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The Ob-Gyn Shortage Is Real—and It Might Impact Your Care


On a typical day Heather Bartos, M.D., sees about 30 patients; in an average month she delivers 20 to 25 babies. An ob-gyn practicing about 45 minutes outside Dallas and chief of obstetrics and gynecology at Texas Health Presbyterian Hospital in Denton, she also spends a day a week in surgery and another tackling administrative tasks. She works through lunch every day so she can attempt to get home at a reasonable hour to see her kids, but the fact that a woman can go into labor at any time makes her days and nights pretty unpredictable. Sometimes the pace is overwhelming. “I know I can’t keep it up forever,” says Dr. Bartos.

There’s another reason Dr. Bartos’ schedule is so hectic: She’s one of only a handful of obstetricians in Denton. A few years from now, when she’s in her early fifties (she’s 47), she plans to scale back her patient load and handle only five or six deliveries each month. She doesn’t know who, if anyone, will step in to take her place. “There’s a really high rate of burnout among ob-gyns,” she says, and there aren’t many young doctors clamoring to start their careers in areas like hers. The potential fallout? Denton could have a shortage of ob-gyns even greater than it already has.

A lack of ob-gyns is increasingly a national problem. Right now half—half—of all counties in the U.S. do not have a single obstetrician, says Hal Lawrence III, M.D., executive vice president and CEO of the Ameri­can College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG). A recent ACOG report concluded that women in Arizona, Washington, Utah, and Idaho face the greatest risk of a severe ob-gyn shortage; Florida, Texas, North Carolina, and Nevada could soon be next, because the female population in those areas is growing without new ob-gyns flooding in. The problem could reach major cities too, according to Doximity, a network for physicians and clinicians. After polling its members and cross-­referencing those results with things like birth records and population data, Doximity found that cities including Las Vegas, Orlando, Los Angeles, Miami, Detroit, Memphis, Salt Lake City, and St. Louis, could soon be without enough ob-gyns.

Where the ob-gyns are

A few key factors are driving the decline: first, burnout. “About a third of providers stop obstetrics within the first 10 to 12 years of practicing,” says Dr. Lawrence. While some of them transition to only routine gynecological care, which tends to be less stressful and allows for more regular work hours, others turn to subspecialties like urogynecology or gynecological oncology that don’t entail delivering babies. “It’s a demanding field, and there’s a lot of nighttime work,” says Dr. Lawrence. “You have to really love what you do.” Even ob-gyns who stick it out retire earlier—at age 59 on average, according to Doximity—than primary care physicians, who tend to practice until their mid-sixties.

Right now half—half—of all counties in the U.S. do not have a single obstetrician.

Another reason: compensation. Sometimes the cash coming home isn’t enough to make up for the intense workload and erratic hours (especially true for providers who accept Medicaid, which generally reimburses doctors at rates much lower than private insurance companies). But the bigger money issue is insurance. Obstetricians face one of the highest rates of malpractice cases. As a result, malpractice insurance is often incredibly expensive. In some areas, says Dr. Bartos, “you could spend almost a third of your salary on insurance.”

Valerie Jones, M.D., an ob-gyn in the Maryland suburbs who retired early from clinical care, was warned about the insurance burden before starting her career. “I remember hearing that when you leave residency, you should expect to be sued at least twice in your career,” she says. But she was dismayed by how health care in the U.S. can sometimes emphasize productivity and cost-­effectiveness over quality of patient care. Disillusioned, she left the field last year when she was only 37, after a health scare of her own led her to reevaluate her priorities and motivated her to spend more time with her three children.

While Dr. Jones admits that it’s unusual to stop practicing entirely in your late thirties, she understands why young physicians drop the obstetrics part of the job and just stick with gynecology. “The highs you get from delivering a healthy baby are like no other, but the lows are very low too,” she says. Even when a doctor has done nothing wrong, she says, “If there’s a bad outcome during childbirth, it’s devastating for everyone involved.”

