Federal funding freeze keeps hardworking, legal KC refugees from health care, schools | Opinion

Several months ago, I had a last-minute add-on appointment, a third trimester pregnant patient with no other information. She was 18, a recent refugee to Kansas City, born in Rwanda but having spent the past 15 years of her life in refugee camps in neighboring countries. Her parents are educated and spent the entirety of that time trying to find legal pathways out of the refugee camps to build a better life for their three children. In the time between being accepted to come to the United States and actually leaving the camp, my patient was raped and it resulted in pregnancy.

She had been in the U.S. for about one month before seeing me. She was scared, having gone through immense amounts of trauma that I can hardly put into words. I still cannot wrap my mind around it, despite growing close to her over the past several months. With the help of Jewish Vocational Services, a local resettlement agency, she has gotten into school and plans on continuing after she gives birth. The joy on her face when you ask her about school is radiant and contagious. The room is filled with equal parts excitement and gratitude — hers for the opportunity to return to school, and mine for being able to meet a young woman who is so determined to contribute to society, to make a better life for her and her unborn child, for this woman who has chosen to share such joy with me.

My patients are determined, hardworking and compassionate. They are gracious and honest. They want to work and provide for their families. They can occasionally be stubborn in asking for help. They have traveled hundreds or thousands of miles in search of safety. As an obstetrician-gynecologist, my patients share about the most sensitive parts of who they are — past traumas, current fears, future hopes and dreams.

My heart is broken for the refugee, immigrant and migrant communities of Kansas City, as well as for the people who serve them. Della Lamb Community Services and Jewish Vocational Service do life-changing and lifesaving work. They sit with new arrivals to our country, people who have applied and been rigorously vetted and supported, and teach them how to integrate into our society. The resettlement agencies provide transportation, interpretation, job finding, temporary housing — all in the earliest and most vulnerable times of a new arrival’s life.

I have watched with my own eyes their case workers and community health workers improve maternal and newborn outcomes for us with their diligence in advocating for their clients, my patients.

A stop-work order issued by the U.S. government this week — delayed by a federal judge and hastily rescinded Wednesday — forced these groups to cease any federally-funded programs for refugees, including those who have already been legally accepted and relocated to Kansas City. As a health care provider, this means my patients no longer had access to case management, interpreting services, job placement and (heartbreakingly) school enrollment.

While I vow to continue to serve my patients without hesitation — as is my moral obligation — the structures that allow me to do so are crumbling.

I fear the language alone being used to describe good, productive members of our community is ultimately going to put their lives at risk. Patients are fearing going to hospitals, children are afraid to go to schools — and they should not be. Individuals of all backgrounds call Kansas City home, including people who have greatly enriched and improved my life personally. The kindness of Kansas City must shine forth in support of the parents working for their children, and in support of those serving our newest of neighbors.

This story was originally published January 29, 2025 at 12:20 PM.