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Epidemic: The Scars of Smallpox

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Tue, 07 Nov 2023 10:00:00 +0000

In 1975, smallpox eradication workers in the capital of Bangladesh, Dhaka, rushed to Kuralia, a village in the country's south. They were abuzz and the journey was urgent because they thought they just might get to document the very last case of variola major, a deadly strain of the virus.  

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When they arrived, they met a toddler, Rahima Banu. 

She did have smallpox, and five years later, in 1980, when the World Health Organization declared smallpox eradicated, Banu became a symbol of one of the greatest accomplishments in public health. 

That's the lasting public legacy of Rahima Banu, the girl. 

Episode 8, the finale of “Eradicating Smallpox,” is the story of Rahima Banu, the woman — and her life after smallpox. 

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To meet with her, podcast host Céline Gounder traveled to Digholdi, Bangladesh, where Banu, her husband, their three daughters, and a son share a one-room bamboo-and-corrugated-metal home with a mud floor. Their finances are precarious. The family cannot afford good health care or to send their daughter to college.

The public has largely forgotten Banu, while in her personal life she faced prejudice from the local community because she had smallpox. Those negative attitudes followed her for decades after the virus was eradicated.

“I feel ashamed of my scars. People also felt disgusted,” Banu said, crying as she spoke through an interpreter.

Despite the hardship she's faced, she is proud of her role in history, and that her children never had to live with the virus.

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“It did not happen to anyone, and it will not happen,” she said.

The Host:

Céline Gounder
Senior fellow and editor-at-large for public health, KFF Health News


@celinegounder


Read Céline's stories

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Céline is senior fellow and editor-at-large for public health with KFF Health News. She is an infectious diseases physician and epidemiologist. She was an assistant commissioner of health in New York City. Between 1998 and 2012, she studied tuberculosis and HIV in South Africa, Lesotho, Malawi, Ethiopia, and Brazil. Gounder also served on the Biden-Harris Transition Advisory Board. 

Voices From the Episode:

Rahima Banu
The last person in the world to have a naturally occurring case of the deadliest strain of smallpox 

Nazma Begum
Rahima Banu's daughter

Rafiqul Islam
Rahima Banu's husband

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Alan Schnur
Former World Health Organization smallpox eradication program worker in Bangladesh

Click to open the transcript

Transcript: The Scars of Smallpox

Podcast Transcript Epidemic: “Eradicating Smallpox” Season 2, Episode 8: The Scars of Smallpox  date: Nov. 7, 2023 

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Editor's note: If you are able, we encourage you to listen to the audio of “Epidemic,” which includes emotion and emphasis not found in the transcript. This transcript, generated using transcription software, has been edited for style and clarity. Please use the transcript as a tool but check the corresponding audio before quoting the podcast. 

Céline Gounder:  Just when you thought smallpox was gone someplace, it could roar back. 

Alan Schnur: We were aware that in some other countries there had been celebrations and then later found, uh, there had been ongoing transmission that wasn't detected. 

Céline Gounder: The virus was persistent and slippery, but smallpox did end, and Alan Schnur was there when it did. 

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Alan Schnur: I was one of the team members who was the first international responders to the last case of variola major smallpox. 

[Upbeat music begins playing.] 

Céline Gounder: The beginning of the end was 1975 in Bangladesh. Alan was in the capital city of Dhaka, meeting with other fieldworkers from the World Health Organization. They were gathered in a Quonset hut. If you've ever seen a World War II movie, you know what it looks like: Picture a big tin can cut down the middle — resting on its side. 

The meeting was uneventful, which was a change of pace. When Alan first came to Bangladesh, smallpox cases had exploded. The country was reeling from a war for liberation. 

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But by that day, the outbreak had fizzled. 

Alan Schnur: Things had gone very quiet. No reports of any active smallpox cases despite searches going on for several weeks. 

Céline Gounder: Alan remembers that the walls of the Quonset hut were covered with maps and manuals documenting their work, and they kept a running tally of suspected cases. 

Alan Schnur: And there was a big zero up there on the wall staring down at us for this whole meeting. So we were feeling pretty good at the time. 

