More than half of the 410 hospitals in California have at least one building that likely wouldn’t be able to operate after a major earthquake hit their region, and with many institutions claiming they don’t have the money to meet a 2030 legal deadline for earthquake retrofits, the state is now granting relief to some while ramping up pressure on others to get the work done.

Gov. Gavin Newsom in September vetoed legislation championed by the California Hospital Association that would have allowed all hospitals to apply for an extension of the deadline for up to five years. Instead, the Democratic governor signed a more narrowly tailored bill that allows small, rural, or “distressed” hospitals to get an extension of up to three years.

“It’s an expensive thing and a complicated thing for hospitals — independent hospitals in particular,” said Elizabeth Mahler, an associate chief medical officer for Alameda Health System, which serves Northern California’s East Bay and is undertaking a $25 million retrofit of its hospital in Alameda, on an island beside Oakland.

The debate over how seismically safe California hospitals should be dates to the 1971 Sylmar quake near Los Angeles, which prompted a law requiring new hospitals to be built to withstand an earthquake and continue operating. In 1994, after the magnitude 6.7 Northridge quake killed at least 57 people, lawmakers required existing facilities to be upgraded.

The two laws have left California hospitals with two sets of standards to meet. The first — which originally had a deadline of 2008 but was pushed to 2020 — required hospital buildings to stay standing after an earthquake. About 20 facilities have yet to meet that requirement for at least one of their buildings, although some have received extensions from the state.

Many more — 674 buildings, spread across 251 licensed hospitals — do not meet the second set of standards, which require hospital facilities to remain functional in the event of a major earthquake. That work is supposed to be done by 2030.

“The importance of it is hard to argue with,” said Jonathan Stewart, a professor at UCLA’s Samueli School of Engineering, citing a 2023 earthquake in Turkey that damaged or destroyed multiple hospitals. “There were a number of hospitals that were intact but not usable. That’s better than a collapsed structure. But still not what you need at a time of emergency like that.”

The influential hospital industry has unsuccessfully lobbied lawmakers for years to extend the 2030 deadline, though the state has granted various extensions to specific facilities. Newsom’s signature on one of the three bills addressing the issue this year represents a partial victory for the industry.

Hospital administrators have long complained about the steep cost of seismic retrofits.

“While hospitals are working to meet these requirements, many will simply not make the 2030 deadline and be forced by state law to close,” wrote Carmela Coyle, president and CEO of the California Hospital Association, in a letter to Newsom before he vetoed the CHA bill. A 2019 Rand Corp. study paid for by the CHA pinned the price of meeting the 2030 standards at between $34 billion and $143 billion statewide.

Labor unions representing nurses and other medical workers, however, say the hospitals have had plenty of time to get their buildings into compliance, and that most have the money to do so.

“They’ve had 30 years to do this,” Cathy Kennedy, a nurse in Roseville and one of the presidents of the California Nurses Association, said in an interview prior to the governor’s action. “We are kicking the can down the road year after year, and unfortunately, lives are going to be lost.”

In his veto message on the CHA bill, Newsom wrote that a blanket five-year extension wasn’t justified, and that any extension “should be limited in scope, granted only on a case-by-case basis to hospitals with demonstrated need and a clear path to compliance, and in combination with strong accountability and enforcement mechanisms.”

He also vetoed a bill directed specifically at helping several hospitals operated by Providence, a Catholic hospital chain.

But he signed a third bill, which allows small, rural, and “critical access” hospitals, and some others, to apply for a three-year extension, and directs the Department of Health Care Access and Information to offer them “technical assistance” in meeting the deadline.

The state designates 37 hospitals as providing “critical access,” while 56 are considered “small,” meaning they have fewer than 50 beds, 59 are considered “rural,” and 32 are “district” hospitals, meaning they are funded by special government entities called “health care districts.” They can seek a three-year extension as long as they submit a seismic compliance plan and identify milestones for implementing it.

Debi Stebbins, executive director of the Alameda Health Care District, which owns the Alameda Hospital buildings, said small hospitals face a big challenge. Even though Alameda is very close to San Francisco and Oakland, the tunnels, bridges, and ferries that connect it to the mainland could easily be shut in an emergency, making the island’s hospital a lifeline.

“It’s an unfunded mandate,” Stebbins said of the state’s 2030 deadline.

The Rand study estimated the average cost of a retrofit at more than $92 million per building, but the amount could vary greatly depending on whether it’s a building that houses hospital beds.

Small and rural hospitals can get some aid from the state via grants financed by the California Electronic Cigarette Excise Tax, but HCAI spokesperson Andrew DiLuccia said it would yield just $2-3 million total annually. He added that the Small and Rural Hospital Relief Program has also received a one-time infusion of $50 million from a tax on health insurers to help with the seismic work.

Labor unions and critics of the extensions often point to the large profits that some hospitals reap: A California Health Care Foundation report published in August found that California’s hospitals made $3.2 billion in profit during the first quarter of 2024. The study notes that there “continues to be wide variation in financial performance among hospitals, with the bottom quartile showing a net income margin of -5%, compared to +13% for the top quartile.”

Stebbins has had to help her district figure out a plan.