“Women, especially those with high-risk pregnancies or who find themselves in an emergency situa­tion, should still have access to the skills and expertise of an obstetrician—there’s no replacement.”

One thing is for sure: A lack of interest in the profession isn’t the problem. ACOG has thousands of student members at med schools across the country. “Residency slots [for obstetrics and gynecology] fill up on match day,” says Dr. Lawrence. Creating more of those slots would help, but someone needs to pay for it. “Right now residencies in all specialties are funded by the government,” he says, though a few hospitals are experimenting with private funding.

How a shortage could impact your care

If you live in a major metropolitan area, you may not feel the hit of fewer providers, says William Rayburn, M.D., emeritus chair of obstetrics and gynecology at the University of New Mexico and author of the ACOG report. Elsewhere the shortage will likely mean longer drives to find a provider, longer wait times, or even rushed or poor care. Those frustrations led Amanda Baker, 45, who lives in rural Virginia, to start seeing a nurse practitioner (NP), even though she has a family history of ovarian cancer. “I have no problem seeing an NP,” she says. “For women here, if you can afford to leave the area for care, you leave; if not, you accept the status quo.”

Relying on other medical professionals, including NPs, physicians assistants (PAs), and midwives, is one way women can get care in the face of a physician shortage. Laws vary by state, but in many places NPs, PAs, and midwives can prescribe medication, diagnose infections, and perform checkups. While they don’t have the same level of training as M.D.s, Dr. Lawrence says they help build very effective care “teams”: Picture a practice with a handful of midwives, NPs, and PAs and one or two obstetricians who can step in when necessary. “This [team approach] expands access to care in areas that might have only one or two ob-gyns,” he explains.

Telehealth, using technology to consult a doctor virtually, could also become an increasingly essential tool. Web or mobile services can help you “see” a doctor; for example, nurx.com has providers licensed in many states who consult via chat and write prescriptions for birth control that the service delivers. At amwell.com you can consult a virtual gynecologist for help with a urinary tract infection, STI, and more. (While you may be accustomed to having a pelvic exam as part of a checkup, guidelines from the American College of Physicians say that’s no longer necessary for most healthy women who aren’t pregnant.)

While these are all creative solutions, Dr. Jones is concerned about relying too heavily on them. “Women, especially those with high-risk pregnancies or who find themselves in an emergency situa­tion, should still have access to the skills and expertise of an obstetrician,” she says. “There’s no replacement.”

To get or maintain access to real-life ob-gyns, rural communities may have to figure out incentives to lure physicians away from major metropolitan areas, such as offering to pay off medical school loans, suggests Dr. Lawrence. Malpractice reform would also help, says Dr. Jones, to weed out frivolous but expensive lawsuits.

Expanding government funding for medical residency programs so that more ob-gyns could start training each year would also make a huge difference. But public funds for these programs have been frozen since the Clinton administration; they weren’t increased under President Obama, and it seems unlikely that they’d be unfrozen under President Trump. “Access to women’s health care waxes and wanes with each election,” says Dr. Bartos. “It should always be a priority.”



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2018 Midterms Merchandise Is Big Business. But Will It Have an Impact at the Polls?


The relationship between fashion and activism has a long history, but the two have felt more intertwined than ever following the election of Donald Trump in 2016. In the seasons since, some of the biggest trends haven’t been hemline lengths or colors, but rather politics: statement T-shirts, slogan hats, jackets that look like they were plucked from a political campaign bus. You name it, brands are selling it.

Now, with the 2018 midterm elections looming, it feels like fashion’s fervor for activism is reaching a fever pitch—and it’s manifesting in merchandise.

For example: Levi’s created a limited-edition T-shirt benefiting Rock the Vote; so did American Eagle. Luxury online retailer Moda Operandi has an exclusive line of shirts, created by 13 American designers (including Prabal Gurung, Carolina Herrera, and Brandon Maxwell) that hopes to inspire people to get to the polls, with proceeds going to Rock the Vote. There’s even a site, MidtermMerch.com, that specifically sells clothing emblazoned with the names of candidates from various states.

