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Finding mental health resources in a small town can be a challenge, and in a time when more people are isolated inside their homes, that support is more important than ever before.“I’m 28 years old. I deal with depression. I have bipolar disorder, I have epilepsy, I’m schizophrenic, and I have multiple personalities,” said Sam, a father who meets with a group from the Mental Health Center in Hagerstown each week to help him get his symptoms under control.Sam is one of several adults struggling with mental health disorders who come from all over a rural Maryland county to heal as a group.“We are kind of a beacon of light for others who need help,” said Tamara Warfield, the Adult Psychiatric Rehabilitation Program manager.That help is offering a support system in places where people are geographically isolated, making their symptoms even tougher to deal with.“It’s hard getting the help that you need when you have mental health issues,” said Sam. “If it wasn’t for this group, I wouldn’t be out in the community. I would be home, not doing anything.”Finding connection is not only key to helping these men and women overcome their mental health symptoms, but it’s also key to overcoming the stigma they face every day—a stigma that’s often harsher in rural communities.“We want to be treated like everybody else, not like we’re stupid or special,” said Sam. “We just want to be treated like a regular person—to go out and communicate with people, make friends with people.”“We help folks that have cancer or any type of physical disorder, so why shouldn’t we reach out to those who have a mental illness? It’s no different,” said Warfield.Health care workers in smaller communities already deal with fewer resources. But for mental health treatment, it’s even tougher. There is a shortage of mental health care workers in rural communities, fewer transportation options to get to services, and more widespread poverty.The U.S. Department of Health and Human Services said these factors combined contribute to the suicide rate being nearly twice as high in the most rural counties compared to urban areas.“If you don’t have those basic needs like housing food, and finances, you’re not going to be able to care for your mental health. You’re just trying to survive to get to the next day,” said Warfield.Warfield and her team at the Mental Health Center are doing everything they can to fight that statistic by providing transportation to services and doing telehealth visits during the pandemic. However, there's always the fear they won’t be enough.“I’ve seen so many folks come in who have hit rock bottom,” said Warfield. “They haven’t had services in so long their symptoms are taking over and they can barely function.”To those Warfield does see, her help is not just life-saving, it’s life-starting.“I never finished school because of my mental health issues, but right now I’m working on getting my GED, so that I can be a better person for my kids," Sam said. "And that’s one of my big goals is being a better person for my kids, for my family, and they’re helping me with that. They’re helping me be a better person."If you'd like resources to help improve your mental health, click HERE. 3216

First lady Melania Trump's plane was forced to return to Joint Base Andrews Wednesday after a "mechanical issue" that led to smoke in the cabin.According to the press pool traveling with Trump, about 10 minutes after the plane took off, reporters could see a thin haze of smoke and the smell of something burning. The plane landed safely.Reporters were brought wet towels and told to hold them over their faces if the smell became too strong. 450

FREMONT, Neb. (KMTV) — For two sisters, the pandemic has brought some joy. After being separated at an early age, they've reunited and they say it was all because of COVID-19."To find out how I got to find her was because it was the Lord’s blessing," said Doris Crippen.Doris may be the first person happy about getting COVID-19."No, I seen her once when she was a baby and I held her. And the rest of my life growing up I never thought I’d find her again," said Crippen.Doris and Bev Boro were two long-lost sisters and are now reunited at Methodist Fremont Health."Our search is over, we don't have to look anymore," said Crippen.Boro is a medication aide at the hospital, and when she recently saw a list of patient names, one caught her attention -- Crippen's. So she wrote a message on a dry erase board since Doris is hard of hearing."I went in with one of the whiteboards and I said to her, 'is your father Wendall Huffman?' She goes 'that's my daddy', and I pointed at myself and I go 'that's mine, too.'" said Boro.Crippen, who has since recovered from COVID-19, was in the hospital for a broken arm after a fall due to weakness caused by the virus."I looked at her and I looked at her some more after she asked me about being Wendall Huffman’s daughter... she has to be some kind of relation to me,” said Doris.Boro said she was nervous about breaking the news and for Crippen it was emotional."She said 'I am your sister, Bev.' And I literally stood up out of the chair and burst into tears. It's just a happy feeling. It's been 53 years since I've seen her when she was a baby,” said Crippen.Boro had researched her sister before, without luck, but now thanks to a global pandemic, they both feel their world is a little more complete."If it wasn't for that, I would have never found her. If it wasn't for that, I would have never ended up in the hospital with a broken arm,” said Crippen.Boro and Crippen both say they plan on having a big family reunion when they're able to and are looking forward to the future.Doris says she is feeling better from her broken arm and is anxious to visit Boro’s home and meet her children.This story originally reported by John Madden on 3NewsNow.com. 2208

