Healthbeat

A preventable tragedy: What my sister’s death taught me about public health

2026-06-24T12:03:00+00:00

This is a guest essay for Healthbeat. Public health, explained: Sign up to receive Healthbeat’s free national newsletter here.

This year marks the 15th anniversary of my sister’s death from rabies.

In 2010, my sister Ivy bought a home in Sumter, South Carolina, and eagerly began rehabilitating it. Soon, she noticed bats finding their way into her enclosed back porch and main living areas.

Aware that bats can carry rabies, she called the local Animal Control office in 2011 to express her concerns. Instead of health advice, she received a warning: She was told bats are protected, and killing them could land her in jail. No one advised her to seek a medical assessment or contact the health department to protect herself and her son.

Months later, Ivy developed flu-like symptoms. What followed was a harrowing journey of confusion and misdiagnoses before a neurologist finally ordered a rabies test. By the time we had an answer, it was too late. Rabies is 100% preventable before symptoms appear, but there is little that can be done once a patient becomes symptomatic.

Ivy Durant, sister of Tonji Durant.

I recently retired as an epidemiologist for the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, having spent my career in domestic and global health. Yet, sitting in that intensive care unit, my professional background could not save my sister. Her death illuminated critical systemic gaps in how we communicate public health risks at the local level.

Seven out of every 10 deaths from rabies in people are linked to bats, and rabid bats can be found in every state except Hawaii. A public health survey conducted in Sumter County after Ivy’s death found 3.5% of respondents had bats either living in their home or entering the home. And while respondents generally knew that bats can transmit rabies, they had limited knowledge of the risks or how to protect themselves.

The mistakes surrounding Ivy’s death were born of institutional silos and poor communication:

Disconnected agencies: Animal Control and the local health department were located across the street from one another at the time, yet they did not collaborate on communicating community risks.
Information gaps: The local health department lacked the resources it needed to provide citizens with practical information regarding the fatal risks of bats in sleeping quarters or how to address bats if they’re there. Today there are more resources available online, but they remain challenging to navigate and apply locally. Recent cuts to the CDC also likely limit capacity for expertise, testing, and engagement, which are especially important for complex conditions like rabies.
Diagnostic delays: Because human rabies cases are incredibly rare, the disease was not on the hospital’s radar, delaying crucial decisions regarding her comfort and care.

My mother feels our family was robbed, and she is right. Ivy did not have to die. To prevent this from happening to another family, we must fundamentally shift our public health approach.

Break down government silos: Agencies must communicate. If Animal Control is aware of bat activity or other exposure risks, it must work closely with public health officials so citizens are immediately informed of health risks, not just legal liabilities.
Engage trusted community leaders: We need to return to grassroots strategies. We must engage community-based organizations and trusted local voices to communicate risks and empower residents.
Apply global lessons domestically: Having worked in global health, I know the immense value of the community-building strategies we use overseas. We must rebuild local partnerships, applying the lessons we’ve learned globally to our domestic programs. Whether for maternal health, HIV, malaria, vaccine-preventable diseases, or One Health initiatives that recognize the connections between human and animal health, community-based strategies are at the heart of successful prevention programs.
Prioritize proactive engagement: Ivy’s laboratory and medication bills (excluding her clinical care) for just her final two weeks of life were roughly a quarter of a million dollars in 2011. Today, that’s approximately a half-million dollars. We must invest in a system based on coordinated prevention and not wait until a crisis hits.

One life lost to a fully preventable disease is one life too many. In the last year and a half, we’ve seen significant cuts to public health funding and infrastructure. Without protecting public health investments, declining engagement and resources are inevitable, and we run the risk of repeating past public health mistakes.

Tonji Durant is a retired CDC scientist. She now advocates for stronger health systems and coordinated public health communication to prevent tragedies like her sister Ivy’s death. Tonji is a member of the Southern Alliance for Public Health Leadership, whose work focuses on empowering public health professionals across the South.

North Carolina mountain town confronts unexpected public health catastrophe from Hurricane Helene

2024-10-18T15:52:50+00:00

Public health, explained: Sign up to receive Healthbeat’s free national newsletter here.