PHOTO: Levi’s

Levi’s created this T-shirt to raise money for Rock the Vote.

Lauren Santo Domingo, the co-founder and Chief Brand Officer of Moda Operandi, describes the site’s Vote 2018 trunk show as “a passion project.”“We knew we could make some noise with this,” she tells Glamour.com “We’re not pushing anything polarizing. We genuinely wanted to get people—our customers, fashion followers, anyone in the U.S.—excited to vote and use their voice.”

Four of the 13 Moda Operandi t-shirts—which range in price from $70 to $195—have already sold out. “I think [this is the fashion] industry’s answer to practice what you preach: Wear what you mean,” she says. “Designers know that their voice can be heard and realize that fashion doesn’t happen in a vacuum, politics inform and influence the industry.”

PHOTO: Wildfang

These pieces were made by Wildfang in collaboration with Refinery29, to benefit She Should Run.

For Portland-based contemporary label Wildfang (which, you might remember, created an “I Really Care” capsule in response to First Lady Melania Trump’s now-infamous Zara jacket), the idea to create a collection timed to the midterm elections came from a desire to get involved in a divisive political climate.

“A lot of people stand idly by while politicians, aka old white men, make decisions for us,” Emma Mcilroy, CEO of Wildfang, explains. The brand collaborated with women’s website Refinery29 on “The Just F*cking Vote Collection,” which aims to get 100,000 first-time voters to the polls and raise $100,000 for She Should Run. “[It’s] a reminder that every single one of us needs to vote in these midterms and we need to get more women in elected positions.”

As for why shoppers are presumably drawn to fashion pieces that make a political statement, McIlroy says: “People feel powerless and this helps them feel like they are taking some kind of action.” So far, Widlfang’s “She Came, She Saw, She F*cking Voted” tee and its “Don’t Give Up” sweatshirt have been bestsellers. “Decisions [being made in Washington] are increasingly violating our human rights and going beyond politics…I think people want to wear their feelings because these actions feel bigger than politics and people are outraged.”

It’s this consumer-driven sentiment that’s translated into serious fundraising power for brands like Moda Operandi for Rock the Vote and Wildfang for She Should Run.

PHOTO: Moda Operandi

Moda Operandi’s Vote 2018 trunk show features T-shirts by Tory Burch, Veronica Beard, Prabal Gurung, and La Ligne, among other designers.

Take the accessories brand MZ Wallace, which recently partnered with luxury sweater label Lingua Franca on a quilted tote embroidered with the words “Give a Damn,” as an example: Its $235 bag swiftly sold out, with proceeds also going to She Should Run. According to Lucy Wallace Eustice, the co-founder of MZ Wallace, that translates to over $110,000 towards the organization.

“We knew this collaboration would strike a chord with our customers, many of whom feel, as we do, that the current state of politics is especially fraught and precarious for women,” Eustice adds.

PHOTO: MZ Wallace

MZ Wallace partnered with Lingua Franca on a special tote, which sold out quickly.

Wildfang’s McIlroy shares that in 2018, the company has raised around $400,000 for women-centric causes. “Because we believe in choice, we helped saved the last abortion clinic in South Dakota [with some of that money]—obviously, with the help of our customers,” she explains, noting that the brand has also donated to immigrant rights causes and Planned Parenthood this year, in response to the news cycle.

It isn’t simply that brands want to capitalize on issues that are top of mind for their customers right now—it’s that customers are increasingly expecting and demanding that they do.

According to a Sprout Social survey, around 70 percent of consumers think brands should be transparent about their stance on social and political issues, while 58 percent want them to voice their opinions through their social media accounts.

This can be hugely beneficial to a company’s bottom line, if done correctly (and well.) “We have one of the greatest opportunities in fashion in a long time—it’s not that difficult to create an avant-garde statement on a T-shirt, but these become collector’s items and statement pieces,” Marshal Cohen, chief retail-industry analyst for market research company NPD Group, explains. “These are key driving factors that get consumers excited.”

