When Detention Becomes a Threat to Pregnancy: ICE’s Untracked Miscarriages

In the autumn of 2025 the Trump administration quietly pushed a surge of pregnant migrants into ICE’s detention facilities—more than any previous year, according to internal documents obtained by The Guardian. The numbers are stark, but the story that follows is even more unsettling.

ICE reported 18 miscarriages during the first nine months of the administration’s second term. Then, on 3 October 2025, the agency’s own records go dark. A change in its medical‑accounting system left the bureau without any miscarriage statistics for the next eleven months, a fact that senior officials only confirmed after a Freedom of Information Act request turned into a lawsuit.

Women who have spoken to reporters describe a nightmarish reality: limited access to prenatal check‑ups, delayed or denied emergency care, and, in many cases, no follow‑up after a loss. Anabell, a 35‑year‑old asylum seeker from Nicaragua, says she only learned she was pregnant after a routine ICE medical exam in Kentucky. A month later she began bleeding heavily, was taken to an emergency room, and was told she was no longer pregnant – with no ultrasound or further treatment offered.

Twenty‑one‑year‑old Laura was in her second trimester of a high‑risk pregnancy when she was transferred to a detention center in Texas. Now approaching her third trimester, she still reports persistent abdominal pain and bleeding, yet officials have refused her request to see an obstetrician‑gynecologist.

Angie, 26, discovered her pregnancy weeks after being booked at a California facility. Shortly after, she woke to a flood of brown fluid and was told by medical staff that the miscarriage was “not her fault,” but received no medical explanation or care.

Obstetrician‑gynecologist Deborah Ottenheimer of Physicians for Human Rights warns that a miscarriage without proper monitoring can lead to infection and other life‑threatening complications. “These women aren’t getting the prenatal visits they’re supposed to get. If they miscarry, the medical care is minimal to none,” she said.

Christina Davidson, chief medical officer of the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists, added that detaining pregnant people “poses serious medical and mental‑health risks for both the patient and the fetus,” and that lapses in care can turn treatable conditions into emergencies.

The Guardian’s FOIA request, filed with the help of the Reporters Committee for Freedom of the Press, eventually coaxed ICE into releasing data on pregnant, postpartum and nursing detainees from October 2024 through January 2026. The agency, however, only provided miscarriage figures up to early October 2025, citing the accounting system change as the reason for the gap.

When asked about the missing data, a Department of Homeland Security spokesperson first insisted the agency still tracked miscarriages monthly. After a brief back‑and‑forth, the spokesperson confirmed the internal memo: ICE simply does not have miscarriage numbers for the period from October 2025 to June 2026.

Senators have pressed for answers, but DHS has never officially acknowledged the loss of records. “It’s convenient,” says Faisal Al‑Juburi, co‑CEO of the Texas‑based non‑profit Raíces. “When you don’t track something of that magnitude, you don’t have to face the reality of what your policies have produced.”

For the women caught in this system, the lack of data is more than a bureaucratic oversight—it is a matter of health, dignity, and, in many cases, survival.