Science Daily

If you needed another reason to pour a morning cup, scientists in Texas may have just handed you one. A team at the Texas A&M Health Institute of Biosciences and Technology is exploring whether caffeine – yes, the same stuff in your latte – can help control cancer-fighting gene therapies.

The idea comes from chemogenetics, a strategy that lets researchers steer cell behavior using specific chemical signals. Instead of a drug hitting every tissue in the body, this method only works in cells that have been programmed to respond. And few people have pushed that concept further than Yubin Zhou, professor and director of the Center for Translational Cancer Research, whose work spans more than 180 scientific papers. His toolkit includes CRISPR, epigenetics, and a growing library of on-demand molecular switches.

Now he’s blending CRISPR with caffeine.

Zhou’s team engineered a system that activates gene editing when someone consumes roughly 20 mg of caffeine, an amount easily found in coffee, chocolate, or soda. Before anything happens, researchers load the cell with three components: a nanobody, its matching protein partner, and the CRISPR machinery. Once those pieces are in place, caffeine becomes the trigger. It prompts the nanobody and partner protein to bind, and that pairing flips CRISPR on, allowing targeted changes inside the cell.

The approach has an added twist. It can activate T cells, the immune system’s long-term memory keepers, in ways other gene-editing strategies can’t. Being able to turn T cells on intentionally could give doctors more control over immune-based treatments, including those aimed at cancer.

Just as important as the “on” switch, the team built a reliable “off” switch. Certain drugs can pry those paired proteins apart and stop further edits. That reversibility is a big deal for safety. If a patient becomes stressed, develops side effects, or needs a break from treatment, doctors could temporarily pause the activity and restart it later. As Zhou explained, “You can also engineer these antibody-like molecules to work with rapamycin-inducible systems, so by adding a different drug like rapamycin, you can achieve the opposite effect.” Rapamycin, a widely used and affordable immunosuppressant, already has decades of clinical familiarity behind it.

When a nanobody is designed to respond to caffeine, the team calls it a “caffebody,” and Zhou sees big possibilities. One long-term aim is to help people with diabetes boost insulin production simply by drinking coffee. Another is to guide cancer therapy by programming T cells so that caffeine tells them when, where, and how aggressively to attack tumors.

Early animal studies suggest the idea works. Caffeine and its metabolites, including theobromine from chocolate, can activate the system and allow CRISPR to edit targeted genes. Zhou says the setup is accessible, easier to manage, and may create fewer side effects than some existing options.

The timing is also unusually precise. Once caffeine enters the body, researchers have a window of only a few hours – the time it takes to metabolize – to direct gene editing or related cellular processes. Rapamycin can then be used to stop the activity. Not many tools allow that kind of coordinated start and stop control. “It’s quite modular,” Zhou said. “You can integrate it into CRISPR and chimeric antigen receptor T (CAR-T) cells... and this is fully tunable in a very precisely controlled manner.”

Zhou and his colleagues plan to continue preclinical studies and test new medical uses for the caffebody system. The appeal, he says, is the familiarity of the ingredients. “What excites us is the idea of repurposing well-known drugs and even commonly found food ingredients like caffeine to do entirely new tricks,” Zhou said. Instead of acting as treatments themselves, compounds like caffeine or rapamycin could one day work as control knobs for some of the most advanced therapies medicine has ever created.

If that future arrives, your morning coffee might do a lot more than wake you up. It could help turn diseases on and off like a switch.

Scientists are Harnessing Caffeine To Revolutionize Gene Editing For Cancer Treatment

USA Today

On a November afternoon so cold it could make a nail shiver, the old brick rowhome at 2212 Presstman Street wasn’t sitting empty anymore. Instead, it was buzzing with teenagers in work boots, swapping jokes while hanging drywall and checking an eco-friendly doorframe as if they owned the place.

In a way, they do. The house, once bought for a few thousand dollars after decades of vacancy, is the beating heart of Requity, a small Baltimore nonprofit that turns empty houses into real-life classrooms for students. They learn carpentry, electrical basics, project management, and, maybe most importantly, the feeling of seeing something broken become whole again.

The idea traces back to Michael Rosenband, a 54-year-old former Wall Street guy who moved to Baltimore in 2012 and ended up coaching sports at Carver High, the vocational school across the street. The school was so underfunded that he once had to figure out how to make football cleats double as baseball spikes. But the deeper issue gnawed at him. Students who were supposed to be learning trades weren’t actually doing anything. “Students... ‘weren’t involved,’” Rosenband said. When professionals came to work on the school building, the kids weren’t even there to watch.