So yes, these issues and slogans can move merchandise. But, in the end, do dedicated political collections actually help get out the vote?

PHOTO: Urban Outfitters

I Am a Voter tapped a series of popular brands, including Urban Outfitters to design pieces that would benefit the organization.

According to Mandana Dayani, who helped launch the grassroots campaign I Am Voter (which has announced partnerships with brands like Urban Outfitters, GOOD AMERICAN, Carbon38, and more timed to the midterms), these campaigns could have a real impact on November 6: “The research is there that once people start identifying as a voter, they’re much more likely to vote. They’re also much more likely to encourage other people to vote.”

The I Am a Voter campaign began with pins, which were handed out at New York Fashion Week. (Designers participated, too: Jeremy Scott wore one of its T-shirts, while Prabal Gurung left note cards with the group’s logo each seat at his show.) It has since expanded to include more retail partnerships. Celebrities like Tracee Ellis Ross and Sophia Bush have also worn its merch.

“This is just another way to break through to people,” Dayani argues. “Brands have gotten involved in different ways, but they all have really loyal and engaged audiences who care about what they have to say.”

“Once people commit to one election cycle, they tend to vote in many election cycles,” she adds. “It’s really just a matter of hooking them.”



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Read Andrea Constand's Powerful Impact Statement About Bill Cosby


Bill Cosby was sentenced to three to 10 years in a Pennsylvania state prison on Tuesday afternoon, which will hopefully bring some amount of closure to the many women who have accused the comedian of assault over the years.

The victim in the case that resulted in Cosby’s conviction—Andrea Constand—has bravely told the story of how Cosby drugged and assaulted her many times in the lead-up to this day. As part of the sentencing hearing, she submitted a lengthy, written impact statement in which she details how the assault has deeply affected her life, while thanking those who’ve supported her along the way.

“Bill Cosby took my beautiful, healthy young spirit and crushed it,” she writes.

“Instead of looking back, I am looking forward to looking forward. I want to get to the place where the person I was meant to be gets a second chance.”

Read the full transcript of her powerful statement below:

To truly understand the impact that sexual assault has had on my life, you have to understand the person that I was before it happened.

At the time of the assault, I was 30 years old, and a fit, confident athlete. I was strong and skilled, with great reflexes, agility and speed. When I graduated from high school in Toronto, I was one of the top three female high school basketball players in Canada. Dozens of American colleges lined up to offer me basketball scholarships, and I chose the University of Arizona.

For four years, I was a shooting guard on the women’s basketball team, scoring up to 30 points a game. It was an amazing time in my life, and I learned a lot, developed a circle of really good friends, many of them teammates, and travelled around the U.S. to compete.

The only downside was that I missed my family, and developed severe homesickness. When it started to affect my studies and training, my dad came up with the idea to move his own father and mother to Tucson.

My grandparents were in their late 60s when they gamely agreed to move more than 2,000 miles to help me adjust to life away from home. They were retired after selling their Toronto restaurant business, and figured the warm, dry climate would suit them anyway. I had always enjoyed a special relationship with my grandparents. Not only had I grown up in their home, but I spoke Greek before I spoke English. They got an apartment close to mine, and I was there most days, talking and laughing over my favorite home-cooked meals. The homesickness quickly evaporated.

After I graduated from the University of Arizona with a degree in communications, I signed a two-year contract to play professional basketball for Italy. Going pro took my athletic training to a whole new level. Once again, I thrived in the team atmosphere, and enjoyed traveling Europe although we rarely saw more than the basketball venues and the hotel rooms where we slept.

When my contract ended, my former coach from the University of Arizona encouraged me to apply for a job as Director of Operations for the women’s basketball team at Temple University in Philadelphia. It was a busy, challenging position that required me to manage a lot of logistical details so that others could focus on training the team for competition. I also made all the travel arrangements and went to tournaments with the team and support staff.