After Newsom vetoed a bill in 2022 that would have granted an extension on the seismic retrofit deadline specifically for Alameda Hospital, the hospital system and its partner health care district used parcel tax money to help back a loan.

The cost to retrofit will be about $25 million, and the system is also investing millions more into other projects, such as a new skilled nursing facility. The construction work is set to be completed in 2027.

“No one wants things crashing in an earthquake or anything else, but at the same time, it’s a burden,” Mahler, the Alameda Health System associate chief medical officer, said. “How do we make sure that they get what they need to stay open?”

This article was produced by KFF Health News, which publishes California Healthline, an editorially independent service of the California Health Care Foundation. 

Each year, the Indian Health Service rejects tens of thousands of requests to fund outside care that it doesn’t provide, forcing patients to go without treatment or pay big medical bills themselves.

The IHS is supposed to provide free care to Native Americans, but it does so only at scattered clinics and hospitals the agency funds and then manages or turns over to tribes to operate. Many of those are in rural areas and offer limited services. They might not provide cancer treatment or pregnancy care, for example.

That’s where the agency’s Purchased/Referred Care program is supposed to come in.

But funding shortages, complex rules and administrative fumbles impede access to the program, my colleague Katheryn Houghton and I reported after speaking with patients, elected officials and people who work with the federal agency.

Native Americans qualify for the referred-care program if they live on tribal land — only 13 percent do — or within their tribe’s “delivery area,” which usually includes surrounding counties. Those who live in another delivery area are eligible in some cases.

Jonni Kroll, a member of the Little Shell Tribe of Chippewa Indians of Montana, doesn’t qualify, because she lives in Washington state, nearly 400 miles from her tribe’s headquarters.

Tying program eligibility to tribal lands, Kroll said, echoes old government policies meant to keep Indigenous people in one place, even if it means reduced access to jobs, education and health care.

“What do we do? Sell our homes, leave our families and our jobs?” she said.

What about eligible Native Americans? They aren’t guaranteed funding or timely help. Some of the IHS’s 170 units exhaust their annual pool of referred-care funding or reserve it for the most serious medical concerns.

In fiscal 2022, for example, the program denied or deferred nearly $552 million in spending for about 120,000 requests from eligible patients.

Connie Brushbreaker, a member of the Rosebud Sioux Tribe in South Dakota, has been denied or wait-listed for funding at least 14 times since 2018. In March, she received a letter saying her referred-care program is reserved for patients at imminent risk of dying. It doesn’t make sense to her that the agency refuses to pay for treatment that will be approved once a health problem becomes more serious and expensive.

Another obstacle is the estimated 34 percent of program staffing positions that are vacant.

Multiple patients told us that staff rarely pick up the phone or return messages, or that they share confusing information about eligibility and the application process.

Brendan White, an agency spokesperson, said improving the referred-care program is a top IHS goal. He said about 83 percent of the health units it manages have approved all eligible funding requests this year.

The agency is tackling staff shortages and recently improved how funding is prioritized, he said. The IHS is also studying whether it can afford to create statewide eligibility in the Dakotas.

But many advocates say the only way to improve the referred-care program is to fully fund it — or even better, fully fund the IHS so patients don’t need as much outside care in the first place.

This article is not available for syndication due to republishing restrictions. If you have questions about the availability of this or other content for republication, please contact [email protected].

When Republican vice presidential candidate JD Vance claimed Haitian immigrants had caused infectious-disease rates to “skyrocket” in Springfield, Ohio, local health commissioner Chris Cook checked the records.

They showed that in 2023, for example, there were four active tuberculosis cases in Clark County, which includes Springfield, up from three in 2022. HIV cases had risen, but sexually transmitted illnesses overall were decreasing.

“I wouldn’t call it skyrocketing,” said Cook, noting that there were 190 active cases in 2023 in all of Ohio. “You hear the rhetoric. But as a whole, reportable infectious diseases to the health department are decreasing.”

Tensions are running high in this industrial town of about 58,000 people. Bomb threats closed schools and public buildings after GOP presidential nominee Donald Trump falsely claimed that Haitian immigrants — who he alleged were there illegally — were stealing and eating household pets. City and county officials disputed the claims the former president levied during his Sept. 10 debate with Vice President Kamala Harris, his Democratic opponent.

Trump was amplifying comments made by Vance that — along with his claims about the immigration status of this population — were broadly panned as false. When asked during a CNN interview about the debunked pet-eating rumor, Vance, a U.S. senator from Ohio, acknowledged that the image he created was based not on facts but on “firsthand accounts from my constituents.” He said he was willing “to create” stories to focus attention on how immigration can overrun communities.

But Ohio Gov. Mike DeWine, also a Republican, has said immigrants have been an economic boon to Springfield. Many began arriving because businesses in the town, which had seen its population decrease, needed labor.

Largely lost in the political rancor is the way Springfield and the surrounding area responded to the influx of Haitian immigrants. Local health institutions tried to address the needs of this new population, which had lacked basic public health care such as immunization and often didn’t understand the U.S. health system.

