muertes, de los jóvenes de Philadelphia.

Comenzó a rastrear tiroteos en las redes sociales, en las noticias y a veces de boca en boca. En 2022, el Ayuntamiento abrió tres pisos para una notable exhibición de vidas perdidas, organizada por Lomax y creada por docenas de artistas.

Recientemente compartió los retratos en una cumbre patrocinada por la organización sin fines de lucro Brady: United Against Gun Violence y CeaseFirePA. La reunión ofreció orientación sobre la aplicación de regulaciones para prevenir compras de armas que impulsan el crimen y proporcionó datos sobre el tráfico de armas a través de las fronteras estatales.

Lomax sabía que el arte, exhibido a lo largo del escenario, ponía en evidencia la importancia del tema.

Miren estas caras, dijo ella. Estas personas eran prometedoras. ¿Qué pasó? ¿Qué se puede hacer?

Lomax, ahora de 40 años, dijo que las conversaciones que inicia tienen un propósito. Algunos cuadros los regala a las familias. Otros los guarda para futuras exhibiciones.

“Esto no es lo que me propuse hacer en la vida”, dijo ella. “Cuando estaba creciendo, pensé que sería enfermera. Pero supongo que de esta forma estoy cuidando a las personas”.

En lo que va del año, Philadelphia ha visto una disminución en el número de asesinatos, según una base de datos en línea de AH Datalytics, pero se encuentra entre las cinco ciudades principales en conteo de asesinatos. El año pasado, los investigadores de Harvard establecieron que las comunidades y familias quedan vulnerables por las lesiones con armas de fuego.

El estudio de 2023 dirigido por Zirui Song, profesor asociado de política de atención médica en Harvard, examinó datos relacionados con recién nacidos hasta los 19 años. La investigación documentó un costo económico “masivo”, con un aumento promedio de $35,000 en el gasto en atención médica para los sobrevivientes en el año posterior a un tiroteo, y desafíos de salud mental que alteran la vida.

Los sobrevivientes de tiroteos y sus cuidadores, ya sea lidiando con lesiones físicas o miedo generalizado, a menudo luchan con “lesiones invisibles y duraderas, incluidos trastornos psicológicos y de uso de sustancias”, según Song, quien también es internista general en el Hospital General de Massachusetts.

Su estudio encontró que los padres de niños heridos experimentaron un aumento del 30% en trastornos psiquiátricos en comparación con los padres cuyos hijos no sufrieron heridas de bala.

Desiree Norwood, quien pinta con acrílicos, ha estado ayudando a Lomax desde 2021. Como a todos los artistas, Lomax le paga. Ha completado unos 30 retratos, siempre después de sentarse con la familia de la víctima. “Obtengo una historia de fondo para poder incorporarla en el retrato”, dijo. “A veces lloramos. A veces rezamos. A veces tratamos de animarnos mutuamente. Es difícil de hacer”.

“Espero que un día no tenga que pintar otro retrato”, dijo Norwood, madre de cinco hijos. “La idea de que Zarinah haya tenido tantas exhibiciones, con numerosas personas que han muerto, es aterradora y desgarradora”.

Mike Doughty, un artista digital autodidacta, fue uno de los que querían ayudar a “honrar y ofrecer una mejor mirada de quiénes eran estas personas”. Doughty, un empleado de la ciudad que trabaja en un juzgado, puede ser mejor conocido Philadelphia por una serie de murales en los que ha agrupado a famosos nacidos en la ciudad como Will Smith, Grace Kelly y Kevin Hart.

Ha producido unos 150 retratos en su iPad y laptop, trabajando con el grupo sin fines de lucro de Lomax, The Apologues, para ponerle rostro a una frase, incrustada en una escena, que transmite el potencial perdido de la juventud.

“Al principio fue difícil de hacer,” dijo Doughty, quien trabaja a partir de fotografías familiares. “Miro y pienso: Son niños. Solo niños”.

Una vez, recibió un mensaje de texto de Lomax buscando un retrato de un rapero que reconoció de espectáculos de arte y música. Otro día, abrió un correo electrónico y encontró una foto de un hombre que conocía de la escuela secundaria. En mayo, Doughty compartió en Instagram su proceso de trabajo para un retrato de Derrick Gant, un rapero con el nombre artístico Phat Geez, que fue asesinado a tiros en marzo.

El asesinato ocurrió unas semanas después que el rapero lanzara “No Gunzone”, un video musical que hace referencia a una cuenta de Instagram que promueve esfuerzos contra la violencia en la ciudad.

