By Mary Anne Franks for Ms. Magazine.
Broadcast version by Alex Gonzalez for Northern Rockies News Service reporting for the Ms. Magazine-Public News Service Collaboration

People end up in emergency rooms for a variety of reasons. They’re having trouble breathing. They’ve suddenly developed chest pains. They’re bleeding uncontrollably. They’ve fallen off a roof, they’ve crashed their car, they’ve overdosed, they’re suicidal, they got stabbed in a fight, they got shot by police.

Some people who need emergency services are poor, or have no insurance, or are in the country illegally, or have committed a crime. Under the federal Emergency Medical Treatment and Labor Act (EMTALA), they are all entitled to receive emergency care. This law is based on a simple principle: Hospitals shouldn’t be allowed to let people die based on who they are, how much they can pay, or what they have done.

On April 24, the Supreme Court will hear oral arguments in Moyle v. U.S., a case that will determine whether individual states are allowed to exclude a single group from this basic protection: pregnant women. The state of Idaho claims that it has the right to forbid pregnant women and girls—and only pregnant women and girls—from receiving emergency care that could save their lives.

How, and why, would a state want to do this?

First, the how: In 2022, the Supreme Court ruled in Dobbs that forced childbirth does not violate the Constitution. This allowed Idaho’s 2020 “Defense of Life Act,” a draconian anti-abortion law, to go into effect. According to the law, anyone who performs an abortion faces imprisonment of up to five years in prison. Healthcare professionals who perform abortions will also have their professional licenses suspended or revoked permanently.

This puts the state law directly in conflict with federal emergency care law. EMTALA requires Medicare-funded hospitals (which most hospitals are) to provide medically necessary stabilizing treatment to any patient with an “emergency medical condition.” An emergency medical condition is one that, in the absence of immediate medical attention, is likely to cause “serious impairment to bodily functions,” “serious dysfunction of any bodily organ,” or otherwise puts the health of the patient “in serious jeopardy.”

Pregnancy complications are a common reason for emergency care visits, and the medically necessary stabilizing treatment necessary to prevent serious injury or death to women and girls experiencing those complications sometimes includes the termination of the pregnancy.

Given that an abortion is sometimes the only medical treatment that will prevent death or serious bodily injury to women, a more accurate title for Idaho’s abortion law would be the “Let Women Die Act.” But as seen in the majority decision in Dobbs and the arguments propounded recently by the Alliance Defending Freedom in the mifepristone access case, forced birth proponents are rarely candid about their necropolitical agenda. Defenders of Idaho’s law instead feign outrage at the suggestion that the law will kill women, pointing to the law’s exception for abortions performed by a physician who “determined, in his good faith medical judgment and based on the facts known to the physician at the time, that the abortion was necessary to prevent the death of the pregnant woman.”

Idaho insists that the law’s exception for abortions necessary to save the life of the mother means that there is no conflict between it and federal law. But as the Department of Justice pointed out when it sued to stop the Idaho law from being enforced with regard to EMTALA’s requirements, federal law requires emergency medical care necessary to prevent serious injury, not just death. The federal law does not authorize the withholding of essential medical treatment to patients who are only close to, but have not yet arrived, at death’s door.

What is more, as countless medical professionals have attested, the line between serious bodily injury or death is rarely precise. It is often difficult, if not impossible, to predict the exact moment that a serious medical condition becomes a life-threatening one.

As the National Women’s Law Center detailed in its amicus brief in the case, “No clinical bright line defines when a patient’s condition crosses the lines of this continuum. At what point does the condition of a pregnant woman with a uterine hemorrhage deteriorate from health-threatening to the point that an abortion is ‘necessary’ to prevent death? When is it certain she will die but for medical intervention? How many blood units does she have to lose? One? Two? Five? How fast does she have to be bleeding?”