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Céline Gounder: Not a single case of smallpox across the entire country. The team was starting to let themselves feel optimistic. Maybe they'd stamped out the disease here. 

[Upbeat music ends.] 

Alan Schnur: And then there was a telegram received saying one smallpox case found in Kuralia village in Bhola. 

[Suspenseful music begins playing.] 

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Céline Gounder: The next morning, Alan and the head of the W–H–O mission in Bangladesh took a slow boat through snaking canals to Bhola Island. 

[Ambient sounds of a boat on the water play in the background.] 

Céline Gounder: Day turned into night. Night into day. 

Another boat, then a Land Rover. 

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Alan Schnur: And the last half-mile, we had to walk to the house where the case was. 

Céline Gounder: Finally, they made it. 

Alan Schnur: It was a very simple house, certainly poorer than the average Bangladeshi house. 

Céline Gounder: Inside was the patient, a little girl. Rahima Banu. 

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Alan Schnur: She was very scared. She was to hide behind her mother's sari. So she was frightened and trying to to run back inside the house, but her mother kept her there. 

Céline Gounder: There's an iconic photo of Rahima and her mother from that day. Sitting on her mother's hip, Rahima looks wary. But Alan says all around her there was an air of excitement among the public health workers. 

This could finally be it: the last person with naturally occurring variola major smallpox. 

Alan Schnur: And we didn't find any more active cases after Rahima Banu. 

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[Suspenseful music fades out.] 

Céline Gounder: The WHO continued to monitor Bangladesh for a couple of years, but that's where the story ends for the deadliest version of smallpox. With Rahima Banu, the girl. 

She became a symbol of — a poster child for — one of public health's greatest achievements. But she did not share in the prestige or rewards that came after. 

In this final episode of our series “Eradicating Smallpox,” I travel to Bangladesh to meet with Rahima Banu, the woman. We'll hear how smallpox shaped her life and wrestle with some of the questions that her reality demands of public health. 

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I'm Dr. Céline Gounder, and this is “Epidemic.” 

[“Epidemic” theme music plays then fades to silence.] 

[Ambient sounds of chickens squawking in the courtyard outside of Rahima Banu's home play.] 

Céline Gounder: Many people have tracked down Rahima Banu since 1975. 

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I'm just the latest in a line of public health specialists and curious journalists. 

She lives in a village not far from where smallpox workers found her nearly 50 years ago. 

As I enter the courtyard of her home, there are clothes hanging on the line. The house is made from bamboo and corrugated metal. The mud stairs that inside are dotted with moss. 

Inside is one giant room with a partition. On the far side are cots where the family sleeps. On the near side is a table, where I sit with Rahima. 

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She introduces herself while her husband and two of her daughters sit behind her. 

[Rahima speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Rahima Banu: I am Rahima Banu from Bangladesh. Rahima Banu of smallpox fame. 

Céline Gounder: Rahima wears a cobalt-blue scarf with white flowers — it's draped over her head and shoulders and modestly tucked under her chin. A small gold stud sparkles from her nose. 

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[Sparse music begins playing softly.] 

Céline Gounder: She has only a few memories of smallpox. She remembers health workers drawing blood from her fingers, for example. But most of the story that's made her famous, she knows only from what she's been told. 

[Rahima speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Rahima Banu: There were lesions like this all over the body. My mother said that if you poked them with a lemon cutter, the water rolled down all over the body. As the juice of the dates rolled down when being cut, my blood also dripped like that. 

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Céline Gounder: While Rahima recovered from smallpox, her family was forced to stay at home while the health workers set a mile-and-a-half radius where they monitored every fever and vaccinated every person. 

Two guards monitored the doors of Rahima's home 24 hours a day. Otherwise, Rahima says, her father would have tried to to go find work. He was the lone income earner in the family. 

[Rahima speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Rahima Banu: If he had run away, the disease would have spread to other places. That's why they did not allow us to go anywhere. 

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Céline Gounder: Alan Schnur says he hired Rahima's father so the family would have food and an income while they were isolated. And later — a small group of public health workers tried to cobble together some kind of sustainable support for Rahima's family. 