Before Hurricane Helene, had you stopped by one of the many breweries, art galleries, or award-winning restaurants in Asheville, North Carolina, and spoken with anyone who lives in these parts — including me — most would have told you they felt pretty safe from climate disasters.

The mountains of western North Carolina have been known to flood: The area is bursting with creeks and rivers and enjoys an abundance of rain. There are occasionally wildfires. But the ravages of the climate crisis’ worst impacts — including increasingly powerful hurricanes — felt like a problem for another place. Asheville sits almost 250 miles from the nearest coastline.

After Hurricane Helene roared across the state, causing historic flooding, downing trees, snapping power lines, decimating water infrastructure, and leading to the deaths of at least 72 people in Buncombe County alone, communities are still shaking off the shock of a storm they never thought could touch these mountains.

“People relocate to Asheville not just because it’s beautiful, but because it isn’t prone to natural disasters,” said Katie Gebely, an artist in Asheville. “But that sense of safety is gone.”

I live in Beech, a historic community in Weaverville, North Carolina, at the eastern end of a two-lane road called Reems Creek, which is named after the waterway running parallel to it. The town of Weaverville, just north of Asheville, is five miles down the road.

Helene’s destruction created a major problem for people dependent on insulin, power wheelchairs, oxygen CPAP machines for sleep apnea, or home dialysis equipment. Without electricity, their health is at risk.

Diane Anna of Weaverville, North Carolina, holds food rations delivered by the Federal Emergency Management Agency on Oct. 8. FEMA promised 120 truckloads a day of food and water to western North Carolina, according to Rep. Chuck Edwards, who represents the area in Congress.

To get to Weaverville from Beech in the days immediately after the storm, cars had to thump over dozens of downed power lines. Other lines were propped up with large, downed tree limbs or tied up with rope so cars could get under them. Utility poles were snapped in two. A transformer lay on the side of the road, as did a rather large boat, washed up from who knows where. Just last week, power crews arrived on Reems Creek Road, but there’s still no word on when everyone will regain electricity.

Jackie Martin of Canton, North Carolina, relies on supplemental oxygen for chronic obstructive pulmonary disease and emphysema. When the storm hit, she had four hours’ worth left. Because of her condition, Martin and her husband, David, have an electrical generator, which David checks every month to make sure it works.

“We keep enough gas to run about eight hours,” Jackie Martin said. But the Martins were without power for nearly a week. When they ran out of gasoline, their neighbors gave them the gas from their lawn mower. Then another neighbor evacuated and offered his propane generator. The Martins’ daughter came through with four tanks of propane.

“We went through tons of gas and propane,” Jackie Martin said. “Never did I think I would need every drop and then some. Thank goodness we got power back after a week.”

Potable water may take weeks to restore

In Buncombe County, population 275,000, there were still more than 50,000 customers without electricity almost two weeks after the storm. Duke Energy reported that outages were down to about 1,600 customers in the Asheville area as of Wednesday.

In most places, the debris that littered the road has been cleared. Cars, trucks, and military vehicles can make their way through. But huge piles of trash still line the roadways. Buncombe County is asking residents not to burn it out of concern for air quality.

In a scene out of biblical end-times, yellow jackets swarmed in the days after the storm — displaced after falling trees and floodwaters destroyed their nests. Three or four days after the storm hit, an EMT drove through my neighborhood looking for Benadryl. My husband handed over what we had: a half-full bottle.

Overhead, helicopters fly day and night. The Federal Emergency Management Agency arrived in my neighborhood two Sundays ago to deliver bottled water and food rations. Potable water in some areas of western North Carolina, including Asheville, may take weeks or months to restore.

Weaverville’s residents were under a boil-water advisory until Oct. 11.

“We had sewer and water line breaks,” said Patrick Fitzsimmons, Weaverville’s mayor. “We had a lot of infrastructure destruction.”

Households with wells have fared no better. Well pumps don’t work without electricity. And storm-damaged or flooded wells may be compromised. Officials are urging residents to disinfect their wells before consuming water. The federal Environmental Protection Agency has given residents kits to test their well water.

A dry-erase board outside a distribution center in Barnardsville, North Carolina, lists needed items. With cold weather on the horizon, donation collection sites are asking donors for warm clothes and blankets.