The fix came from a student. Why not use Baltimore’s rows of vacant homes as the curriculum? Real skills, real work, and a neighborhood that needed the help. The first purchase became Carver House, and five years later, it’s nearly ready to sell to a community member.

Rosenband, whose career had once run through business school hallways, admitted he “just hadn't really had an appreciation for that kind of meaningful work.” But something clicked. The students’ energy pulled him in. “Where other people were getting turned off” by Baltimore’s struggles, he said, “it inspired me.”

Part of the urgency is practical. America needs skilled workers, and experts say millions more may be required over the next decade. Rosenband makes a simple case: college isn’t the only path, especially in a city that’s 60% Black, where only 42% of Black students in bachelor’s programs finish within five years and often leave with more debt than their white peers.

Programs like Requity offer something more grounded. They offer possibility. Keyry Pichinte, a senior accepted to several colleges, said being in the program is “like opening my eyes,” letting her watch a project take shape start to finish. She hopes to become a landscape architect.

Rosenband fixes on the outcomes. A few years after graduation, some Baltimore vocational students were earning about $13,000. Requity’s 67 participants so far are averaging around $49,000, largely because they show up to job interviews with on-site experience and actual portfolios.

For senior Nick Johnson, the confidence is as important as the paycheck. “Somebody could ask me, you know, can you do this? ‘Yeah, of course. I can do everything’.”

In Baltimore, where poverty touches 20% of residents and an estimated 13,000 homes sit vacant, that kind of confidence can mean more than one repaired foundation. It can mean an entirely new direction. The city, led by Mayor Brandon Scott, is trying to regain its footing after decades of population loss and disinvestment.

Justin Bellamy, a recent Carver grad now in community college, said Requity helped him see both the creativity in construction and the history behind Baltimore’s housing challenges, including redlining. “I want to be a part of changing that history of Baltimore,” he said. His time in the program and his relationship with Rosenband helped a once-shy teenager step forward. “They really encouraged me... to take a lot more challenges that I wouldn't have done before socially.”

That growth is visible at home too. Justin’s father, Carl Bellamy, said watching his son find his voice has been “a humbling experience... but exciting at the same time, seeing that he's kind of coming into his own.”

The interest in programs like Requity extends across the country. Erin Izen of The Home Depot Foundation said groups like it “are doing innovative work to address both the 4.1 million construction skilled labor gap projected over the next decade and the rising cost of housing.” When there aren’t enough plumbers, electricians, or HVAC technicians, she said, timelines stall and prices climb.

There is a tension, though, in steering young men of color toward physically demanding jobs, especially when those jobs can be dangerous. Marc Morial, president of the National Urban League, put it plainly: if white business leaders say “you don't need a college degree,” people will question who they’re talking about. He pushes for “post-secondary success” of all kinds, with a focus on choice. “You need a career pathway that fits your interest and your skills.”

That vision fits Requity well. Rosenband sees his role as building scaffolding, not directing traffic. “I think people just need a sense of purpose and affirmation, like, you matter,” he said. And with the right support, “there’s no telling where they could go.”

For now, one long-neglected house in West Baltimore is getting a second life. The students rehabbing it are, too. And on a cold day when their breath clouds the air, the warmth comes from somewhere else entirely: the sound of young people deciding they can build something better.

How A Boarded-Up House Becomes a Classroom Full of Second Chances

At Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, a nurse assistant recently stopped by a patient’s room to collect lab samples and drop off toiletries. Nothing unusual, except the “assistant” wasn’t human. After flashing heart-shaped signals with its pixelated blue eyes to show the job was done, it summoned an elevator and quietly rolled away to tackle its next task.

That helper was Moxi, now working in roughly two dozen hospitals across the country.

“I don't have to go take my 10,000 steps down into the belly of the hospital to go find things and get it for my patient,” said Cedars-Sinai associate director Melanie Barone, describing how the robot saves valuable time.

The idea of robots in hospitals no longer feels like science fiction. As Barclays analyst Zornitsa Todorova put it at the World Economic Forum in Davos: “Robots are no longer so sci-fi.”

Moxi was developed by Diligent Robotics, which says the robot frees nurses and support staff from time-consuming backend tasks so they can stay with patients. The company told CBS News that 25 hospitals nationwide now use Moxi.