But, eventually the WHO's help ended. And, ultimately, attempts to prop up the family's future fell through. 

[Sparse music swells, then fades to silence.] 

Céline Gounder: Little Rahima grew up. She married and had a family of her own. 

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The scars of smallpox are visible on her face, but they are faint. Mostly you notice her eyes. They are warm; her slight smile is welcoming. 

But Rahima says when visitors like me come to visit, they mostly want to know one thing: Is she still alive? 

[Rahima speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Rahima Banu: But no one wants to know how I am living my life with my husband and children, whether I am in a good condition or not, whether I am settled in my life or not. 

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Céline Gounder: The stories about Rahima are not usually about her life today. They're about her place in history — as an international symbol of one of the crowning achievements of public health. 

But listening to Rahima speak, I'm caught off guard by the pain in her voice. 

[Rahima speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Rahima Banu: I feel ashamed of my scars. People also felt disgusted. [Rahima cries.] 

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Céline Gounder: Rahima is in tears. My reporting partner, Redwan, asks Rahima's daughter to bring some water. 

Redwan Ahmed [in Bengali]: Will you give her some water? 

[Solemn music begins playing.] 

Céline Gounder: She is around 50 years old when I visit — and the faded pockmarks on her body are perhaps the least of what smallpox left behind. Rahima begins to about the emotional scars smallpox left on her family, her life. 

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And how living in poverty has made things even harder. As an adult, when she had health problems, there was no outside care. No public health workers bustling around, ready to help. 

She tells me about a time when she had intense vomiting and fevers. 

[Rahima speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Rahima Banu: I was bedridden for three months, but I still could not go to a good doctor because I could not afford it. 

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Céline Gounder: Rahima says the doctor she did see prescribed her cooked fish heads. She also had trouble with her vision for years. 

[Rahima speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Rahima Banu: I cannot thread a needle because I cannot see clearly. I cannot examine the lice on my son's head. I cannot read the Quran well because of my vision. 

[Solemn music fades out.] 

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Céline Gounder: Rahima and her husband, Rafiqul Islam, have four nearly grown children, three daughters and a son. 

The couple's marriage was arranged, and Rafiqul didn't know Rahima had had smallpox. 

After he found out, people would taunt him, saying he'd married a cursed girl. Still, Rafiqul accepted her. 

His family did not. 

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[Somber music begins playing.] 

Céline Gounder: Rahima says her in-laws thought her scars — or smallpox itself — would be passed on to her children. 

[Rahima speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Rahima Banu: My father-in-law and mother-in-law never touched my children with their fingers like one touches other children. 

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My father-in-law, mother-in-law,  sister-in-law, and brother-in-law never saw me in a good light. 

Céline Gounder: Rahima says she is still living in that suffering. Rafiqul becomes tearful as we sit around their table listening. And at times he gets up and stands behind the partition, as if he doesn't want us to see his emotion. 

Rafiqul says he felt powerless watching how his family treated his wife. 

[Rafiqul speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

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Rafiqul Islam: Do you get it? As a husband, I couldn't do anything to stop my parents or my siblings. One of my sisters did most of the abuse. I couldn't do anything but stand in a corner as she was abused. 

[Somber music ends.] 

Céline Gounder: Their middle daughter is named Nazma Begum. She is tall like her dad — you can tell she's an eager student. For most of Nazma's life, people like me have come here to talk with her mother about smallpox. 

I ask Nazma what it's like to be the child of an international symbol. 

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[Nazma speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Nazma Begum: The good effect is that it is nice to see that you and other people come here. When people come, I like that a lot. The way I feel nice when guests come — it is the same feeling. Apart from that, there was no other effect. It did not help me in any way in my studies or financially. 

Céline Gounder: The family's only income is the money Rafiqul earns peddling a rickshaw. On a good day, he brings home 500 takas — not quite 5 U.S. dollars. 

Sometimes he brings home  nothing. 

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Nazma finished a year of college, but her parents can't afford to pay for her education anymore. She seems desperate to go back to school, but at the time of my visit, the family had arranged for her to get married instead. 