A physical therapist at Asheville Specialty Hospital, who asked not to be identified out of concern for losing their job, told me that in the first days after the storm, crews hauled trash cans full of water into the facility so that staff could flush toilets with buckets.

“The water got shut off and we managed. We took care of people the best we could,” the therapist said. “But the amount of water that it takes to run a hospital is unsustainable for the length of time they think we’ll be out of water.”

The hospital is a 34-bed long-term acute care facility down the street from Asheville’s Mission Hospital. Nancy Lindell, a spokesperson for Mission Health, which operates both hospitals, said in a statement that fewer than 100 “low acuity patients in stable condition” at the organization’s facilities were transferred “to hospitals outside of the areas hardest hit by this disaster.”

“This decision, which was made in collaboration with more than 50 physicians and nursing leaders, helps ensure we have the capacity to meet the most critical needs of our region,” she said. “It also provides relief for our caregivers, who have been working around the clock in the wake of the storm.”

U.S. Rep. Chuck Edwards, who represents North Carolina’s 11th District, said FEMA has shipped 6 million liters of water and 4 million individual meals to western North Carolina. FEMA has promised 120 truckloads a day of food and water with no specified end date, the Republican congressman said.

Officials say recovery will be long

The Biden administration has also opened an emergency program for uninsured North Carolinians to replace lost prescriptions and medical equipment.

Fitzsimmons, Weaverville’s mayor, said he’s concerned about the impact of the storm on mental health. “People are going for an extended period of time without power or water,” he said. “Their nerves are frayed.”

Richard Zenn, chief medical officer at North Carolina-based Vaya Health, said the recovery will be long.

“We’re now in the phase where we have to deal with the effects of this ongoing trauma we’ve all suffered,” Zenn said. “Connect with others. Don’t get too isolated. Eat. Sleep. Try to get back into a normal routine. Do whatever reduces stress for you.”

For me, that has always been hiking or running through these ancient mountains. But there are too many uprooted trees to safely do that now. Instead I take solace on my porch and give thanks that I still have a porch to sit on. It’s a near-perfect day in Appalachia. The sky is painfully blue. I listen for the songs of birds, but all I can hear are generators.

This story was produced by KFF Health News, Healthbeat’s national reporting partner.

Meet Healthbeat's new Atlanta reporter, inspired by power of health journalism

2024-10-17T14:23:24+00:00

Public health, explained: Sign up to receive Healthbeat’s free Atlanta newsletter here.

My introduction to health reporting came from a last-minute change — at least the way I understand it.

I was one of 10 high school summer interns at the San Diego Union-Tribune, my hometown newspaper. During the third week of the program, each of us was assigned to a full-time journalist; for a few days, we would help the reporters, and the reporters would show us what it’s like to produce stories.

Before the program coordinators announced with whom we would be paired, I managed a glance at a sheet with assignments. My name was next to the paper’s renowned investigative journalist. But, when the coordinators made the official announcements, I learned I would be helping one of the paper’s science and health reporters.

That reporter introduced me to ideas about how powerful science journalism can be. By taking complicated ideas and expressing them clearly, he said readers could have more control over their health. That concept captivated me. When I started college a couple months later, I wanted to be a science and health journalist.

Over the next four years, I did some reporting for my college newspaper’s science and technology desk and took classes with health journalists. But my perspective on what health journalism could accomplish changed. I learned more and more about systems that prevented people, often those from marginalized backgrounds, from living healthy lives. By itself, I found that information about personal health decisions often isn’t enough to change how people get sick and which groups are at high disease risks.

To address these disparities and deeply rooted health problems, it felt important to understand how they were caused. So I enrolled in an applied epidemiology Master of Public Health program right after college, as the COVID-19 pandemic took its unequal, inequitable toll on Americans.

I learned more about how and why people got sick and died prematurely, and I practiced using journalism to change them. A kind professor at the School of Journalism let me take her graduate reporting class, where I spent the semester reporting with refugee communities in Greensboro, North Carolina. They taught me how government systems could fail them, leading to worse health experiences for their families.

By the time I finished my master’s degree, I knew the type of journalist I wanted to be: one who combines the narratives of communities experiencing health problems with strong research to write compelling stories.