The town is a microcosm of how immigration is reshaping communities throughout the United States. In the Springfield area, Catholic charities, other philanthropies, volunteers, and county agencies have banded together over the past three to four years to tackle the challenge and connect immigrants who have critical health needs with providers and care.

For instance, a community health center added Haitian Creole interpreters. The county health department opened a refugee health testing clinic to provide immunizations and basic health screenings, operating on such a shoestring budget that it’s open only two days a week.

And a coalition of groups to aid the Haitian community was created about two years ago to identify and respond to immigrant community needs. The group meets once a month with about 55 or 60 participants. On Sept. 18, about a week after Trump ramped up the furor at the debate, a record 138 participants joined in.

“We have all learned the necessity of collaboration,” said Casey Rollins, director of Springfield’s St. Vincent de Paul, a nonprofit Catholic social services organization that has become a lifeline for many of the town’s Haitian immigrants. “There’s a lot of medical need. Many of the people have high blood pressure, or they frequently have diabetes.”

Several factors have led Haitians to leave their Caribbean country for the United States, including a devastating earthquake in 2010, political unrest after the 2021 assassination of Haiti’s president, and ongoing gang violence. Even when health facilities in the country are open, it can be too treacherous for Haitians to travel for treatment.

“The gangs typically leave us alone, but it’s not a guarantee,” said Paul Glover, who helps oversee the St. Vincent’s Center for children with disabilities in Haiti. “We had a 3,000-square-foot clinic. It was destroyed. So was the X-ray machine. People have been putting off health care.”

An estimated 12,000 to 15,000 Haitian immigrants live in Clark County, officials said. About 700,000 Haitian immigrants lived in the United States in 2022, according to U.S. Census data.

Those who have settled in the Springfield area are generally in the country legally under a federal program that lets noncitizens temporarily enter and stay in the United States under certain circumstances, such as for urgent humanitarian reasons, according to city officials.

The influx of immigrants created a learning curve for hospitals and primary care providers in Springfield, as well as for the newcomers themselves. In Haiti, people often go directly to a hospital to receive care for all sorts of maladies, and county officials and advocacy groups said many of the immigrants were unfamiliar with the U.S. system of seeing primary care doctors first or making appointments for treatment.

Many sought care at Rocking Horse Community Health Center, a nonprofit, federally qualified health center that provides mental health, primary, and preventive care to people regardless of their insurance status or ability to pay. Federally qualified health centers serve medically underserved areas and populations.

The center treated 410 patients from Haiti in 2022, up more than 250% from 115 in 2021, according to Nettie Carter-Smith, the center’s director of community relations. Because the patients required interpreters, visits often stretched twice as long.

Rocking Horse hired patient navigators fluent in Haitian Creole, one of the two official languages of Haiti. Its roving purple bus provides on-site health screenings, vaccinations, and management of chronic conditions. And this school year, it’s operating a $2 million health clinic at Springfield High.

Many Haitians in Springfield have reported threats since Trump and Vance made their town a focus of the campaign. Community organizations were unable to identify any immigrants willing to be interviewed for this story.

Hospitals have also felt the impact. Mercy Health’s Springfield Regional Medical Center also saw a rapid influx of patients, spokesperson Jennifer Robinson said, with high utilization of emergency, primary care, and women’s health services.

This year, hospitals also have seen several readmissions for newborns struggling to thrive as some new mothers have trouble breastfeeding or getting supplemental formula, county officials said. One reason: New Haitian immigrants must wait six to eight weeks to get into a program that provides supplemental food for low-income pregnant, breastfeeding, or non-breastfeeding postpartum women, as well as for children and infants.

At Kettering Health Springfield, Haitian immigrants come to the emergency department for nonemergency care. Nurses are working on two related projects, one focusing on cultural awareness for staff and another exploring ways to improve communication with Haitian immigrants during discharge and in scheduling follow-up appointments.

Many of the immigrants are able to get health insurance. Haitian entrants generally qualify for Medicaid, the state-federal program for the low-income and disabled. For hospitals, that means lower reimbursement rates than with traditional insurance.

During 2023, 60,494 people in Clark County were enrolled in Medicaid, about 25% of whom were Black, according to state data. That’s up from 50,112 in 2017, when 17% of the enrollees were Black. That increase coincides with the rise of the Haitian population.

In September, DeWine pledged $2.5 million to help health centers and the county health department meet the Haitian and broader community’s needs. The Republican governor has pushed back on the recent national focus on the town, saying the spread of false rumors has been hurtful for the community.

Ken Gordon, a spokesperson for the Ohio Department of Health, acknowledged the difficulties Springfield’s health systems have faced and said the department is monitoring to avert potential outbreaks of measles, whooping cough, and even polio.

People diagnosed with HIV in the county increased from 142 residents in 2018 to 178 to 2022, according to state health department data. Cook, the Clark County health commissioner, said the data lags by about 1.5 years.

But Cook said, “as a whole, all reportable infections to the health department are not increasing.” Last year, he said, no one died of tuberculosis. “But 42 people died of covid.”

Healthbeat is a nonprofit newsroom covering public health published by Civic News Company and KFF Health News. Sign up for its newsletters here.