The cost of a dowry is less than the cost of sending her to school. It's a common story here in Bangladesh. But, Nazma says, the people who seek out her mother to talk about smallpox are not really curious about Rahima's children. 

[Nazma speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Nazma Begum: What are their children doing? Up to what class have they studied? In what condition are they living? What do their children want? I think that's what they should have asked more about. But in this matter, they have no interest or do not want to know. 

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[Reflective music plays softly.] 

Céline Gounder: Nazma is talking to me, but maybe she's indicting me, too. 

Journalists, public health experts, and government officials — we all return to Rahima again and again. Whenever there's a big anniversary. Or when we're looking for smallpox lessons — to get through the latest pandemic. And it is a story worth telling. 

But then we leave. And Rahima is left behind. 

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We write up our reports, or publish our podcasts — then raise money around that research and journalism. 

In these sometimes sanitized stories, the reality of Rahima's life after smallpox is left out. 

She goes back to her family that can't afford to see a doctor or send their daughter to . 

It feels extractive — as if we take from Rahima only what we need. And I can't help but wonder whether I owe her something more. 

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[Reflective music fades out.] 

Céline Gounder: There's this moment from my time with Rahima that I found later, when I was reviewing the tape from the interview. Initially, I missed it because I don't speak Bengali. While I was adjusting my recording levels, Rahima and the interpreter are talking about how she'll introduce herself, and she says maybe we could publish that her son is looking for work. 

[Clip of Redwan and Rahima speaking Bengali plays in the background.] 

Céline Gounder: It's such a simple request, so core to what's on her mind and what she wants. 

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The interpreter is skilled and polite. He tells her he can't promise anything but maybe it will come up in the interview. 

Of course, it doesn't — at least not exactly. But at the end of our time together, I ask Rahima what she thinks people should know about her experience. 

[Optimistic music begins playing.] 

[Rahima speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

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Rahima Banu: Who wants to know about me? My only dream was to make my son a man. And I wanted to repair the condition of my house, live a better life with my family, and keep my children well. This is my only dream. If I had some financial ability, I would have arranged my daughter's marriage to a better family. It is the pride of my heart. 

It is my dream. And it is my pride. This is my imagination. 

Céline Gounder: There is one way, though, that Rahima says her role in history has helped her family. 

Her children did not get smallpox. They don't live with those particular scars. 

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[Rahima speaking in Bengali fades under English translation.] 

Rahima Banu: It did not happen to anyone, and it will not happen. 

[Optimistic music fades out.] 

[“Epidemic” theme music plays.] 

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Céline Gounder: “Eradicating Smallpox,” our latest season of “Epidemic,” is a co-production of KFF Health News and Just Human Productions. 

Additional support provided by the Sloan Foundation. 

This episode was produced by Zach Dyer, Taylor Cook, and me. 

Bram Sable-Smith was scriptwriter for the episode, with help from Zach Dyer and Taunya English. 

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Redwan Ahmed was our translator and local reporting partner in Bangladesh. 

Our managing editor is Taunya English. 

Oona Tempest is our graphics and photo editor. 

The show was engineered by Justin Gerrish. 

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We had extra editing help from Simone Popperl. 

Voice acting by Rashmi Sharma, Priyanka Joshi, and Paran Thakur. 

Music in this episode is from the Blue Dot Sessions and Soundstripe. 

We're powered and distributed by Simplecast. 

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If you enjoyed the show, please tell a friend. And leave us a review on Apple Podcasts. It helps more people find the show. 

Follow KFF Health News on X (formerly known as Twitter), Instagram, and TikTok. 

And find me on X @celinegounder. On our socials, there's more about the ideas we're exploring on our podcasts. 

And subscribe to our newsletters at kffhealthnews.org so you'll never miss what's new and important in American health care, health policy, and public health news. 

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I'm Dr. Céline Gounder. Thanks for listening to this season of “Epidemic.” 

[“Epidemic” theme fades to silence.] 

Credits

Taunya English
Managing editor


@TaunyaEnglish

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Taunya is senior editor for broadcast innovation with KFF Health News, where she leads enterprise audio projects.