It was a great job but after a few years, I knew I wanted to pursue a careering in the healing arts, my other passion. I also wanted to work closer to home, where I would be reunited with my large, extended family and friends.

I knew who I was and I liked who I was. I was at the top of my game, certain that the groundwork provided by my education and athletic training would stand me good stead whatever challenges lay ahead. [sic]

How wrong I was. In fact, nothing could have prepared me for an evening of January 2004, when life as I knew it came to an abrupt halt.

I had just given my two-month notice at Temple when the man I had come to know as a mentor and friend drugged and sexually assaulted me. Instead of being able to run, jump and pretty much do anything I wanted physically, during the assault I was paralyzed and completely helpless. I could not move my arms or legs. I couldn’t speak or even remain conscious. I was completely vulnerable, and powerless to protect myself.

After the assault, I wasn’t sure what had actually happened but the pain spoke volumes. The shame was overwhelming. Self-doubt and confusion kept me from turning to my family or friends as I normally did. I felt completely alone, unable to trust anyone, including myself.

I made it through the next few weeks by focusing on work. The women’s basketball team was in the middle of the Atlantic 10 tournament, and was traveling a lot. It was an extremely busy time for me, and the distraction helped take my mind off of what had happened.

When the team wasn’t on the road, however, I was in the basketball office at Temple, and was required to interact with Mr. Cosby, who was on the Board of Trustees. The sound of his voice over the phone felt like a knife going through my guts. The sight of the man who drugged and sexually assaulted me coming into the basketball office filled me with dread. I did everything my job required of me but kept my head down, counting the days until I could return to Canada. I trusted that once I left, things would go back to normal.

Instead, the pain and anguish came with me. At my parents’ house, where I was staying until I got settled, I couldn’t talk, eat, sleep or socialize. Instead of feeling less alone because I was back home with my family, I felt more isolated than ever. Instead of my legendary big appetite and “hollow leg” ― a running joke in my family ― I picked at my food, looking more like a scarecrow with each passing week. I was always a sound sleeper but now I couldn’t sleep for more than two or three hours. I felt exhausted all the time.

I used the demands of my new courses to opt out of family gatherings and evens, and to avoid going out with friends. As far as anyone could tell, I was preoccupied with my studies. But the terrible truth about what had happened to me ― at the hands of a man my family and friends admired and respected ― was swirling around inside me.

Then the nightmares stared. I dreamed that another woman was being assaulted right in front of me and it was all my fault. In the dream, I was consumed with guilt, and pretty soon, that agonizing feeling spilled over into my waking hours too. I became more and more anxious that what had happened to me was going to happen to someone else. I grew terrified that it might already be too late, that the sexual assaults were continuing because I didn’t speak out.

Then one morning I called my mother on the telephone to tell her what had happened to me. She had heard me cry out in my sleep. She wouldn’t let me put her off, and insisted that I tell her what was wrong. She wouldn’t settle for anything less than a complete and truthful explanation.

Reporting the assault to the Durham Regional police in Toronto only intensified the fear and pain, making me feel more vulnerable and ashamed than ever. When the Montgomery County District Attorney outside Philadelphia decided not to prosecute for lack of evidence, we were left with no sense of validation or justice. After we launched civil claims, the response from Mr. Cosby’s legal team was swift and furious. It was meant to frighten and intimidate, and it worked.

The psychological, emotional and financial bullying included a slander campaign in the media and left my entire family reeling in shock and disbelief. Instead of being praised as a straight-shooter, I was called a gold-digger, a con artist, and a pathological liar. My hard-working middle-class parents were accused of trying to get money from a rich and famous man.

At the deposition during the civil trial, I had to relive every moment of the sexual assault in horrifying detail in front of Mr. Cosby and his lawyers. I felt traumatized all over again and was often in tears. I had to watch Cosby make jokes and attempt to degrade my sense of shame and helplessness, and at the end of each day, I felt emotionally drained and exhausted.