Doughty, de 33 años, que creció en la sección Nicetown del norte de Philadelphia, señaló irónicamente: “No era tan agradable”. Las exhibiciones de Lomax, dijo, permiten a las familias, incluso a los vecindarios, procesar el dolor y el sufrimiento.

“Fui a la última y una madre se acercó y dijo, ‘¿Dibujaste el retrato de mi hijo?’ Simplemente cayó en mis brazos, llorando. Fue un momento tan emotivo”, contó. “Y un recordatorio de por qué hacemos lo que hacemos”.

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She moved into the one-bedroom apartment on the second floor of PATH Villas Hollywood, a county-run apartment complex, in July, shortly after her 60th birthday. Inside the open-concept unit, the walls stand bare except for three Christian art prints hung near the front door.

Brown brightens when Julian Prado, a tall 29-year-old with a nose piercing and black mustache, walks in toting a grocery bag with fresh ingredients for veggie tacos. Prado, a warm and supportive therapist, has been visiting weekly for six months to help Brown learn to live in permanent supportive housing, where clients live on their own but receive on-site support from a care team.

Once inside, he spots gnats hovering above food rotting on dishes stacked in the kitchen. “Let’s clear some of this counter first,” Prado says, running out to his car to retrieve gloves and cleaning supplies.

Prado is one of 10 Los Angeles County occupational therapists assigned to unhoused and formerly unhoused clients. According to research by the California Policy Lab, at least 1 in 5 single adults placed in permanent supportive housing in Los Angeles from 2010 to 2019 slipped back into homelessness or interim housing. The county hopes this new team can improve the likelihood of success in transitioning people indoors.

Occupational therapists, who focus on cognitive and physical disabilities, are often associated with schools and health facilities, but their skills can fill a gap in homeless programs. Occupational therapists assist clients, most of whom have complex health conditions, in developing basic living skills, such as hygiene and cleanliness, which help prevent clients from getting evicted or slipping back onto the streets.

While their role is still rare, it’s not new. Occupational therapists have been deployed by nonprofit homelessness services around the country for years. The U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs has used therapists in its homeless program since 2008. But as homelessness proliferates in California, Caitlin Synovec of the National Health Care for the Homeless Council, an advocacy group, said Los Angeles County has the advantage of coordinating across a robust social services network and can reach people no matter what stage of homelessness they’re experiencing.

“Los Angeles County’s model is special in that it allows individuals to access occupational therapy at different touch points as they move from street medicine to transitional housing to permanent supportive housing,” Synovec said. “It’s really unique.”

This isn’t Brown’s first housing placement.

In 2019, after she had been living on the street for nearly a year, a nonprofit helped place her in an apartment in Rowland Heights, in the San Gabriel Valley. With permanent supportive housing, clients live alone but have a case manager and can receive on-site assistance from social workers and other support staff.

“I just couldn’t handle it, being on the streets,” Brown said, sitting on her walker. “Nobody can. It’s terrible out there.”

While in Rowland Heights, cataracts robbed her of her ability to see. As her physical health declined, her living space deteriorated and the county declared it unsanitary, citing rotten food, vomit-stained sheets, and blood.

Managers began the eviction process, but Brown worked with county staff members to relinquish her unit so it wouldn’t jeopardize her housing voucher. She was placed in an assisted living facility in 2021. Her vision returned once she had eye surgery.

Brown transferred to Villas Hollywood in 2023, but once there, the property management staff, again, cited cleanliness issues in her apartment: discarded food, piles of clothing, vomit in the bed, and a mice infestation.

This time, Brown had Prado’s help to declutter her apartment. Her bedroom is no longer a sanitation issue. But Brown has taken to avoiding the bedroom, convinced the mess will return if she goes back in.

“It was getting to be ridiculous,” Brown said. “I had to put a clamp on it.” She now sleeps on an air mattress in the living room.

Living indoors has been difficult: Brown still thinks of grabbing her tent and returning outside for a few nights. She compares leaving the street to breaking an addiction.

“It’s like stopping smoking. Sooner or later, you need that hit,” she said.

Deborah Pitts, a professor of clinical occupational therapy at the University of Southern California, said it’s common for clients to go from being outside in a constant fight-or-flight state to feeling isolated and directionless once in housing, staring at a calendar of empty days. They face tasks they may not have done in decades, such as laundry, cooking, cleaning, and managing finances.