Zach Dyer
Senior producer


@zkdyer

Zach is senior producer for audio with KFF Health News, where he supervises all levels of podcast production.

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Taylor Cook
Associate producer


@taylormcook7

Taylor is associate audio producer for Season 2 of Epidemic. She researches, writes, and fact-checks scripts for the podcast.

Oona Tempest
Photo editing, design, aArt

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@oonatempest

Oona is a digital producer and illustrator with KFF Health News. She researched, sourced, and curated the images for the season.

Additional Newsroom Support

Lydia Zuraw, digital producer Tarena Lofton, audience engagement producer Hannah Norman, visual producer and visual reporter Simone Popperl, broadcast editor Chaseedaw Giles, social media  Mary Agnes Carey, partnerships editor Damon Darlin, executive editor Terry Byrne, copy chief Gabe Brison-Trezise, deputy copy chiefChris Lee, senior communications officer 

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Additional Reporting Support

Swagata Yadavar, translator and local reporting partner in IndiaRedwan Ahmed, translator and local reporting partner in Bangladesh

Epidemic” is a co-production of KFF Health News and Just Human Productions.

To hear other KFF Health News podcasts, click here. Subscribe to “Epidemic” on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Google, Pocket Casts, or wherever you listen to podcasts.

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——————————
Title: Epidemic: The Scars of Smallpox
Sourced From: kffhealthnews.org/news/podcast/season-2-episode-8-scars-of-smallpox/
Published Date: Tue, 07 Nov 2023 10:00:00 +0000

Kaiser Health News

The Lure of Specialty Medicine Pulls Nurse Practitioners From Primary Care

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Michelle Andrews
Fri, 17 May 2024 09:00:00 +0000

For many , seeing a nurse practitioner has become a routine part of primary care, in which these “NPs” often perform the same tasks that patients have relied on for.

But NPs in specialty care? That's not routine, at least not yet. Increasingly, though, nurse practitioners and physician assistants are joining cardiology, dermatology, and other specialty practices, broadening their skills and increasing their income.

This worries some people who track the workforce, because current trends suggest primary care, which has counted on nurse practitioners to backstop physician shortages, soon might not be able to rely on them to the same extent.

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“They're succumbing to the same challenges that we have with physicians,” said Atul Grover, executive director of the Research and Action Institute at the Association of American Medical Colleges. The rates NPs can command in a specialty practice “are quite a bit higher” than practice salaries in primary care, he said.

When nurse practitioner programs began to proliferate in the 1970s, “at first it looked great, producing all these nurse practitioners that go to work with primary care physicians,” said Yalda Jabbarpour, director of the American Academy of Physicians' Robert Graham Center for Policy Studies. “But now only 30% are going into primary care.”

Jabbarpour was referring to the 2024 primary care scorecard by the Milbank Memorial Fund, which found that from 2016 to 2021 the proportion of nurse practitioners who worked in primary care practices hovered between 32% and 34%, even though their numbers grew rapidly. The proportion of physician assistants, also known as physician associates, in primary care ranged from 27% to 30%, the study found.

Both nurse practitioners and physician assistants are advanced practice clinicians who, in addition to graduate degrees, must complete distinct education, , and certification steps. NPs can practice without a doctor's supervision in more than two dozen states, while PAs have similar independence in only a handful of states.

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About 88% of nurse practitioners are certified in an area of primary care, according to the American Association of Nurse Practitioners. But it is difficult to track exactly how many work in primary care or in specialty practices. Unlike physicians, they're generally not required to be endorsed by a national standard-setting body to practice in specialties like oncology or cardiology, for example. The AANP declined to answer questions about its annual workforce survey or the extent to which primary care NPs are moving toward specialties.

Though data tracking the change is sparse, specialty practices are adding these advanced practice clinicians at almost the same rate as primary care practices, according to frequently cited research published in 2018.

The clearest evidence of the shift: From 2008 to 2016, there was a 22% increase in the number of specialty practices that employed nurse practitioners and physician assistants, according to that study. The increase in the number of primary care practices that employed these professionals was 24%.