When Anna Nusslock showed up at her local hospital 15 weeks pregnant and in severe pain earlier this year, she said, a doctor delivered devastating news: The twins she and her husband had so desperately wanted were not viable. Further, her own health was in danger, and she needed an emergency abortion to prevent hemorrhaging and infection.

Providence St. Joseph Hospital, in the small Northern California coastal city of Eureka, refused to provide the care she required because doctors could detect fetal “heart tones,” Nusslock said at a news conference Monday. California Attorney General Rob Bonta filed a lawsuit against the Catholic hospital detailing Nusslock’s dangerous experience and alleging the hospital violated multiple state laws when it discharged Nusslock — with an offer of a bucket and towels — to go elsewhere for what he described as standard medical care.

Bonta also filed a motion for a preliminary injunction in Humboldt County Superior Court, asking that it require Providence to treat anyone with an emergency medical condition. “The need for immediate relief is about to intensify,” the motion said. That’s because Mad River Community Hospital, where Nusslock ultimately got care 12 miles up the road, is slated to close its birth center this month.

Providence will be the only hospital within about 85 miles to offer labor and delivery, according to a KFF Health News analysis. When care is more than an hour away, academic researchers typically define the area as a hospital desert.

“It begs the question, what happens next time someone in Anna’s situation shows up at Providence? There will be no Mad River for them to go to,” Bonta said at a news conference. “With a dire lack of services, even here in California, and an influx of patients from states with abortion bans, we need hospitals to follow the law.”

The case illustrates how even in California, where the right to an abortion is enshrined in state law, there’s a glaring loophole. Catholic hospitals, which restrict reproductive health care because they follow the church’s “Ethical and Religious Directives,” are aggressively expanding nationally by acquiring secular hospitals. In swaths of the country, including parts of Northern California, they are the only choice. At the same time, maternity wards are closing rapidly, leaving more patients to contend with religious directives instead of accepted medical standards.

California’s lawsuit also comes amid uncertainty that emerged after the Supreme Court in 2022 overturned the constitutional right to an abortion: whether federal law requires hospitals to provide abortions as emergency medical care even in states that have banned the procedure. The high court punted on the question this summer. The Biden administration reaffirmed its policy that the Emergency Medical Treatment and Labor Act requires hospitals to stabilize or treat any patient who shows up at an emergency room. Texas is suing the administration over the policy.

The issue is also playing out in the presidential election. During the Oct. 1 vice presidential debate, Democratic Minnesota Gov. Tim Walz noted a Georgia woman who died because a hospital delayed care. Sen. JD Vance (R-Ohio) answered, in part, by asking Walz if he wanted to force Catholic hospitals to perform abortions against their religious beliefs, saying that “Kamala Harris has supported suing Catholic nuns.”

With federal protections in limbo, Bonta said California must rely on its state laws to protect patients. Specifically, Bonta, who is widely expected to run for governor, alleges that Providence violated a California law mandating that hospitals provide care “necessary to relieve or eliminate the emergency medical condition.”

Nusslock’s case isn’t an isolated incident, the lawsuit said. “One to two women per year receive abortion care at Mad River, after being refused care at Providence Hospital,” the lawsuit said. “These individuals, like Anna Nusslock, had all been discharged from Providence Hospital with instructions to go somewhere else.” Bonta said his office is investigating how widespread cases are in California, where Catholic hospitals represent 15% of hospital beds.

In an Oct. 1 letter to employees that was obtained by KFF Health News, Providence Northern California Service Area Chief Executive Garry Olney said the hospital is “heartbroken” about Nusslock’s experience, which “did not meet our high standards for safe, quality, compassionate care.” He added the hospital is revisiting its training, education, and escalation processes to ensure it doesn’t happen again.

Providence spokesperson Bryan Kawasaki said its 51 hospitals abide by applicable federal and state laws, including EMTALA. Kawasaki declined to comment specifically on Nusslock’s case.

More women are running into barriers to obtaining care as Catholic health systems have gained market power, a KFF Health News investigation found. Four of the 10 largest hospital chains by number of beds are Catholic, according to federal data from the Agency for Healthcare Research and Quality.

Many Americans don’t have a choice — ambulances may take patients to a Catholic-run health system without giving them a say. Non-Catholic hospitals could be out of their insurance networks or too far to reach in an emergency. In the U.S, nearly 800,000 people have only Catholic or Catholic-affiliated birth hospitals within an hour’s drive, including pockets of Northern California.

Pregnant women who must drive farther to a delivery facility are at higher risk of harm to themselves or their fetus, research shows.

“It’s really concerning, especially in a state like California, where people expect to have comprehensive access to care,” said Debra Stulberg, a family medicine physician at the University of Chicago. “The growth of Catholic hospitals, especially in this post-Dobbs era, continues to constrain the quality of care people get.”

The directives guiding care at Catholic-based health systems are issued by the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops. They state that abortions are “intrinsically evil” and “never permitted.”

The document does offer this guidance as an exception: Treatments that could cure “a proportionately serious pathological condition of a pregnant woman are permitted when they cannot be safely postponed until the unborn child is viable, even if they will result in the death of the unborn child.”