The recognition that serious bodily injury and death are so closely related as to be nearly indistinguishable has long been reflected in U.S. law. At common law, a person could be convicted of murder not only if he intended to kill but also if he intended to inflict “grievous bodily injury.” The law of self-defense generally allows a person to use deadly force when facing an imminent threat of death or serious bodily harm, not only to herself but to others.

Significantly, Idaho’s self-defense law specifies that a person is not required to wait for the danger to become fully apparent before acting: “The defense of self or of another does not require a person to wait until he or she ascertains whether the danger is apparent or real. A person confronted with such danger has a clear right to act upon appearances such as would influence the action of a reasonable person.”

Unless, of course, the person in danger is a pregnant woman.


Mary Anne Franks wrote this article for Ms. Magazine.

A recent poll shows widespread concern among Missourians about the future of birth control access.

The survey from the Right Time Initiative reveals almost 40% fear birth control will become harder or even impossible to obtain. Some medical industry experts believe the uncertainty is fueled by a lack of access to future Title X funds, which provide affordable family planning services to thousands in the Show Me State.

In an unprecedented move, the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services has withheld funding from several grantees.

Michelle Trupiano, executive director of the Missouri Family Health Council, said her organization is one of them.

"I think this polling shows what Missourians already know," Trupiano asserted. "Both the state and the federal government are doing everything they can to make it harder for people to access care."

Missouri Family Health Council has led the Title X program in the state since 1981 and in Oklahoma since 2023, serving nearly 44,000 people in 2024. Both states are set to lose more than $8 million in Title X funding.

Trupiano noted her organization is always communicating with policymakers to ensure they are aligned with what voters and constituents want and argued the survey shows the will of the people, across party lines.

"What this polling shows is that an overwhelming percentage of Missourians, over 80%, believe that birth control is something that everybody should have access to," Trupiano pointed out. "They want their lawmakers to actually do more to support access."

Although a total restriction on birth control is not widely supported, there is stronger opposition to methods like Plan B and IUDs, compared to more common methods such as condoms or regular birth control pills.

Today marks the last day of Black Maternal Health Week, a nationally and internationally recognized observance that serves to build community collaboration around addressing the maternal health statistics for Black women.

Black women in the U.S. are more than three times more likely to die of a pregnancy-related cause than white women and are more than two times more likely to experience complications that negatively impact their health. The majority of them are preventable.

The weeklong campaign that serves to highlight these disparities was founded in 2018 by the Black Mamas Matter Alliance. Its executive director, Angela Aina, said while there have been great strides since the launch, more attention needs to be paid to the root causes of maternal morbidity and mortality.

"It really does point to how pervasive and how systemic and structural gendered racism and obstetric violence is very, very much seeped in our systems," she explained.

The rate of adverse outcomes for Black women in Wisconsin have increased significantly in the past decade. Across the state, they are more than 1.5 times more likely to experience adverse outcomes, and more than twice as likely to experience a pregnancy-related death.

In 2023, the overall maternal mortality rate in the U.S. decreased while rates for Black women slightly increased. The outcomes also impact infant health, with babies born to Black, American Indian and Alaska Native and Native Hawaiian and Pacific Islander women experiencing an increased mortality rates than those born to white people.

Aina said while Black Maternal Health Week amplifies the lived experiences of Black women, it does not exclude others.

"We want to see a change for those most impacted, those most vulnerable, those most at risk of these issues and these challenges - and that when we address it, has a ripple and domino effect for everybody else," she insisted.

Aina said such structural issues as housing, economics and maternity-care 'deserts' all play a role, and emphasized the need to increase midwifery care, the number of birth centers, and funding to community-based organizations to positively affect Black maternal-health outcomes.

"To really understand and value the lives of Black people, and the lives of Black women in particular, the lives of us all," she explained, "and the fact that we are all deserving of quality, comprehensive maternal and reproductive health care."