Once more, the most recent projections by the Association of American Medical Colleges predict a dearth of at least 20,200 primary care physicians by 2036. There will also be a shortfall of non-primary care specialists, a deficiency of at least 10,100 surgical physicians and up to 25,000 physicians in other specialties.

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When it to the actual work performed, the lines between primary and specialty care are often blurred, said Candice Chen, associate professor of health policy and management at George Washington .

“You might be a nurse practitioner working in a gastroenterology clinic or cardiology clinic, but the scope of what you do is starting to overlap with primary care,” she said.

Nurse practitioners' salaries vary widely by location, type of facility, and experience. Still, according to data from health care recruiter AMN Healthcare Physician Solutions, formerly known as Merritt Hawkins, the total annual average starting compensation, including signing bonus, for nurse practitioners and physician assistants in specialty practice was $172,544 in the year that ended March 31, slightly higher than the $166,544 for those in primary care.

According to forecasts from the federal Bureau of Labor Statistics, nurse practitioner will increase faster than jobs in almost any other occupation in the decade leading up to 2032, growing by 123,600 jobs or 45%. (Wind turbine service technician is the only other occupation projected to grow as fast.) The growth rate for physician assistants is also much faster than average, at 27%. There are more than twice as many nurse practitioners as physician assistants, however: 323,900 versus 148,000, in 2022.

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To Grover, of the AAMC, numbers like this signal that there will probably be enough NPs, PAs, and physicians to meet primary care needs. At the same time, “expect more NPs and PAs to also flow out into other specialties,” he said.

When Pamela Ograbisz started working as a registered nurse 27 years ago, she worked in a cardiothoracic intensive care unit. After she became a family nurse practitioner a few years later, she found a job with a similar specialty practice, which trained her to take on a bigger role, first running their outpatient clinic, then working on the floor, and later in the intensive care unit.

If nurse practitioners want to specialize, often “the doctors mentor them just like they would with a physician residency,” said Ograbisz, now vice president of clinical operations at temporary placement recruiter LocumTenens.com.

If physician assistants want to specialize, they also can do so through mentoring, or they can receive “certificates of added qualifications” in 10 specialties to demonstrate their expertise. Most employers don't “encourage or require” these certificates, however, said Jennifer Orozco, chief medical officer at the American Academy of Physician Associates.

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There are a number of training programs for family nurse practitioners who want to develop skills in other areas.

Raina Hoebelheinrich, 40, a family nurse practitioner at a regional medical center in Yankton, South Dakota, recently enrolled in a three-semester post-master's endocrinology training program at Mount Marty University. She lives on a farm in nearby northeastern Nebraska with her husband and five sons.

Hoebelheinrich's new skills could be helpful in her current hospital job, in which she sees a lot of patients with acute diabetes, or in a clinic setting like the one in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, where she is doing her clinical endocrinology training.

Lack of access to endocrinology care in rural areas is a real problem, and many people may travel hundreds of miles to see a specialist.

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“There aren't a lot of options,” she said.

——————————
By: Michelle Andrews
Title: The Lure of Specialty Medicine Pulls Nurse Practitioners From Primary Care
Sourced From: kffhealthnews.org/news/article/nurse-practitioners-trend-primary-care-specialties/
Published Date: Fri, 17 May 2024 09:00:00 +0000

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Kaiser Health News

Clean Needles Save Lives. In Some States, They Might Not Be Legal.

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Ed Mahon, Spotlight PA and Sarah Boden, WESA
Fri, 17 May 2024 09:00:00 +0000

Kim Botteicher hardly thinks of herself as a criminal.

On the main floor of a former Catholic church in Bolivar, Pennsylvania, Botteicher runs a flower and cafe.

In the former church's basement, she also operates a nonprofit organization focused on helping people caught up in the drug epidemic get back on their feet.

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The nonprofit, FAVOR ~ Western PA, sits in a rural pocket of the Allegheny Mountains east of Pittsburgh. Her organization's home county of Westmoreland has seen roughly 100 or more drug overdose deaths each year for the past several years, the majority involving fentanyl.

