Dr. Jonathan Tyes once struggled to imagine a future in medicine for himself. A first-generation college student and the oldest of 10 siblings, Tyes was raised by his grandparents in Cleveland. While studying biology at Morehouse College, he was a few credits from graduation when his grandmother died. Grief and financial hardship threatened to end both his education and his dream of becoming the first physician in his family.

Instead, he spent years rebuilding his path. He worked throughout school, served those in need as a community health worker, completed medical mission trips to Ghana, became aed pharmacy technician, and refused to abandon his goal of practicing medicine. Eventually, as a non-traditional student in his mid-thirties, he got into medical school.

Though his family faced homelessness, gun violence, and other tribulations throughout his education, he stayed the course. Financial support from our organization, National Medical Fellowships (NMF), helped him remain enrolled and continue his training. Now, Tyes is an anesthesiology resident at the University of Buffalo, while at the same time pursuing a master of public health degree at Harvard.

His story is a testament to perseverance—but it is also a warning. America cannot afford to lose future physicians like Tyes.

The health care workforce emergency that experts have warned about for years is no longer approaching—it is here. Over the next decade, the U.S. is projected to face a shortage of more than 700,000 health care professionals, including physicians,ed nurses, and licensed practical nurses. At the same time, countries such as Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Ireland, and the United Arab Emirates are actively recruiting U.S.-trained clinicians through streamlined licensing pathways, placing additional pressure on an already strained workforce.

The consequences are being felt in every community. Whether you live in a rural town in Alabama or a high-rise in Manhattan, chances are you have experienced the shortage firsthand. You may have waited months for a pediatric appointment, spent hours in an emergency department hallway with an aging parent, or postponed care for your own chronic condition because the next available appointment was too far in the future. Today, the average wait time to see a physician is 38 days—nearly three times what many experts consider medically appropriate.

Health care is built on people, yet the nation’s largest employment sector is buckling under the weight of burnout, mistrust, underinvestment, and the lingering effects of the COVID-19 pandemic. According to a recent Harris Poll, more than half of health care workers are considering leaving their jobs, with many planning to exit the profession altogether. Fewer than 17% of physicians are under the age of 40, while roughly one in five is over 60.

The math isn’t adding up. We are losing experienced professionals faster than we are preparing the next generation. We are asking more of those who remain while offering them fewer resources and less support. Nowhere is this failure more visible than in rural and medically underserved communities.

If we fail to address the root causes of this crisis—professional burnout, crushing educational debt, and declining reimbursement—we will not have a health care system capable of caring for our growing aging population, regardless of ZIP code or socioeconomic status.

Yet instead of reinforcing the foundation, we are pulling bricks from the bottom. Federal health spending is being slashed. Programs that support research, expand access for low-income families, and strengthen public health infrastructure are being dismantled. Recent federal spending changes—including the passing of H.R. 1—are projected to increase the number of uninsured Americans, squeeze already fragile health systems, raise health care costs, and force community health centers and hospitals to shutter. The impact extends beyond today’s workforce to tomorrow’s.

Changes to federal student lending that began in July 2026 will dramatically restrict access to financing for “professional” education. Medical students will face annual loan caps of $50,000, despite the fact that medical education costs exceed $286,000 at public institutions, on average, and approach $390,000 at private schools. Nursing students will face even tighter annual borrowing limits of $20,500, creating additional barriers to entering one of the nation’s most essential professions.

These policies risk pushing brilliant students away from medicine, nursing, and other health professions altogether. They will discourage careers in primary care and hollow out the very specialties communities need most.

And when we restrict who can afford to become a doctor or nurse, we ultimately restrict who gets cared for.

A health care workforce that reflects a broad range of socioeconomic backgrounds and lived experiences is better equipped to understand patients, build trust, and improve outcomes.

This moment demands collective action: We must reimagine pathways into health care careers, confront physician burnout head-on, and close the health and wealth gaps that weaken our system. We must prevent financial barriers from determining who has the opportunity to become a health care leader.

And most importantly, we must ensure that the next generation of health care professionals receives the financial, professional, and community support necessary to complete training and return to serve the communities that need them most.