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By Jade Prévost-Manuel for Yes! Media.
Broadcast version by Farah Siddiqi for Ohio News Connection reporting for the Yes! Media-Public News Service Collaboration

Taylor Young has never wanted to be a mom. From the time the now 27-year-old began dating, she experienced persistent anxiety around the thought of getting pregnant in Ohio, a Republican-controlled state where Young felt her right to abortion was tenuous.

In 2018, she discovered the childfree subreddit, an online forum on Reddit for people who do not have children and do not want them. In that forum, she learned about bilateral salpingectomy, a procedure that removes both fallopian tubes and permanently prevents pregnancy.

"I was 19 or 20, and I knew I probably wouldn't be able to get it," says Young, who didn't meet the minimum age requirement to have a Medicaid-funded sterilization procedure at the time. "But it was something that was kind of in my back pocket."

In 2022, when a document suggesting the U.S. Supreme Court was likely going to overturn Roe v. Wade was leaked, Young, who now met the minimum age requirement, immediately made an appointment with her gynecologist for a bilateral salpingectomy.

After observing the mandatory one-month waiting period, Young received the procedure. "[I had felt like] an animal in a trap," she says. "But when I woke up from that surgery, it was just ... indescribable peace."

Young is one of many people of reproductive age whose health care decisions have been influenced by the overturning of Roe v. Wade, the fundamental ruling protecting the right to abortion in the United States.

In the years since, the rate of permanent sterilization procedures for people between 18 and 30 has jumped, particularly among female-born people. During the 2024 election, abortion rights were a key ballot issue and several states, including Maryland and Colorado, enshrined the right to abortion into their state constitutions.

Political promises to legalize abortion-a critical issue, but one topic in the much larger ecosystem of reproductive health care-have overlooked some of the discussions the country must have to improve reproductive rights for the millions of reproducing people in America. When we take a closer look at the quality of reproductive health care that most people receive, it's clear that simply restoring Roe v. Wade isn't enough.

"The populations with the best reproductive health care outcomes ... have all of [their] basic and human life needs met," says Dr. Regina Davis Moss, president and CEO of In Our Own Voice: National Black Women's Reproductive Justice Agenda, a group that amplifies Black voices to advocate for reproductive equity. "That is why we have some of the worst outcomes when we compare ourselves to other industrialized countries."

Pregnant people in the United States are more likely to die during pregnancy, childbirth, or postpartum than any other high-income nation, even though more than 80% of maternal deaths are preventable. The maternal death rate is double for Black women, who statistically are less likely to have access to high-quality medical care. On average, giving birth in the U.S. can cost more than $18,500.

Cost is a leading prohibitive factor for those who most need to access birth control, abortion, and other reproductive health care. But there are legal barriers to subsidizing reproductive health care services-such as the Hyde Amendment, which bans the use of federal funds for abortion with few exceptions-and in many counties, no one to provide them. An estimated one-third of American counties, for example, do not have a single birthing facility or obstetric clinician to deliver maternal care.

So, what might reproductive health care look like in a reimagined America that puts equity first? There's already a framework for it: reproductive justice, a critical feminist framework that advocates for the right to have children, the right not to have them, and the right to raise children in a safe environment.

A Quest for Overall Well-Being

In 1994, a group of Black women activists coined the term "reproductive justice" to achieve, as Loretta J. Ross writes, "the complete physical, mental, spiritual, political, social, and economic well-being of women and girls, based on the full achievement and protection of women's human rights."

While reproductive justice promotes equitable reproductive health care for everyone, the idea was born out of the struggles that people of color-particularly Black women-have faced in the United States since slavery, when they were forced to bear children to work on plantations.

The framework acknowledges that Black women face poorer reproductive health outcomes-and aims to do something about it. "The reproductive justice framework analyzes how the ability of any woman to determine her own reproductive destiny is linked directly to the conditions in her community-and these conditions are not just a matter of individual choice and access," Ross writes. "Reproductive justice addresses the social reality of inequality-specifically, the inequality of opportunities that we have to control our reproductive destiny."