“The church, I would say, helps Catholic hospitals to apply some of our deepest beliefs and moral principles to very, very complex situations,” said John Brehany, executive vice president of The National Catholic Bioethics Center, an ethics authority for Catholic health institutions. “And one of those beliefs is that you can never directly intend to end the life of a developing human being.”

Brehany wouldn’t comment on Nusslock’s case but gave the example that if a woman needed cancer treatment, the church would allow her to proceed with the treatment even if it “results in the death of an unborn child.” He added that some situations are “more debatable” than others.

As Catholic-based systems have consolidated and acquired more medical facilities, their care denials have been compounded by other hospitals closing their labor and delivery wards at alarming rates across the country. In California, 56 hospitals have shuttered their maternity wards in the past 12 years, according to an investigation by CalMatters. Nationwide, at least 267 hospitals closed labor and delivery units between 2011 and 2021, representing about 5% of the country’s hospitals, according to Chartis, a health analytics and consulting firm.

With each closure, patients could lose options for abortion care, contraceptives, tubal ligations, and gender-affirming care, said Mona Shah, senior policy and strategy director with Community Catalyst, a national health equity organization.

Nusslock’s 12-mile trip for care at Mad River cost her, according to the lawsuit and her public statement. She had passed an “apple-sized blood clot” and was hemorrhaging in “blinding pain,” she said, by the time she reached the operating room. In the lawsuit, Nusslock said her doctor told her later that her test results showed she most likely had an infection.

It’s a trip Bonta described as “patient dumping” and one Nusslock should never have made.

Seven months later, Nusslock said, she has trouble sleeping, recalling how Providence sent her away.

“I’ll never forget looking at my doctor, tears streaming down my face, my heart shattered into a million pieces, and just pleading with her, ‘Don’t let me die,’” she said.

KFF Health News data editor Holly K. Hacker contributed to this article.

This article was produced by KFF Health News, which publishes California Healthline, an editorially independent service of the California Health Care Foundation. 

Soon after the U.S. Supreme Court issued its Roe v. Wade abortion ruling in 1973, Laura Esserman used her high school graduation speech to urge her classmates to vote for the Equal Rights Amendment to expand women’s access to property, divorce, and abortion.

Five decades later, with 14 states banning abortion in almost all circumstances, the University of California-San Francisco breast cancer surgeon has once again taken up the fight for women’s reproductive rights. Since 2021, when Texas prohibited most abortions, she has boycotted the San Antonio Breast Cancer Symposium — a conference she had regularly attended, and frequently headlined, for 34 years.

“People are passing laws that are legislating what should be a medical decision,” she said. “And I am objecting in whatever way I can.”

Esserman and other physicians have urged their colleagues and medical societies to move all professional meetings out of states that criminalize abortion. Short of a move, they have called for boycotts of the events.

In November, Esserman expects 300 health providers and researchers to meet in San Francisco for an alternative breast cancer conference.

The effort to move annual conferences — which pump substantial revenue into local communities and attract many of the nation’s 1.1 million physicians and other medical professionals looking to network, satisfy continuing education requirements, and learn about the latest developments in their fields — has led to some notable relocations.

The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists moved its 2023 annual meeting and an estimated 4,000 participants from New Orleans to Maryland in response to Louisiana’s abortion ban. An estimated 3,600 health care professionals attended the American Association of Immunologists’ conference in Chicago this year, after the group moved the meeting from its planned Phoenix location in response to Arizona’s restrictive abortion law.

“In addition to causing great physical and psychological harm to patients,” the association said in a statement, abortion bans “threaten irreparable damage to the private and trusted relationship between medical professionals and their patients.”

Yet even doctors who agree about reproductive rights disagree about how to express dissent. Some argue it’s more important than ever to visit states where abortion has been outlawed, to learn about the issues surfacing because of the laws, and to help people organize against them.

“We cannot support penalizing communities that are already harmed by this legislation,” said obstetrician and gynecologist Jamila Perritt, president and CEO of Physicians for Reproductive Health. “As opposed to withdrawing support, what we’re calling for is actually flooding those folks with support.”

Physicians for Reproductive Health has been providing security for doctors targeted by anti-abortion activists, Perritt said, and training doctors to teach abortion care in abortion-restricting states and to testify to state legislatures about the need for abortion access.

“There is a lot to be gained by coming to these states, supporting us, seeing the reality, and bringing these conversations into your conference space so that you can better understand our reality, rather than just boycotting that state completely, which is not helpful,” said Bhavik Kumar, chief medical officer for Planned Parenthood of Greater Ohio and a medical director for Planned Parenthood Gulf Coast in Texas and Louisiana.

Since the Supreme Court’s 2022 decision to overturn Roe and eliminate a federal constitutional right to abortion, all but nine states and Washington, D.C., have imposed abortion restrictions, according to the Guttmacher Institute.

The San Antonio Breast Cancer Symposium continues to be held in Texas, where abortion is banned in almost all instances, and boycott calls do not appear to have slowed turnout. In fact, the number of in-person attendees increased from just under 8,000 in 2019 to 8,220 last year, organizers said.