At the same time, many clients have cognitive impairment and complex health conditions that complicate their transition.

USC researchers found in a series of studies that by the time clients are placed in housing, 90% of residents age 39 or older reported two or more chronic physical or mental health conditions. They also have a high prevalence of geriatric conditions, including difficulty walking and urinary incontinence, at a higher rate than housed adults 20 years older. The phenomenon is known as accelerated aging.

Where a case manager might misread a client’s cognitive impairment as complacency, therapists are trained to identify disabilities and adapt the environment or the task to a client’s needs, said Heidi Behforouz, medical director of Los Angeles County’s Housing for Health program, which administers the occupational therapy program.

For example, if a client is struggling to recall where they’ve stored items in the kitchen, a therapist might remove the cabinet doors to improve visibility. Or if a client isn’t taking their pills, a therapist wouldn’t just suggest a pill box; they’d also work with a nurse to figure out if the client needs larger fonts or different colors to differentiate pills.

“Sometimes cognition doesn’t get better,” Pitts said, “but function can get better.”

Brown said Prado has helped her a lot with her transition. Recently he’s been encouraging her to get out into the community. For example, since she’s passionate about her Christian faith, Prado has been encouraging her to return to church.

Prado said a key part of his work is helping clients find meaningful activities to fill their days. He has offered to attend services with her.

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen in the future,” Brown said. “But I’m still here.”

The county’s occupational therapy team has worked with nearly 160 clients thus far, but Brown is just one of approximately 15,000 residents navigating the transition to permanent supportive housing. Statewide, an estimated 172,000 people are experiencing homelessness.

The team, funded through a mix of county and state grants, plans to hire eight more therapists in the coming months. County officials hope to expand further but have yet to find additional sustainable funding.

One potential solution would be to get the state’s Medi-Cal program, California’s version of Medicaid, to cover occupational therapy so therapists can bill directly for services without a prescription from a doctor or a licensed practitioner. But county officials said that supplemental funding would be needed with or without a prescription because Medi-Cal reimbursement rates tend to be too low.

Back in the kitchen, Brown scrapes food into the garbage disposal as the keys to her home dangle off a lanyard around her neck. Prado sprays cleaner and wipes the countertop. As they finish scrubbing the dishes, the two exchange jokes and laugh.

“Sometimes you have one thing planned, and then you hit a barrier, but that’s OK,” Prado said. “I always tell my clients that ‘I’m going to use my knowledge to support you in this task, but, ultimately, you’re in the driver’s seat.’”

Once the cooking area is cleared, Brown pours olive oil into a pan and shows Prado her trick for crisping tortillas. She hands Prado a cutting board and tells her sous-chef to cut the tomatoes.

“I adore him,” says Brown. She catches Prado blushing. “Look! He’s turning red.”

Once the tortillas are fried and the tomatoes chopped, they load tomatoes, shredded lettuce, and cheese into the hard shells. Prado takes a taco as they say their goodbyes.

He’ll be back next week.

This article was produced by KFF Health News, which publishes California Healthline, an editorially independent service of the California Health Care Foundation. 

KFF Health News is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues and is one of the core operating programs at KFF—an independent source of health policy research, polling, and journalism. Learn more about KFF.

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“I want to make sure we have someone competent in the White House,” she said. She wrote in President Joe Biden’s name on her ballot in New Hampshire’s Democratic primary.

The Affordable Care Act’s future is important to Robert Stanhope, a retired bill collector. He said he also wrote in Biden, whose administration has worked to reduce costs under the ACA.

But that wasn’t his motivation for his early-morning visit to the polls. “I’m here to keep Trump out of office,” Stanhope said.

Dave Avery, 61, of Merrimack, New Hampshire, said health care wasn’t on his mind either. He sought to put the former president back in the White House. “Immigration and the economy are my issues,” he said. “We also need more money to stay in our country.”

Voters casting their first ballots in the 2024 presidential election cycle on Tuesday framed health care as a back-burner issue, capping years of political wrangling over Obamacare and a pandemic that strained the nation’s health system.

Donald Trump defeated former South Carolina Gov. Nikki Haley in the state’s GOP primary, according to The Associated Press. Biden, who did not appear on the ballot due to disagreements over the primary schedule, won the Democratic contest owing in part to a vigorous write-in campaign.

In interviews with more than 50 voters this week in New Hampshire — a state where 95% of residents have health insurance, one of the highest rates in the country — most people said their vote was about Trump, like him or hate him. But health care concerns — about costs, access, and, especially among Democrats, abortion — weren’t far from many voters’ minds.