When the case closed with a settlement, sealed testimony and a nondisclosure agreement, I thought that finally ― finally ­― I could get on with my life, that this awful chapter in my life was over at last. These exact same feelings followed me throughout both criminal trials. The attacks on my character continued, spilling over outside the courtroom steps attempting to discredit me, and cast me in false light. These character assassinations have caused me to suffer insurmountable stress and anxiety, which I still experience today.

I still didn’t know that my sexual assault was just the tip of the iceberg.

Now, more than 60 other women have self-identified as sexual assault victims of Bill Cosby. We may never know the full extent of his double life as a sexual predator but his decades-long reign of terror as a serial rapist is over.

I have often asked myself why the burden of being the sole witness in two criminal trials ad to fall to me. The pressure was enormous. I knew that how my testimony was perceived ― that how I was perceived ― would have an impact on every member of the jury and on the future mental and emotional well-being of every sexual assault victim who came before me. But I had to testify. It was the right thing to do, and I wanted to do the right thing, even if it was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. When the first trial ended in a mistrial, I didn’t hesitate to step up again.

I know now that I am one of the lucky ones. But still, when the sexual assault happened, I was a young woman brimming with confidence and looking forward to a future bright with possibilities. Now, almost 15 years later, I’m a middle-aged woman who’s been stuck in a holding pattern for most of her adult life, unable to heal fully or to move forward.

Bill Cosby took my beautiful, healthy young spirit and crushed it. He robbed me of my health and vitality, my open nature, and my trust in myself and others.

I’ve never married and I have no partner. I live alone. My dogs are my constant companions, and the members of my immediate family are my closest friends.

My life revolves around my work as a therapeutic massage practitioner. Many of my clients need help reducing the effects if accumulated stress. But I’ve also trained in medical massage at Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center in New York, and often help cancer patients manage the side effects of chemotherapy and radiation. I help many others too ― people with Parkinson’s, arthritis, diabetes and so on. Some of my clients are in their 90s. I help them cope with the ravages of old age, reducing stiffness, aches and pains.

I like my work. I like knowing that I can help relieve pain and suffering in others. I know that it helps heal me too.

I no longer play basketball but I try to stay fit. Mostly, I practice yoga and meditation, and when the weather is warm, I like to pedal my bike up long steep hills.

It all feels like a step in the right direction: away from a very dark and lonely place, toward the person I was before all this happened.

Instead of looking back, I am looking forward to looking forward. I want to get to the place where the person I was meant to be gets a second chance.

I know that I still have room to grow.

I would like to acknowledge some of the people who have helped me get here today. I will always be grateful for their counsel, friendship and support.

First of all, my lawyers Dolores Troiani and Bebe Kivitz. These two smart, courageous women have been there for me since the beginning. Without them, I would never have been able to navigate this legal and emotional minefield.

I will also be eternally grateful to Kevin Steele, the District Attorney for Montgomery County, who had the guts to believe in me, in the truth, and for trusting that the justice system could get things right ― even if the process had to be repeated.

I also want to thank Mr. Steele’s incredible team of professionals, including assistant district attorneys Kristen Feden and Stewart Ryan, detectives Richard Shchaffer [sic], Mike Shade, Harry Hall, Jim Reape, Erin Slight, Kiersten McDonald, victim services, and many others, for their passion for justice, their skill, and their hard work and perseverance despite the odds.

Thank you to the jurors for their civic duty and great sacrifices.

Thank you to all of the friends, old and new, who have stood by me. You know who you are, and each and every one of you has made a huge different. Please know that.

Last but not least, I want to thank my incredible family: my mother Gianna, and my father Andrew, my sister Diana, her husband Stuart, and their beautiful daughters – my nieces Andrea and Melanie. Thank you for proving over and over again if there’s one thing in my life you can always count on, it’s family.