Thousands more in the region have been touched by the scourge of addiction, which is where Botteicher comes in.

She helps people find housing, jobs, and health care, and works with families by running support groups and explaining that substance use disorder is a disease, not a moral failing.

But she has also talked publicly about how she has made sterile syringes available to people who use drugs.

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“When that person comes in the door,” she said, “if they are covered with abscesses because they have been using needles that are dirty, or they've been sharing needles — maybe they've got hep C — we see that as, ‘OK, this is our first step.'”

Studies have identified public health benefits associated with syringe exchange services. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention says these programs reduce HIV and hepatitis C infections, and that new users of the programs are more likely to enter drug treatment and more likely to stop using drugs than nonparticipants.

This harm-reduction strategy is supported by leading health groups, such as the American Medical Association, the World Health Organization, and the International AIDS Society.

But providing clean syringes could put Botteicher in legal danger. Under Pennsylvania law, it's a misdemeanor to distribute drug paraphernalia. The state's definition includes hypodermic syringes, needles, and other objects used for injecting banned drugs. Pennsylvania is one of 12 states that do not implicitly or explicitly authorize syringe services programs through statute or regulation, according to a 2023 analysis. A few of those states, but not Pennsylvania, either don't have a drug paraphernalia law or don't include syringes in it.

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Those working on the front lines of the opioid epidemic, like Botteicher, say a reexamination of Pennsylvania's law is long overdue.

There's an urgency to the issue as well: Billions of dollars have begun flowing into Pennsylvania and other states from legal settlements with companies over their role in the opioid epidemic, and syringe services are among the eligible interventions that could be supported by that money.

The opioid settlements reached between drug companies and distributors and a coalition of state attorneys general included a list of recommendations for spending the money. Expanding syringe services is listed as one of the core strategies.

But in Pennsylvania, where 5,158 people died from a drug overdose in 2022, the state's drug paraphernalia law stands in the way.

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Concerns over Botteicher's work with syringe services recently led Westmoreland County officials to cancel an allocation of $150,000 in opioid settlement funds they had previously approved for her organization. County Commissioner Douglas Chew defended the by saying the county “is very risk averse.”

Botteicher said her organization had planned to use the money to hire additional recovery specialists, not on syringes. Supporters of syringe services point to the cancellation of funding as evidence of the need to change state law, especially given the recommendations of settlement documents.

“It's just a huge inconsistency,” said Zoe Soslow, who overdose prevention work in Pennsylvania for the public health organization Vital Strategies. “It's causing a lot of confusion.”

Though sterile syringes can be purchased from pharmacies without a prescription, handing out free ones to make drug use safer is generally considered illegal — or at least in a legal gray area — in most of the state. In Pennsylvania's two largest , Philadelphia and Pittsburgh, officials have used local health powers to provide legal protection to people who operate syringe services programs.

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Even so, in Philadelphia, Cherelle Parker, who took office in January, has made it clear she opposes using opioid settlement money, or any city funds, to pay for the distribution of clean needles, The Philadelphia Inquirer has reported. Parker's position signals a major shift in that city's approach to the opioid epidemic.

On the other side of the state, opioid settlement funds have had a big effect for Prevention Point Pittsburgh, a harm reduction organization. Allegheny County reported spending or committing $325,000 in settlement money as of the end of last year to support the organization's work with sterile syringes and other supplies for safer drug use.

“It was absolutely incredible to not have to fundraise every single dollar for the supplies that go out,” said Prevention Point's executive director, Aaron Arnold. “It takes a lot of energy. It pulls away from actual delivery of services when you're constantly having to find out, ‘Do we have enough money to even purchase the supplies that we want to distribute?'”

In parts of Pennsylvania that lack these legal protections, people sometimes operate underground syringe programs.

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The Pennsylvania law banning drug paraphernalia was never intended to apply to syringe services, according to Scott Burris, director of the Center for Public Health Law Research at Temple University. But there have not been court cases in Pennsylvania to clarify the issue, and the failure of the legislature to act creates a chilling effect, he said.