Cedars-Sinai brought in its first robot two years ago and now operates three of them. David Marshall, the hospital’s chief nursing executive, said the 900-bed facility relies on Moxi to move linens, retrieve medications, and deliver belongings. The response has been surprisingly emotional. “We had one patient that asked if Moxi could come back and tell her hello after her surgery,” he said.

The enthusiasm stretches well beyond Los Angeles. At Rochester Regional Health, vice president Casey Wilbert was an early adopter. His 528-bed hospital started with one robot in 2023 and now operates eight. The benefits, he said, are obvious: “One of the great things about the robots is you're not paying overtime … they don't take sick days.”

“This is the beginning of how we integrate robotics into health care,” he added.

Still, technology has limits. Marshall is clear about that. “Robots touch things and people touch people. They could never hold a patient’s hand or wipe their brow or help them brush their teeth.”

If Moxi shows where automation has already landed, the next wave looks far more human. Companies like Apptroknik are building humanoid robots designed to operate in the same spaces people do. CEO Jeff Cardenas says the design matters: “They have the same footprint as a person does. They can use the same tools. You don't have to change everything for the robot.”

Todorova of Barclays projects the humanoid robotics market may grow from about $2 billion today to $40 billion in a decade — or even $200 billion — with potential uses in defense, agriculture, manufacturing and health care.

Manufacturing expert Darrell West of Brown University thinks the shift will come faster than many expect. “Similar to how industrialization changed the world a hundred years ago, all these digital tools are going to have the same large-scale impact now.”

And the world’s richest person is trying to accelerate that timeline. Elon Musk says his electric car company Tesla is developing a humanoid robot called Optimus. He believes the machine could become a major source of labor. “By the end of this year, I think they will be doing more complex tasks,” he said, predicting public sales could begin next year.

Humanoid robots won’t just stock shelves or navigate warehouses. Some researchers envision them assisting surgeons. At UC San Diego, professor Michael Yip’s lab is developing surgical robots with increasing autonomy. “I think surgeon assistants are going to be there in 10 years,” he said, especially for lower-stakes procedures like soft tissue cutting.

In Cardenas’s case, the motivation is deeply personal. After watching his grandparents navigate dementia and later require round-the-clock care, he imagined a machine that could help older adults live with more dignity. “My dream was to build a robot … that would help them do all the things that they couldn’t do anymore so that they could age more gracefully.”

For now, Moxi may be the friendliest face in the hospital hallways. Staff wave. Children smile. Patients ask it to visit. It can’t hold a hand or offer comfort, but it’s already easing workloads and helping caregivers stay where they’re needed most.

A robot with heart eyes might not replace human touch — but it’s becoming a surprisingly welcome part of the care team.

A Hospital Robot With Heart Eyes Is Changing How Staff Work

In an automotive garage in Mineral, Virginia, a group of high school students has been quietly changing lives, one rebuilt car at a time.

Their teacher, Louisa County High School instructor Shane Robertson, doesn’t teach auto repair as an abstract exercise. His students work on real vehicles donated to Giving Words, a nonprofit that supports single mothers. When the cars are fixed, the students hand over the keys to families they’ve never met.

“These repairs are real,” Shane said. “This is somebody's real car and you're really making a change in the world, which is something that's kind of unique.”

Giving Words was founded in 2018 by Eddie Brown and his wife, shaped by their own experiences navigating parenthood without reliable transportation. “My wife and I were both single parents and struggled with transportation,” Eddie said. “So that's one reason why we created Giving Words.”

Since then, more than 60 single moms have received cars. But for one mother, the gift went far deeper than a way to get from point A to point B.

When Jessica Rader received the keys to a 2007 gold Prius, she broke down in tears. She soon realized the car represented something much larger: stability. Access. A chance to get her family back on track.

“People that didn't even know me cared enough to care about my kids because of giving words,” Jessica said. “I not only got a vehicle, I got back custody of a child because I was able to give rides to and from school, to and from football practice.”

Transportation is one of those invisible threads that holds daily life together. Without it, appointments are missed, jobs become impossible, and custody cases can hinge on basic logistics. With a single repaired Prius, Jessica suddenly had the ability to show up where she needed to be. It was enough to change a court decision and reunite her with her child.

“You never know what one act of kindness will do,” she said.