MORE: Bill Cosby Sentenced to 3 to 10 Years in Prison for Sexual Assault



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A Holocaust Survivor Reflects on the Lasting Impact of Family Separation and Deportation


Last week, President Donald Trump reversed a practice that separated migrant children from their parents, a move that came after many American citizens expressed outrage over the humanitarian crisis.

Since May, more than 2,000 children have been separated from parents crossing the US border, with some kept in facilities like the enclosed tent camp in Tornillo, outside of El Paso, Texas. The children have no idea if or when they will ever see their families again. The issue has transcended partisanship: according to a Quinnipiac poll released last week, two-thirds of American voters oppose these separations, and the administration has scrambled to explain whether it will reunite thousands of families and house them at family detention centers.

“I don’t believe it,” says Ruth Pagirsky, a 92-year-old Holocaust survivor. “There is too much going on that is reminiscent to me of how it all started in Europe. But I was a kid and I didn’t know, I didn’t understand the whole extent of it.”

Pagirsky and her family were forced to leave Berlin for Poland in 1936, after Germany passed a series of laws between 1933 and 1935 that pushed Jews out of professional life. The aim was to establish a pure Aryan utopia. At the time, Pagirsky was almost 10, and says her family’s effective expulsion introduced her to the capacity of human cruelty.

“I had a favorite ring my aunt had given to me, she always gave me something like jewelry and the S.S. man who came saw the ring on my ring holder and he just picked it up and took it. I just couldn’t believe this! I looked at my mother and she just put her finger to her mouth. It was the most frightening thing. Soon after, we left Germany and we went to Poland.”

The family moved to Katowice, where they had relatives. For three years, they survived in relative quiet. “Then we stayed in Poland, and the horror began.”

PHOTO: Photographer: John J. Nicastro and B.A. Van Sise

Ruth Pagirsky

In 1939, the Nazis invaded Poland, and in Katowice, S.S. officers came to round up Jews to take to concentration camps like Auschwitz. In 1942, two of Pagirsky’s cousins were playing in front of the house and thrown onto a truck. Her aunt rushed outside with her son (Pagirsky’s cousin), Joshua. He was almost two.

“They were crying, and screaming, everyone was screaming, and the little boy was screaming, and my aunt was trying to calm them down,” Pagirsky remembers. Her aunt offered to go to the camp with the children to help calm them, but the S.S. officer headed her off.

“The children are going to a very beautiful camp and they’ll be taught and they’ll be fine,” he insisted.

Pagirsky’s aunt continued to plead while Joshua sobbed in her arms.

“He was laughing and little Joshua was still crying. He walked over, and he took him out of her arms. Grabbed him and pulled him out of her arms. He walked over to the building and started banging his head on the stone. Can you imagine this?”

Pagirsky, then 16, recalls that all she could think about was whether that S.S. soldier would go home that night to play with his own children.

Soon, Pagirsky was also separated from her family. Her brother was taken to Auschwitz. Her father was sent to another concentration camp. Holocaust scholars would later estimate that over one million people were murdered at Auschwitz, a number that includes Jews, Catholic Poles, Roma and Sinti people, members of the LGBTQ community, and anyone else who stood in the way of the Nazis. (Six million Jews were murdered between 1933 and 1945.)

“My father’s last words to me were, ‘You, my child will live. You will live to tell it all’,” says Pagirsky. He spoke those words and Pagirsky never saw her father again. “And that’s what pushed me to survive, the story. My father said I will live to tell it all, I had a purpose. There were years when I was separated from my mother and it was terrible. I was alone and scared. And I would think about what my father said—that I will live—and that helped me. It gave me that impetus to survive.”

Pagirsky and her mother hid in the forest. Eventually, Pagirsky obtained false identification papers that allowed her to work on a farm in Germany, where she remained until 1945 when the area was liberated by Americans.

In 1946, Pagirsky made it to New York. She met her husband, with whom she would spend 63 years. Despite the fact that she immigrated with just a fifth-grade education, because the Nazis had barred Jewish children from public schools, she earned her high school degree and later became a dental hygienist. She had three children, and now has several grandchildren and great grandchildren.