Mountain State Spotlight was the first place where I could consistently do this work. The newsroom — a West Virginia nonprofit news outlet — hired me to be its public health reporter in 2022. Over the next two years, I spent my days driving across West Virginia, interviewing people experiencing major health problems and researching how these issues could improve.

I learned how powerful groups, like large companies, could harm the health of their neighbors, employees, or consumers. I learned how government groups tasked with fixing these problems could take years before adequately addressing them, fail to do anything at all, or actively make things worse.

Now Healthbeat has hired me to do similar work in Atlanta. I’m thrilled and cautious about the opportunities that come with this job. I’ve seen firsthand what health journalism can do to help people live healthy, happier lives. But I also know reporters have platforms that can be abused, and some stories forsake the people they claim to serve.

My commitment to Atlanta is to do everything I can to report responsibly and honestly. That means always centering the people and communities experiencing public health problems when writing my stories, acknowledging the areas I have a lot to still learn about, and affirming Healthbeat’s mission to serve the public.

I hope you follow along with my co-workers and me as we go about our public health reporting. We have lots of stories to tell.

Allen Siegler is a reporter covering public health in Atlanta for Healthbeat. Contact Allen at asiegler@healthbeat.org.

I’ve lived through three BioLab fires in 20 years. I fear the impact.

2024-10-02T17:34:32+00:00

This story was originally published by Capital B Atlanta. Sign up for Capital B Atlanta’s weekly newsletter to follow similar stories. Sign up to receive Healthbeat’s free Atlanta newsletter here.

In the midst of an environmental PR disaster, BioLab is quickly becoming a household name in America for all the wrong reasons, but I and other Conyers residents have long been familiar with the environmental hazards at the company.

I’ve lived in Conyers for nearly 20 years, and for the past eight I’ve known of turmoil at BioLab, the KIK Consumer Products facility that opened here in 1973 to house production and storage space for pool and spa water treatment chemicals.

This past Sunday, our majority-Black town located approximately 30 miles east of Atlanta was shaken when the facility’s sprinkler system malfunctioned around 5 a.m. Sunday, causing a disastrous chemical fire. More than 17,000 residents were ordered to evacuate their homes. An estimated 90,000 others in close proximity were instructed by the Georgia Emergency Management Agency and county officials to close windows, shut off air conditioning, and remain indoors.

Sadly, we have been here before. There have been at least three fires in the past two decades, varying in degrees of damage.

Smoke from BioLab fire, and questions about toxicity, linger over metro Atlanta

In 2004, when my family lived off Klondike Road, a plume of pool chemicals similar to the one that made national news this week poured from BioLab, causing residents to take shelter at J.H. House Elementary and my alma mater, Heritage High School. At the time, we lived just 5 miles from the facility, located off Old Covington Highway.

Back then, officials used excavators to knock down one of the walls in the warehouse and flood the area with water. The fallout of 12.5 million pounds of chlorine draining into nearby VFW Lake resulted in massive marine death, according to the Environmental Protection Agency.

Another incident occurred in 2016. A dozen pallets of dry chemicals were exposed to water, causing a small fire and a cloud of toxic smoke to waft from the industrial site. No national attention this time; just frustration amongst locals due to another environmental hazard caused by BioLab.

In September 2020, during the COVID-19 pandemic, a chlorine vapor release caused Interstate 20 to close for more than six hours, serving as another reminder of the dangers associated with the facility.

But this past Sunday was different. The black-and-orange plume escaping BioLab grew quickly and moved across the sky like an invasion. Next were the automated phone calls from Rockdale County urging residents to shelter in place or evacuate. Then came the emergency mobile alerts. It felt apocalyptic. As the situation escalated, our community wrestled with the uncertainty of what might come next.

Questions remain about health implications

Conyers holds a unique cultural significance, particularly in the burgeoning film production industry that is increasingly shaping the metro area. Our charming Olde Town District has served as a backdrop for television series like The Vampire Diaries, while our historic courthouse hosted Michael B. Jordan during the filming of Just Mercy.