There is a modern-day implicit bias in health care, says Davis Moss, that women as a whole can't be trusted to make their own decisions about their bodies. For example, Black women commonly report that health care providers are not offering them the full range of contraceptive options.

"The subjugation, the control, all that has happened ever since the country was born," says Davis Moss. "We've seen that happen over the years in our health care system, in segregated hospitals, all the way up to modern day in clinical care encounters."

Though Young's bilateral salpingectomy, which can cost thousands of dollars without insurance, was fully covered by Ohio Medicaid, cost remains a prohibitive factor for many people accessing reproductive health care in the United States.

Take contraception, for example. A 2022 KFF Women's Health Survey, which interviewed more than 5,000 female-born participants, looked at how cost influences contraceptive choice. Researchers found that a quarter of those surveyed with insurance had to pay at least part of their birth control costs out of pocket. "Any time you have to make a choice about day-to-day expenses and a copay... you know, living expenses, keeping food on the table... that is going to have an impact [on health]," says Davis Moss.

The survey also found that of those who were in their reproductive years, one in five women who were uninsured had to stop using a contraceptive method because they couldn't afford it. That data is supported by a Commonwealth Fund survey of women in several high-income nations, which found that women of reproductive age in the U.S. were the most likely to skip or delay necessary care due to cost.

Solutions for the Future

In 2023, In Our Own Voice and more than 50 other Black women's organizations published the Black Reproductive Policy Agenda, a playbook on how to improve reproductive justice for birthing people at the policy level.

The report makes more than a dozen policy recommendations that Davis Moss calls "proactive, comprehensive, and life-saving." Among them are making prescription birth control free, requiring states to provide maternity and newborn care for at least one year (the time frame in which most maternal deaths occur), and increasing access to doulas and midwives who advocate for patients.

Passing acts like the Equal Access to Abortion Coverage in Health Insurance Act would require the federal government to provide funding for abortion services. "That in and of itself directly impacts a large percentage of Black women of child-bearing age [who] are on Medicaid and Medicare," says Davis Moss.

For people struggling to pay for contraception, with or without health insurance, the cost of an in-person abortion-the median price is $600-is somewhat unthinkable. Medication abortion, however, can be cheaper and more accessible. Such is the promise of telehealth abortion, a virtual way to connect with a doctor, receive a prescription, and take abortion pills in a supportive environment.

Increasingly more women in the United States are finding themselves living in maternity care and reproductive health care deserts-areas where there is limited or nonexistent access to prenatal, postnatal, maternity, contraceptive, or abortion services. Telemedicine can provide a range of services for people living in these areas at a fraction of the cost-the median price of a telehealth medication abortion is $150.

"Telehealth does a lot to remove barriers to access to health care," says Dr. Ushma Upadhyay, a public health scientist at UC San Francisco who researches the impacts of telehealth abortion. "People who live in rural areas, young people, people who report facing food insecurity... in our research, they are the most likely to have said that telehealth enabled them to have an abortion."

But even with the advent of telehealth, both Upadhyay and Davis Moss say addressing racism is essential to establishing an equitable reproductive future. That's one of the reasons the Black Reproductive Policy Agenda recommends funding anti-Black racism programs as a part of its agenda.

"This is the reason those 12 Black women 30 years ago said 'You can't only focus on abortion,'" says Davis Moss. "It's impossible to have one without the other."

After getting a bilateral salpingectomy, Young feels relieved. Yet she still worries about what will happen with Medicaid and the Affordable Care Act-the resources she relies on to help her afford care for chronic health issues-under the Trump administration, and what that means for others seeking care.

"Thinking about if other women don't have access, that breaks my heart, and from the abortion side [...] it's too much to bear," she says, emotion tugging at her voice. "I feel relieved I got [the procedure] done when I did. I feel safe."


Jade Prévost-Manuel wrote this article for Yes! Media.


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