EL PASO, Texas _ It wasn't the rash covering Meliza's feet and legs that worried Dr. Jose Manuel de la Rosa. What concerned him were the deep bruises beneath. They were a sign she could be experiencing something far more serious than an allergic reaction.
Meliza's mom, Magdalena, told the doctor it started with one little bump. Then two. In no time, the 5-year-old's legs were swollen and red from the knees down.
De la Rosa noticed a bandage-covered cotton ball in the crook of Meliza's elbow, a remnant of having blood drawn. During their time at the Immigration and Customs Enforcement detention facility, Meliza had been sent to a hospital, Magdalena explained, cradling the child with her 5-foot frame. They had run tests, but she had no way to get the results. Through tears, she begged for help. "My daughter is my life," she told him in Spanish.
The doctor would see nearly a dozen patients that March evening at his makeshift clinic inside a warehouse near the El Paso airport. That week, similar ad hoc community clinics would treat hundreds of people, some with routine colds and viruses, others with upper-respiratory infections or gaping wounds. Like Meliza, all were migrants, mostly from Central America, a river of families arriving each day, many frightened and exhausted after days spent in government detention.
De la Rosa, an El Paso pediatrician, is one of dozens of doctors volunteering on the U.S.-Mexico border as the flow of migrants crossing without papers and asking for asylum climbs to a six-year high. Unlike previous waves of immigration, these are not single men from Mexico looking to blend in and find work. Most are families, fleeing gang violence, political instability or dire poverty.
President Donald Trump has declared a national emergency on the southern border to free up billions of dollars in funding to construct a wall as a means of stemming the tide of asylum seekers. Trump visited Calexico, Calif., on April 5 to tour a section of recently upgraded fencing, saying that keeping migrants out of the U.S. was the solution for overcrowded ports of entry.
But the federal government isn't covering the cost of the humanitarian crisis unfolding in border communities like El Paso.
In the absence of a coordinated federal response, nonprofit organizations across the 1,900-mile stretch have stepped in to provide food, shelter and medical care. Border cities like El Paso, San Diego and McAllen, Texas, are used to relying on local charities for some level of migrant care. But not in the massive numbers and sustained duration they're seeing now. As the months drag on, the work is taking a financial and emotional toll. Nonprofit operators are drawing on donations, financial reserves and the generosity of medical volunteers to meet demand. Some worry this "new normal" is simply not sustainable.
"The care we are providing we could never have foreseen, or imagined spending what we are spending," said Ana Melgoza, vice president of external affairs for San Ysidro Health, a community health system providing care for migrants crossing into San Diego. She said her clinic has spent nearly $250,000 on such care since November.