For Shane’s students, the lesson comes with grease, bolts and a sense of purpose. They repair brake lines and replace alternators, but they also get something harder to measure: the understanding that what they build has weight in someone else’s life.

And for the families on the receiving end, those keys open doors that had been shut for years.

These High Schoolers are Repairing Cars And Gifting Them To Single Moms In Need

They went looking for a signal in the soil. They found the Roman Empire.

Two metal detectorists searching grazing land in western Wales have uncovered a pair of Roman lead ingots dating back nearly 2,000 years. According to Amgueddfa Cymru, the pieces are the first of their kind ever found in the region.

Nick Yallope and Peter Nicolas made the discovery on land owned by farmer Geraint Jenkins in Ceredigion, a coastal area steeped in Celtic heritage. The pair had permission to search and dig.

They found the ingots about 45 centimetres underground, less than 1.8 metres apart.

Museum curator Carrie Canham said Ceredigion’s “rich mineral and ore deposits” were a major reason the Romans targeted the area for conquest. Lead mined there during the Roman era travelled widely across the empire, she said.

The ingots, sometimes called lead “pigs,” were used to make tools and weapons. Lettering stamped into the metal dates them to AD 87, placing them in the reign of Domitian, a ruler known for expanding Rome’s reach.

It is one thing to read about Roman industry. It is another to hold it.

“I feel incredibly proud to have uncovered something so rare and important to our local heritage. Unlocking a new chapter of our area's past, is incredibly exciting,” Yallope said in a museum news release.

Jenkins, who now farms the land organically, reflected on the contrast between past and present.

“It's remarkable to think that land we now farm organically once played a role in a much wider Roman landscape,” he said.

Ceredigion has long hinted at that wider story.

In 2005, archaeologists uncovered the remains of a Roman lead smelting site in a nearby peat bog. Historians believe local mines fed that operation, with the refined metal then shipped throughout Roman territories.

These newly found ingots add weight to that theory. Literally.

Lead pigs were typically cast in standardized shapes, making them easier to transport. From remote corners of Britain, they could travel by road and sea to construction sites, military outposts and workshops across the empire.

What makes this discovery stand out is location. While Roman artifacts have surfaced in Wales before, intact lead ingots from this period are rare in the region. The fact that two were found so close together suggests they may have been buried intentionally, lost in transit or stockpiled for collection.

For now, experts are still piecing together the details.

In Wales, metal detectorists must obtain landowner permission and report potential treasure to the country’s Portable Antiquities Scheme, which assesses finds and determines their significance and value.

The two ingots will eventually go on public display. Canham said they are set to feature in a new archaeology gallery opening in spring 2027 at Amgueddfa Ceredigion.

Wales has seen other headline-making discoveries in recent years. Between 2020 and 2022, metal detectorists unearthed a hoard of Bronze Age artifacts, including axes, spearheads, rings and a sword scabbard. The government declared that collection treasure in 2023.

Still, there is something especially tangible about lead.

It does not glitter like gold or flash like bronze. It is heavy, industrial, and practical. And yet, stamped with imperial lettering, it becomes a time capsule.

Nearly two millennia ago, someone in Roman Britain handled these same blocks of metal. They marked them, moved them, perhaps guarded them. Then they vanished into the Welsh earth.

Metal Detectorists Uncover Rare Roman-Era Lead Casting in Western Wales

ABC News

When you need a rescue team, sometimes it helps to have eyes in the sky.

This week in southwest Florida, that is exactly what an injured mother manatee and her calf got.

Officials say the pair were pulled from the Orange River near Fort Myers on Wednesday and transported to SeaWorld Orlando for rehabilitation.

Drone pilots hovered overhead, feeding rescuers a live aerial view and guiding a boat toward the struggling animals. Video shared by the Lee County Sheriff’s Office shows the boat making a wide circle around the two manatees, corralling them in what appears to be a large net.

The rescue was not delicate.

Half a dozen people heaved the thrashing animals onto the vessel, sliding the mother and calf up over the open stern and onto the slick deck. Adult manatees, often called sea cows, can grow up to 3 metres long and weigh as much as 544 kilograms. Even a calf carries serious heft.

At one point in the footage, at least one of the animals is offloaded in a sling at a nearby boat ramp. The sheriff’s marine unit and advanced technology support unit assisted in the effort, working alongside the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission.

Officials did not release details about how the mother was injured or the current condition of either animal.