Breast oncologist Virginia Kaklamani, a University of Texas Health Science Center-San Antonio professor of medicine who co-directs the San Antonio symposium, plans to stay in Texas. She doesn’t believe in boycotts, though she does share boycott proponents’ concerns. Despite exceptions, such as the American Association of Pro-Life Obstetricians and Gynecologists, doctors have by and large spoken against abortion restrictions.

“I think the way to handle it is to talk to our elected officials, to go out and vote. Moving meetings from one place to another is not going to help,” Kaklamani said. “You stay and you fight for your patients.”

Esserman recognizes that boycott calls have not had significant impact, but she feels compelled to keep applying pressure anyway.

She can’t help but think about a patient who recently came to her San Francisco practice nine weeks pregnant and with an aggressive breast cancer. If she were to continue the pregnancy, she would be ineligible for the most effective treatment. “Where I live, she has a choice,” Esserman said. In some states, she would have no choice but to carry the pregnancy to term.

Cary Gross, a Yale School of Medicine professor who co-authored a JAMA Internal Medicine opinion piece last year advocating boycotts, cited three arguments: expressing the profession’s values, acting as an ethical consumer, and protecting the health of attendees. Women physicians of childbearing age have voiced fears about traveling to anti-abortion states, especially while pregnant.

“The legislators passing these laws are probably not going to change their stance,” Gross said. “But for the general population, the more you can do to alert people, to remind people there’s another way, you have to make your voice heard.”

Still, Gross, Esserman, and others pushing for boycotts can point to no evidence that their efforts have changed hearts and minds, let alone laws.

Instead of moving the American Society of Hematology’s 2022 meeting out of New Orleans after Louisiana imposed a trigger law to ban abortion, Jane Winter, the society’s president at the time, met with Louisiana’s then-governor, John Bel Edwards, and told him about women whose survival might depend on getting an abortion. They talked about her 22-year-old patient who had Hodgkin lymphoma and learned she was pregnant just before a planned stem cell transplant.

“Gov. Edwards was visibly moved by our clinical cases and shared that lawmakers had not considered the impact of abortion restrictions on the care of our patients,” Winters wrote in a column for The Hematologist.

Last year, the hematologists held their meeting in San Diego, and they will meet again in California, which has no post-Roe abortion restrictions, in December.

In an email, Winter said her conversation with Edwards changed nothing concrete, as far as she knows. But she added, “I do believe that telling the stories of specific individuals – in my case, those of my patients – is one way to begin to change minds.”

This article was produced by KFF Health News, which publishes California Healthline, an editorially independent service of the California Health Care Foundation. 

Dave Lantz is no stranger to emergency department or doctor bills. With three kids in their teens and early 20s, “when someone gets sick or breaks an arm, all of a sudden you have thousand-dollar medical bills,” Lantz said.

The family’s health plan that he used to get as the assistant director of physical plant at Lycoming College, a small liberal arts school in central Pennsylvania, didn’t start to cover their costs until they had paid $5,600 in medical bills. The Lantzes were on the hook up to that annual threshold. The high-deductible plan wasn’t ideal for the family of five, but it was the only coverage option available to them.

Things are very different now. In mid-2022, the college ditched its group health plan and replaced it with a new type of plan — an individual coverage health reimbursement arrangement, or ICHRA.

Now Lantz gets a set amount from his employer every month that he puts toward a family plan on the individual insurance market. He opted for a zero-deductible plan with a richer level of coverage than the group plan. Though its $790 monthly premium is higher than the $411 he used to pay, he ends up saving money overall by not having to pay down that big deductible. Plus, he now has more control over his health spending.

“It’s nice to have the choice to balance the high deductible versus the higher premium,” Lantz said. Before, “it was tough to budget for that deductible.”

As health insurance costs continue to rise, employers are eyeing this type of health reimbursement arrangement to control their health care spending while still providing a benefit that workers value. Some consumer advocates are concerned the plans could result in skimpier, pricier coverage for certain consumers, especially sicker, older ones.

The plans allow employers to make tax-preferred contributions to employees to use to buy coverage on the individual market. Employers thus limit their financial exposure to rising health care costs. Everybody wins, say backers of the plans, which were established in 2019 as part of a group of proposals the Trump administration said would increase health insurance choice and competition.

“It’s a way to offer coverage to more diverse employee groups than ever before and set a budget that controls costs for the companies,” said Robin Paoli, executive director of the HRA Council, an advocacy group.

Some health insurance specialists say the plans aren’t necessarily a good option for consumers or the individual insurance market. Even though the rules prevent employers from offering this type of coverage to specific workers who may be sicker and more expensive to cover than others, employers with relatively unhealthy workforces may find the arrangements appealing. This, in turn, may drive up premiums in the individual market, according to an analysis by the University of Southern California-Brookings Schaeffer Initiative for Health Policy.

Plans sold on the individual market often have smaller provider networks and higher deductibles than employer-sponsored coverage. Premiums are often higher than for comparable group coverage. Workers, especially lower-wage ones, might be better off financially with premium tax credits and cost-sharing reductions to buy an Affordable Care Act marketplace plan, but using the work-based ICHRA benefit would disqualify them.