Final moments carry a weight.“I know in my heart he knew I was with him, and that was when I had to make the decision to tell him it was ok to let go, recalled Laurie Beaudette of her final moments with her father.“It was because I loved my dad so much and I didn’t want him to suffer.”Beaudette’s father, Jim Mandeville, was a veteran who served during the Korean War. He had most recently been living at the Soldiers' Home in Holyoke in western Massachusetts."He was in the Soldiers' Home for over 16 years, made a lot of friends," Beaudette said.In April, she says her 83-year-old dad’s health quickly declined."The week before Easter, we were FaceTiming and he looked like a zombie, and he couldn’t respond to me," she recalled.On April 14, Jim Mandeville died after testing positive for COVID-19.“The cramped rooms, they had way too many beds,” she explained of her father’s living conditions. “Veterans roomed, they were definitely not social distanced.”The number of people at Soldiers' Home who have died from the virus stands at 76.“It was written up by 2010 by the VA for not having sufficient space between beds,” said Paul Barabani, who served as the facility’s superintendent from 2011 to 2016. “There wasn’t enough room to get by the bed, and the wall with a walker, wheelchairs were out of the question.”He says in 2012, he submitted a 6 million expansion and renovation plan to create more space, but the state never acted on it.“I often say, only if that they listened, if they had increased the staff, as well as renovating the building, the outcome may have been different," he said.Barabani is part of the Holyoke Soldiers' Home Coalition. The group is made up of former Soldiers' Home employees and family members of residents.The coalition is working is calling for better staffing, improved facilities, and other measures to make sure an outbreak doesn't happen again at the facility.In June, an independent investigation commissioned by the governor of Massachusetts said decisions made by the home’s leadership were “utterly baffling.”The report included a social worker’s quote, stating it “felt it was like moving the concentration camp—we [were] moving these unknowing veterans off to die.”The state’s secretary of veteran services subsequently resigned, and the home’s superintendent was fired.“What I would like to say to the state right now and to leaders and politicians is, make this right," said Cheryl Turgeon, whose father is living at the facility. "Make it right now, and don’t wait. There is no excuse for waiting, knowing what we do right now.”Gov. Charlie Baker released a plan in response to the report that includes million going towards infection control and a promise to add more staffing.Turgeon’s father is still inside Soldiers’ Home.“He’s going to be 90 in September, and I want to see him hit that milestone I want to see him make that 90th birthday," she said.Turgeon is part of the Holyoke Soldiers Home Coalition, and so is Cheryl Malandrinos.“My father-in-law was more than number 63, who died at the Soldier's Home," Malandrinos said.Malandrinos’ father-in-law served overseas and returned to spend decades as a public school teacher in western Massachusetts.She says in April his health declined over the course of a week.The Malandrinos family had to say the same goodbye tens of thousands of families have said nationwide. Many members of the family were not allowed inside the hospital and had to say goodbye through video chat.While the Holyoke Soldiers' Home Coalition and many others are pushing leaders to right the wrongs that lead to the outbreak to create a better future, for the families of the 76 lost lives, the mistakes, mismanagement, and this virus have left a forever mark.“For me, I’m the one who made the decision to put him in the Soldiers' Home. I’m the one who promised him he wouldn’t die alone. I have to live with that, and I have to get up every day and realize what I thought was a godsend for him, probably ended his life early,” Turgeon said. “And I could not fulfill the one promise that I made to him when I put him in there, because he did not want to go, so I have to deal with that every day.” 4198

FEEDING SAN DIEGO VOLUNTEER PROGRAMS MANAGER SAM DUKE HAS A PASSION FOR HELPING PEOPLE HELP OTHERS. HE'S BEEN HOOKED ON HELPING SINCE THE FIRST TIME HE VOLUNTEERED. — SAN DIEGO (KGTV) - An army of 14,000 volunteers help Feeding San Diego fight food insecurity across the county every year.One man makes sure that each and every person who volunteers their time is put to work in the most efficient way possible."My job is so amazing because I get to work with these amazing volunteers that come in," says Sam Duke, Feeding San Diego's Volunteer Program Coordinator. "I'm just so thankful they're giving their time to come help us end hunger. I can't thank them enough."Duke started as a volunteer in 2013. He was hooked from the first time he walked into the warehouse."It was cool, the energy that was here, the staff was so welcoming and supportive and made me feel right at home," he says.After that first experience, he started volunteering on a regular basis. Eventually he became a full time employee and worked his way up to his current position."I love setting up the project and I love engaging with the volunteers and hearing their stories and hearing about how they heard about us or came to us. I just love being able to connect with those volunteers," he says.Without the volunteers, Feeding San Diego wouldn't be able to help the 1 in 8 San Diegans who face food insecurity. The collective work they do amounts to an extra 22 full-time employees. "Volunteers are at the heart of what we do," says Sam.If you're interested in volunteering, go to the "Get Involved" section of feedingsandiego.org. 1617

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