Stranger Things, produced right here, has brought a supernatural energy to our community. Ozark brought a drug mule. Yet, for the nearly 95,000 residents of Rockdale County, this thriving, growing suburb nestled in the forest of Atlanta’s shadow is home.

Friday nights come alive with decades-old high school football rivalries like Heritage versus Rockdale County High. Weekends are spent enjoying shopping along Georgia Highway 138. The serene nature trails of Costley Mill Park and South Rockdale Community Park, carved by the powerful South River, offer beautiful escapes. Sundays are dedicated to reconnection and worship with friends, family, and neighbors at the many churches that line our streets.

These everyday experiences may seem trivial, but they’re sacred to life in our beloved C-Town.

Now, we have questions. What will happen to our lives here? Will there be long-term health or environmental implications? Will BioLab pose a bigger danger to our community? Those answers aren’t clear just yet.

Chlorine has been detected in the air in Rockdale County and as far away as Gwinnett County, but environmental officials are still assessing the extent of the exposure and whether any other chemical compounds were released from the facility.

An air quality survey conducted by the EPA and the Georgia Environmental Protection Division identified chlorine as a harmful irritant emanating from the BioLab site.

Additionally, bromine — known for its bleach-like odor that is used as a chlorine alternative in pool and spa treatments — was detected, albeit at lower levels. This chemical can also be toxic to those exposed.

Officials must prioritize transparency

The closure of roads and the complete shutdown of I-20 across our county forced many to remain in place, including my family members and me. We live just a few miles outside the Rockdale County evacuation zone that extended three highway exits, so thankfully we didn’t have to leave home. For residents in the low-income, predominantly Black and brown communities north of I-20 near Sigman Road, the prospect of evacuating without government support likely raised concerns, leading some to prioritize personal finances over health and safety.

On Tuesday, the shelter-in-place order that was lifted Monday night had been once again mandated by officials as weather conditions that morning caused the lingering plume to bank down and move throughout the county. We’re now being told by Rockdale County to remain indoors between the hours of 7 p.m. and 7 a.m. until Friday due to the possibility of worsening air quality after sundown.

The Georgia Emergency Management Agency issued a statewide public safety alert Monday afternoon on behalf of the state EPD, stating that the EPA was monitoring air quality for chlorine and related compounds.

“Chemical levels are unlikely to cause harm to most people,” the alert stated.

As we navigate these challenges, it’s essential to remember the strength and solidarity that define our community. While the memories of past incidents linger like the chemical haze that has draped Conyers since Sunday, the recent events serve as a stark reminder of our vulnerabilities and the urgent need for comprehensive safety measures.

Local officials must prioritize transparency and communication to ensure that residents feel safe and informed during these turbulent times. The events of this past weekend underscore the ongoing risks associated with hazardous materials in our midst, prompting calls for stricter regulations and accountability for facilities like BioLab. (Multiple class action lawsuits have been filed against the company this week, and more than 5,000 people have already signed a petition calling for its closure.)

From the A to Conyers, it’s vital for our community to come together, advocate for change, and support one another.

Stay safe.

Sydney Sims in the youth and education reporter for Capital B, a local-national nonprofit news organization that centers Black voices, audience needs and experiences, and partners with the communities it serves.

Meet Healthbeat’s Atlanta reporter: Coming back home, to Atlanta and public health

2024-08-16T16:25:03+00:00

Public health, explained: Sign up to receive Healthbeat’s free Atlanta newsletter here.

You can go home again, it turns out.

After graduating from Chamblee High School in 2000, I left Atlanta. My plan was to live a life doing exciting things far away from my hometown.

I managed to do that, eventually finding my way to health care work in rural India.

But as is so often the case, the farther away you go, the more you realize how much your home has shaped you.

My love for learning new languages and trying to understand other cultures — that was forged by my years in DeKalb County’s public schools.

My desire to help make the world a healthier and more equitable place was clearly shaped by growing up in the shadow of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

I wanted to learn others’ stories and try to write some of my own. Is there anything Southerners love more than a well-narrated tale, with lots of juicy details?

When I returned to Atlanta in 2017, I embraced the city.

I picked up a job in Atlanta emergency rooms. On my time off, I soaked in the local culture: comedy, live music, plays, and the symphony.