The rhetoric that the current administration has relied on—words like “infest,” “animals,” and “invade”—to defend its attitudes toward the undocumented reminds Pagirsky of tactics used in Nazi propaganda. And some supporters, like Fox News host Laura Ingraham, have tried to wave off horrific reports. On television, she referred to the tents and chain-link enclosures in which immigrant children have been held to as “essentially summer camps.” But the Texas Tribune and Reveal surfaced federal court documents which came to light as part of a class action lawsuit in which children and adolescents held at Shiloh Treatment Center outside of Houston, Texas, alleged that staff held them down and even injected them with psychotropic drugs without consent or proper medical evaluations. (In a legal response, Shiloh representatives said that Texas monitors the center for compliance with state laws and guidelines, according to CNN.)

The news has made Pagirsky wonder whether America has learned from Europe’s mistakes. “I watch it on television and I am so upset with that! I see it, I lived through this! It is so cruel, never forget that.” And efforts to dehumanize those in detention centers or who want to come to America from other countries are causes of particular concern: “I tell people not to fall into the trap where you think it is okay and that [these people must] deserve it. We are not the judge to say who deserves what.”

“We cannot be apathetic,” Pagirsky concludes. “We have to be aware and cannot be afraid to speak up. In Europe people were afraid to speak up. This is what we can do here, we can speak up. And we have to speak up. If we stand by and do nothing, we are guilty.”

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At the Border, Parents Seeking Asylum Are Willing to Risk Separation Rather Than Go Back to Danger



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Do Household Products Really Impact Your Fertility?


PHOTO: Aliyev Alexei Sergeevich

Fertility is a delicate thing. Research says a ton of things—from how stressed out you are to how much TV your partner watches—can affect your chances of getting pregnant. Another item to add to that list? Maybe the products around your house, according to a new study in Environmental Health Perspectives.

The authors tested urine samples of 211 women who had gone through IVF for organophosphate flame retardants (also known as PFRs)—chemicals found in baby products, cleaning products, upholstered furniture, car seats, mattress pads, some carpets, some nail polishes, building insulation, and other household products containing polyurethane foam. Those whose samples contained higher concentrations of PFRs were 10 percent less likely to undergo a successful fertilization. In addition, they were 31 percent less likely to have embryos implant, 41 percent less likely to have pregnancies confirmed by a heartbeat on an ultrasound, and 38 percent less likely to have live births, according to a press release.

The study’s lead author Courtney Carignan, an assistant professor at Michigan State University, told Glamour that PRFs can decrease fertility by interfering with your thyroid and sex hormones. There’s also some research suggesting that PRFs can lower sperm count, says Eric Levens, MD, a physician at Shady Grove Fertility. “The problem is that they are ubiquitous—and as a result difficult to avoid,” he says.

Carignan agrees: “PFRs and other flame retardants are very difficult to avoid because they are used in so many products in our homes, cars, and work/school environments,” she says. Many products that contain PFRs don’t have labels disclosing the ingredients, so you can’t always know when you’re being exposed to them.

But there are some ways to come in contact with fewer of them. They often get into your body through dust ingestion, which you can reduce by washing your hands. Cleaning your house with baking soda and vinegar could also help you avoid PFRs that may be in cleaning products, says Levens. Unfortunately, sticking to organic household products probably won’t do much. “Some of the solvents that cause a problem are technically ‘organic,'” says Dr. Daniel Shapiro, M.D., Reproductive Endocrinologist at Prelude Fertility.

Despite what some news outlets have reported, there isn’t any evidence that flame retardants are used in yoga mats, says Carignan, so there’s no need to avoid those.

Bottom line: if you’re trying to get pregnant, do what you can to avoid PFRs, but you can’t avoid them entirely, and that’s nothing to worry about. “The problem with PFRs is probably real, but the effect is probably not profound,” says Shapiro. “Good idea to give this point some consideration, but no need to modify one’s living habits to eliminate PFRs entirely.”



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