“From a worker perspective, the largest impact is that being offered affordable coverage by your employer makes you ineligible for marketplace subsidies,” said Matthew Fiedler, a senior fellow at the Brookings Institution who co-authored the analysis of the rule establishing the plans.

The plans are currently offered to only a tiny slice of workers: an estimated 500,000 of the roughly 165 million people with employer-sponsored coverage, according to the HRA Council. But interest is growing. The number of employers offering ICHRAs and an earlier type of plan, called qualified small-employer HRAs, increased 29% from 2023 to 2024, according to the council. And, although small employers have made up the bulk of adopters to date, larger employers with at least 50 workers are the fastest-growing cohort.

Individual market insurers like Oscar Health and Centene see opportunities to expand their footprint through the plans. Some venture capitalists are touting them as well.

“The [traditional group] health insurance cornerstone from 60 years ago has outlived its usefulness,” said Matt Miller, whose Headwater Ventures has invested in the ICHRA administrator Venteur. “The goal is to ensure people have coverage, detaching it from the employment construct and making it portable.”

Employers can offer this type of health reimbursement arrangement to some classes of employees and group plans to others based on characteristics such as geography, full-time vs. part-time status, or salaried vs. hourly pay.

Lycoming College wasn’t aiming to be on the cutting edge when it made this coverage switch. Faced with a 60% premium increase after some members had high claims, the school, which covers roughly 400 faculty and staff and their family members, needed to look at alternatives, said Kacy Hagan, its associate vice president for human resources and compliance.

In the end, they opted to offer ICHRA coverage to any employee who worked at least 30 hours a week.

In the first year of offering the new benefit, the college saved $1.4 million in health care costs over what they would have spent if they’d stayed with its group plan. Employees saved an average of $1,200 each in premiums.

“The finance folks really like it,” Hagan said. As for employees, “from a cost standpoint, people tend to be pretty happy with it, and people really like having a choice of plans,” she said. However, there have been issues with the plan’s administration. Some employees’ coverage was dropped and had to be reinstated, she said. Those problems have been largely resolved since they switched plan administrators this year.

This coverage arrangement can be complicated to manage. Instead of a company paying one group health plan premium, dozens of individual health insurers may need to be paid. And employees who’ve never shopped for a plan before need help figuring out what coverage works for them and signing up.

The complexity can be off-putting. This year, a number of companies that have tried this type of health reimbursement arrangement decided they’d rather go back to a group plan, said Tim Hebert, managing partner of Sage Benefit Advisors, based in Fort Collins, Colorado.

“They say, ‘Employees are all over the place in different plans, and they don’t feel like they’re being taken care of,’” Hebert said.

Vendors continue to crop up to help employers like Lycoming College and their workers manage their plans.

“If you just say, ‘Here’s $1,000,’ it’s extremely discombobulating and confusing,” said Jack Hooper, CEO of Take Command Health, which now administers the Lycoming ICHRA.

It’s unclear whether the plans will take off or remain a niche product.

“It’s a big disrupter, like 401(k)s,” said Mark Mixer, board chair of the HRA Council and CEO of HealthOne Alliance in Dalton, Georgia. Still, it’s not for everyone. “It’s simply another tool that employers should consider. When it fits, do it.”

Federal officials resolved more than a decade ago to crack down on whopping government overpayments to private Medicare Advantage health insurance plans, which were siphoning off billions of tax dollars every year.

But Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services officials have yet to demand any refunds — and over the years the private insurance plans have morphed into a politically potent juggernaut that has signed up more than 33 million seniors and is aggressively lobbying to stave off cuts.

Critics have watched with alarm as the industry has managed to deflate or deflect financial penalties and steadily gain clout in Washington through political contributions; television advertising, including a 2023 Super Bowl feature; and other activities, including mobilizing seniors. There’s also a revolving door, in which senior CMS personnel have cycled out of government to take jobs tied to the Medicare Advantage industry and then returned to the agency.

Sen. Chuck Grassley (R-Iowa) said Medicare Advantage fraud “is wasting taxpayer dollars to the tune of billions.”

“The question is, what’s CMS doing about it? The agency must tighten up its controls and work with the Justice Department to prosecute and recover improper payments,” Grassley said in a statement to KFF Health News. “Clearly that’s not happening, at least to the extent it should be.”

David Lipschutz, an attorney with the Center for Medicare Advocacy, a nonprofit public interest law firm, said policymakers have an unsettling history of yielding to industry pressure. “The health plans throw a temper tantrum and then CMS will back off,” he said.

Government spending on Medicare Advantage, which is dominated by big health insurance companies, is expected to hit $462 billion this year.

New details of the government’s failure to rein in Medicare Advantage overcharges are emerging from a Department of Justice civil fraud case filed in 2017 against UnitedHealth Group, the insurer with the most Medicare Advantage enrollees. The case is pending in Los Angeles. The DOJ has accused the giant insurer of cheating Medicare out of more than $2 billion by mining patient records to find additional diagnoses that added revenue while ignoring overcharges that might have reduced bills. The company denies the allegations and has filed a motion for summary judgment.