Kelly Richmond, research communications director for the wildlife agency, said the manatees were transported to SeaWorld Orlando for care.

The mother and calf are not alone.

They are among at least six manatees rescued in Lee County since 19 February due to cold stress, boat strikes and malnutrition. Across Florida, at least 24 other manatees have been rescued this year. More than 20 rehabilitated animals have already been released back into the wild through the Manatee Rescue and Rehabilitation Partnership.

Earlier this month, another manatee looking for warmer water had to be pulled from a storm drain in Melbourne Beach.

Florida’s manatees, officially known as West Indian manatee, are no strangers to human intervention. The large, slow-moving marine mammals often seek out warm-water refuges during cold snaps, sometimes venturing into canals, marinas and drainage systems. Their size and gentle nature make them vulnerable to boats and changing environmental conditions.

This rescue, though, had a modern twist.

The drone footage shows just how coordinated wildlife operations have become. Pilots buzzed overhead, relaying the animals’ positions in real time as crews maneuvered below. From above, the manatees look almost small against the dark water. Up close, they are anything but.

As the boat circles tighten and the net comes in, the water churns. Then, in a matter of moments, the massive bodies are hauled aboard. It is messy, physical work. But it is also precise. A wrong move can injure the animals further.

For now, the focus shifts from river to rehabilitation tank.

At SeaWorld Orlando, veterinarians and marine specialists will assess the mother’s injuries and monitor the calf. Cold stress, one of the main reasons for recent rescues, can weaken manatees and make them susceptible to infection. Watercraft injuries, often caused by propellers, can leave deep scars.

The hope is always the same: stabilize, heal and release.

Florida’s rescue numbers reflect both the pressures manatees face and the network built to protect them. State agencies, local law enforcement and marine parks coordinate closely, sharing resources and manpower. Drones, slings and nets are all part of the toolkit.

Drone Drama: Mother Manatee And Calf Airlifted To Safety With Help From a Rescue Team

BetaKit

A healthtech company in the Yukon has launched a new artificial intelligence tool designed to help clinicians cut down on paperwork using simple voice commands.

The tool, called CoWork, was developed by Whitehorse-based startup PeerSupport.io. It functions as an autonomous AI browser that completes administrative tasks inside electronic medical records (EMRs) and other web systems after receiving spoken instructions from doctors or nurses.

Instead of navigating multiple tabs and forms, clinicians can tell CoWork to send referrals, renew prescriptions, finish clinical notes, or pull up patient charts. The system then carries out the steps automatically, navigating screens and filling out documentation, often in under 11 seconds, according to the company.

PeerSupport says administrative workload remains one of healthcare’s biggest challenges. The company estimates clinicians spend one to two hours working in EMRs for every hour spent with patients, with roughly 75 percent of burned-out physicians identifying these systems as a major contributor.

Unlike many healthcare technologies, CoWork does not require software integrations or APIs, allowing it to work across existing web-based health applications.

“Autonomous tooling is the only way to meaningfully reduce administrative burden at scale,” said PeerSupport founder and CEO Chirag Jadhwani in a statement.

The company says early pilots in Yukon clinics show clinicians saving an average of 10.5 hours per week.

Founded in 2020, PeerSupport operates out of Whitehorse, Vancouver, and Toronto and is backed by Panache Ventures and angel investors. CoWork builds on the company’s earlier AI platform, Spotlight, which Yukon Health has used since 2024 to help reduce referral wait times.

PeerSupport expects its technology to support more than one million patient files across five major healthcare providers in Canada and the United States by the end of 2026. Jadhwani recently wrote in Canadian Business that the company is on track to reach $5 million in annual revenue while expanding its Canadian team from six to 10 employees this year.

As AI tools increasingly enter healthcare settings, experts continue to stress responsible adoption. Jadhwani acknowledged that human oversight remains essential, writing that while AI can assist clinicians, every action must still be reviewed by a provider.

Alongside the launch, PeerSupport announced the North of 60 Scholarship, a $5,000 award supporting healthcare professionals connected to Canada’s northern territories.

“The North of 60 Scholarship is our commitment to easing that weight for those who serve northern communities,” Jadhwani said, noting that financial pressures also contribute to healthcare burnout.