Carla Sofronski, executive director of the Pennsylvania Harm Reduction Network, said she was not aware of anyone having criminal charges for operating syringe services in the state, but she noted the threat hangs over people who do and that they are taking a “great risk.”

In 2016, the CDC flagged three Pennsylvania counties — Cambria, Crawford, and Luzerne — among 220 counties nationwide in an assessment of communities potentially vulnerable to the rapid spread of HIV and to new or continuing high rates of hepatitis C infections among people who inject drugs.

Kate Favata, a of Luzerne County, said she started using heroin in her late teens and wouldn't be alive today if it weren't for the support and community she found at a syringe services program in Philadelphia.

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“It kind of just made me feel like I was in a safe space. And I don't really know if there was like a -to-God moment or come-to-Jesus moment,” she said. “I just wanted better.”

Favata is now in long-term recovery and works for a medication-assisted treatment program.

At clinics in Cambria and Somerset Counties, Highlands Health provides free or low-cost medical care. Despite the legal risk, the organization has operated a syringe program for several years, while also testing patients for infectious diseases, distributing overdose reversal medication, and offering recovery options.

Rosalie Danchanko, Highlands Health's executive director, said she hopes opioid settlement money can eventually support her organization.

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“Why shouldn't that wealth be spread around for all organizations that are working with people affected by the opioid problem?” she asked.

In February, legislation to legalize syringe services in Pennsylvania was approved by a committee and has moved forward. The administration of Gov. Josh Shapiro, a Democrat, supports the legislation. But it faces an uncertain future in the full legislature, in which Democrats have a narrow majority in the House and Republicans control the Senate.

One of the bill's lead sponsors, state Rep. Jim Struzzi, hasn't always supported syringe services. But the Republican from western Pennsylvania said that since his brother died from a drug overdose in 2014, he has come to better understand the nature of addiction.

In the committee vote, nearly all of Struzzi's Republican colleagues opposed the bill. State Rep. Paul Schemel said authorizing the “very instrumentality of abuse” crossed a line for him and “would be enabling an evil.”

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After the vote, Struzzi said he wanted to build more bipartisan support. He noted that some of his own skepticism about the programs eased only after he visited Prevention Point Pittsburgh and saw how workers do more than just hand out syringes. These types of programs connect people to resources — overdose reversal medication, wound care, substance use treatment — that can save lives and lead to recovery.

“A lot of these people are … desperate. They're alone. They're afraid. And these programs bring them into someone who cares,” Struzzi said. “And that, to me, is a step in the right direction.”

At her nonprofit in western Pennsylvania, Botteicher is hoping lawmakers take action.

“If it's something that's going to help someone, then why is it illegal?” she said. “It just doesn't make any sense to me.”

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This story was co-reported by WESA Public Radio and Spotlight PA, an independent, nonpartisan, and nonprofit newsroom producing investigative and public-service journalism that holds power to account and drives positive change in Pennsylvania.

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).

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By: Ed Mahon, Spotlight PA and Sarah Boden, WESA
Title: Clean Needles Save Lives. In Some States, They Might Not Be Legal.
Sourced From: kffhealthnews.org/news/article/clean-needles-syringe-services-programs-legal-gray-area-risk-pennsylvania/
Published Date: Fri, 17 May 2024 09:00:00 +0000

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Kaiser Health News

Watch: John Oliver Dishes on KFF Health News’ Opioid Settlements Series

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Fri, 17 May 2024 09:00:00 +0000

Opioid manufacturers, distributors, and retailers are paying tens of billions of dollars in restitution to settle lawsuits related to their role in the nation's overdose epidemic. A recent of “Last Tonight With John Oliver” examined how that money is being spent by and local governments across the United States.

The segment from the KFF Health “Payback: Tracking the Opioid Settlement Cash.” You can learn more about the issue and read our collection of articles by Aneri Pattani here.

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Title: Watch: John Oliver Dishes on KFF News' Opioid Settlements Series
Sourced From: kffhealthnews.org/news/article/watch-john-oliver-kff-health-news-payback-opioid-settlements-series/
Published Date: Fri, 17 May 2024 09:00:00 +0000

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