“I have two daughters and five sisters and a mom, so making sure women’s reproductive rights are protected is important to me,” said Rob Houseman, 60, a town official in Hanover. Worried that Republicans will try to “weaponize health care” instead of ensuring access, he said he voted for Biden.

Many opposed to Trump cited concerns about his fitness to lead, while most Trump voters who spoke with KFF Health News said they supported him for two main reasons: They hoped he would reduce illegal immigration and lower inflation.

Democratic voters were more likely than Republicans to cite heath care as a key issue in the election.

“Oh my, yes,” said Ben Gilson, 90, a retired orthopedic surgeon. “Health care is my No. 1 issue.”

While he said he has excellent coverage and pays little in out-of-pocket costs, he worries many younger people struggle and wants to make sure Obamacare is retained. One of Trump’s earliest promises during his 2016 campaign was to repeal and replace the ACA — a vow he has recently revived in his latest attempt to win the White House.

Elaine Kozma, 73, of New London said health care issues are vitally important to her as a cancer survivor. She said she voted for Haley, a former U.S. ambassador to the United Nations, whom she thinks she can trust more than Trump.

In New London, Kate Turcotte, a professor at Colby-Sawyer College, said she voted for Biden to keep Trump out of office — and because she trusts Democrats more to improve health coverage and protect abortion rights.

She said she also worries Trump will try to cut health care for the most vulnerable. “Health care should be a right, not a privilege,” she said.

Trump voters frequently cited immigration as a top concern. Republicans have accused Biden of allowing record numbers of immigrants to cross into the U.S. from Mexico.

In Merrimack, Mary Clancy, 69, said she was satisfied with her Medicare coverage and was voting for Trump mainly to secure the southern border.

Kathy Franqui, 54, of Merrimack, said the border and immigration were her main reasons for voting for Trump. But she also said Trump would reduce health costs.

Tim Beauchene, 48, of Hanover, who is a cook at Dartmouth College, said he’s concerned about the rise of prices for medical care, along with other goods and services. His vote for Trump “was more about the economy,” he said. “Prices are so high in the grocery store and for gas.” Prices for regular unleaded in New Hampshire averaged $3.03 a gallon on Tuesday, according to the AAA auto club.

At a coffee shop in Warner, Susan Hencke, 62, said she pays $1,100 a month for health insurance. But she said health care was not among the factors determining how she would vote.

She said having a president who will protect civil rights matters most to her. She was undecided about whom to support.

Both she and her husband, who declined to give his name, said they were concerned about abortion restrictions Trump may impose.

Sitting outside the coffee shop in the freezing weather was Art Sullivan, 75, of Hooksett, who said immigration was his overriding issue in the election — and why he was voting for Trump.

Asked if he had been personally affected by immigration, he said he was worried his children would have to shoulder the financial burden of people coming into the U.S. without authorization.

“The border is a disgrace,” said Sullivan, who said he’s a registered independent voter and sells swimming pools.

Asked if health care was something he thought about when comparing candidates, he said he had a Medicare Advantage plan that covers his bills and provides access to care.

DJ Annicchiarico, co-owner of United Shoe Repair in downtown Concord, said he is a registered Democrat. But while he prefers Biden on health issues, he is not yet persuaded to vote for him in November.

His main concern is inflation. He said the ACA, which he described as a step in the right direction, had helped lower his insurance premiums but hadn’t controlled health care prices. “Something needs to be done to rein in inflation,” he said.

Annicchiarico said he wants to see health care prices regulated by the federal government and worries Trump would try to repeal the ACA. He noted access is still an issue and said getting a dermatology appointment for his daughter meant waiting eight months.

Aalianna Marietta, 21, a college student, said health care was important to her, particularly abortion rights, so she would be voting for Biden. “I am 100% pro-choice, and I cannot see myself voting for someone who is racist and a misogynist,” she said of Trump.

Deb Shope, 57, out walking her dog in Lebanon, said health care is a top issue for her because she works as a clinical social worker and sees how important good health coverage can be. She said she was voting for Biden because she liked how he has tried to help people get coverage and address their mental health care needs.

Shope said it’s hard to look beyond how Trump acts as a person. Asked if she is worried about him getting reelected, she said people shouldn’t worry about things out of their control.

KFF Health News is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues and is one of the core operating programs at KFF—an independent source of health policy research, polling, and journalism. Learn more about KFF.

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This story can be republished for free (details).