Yukon Healthtech Company Launches AI Tool That Helps Doctors Finish Admin Work Fast by Voice

BBC News

Before Howard arrived, eight-year-old Piper’s world felt small. Crowded places overwhelmed her. Social situations often sent her running. Even short car journeys left her dysregulated and exhausted. Her mum, Laura, described life as “difficult, challenging and restrictive,” the kind of constant planning that squeezes the spontaneity out of family life.

Then came Howard.

The black labrador, trained through the Support Dogs charity in Sheffield, joined the family after a long matching process — fittingly, on Piper’s dad’s birthday. And from the moment he padded into their home, Laura said everything shifted. “Her world was a little bit smaller and a little less colourful, until Howard came along,” she said.

Howard works as Piper’s autism support dog, unbothered by noise, movement or unpredictable moments. “He’s not phased by any unusual sounds or noises or behaviour so we felt really confident with him around our children,” Laura said.

The change has been steady and unmistakable. Piper used to manage only 10 minutes in the car before becoming overwhelmed. Now, she can handle longer journeys and enjoys outings to the cinema, the shops and even birthday parties. School, once a daily struggle that required physical assistance from teachers, has become more manageable.

Laura said Howard’s presence reshaped the family’s day-to-day life. “We can't imagine life without Howard now. He’s part of the family and I know that Piper is safer when she's with Howard because she's more regulated.”

Piper feels it too. She says Howard notices when she’s distressed and responds the way a best friend does — with hugs, kisses and quiet comfort. “Having Howard means we can access a lot more things,” her mum said. “It’s easier, we have a bit more freedom and Piper’s more relaxed so she enjoys things a little more.”

The challenges of autism haven’t disappeared. “Those sudden decisions, those impulses are still there,” Laura said. But now, instead of spiralling, Piper turns to Howard. He anchors her. He gives her a way back to calm.

Piper just calls him “really, really special.” And for this family in Etwall, that special bond has opened up a wider, brighter world.

Support Dog Helps 8-Year-Old Girl Cope With Autism

Talker News

If there’s such a thing as a victimless crime, returning your library books 50 years late might be it. Especially when the fines get wiped out somewhere along the way.

That’s what happened with a pair of antique books written nearly 200 years ago, which finally made their way back to Leeds Central Library after vanishing in March 1976. They didn’t resurface in an attic or a long-forgotten box. Instead, they appeared in a charity shop in Beverley, East Yorkshire, where staff spotted the Leeds library stamp and realised they were holding something special.

The books, written in 1836 by pioneering geologist Rev William Buckland, are thick with intricate drawings of fossils and prehistoric creatures. They were created at a time when scientists were only just starting to decipher Earth’s ancient history. Buckland himself produced the first full scientific account of a fossilised dinosaur in 1824 and proved that North Yorkshire’s Kirkdale Cave had once been a prehistoric hyena den.

Leeds library staff were stunned to learn the long-lost volumes still existed.

“It was a huge surprise to find out that these beautiful books had somehow turned up in such an unlikely place after all these years,” librarian Sally Hughes said. “We’re delighted to have them back home at the library, even if they are half a century late. We’ll never know who it was who borrowed them and why, but it speaks volumes about how interesting and influential Rev Buckland’s observations were that enthusiasts were clearly still keen to read them more than a century after they were written.”

The mystery borrower avoided what could have been a jaw-dropping bill. Before fines were scrapped in 2019, many UK libraries charged about 20p to 25p per day for overdue books. At that rate, each volume would have racked up more than £3,500 over 50 years, or more than £7,000 combined. In practice, most councils capped fines at around £10 to £15 per item, which means the total would have topped out around £30.

Still, it’s hard to beat the satisfaction of returning a book five decades overdue and being welcomed without so much as a raised eyebrow.

“It’s astonishing that these books have turned up after so much time and we’re grateful to everyone involved in their safe return,” said Cllr Asghar Khan.

For now, the books are back where they belong, with experts giving them a careful once-over. Silence in the library — even the long-lost volumes have finally obeyed the rules.

Two Library Books Turn Up 50 Years Late — And No One Owes a Penny

It’s not every day you see a grown man in Indianapolis rocking a newborn to sleep with the kind of laser-focus usually reserved for bomb squads and first dates. But there was JaKobi Burton, gently patting his 1-month-old daughter on the back, making good on a promise he’d made long before she was born.

His commitment started months earlier, when he showed up to every prenatal appointment and signed himself up for classes with Dads to Doulas, a program from Dear Fathers that teaches Black dads-to-be how to support their partners physically, mentally and spiritually before and after childbirth.

