It might sound wild, but health care options in rural Virginia have gotten so terrible lately, my family crosses the state line to receive same-day treatment.
It was late Sunday night when I heard the words no parent wants to hear before the start of a busy week: “Mommy, my throat hurts, my head hurts, and I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
Hi, I’m Amie—a 32-year-old wife and mother from Southside Virginia who became an accidental advocate of accessible healthcare in 2023.
You’d think there’d be some comfort knowing his pediatrician’s office is literally within walking distance. Nope. I can count on one hand the amount of times over the past seven years we’ve been able to score a same-day appointment there—even settling for Telehealth (which, when you’ve got strep throat and require an in-person swab to get a prescription, is a sucky option).
We’ve generally stopped trying. We’ll still call first, just to see, but are no longer surprised when it’s a “no.” The next best option is to take him to an urgent care clinic—and so far, none in an hour’s radius of us in Virginia has had a same-day appointment, either. And that’s been the case for two years.
In November 2023, Colton felt so poorly, we knew he absolutely needed to be seen that day. With no local options, we drove to a newly opened urgent care in North Carolina about an hour away from home. There, the doctor diagnosed him with RSV and started an IV; she said if he didn’t respond well to that, he’d need to spend the night in the hospital.
Thankfully, the IV worked, and we left very, very thankful for their care, compassion, and service. We’ve been back twice since then—once for a double ear infection and another time for the flu. Why? Because despite calling around in Virginia each time, crossing the state line to receive medical care has become our only attainable option.
Accessing health care in rural Virginia has gotten worse over the years. I remember one of my big breaking stories as a new journalist was when the only hospital in Patrick County closed in 2017. Folks in the mountain community either had to drive to Martinsville (an hour from the farthest outskirts of the county) or cross the state line to Mount Airy, North Carolina, to receive emergency treatment. The ambulances followed the same route. It was a nightmare.
In November 2024, the only hospital in Danville abruptly announced on Facebook that its labor and delivery unit would be closed for the weekend. Diversion options didn’t exist within an hour of the facility—again, unless a patient crossed the state line into North Carolina. While two Danville doctors offered to help in urgent situations, the hospital made it clear that newborns would need to be transferred to a facility with pediatric care.
Unfortunately, rural hospitals remain at a critical crossroads. As my colleague Lucas Henkel noted in a June article, researchers recently stated that substantial cuts to Medicaid payments included in the Republican-backed One Big Beautiful Bill Act could cause more rural hospitals to lose money and struggle to stay open.
“Several of these facilities, like Southern Virginia Regional Medical Center and Rappahannock General Hospital, provide imaging services (like MRIs, ultrasounds, and 3D mammograms) that help prevent several types of cancer from spreading,” Lucas wrote. “Other facilities, like Carilion Tazewell Community Hospital, offer 24/7 hospital-based emergency psychiatric services for Virginians struggling with a mental health crisis.”
Without those services, patients don’t just travel farther—they miss appointments altogether, go without care, or fall into crisis without support. That’s not health care; that’s survival by ZIP code. And rural families deserve better than a health care system that’s vanishing around them.
Thankfully on Sunday, it was just a fluke. My kid took a nap and woke up feeling perfectly fine. But if it hadn’t been, our only viable option would’ve still been an hour away—and in another state.