At work in the ER, I had a backstage pass to another Atlanta, the one where doctors and nurses and police officers and EMTs and anxious parents and people in pain strove to choreograph services to preserve life and health.

That real, complex emergency room dance is an unfiltered view of people from every background struggling with serious challenges. It could be upsetting, but it was also inspiring and highly educational.

When the Covid-19 pandemic hit, I decided it was time to take what I’d learned and start writing. I have a unique perspective on how the health care system worked and didn’t. I was fortunate to find a home at Georgia Health News, which is now part of KFF Health News, Healthbeat’s national reporting partner.

I went on to report on health, government and more for other outlets, including Decaturish, the Atlanta Business Chronicle, and Capitol Beat News Service.

Almost five years later, it’s still thrilling to report on Atlanta. I hope to take everything I’ve learned about public health and tell interesting stories for Healthbeat. I’d like to help explain the public health system, highlight the people and organizations who are finding solutions, and ask tough questions about how the system works or doesn’t.

Most of all, I want to hear what other Atlantans think about our public health system. What’s working and what isn’t? What challenges do we face, and what do Atlantans hope for from their public health system? What stories aren’t being told?

My inbox is open for questions, story ideas and thoughts (RGrapevine@healthbeat.org) and you’ll see me out and about at community events.

I’m looking forward to meeting you.

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Meet Healthbeat’s NYC reporter: Covid was baptism by fire

Welcome to Healthbeat

Meet Healthbeat’s NYC reporter: Covid was baptism by fire

2024-07-29T20:23:47+00:00

Public health, explained: Sign up to receive Healthbeat’s free New York City newsletter here.

In early 2020, six months into my first full-time reporting job, Covid-19 tore across the United States. A journalist for the Hartford Courant in Connecticut, I was reassigned from state politics to public health. My world suddenly shifted from voters to ventilators.

Following that baptism-by-fire moment, I began to settle into the work of covering the pandemic as a local reporter. Over my years on the beat, I got to know doctors and researchers throughout the state as they struggled to understand a virus that changed at warp speed — and claimed patient after patient. As vaccines rolled out, I followed a fleet of nurses who went to the bedsides and kitchen tables of homebound residents, putting shots into arms. I memorialized residents who died, and wrote about the struggles of those who survived with lives irrevocably altered by long Covid.

I also covered the politicization of Covid-19 mitigation measures and the spread of misinformation. I reported on the successes of the state’s public health response, and the times at which it faltered and failed. And as a statewide crisis emerged in children’s mental health, I chronicled families’ desperate attempts to secure psychiatric care for their kids, only to encounter long waitlists and overwhelmed ERs. Above all, I tried to capture an unprecedented era — and help readers navigate it.

Four years into the pandemic, I’ve found my way back to my hometown to cover public health as Healthbeat’s first New York City reporter. Covid-19 remains with us, and much of what I learned as a reporter during those early years has stayed with me, too.

At Healthbeat, I aim to center the experiences of frontline health workers and those directly affected by public health issues. I intend to use all the tools at my disposal — interviews, research, data and public records — to help readers understand key topics in public health. And I hope to deliver vital accountability reporting on public health systems, which don’t have enough watchdogs — even in New York.

Before landing at Healthbeat, I covered national news as a fellow for The New York Times and worked as a freelancer in New York, investigating county jails for New York Focus and reporting on city news. I remain interested in the intersection of public health and criminal justice issues, as well as the opioid crisis, which I’ve reported on in Chicago and from a small corner of West Virginia.

Growing up in Brooklyn, I’ve seen firsthand the immediate devastation — and enduring public health ramifications — of many of New York’s greatest catastrophes, from 9/11 and Hurricane Sandy to Covid-19. The city is still grappling with the long tails of those crises as it prepares for the disasters of the future.

We face a slew of other pressing public health issues as well, from infectious disease outbreaks and environmental hazards in our air, water, and homes, to gun violence and the worsening effects of climate change. I’m keen to dive into those issues, and more, in communities across the city.

I’m eager to hear what you think I should cover, or anything that deserves a closer look. If you’d like to send a comment or question my way — or just say hi! — please reach out: efawcett@healthbeat.org.

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