Burton and his wife, Crystal Wilmot-Burton, went into the pregnancy knowing the risks. They were in their 40s, but the bigger concern was something they couldn’t control. Federal data shows Black women are almost 3.5 times more likely than white women to die around childbirth. The numbers are bleak enough that some dads, like Burton, say they feel a responsibility to learn everything they can.

“I want you to know that I was involved and that I was looking out for you from the very beginning, and I’m always going to be your biggest protector,” Burton told his daughter. “That’s what I did from the beginning of this experience, trying to learn as much as I could.”

The reasons behind the mortality gap range from racism in hospitals to unequal access to prenatal care. Two viral cellphone videos this year, including one in Indiana, showed staff dismissing the concerns of Black women in labor. The disparities show up starkly in federal data: in 2023, Black women suffered 50.3 deaths per 100,000 live births. The rate for white women was 14.5. Hispanic and Asian women faced 12.4 and 10.7.

Against those numbers, health advocates say one overlooked factor can make a difference: fathers. Programs around the country are starting to put resources directly into the hands of dads-to-be, hoping their presence can shift outcomes.

The National Healthy Start Association, created in 1998 to improve maternal and infant health, now has fatherhood practitioners at 116 sites. They offer everything from webinars to texting support and even cooking lessons. Kenneth Scarborough, who has worked as the group’s fatherhood and men’s health consultant for a decade, says attitudes are changing.

“There’s more research that is being done to be able to change those narratives, without a shadow of a doubt,” Scarborough said. The bigger problem, he added, is “still getting these institutions to understand the value of making sure that Dad is there and he is at the table.”

Doctors, advocates say, still tend to treat Black fathers like props at best and threats at worst. Dr. Ndidiamaka Amutah-Onukagha, founder of the Center of Black Maternal Health and Reproductive Justice at Tufts University, says she has heard “countless anecdotes” of dads being pushed to the sidelines during appointments, even though research connects engaged fathers to better outcomes.

She added that society still stereotypes Black fathers as “scary and rough,” a perception that seeps into exam rooms. Meanwhile, Black families are often told to find an OB-GYN who understands their experiences. Wilmot-Burton did exactly that.

“I thought maybe she would be more caring, be more willing to listen to my issues, which she was,” she said.

But Black doctors are still rare in obstetrics. Out of the country’s roughly 43,700 practicing OB-GYNs, only 7.5 percent are Black women and just 2.3 percent are Black men, according to 2023 data from the American Medical Association and Association of American Medical Colleges.

That scarcity puts pressure on programs that bring dads into the process. Deborah Frazier, the CEO of National Healthy Start, says medical organizations need to drop outdated assumptions about absentee fathers. “We have data and interviews with fathers, and those fathers have told us that they wanted to be there with their partners, and they wanted be present for their births,” she said.

Some of the push comes from families who experienced the worst outcomes. In 2017, Charles Johnson IV founded 4Kira4Moms after his wife, Kira, bled to death during a cesarean section at Cedars-Sinai in Los Angeles. Johnson later sued the hospital, saying she died because of a culture of racism. The group now trains fathers to stay calm but assertive in medical settings.

“What if you happen to be 6-foot-5 and 200-something pounds? If you speak up, what’s gonna happen?” said the group’s executive director, Gabrielle Albert. “Let’s role-play conversations. How do you push back against the doctor?”

That type of preparation is exactly what Burton found helpful. Two months before his daughter, Phoenix, arrived, he sat in a Dads to Doulas workshop holding a Black baby doll while facilitator Kyra Betts Patton walked the group through the research. She told them present fathers can help reduce the chances of premature births. She reminded them that the riskiest window for maternal mortality is 43 to 100 days after delivery, when no one is around as consistently as the partner.

Burton left those classes with a checklist of questions he brought to every appointment. “I pushed hard prior to the delivery to make sure that our birth plan was followed, even though it wasn’t completely. But she (Phoenix) still turned out great and was delivered successfully,” he said. He also took workshops through the Indiana Breastfeeding Coalition.

Wilmot-Burton says his involvement was a steadying force, especially when she felt sick or anxious. “I would encourage other Black women to make sure their partners are on board to attend some classes or read books,” she said, “and definitely go to as many appointments as they can.”

Back at home, Burton kept rocking his daughter as he talked about the months ahead. It turns out the promise he made wasn’t just for the pregnancy. It was for everything after.

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