Records from the court case are surfacing as the Medicare Advantage industry ramps up spending on lobbying and public relations campaigns to counter mounting criticism.

While critics have argued for years that the health plans cost taxpayers too much, the industry also has come under fire more recently for allegedly scrimping on vital health care, even dumping hundreds of thousands of members whose health plans proved unprofitable.

“We recognize this is a critical moment for Medicare Advantage,” said Rebecca Buck, senior vice president of communications for the Better Medicare Alliance, which styles itself as “the leading voice for Medicare Advantage.”

Buck said initiatives aimed at slashing government payments may prompt health plans to cut vital services. “Seniors are saying loud and clear: They can’t afford policies that will make their health care more expensive,” she said. “We want to make sure Washington gets the message.”

AHIP, a trade group for health insurers, also has launched a “seven-figure” campaign to promote its view that Medicare Advantage provides “better care at a lower cost,” spokesperson Chris Bond said.

Revolving Door

CMS, the Baltimore-based agency that oversees Medicare, has long felt the sting of industry pressure to slow or otherwise stymie audits and other steps to reduce and recover overpayments. These issues often attract little public notice, even though they can put billions of tax dollars at risk.

In August, KFF Health News reported how CMS officials backed off a 2014 plan to discourage the health plans from overcharging amid an industry “uproar.” The rule would have required that insurers, when combing patients’ medical records to identify underpayments, also look for overcharges. Health plans have been paid billions of dollars through the data mining, known as “chart reviews,” according to the government.

The CMS press office declined to respond to written questions posed by KFF Health News. But in a statement, it called the agency a “good steward of taxpayer dollars” and said in part: “CMS will continue to ensure that the MA program offers robust and stable options for people with Medicare while strengthening payment accuracy so that taxpayer dollars are appropriately spent.”

Court records from the UnitedHealth case show that CMS efforts to tighten oversight stalled amid years of technical protests from the industry — such as arguing that audits to uncover overpayments were flawed and unfair.

In one case, Jeffrey Grant, a CMS official who had decamped for a job supporting Medicare Advantage plans, protested the audit formula to several of his former colleagues, according to a deposition he gave in 2018.

Grant has since returned to CMS and now is deputy director for operations at the agency’s Center for Consumer Information and Insurance Oversight. He declined to comment.

At least a dozen witnesses in the UnitedHealth case and a similar DOJ civil fraud case pending against Anthem are former ranking CMS officials who departed for jobs tied to the Medicare Advantage industry.

Marilyn Tavenner is one. She led the agency in 2014 when it backed off the overpayment regulation. She left in 2015 to head industry trade group AHIP, where she made more than $4.5 million during three years at the helm, according to Internal Revenue Service filings. Tavenner, who is a witness in the UnitedHealth case, had no comment.

And in October 2015, as CMS department chiefs were batting around ideas to crack down on billing abuses, including reinstating the 2014 regulation on data mining, the agency was led by Andy Slavitt, a former executive vice president of the Optum division of UnitedHealth Group. The DOJ fraud suit focuses on Optum’s data mining program.

In the legal proceedings, Slavitt is identified as a “key custodian regarding final decision making by CMS” on Medicare Advantage.

“I don’t have any awareness of that conversation,” Slavitt told KFF Health News in an email. Slavitt, who now helps run a health care venture capital firm, said that during his CMS tenure he “was recused from all matters related to UHG.”

‘Improper’ Payments

CMS officials first laid plans to curb escalating overpayments to the insurers more than a decade ago, according to documents filed in August in the UnitedHealth case.

In a January 2012 presentation, CMS officials estimated they had made $12.4 billion worth of “improper payments” to Medicare Advantage groups in 2009, mostly because the plans failed to document that patients had the conditions the government paid them to treat, according to the court documents.

As a remedy, CMS came up with an audit program that selected 30 plans annually, taking a sample of 201 patients from each. Medical coders checked to make sure patient files properly documented health conditions for which the plans had billed.

The 2011 audits found that five major Medicare Advantage chains failed to document from 12.3% to 25.8% of diagnoses, most commonly strokes, lung conditions, and heart disease.

UnitedHealth Group, which had the lowest rate of unconfirmed diagnoses, is the only company named in the CMS documents in the case file. The identities of the four other chains are blacked out in the audit records, which are marked as “privileged and confidential.”

In a May 2016 private briefing, CMS indicated that the health plans owed from $98 million to $163 million for 2011 depending on how the overpayment estimate was extrapolated, court records show.

But CMS still hasn’t collected any money. In a surprise action in late January 2023, CMS announced that it would settle for a fraction of the estimated overpayments and not impose major financial penalties until 2018 audits, which have yet to get underway. Exactly how much plans will end up paying back is unclear.

Richard Kronick, a former federal health policy researcher and a professor at the University of California-San Diego, said CMS has largely failed to rein in billions of dollars in Medicare Advantage overpayments.

“It is reasonable to think that pressure from the industry is part of the reason that CMS has not acted more aggressively,” Kronick said.

CMS records show that officials considered strengthening the audits in 2015, including by limiting health plans from conducting “home visits” to patients to capture new diagnosis codes. That didn’t happen, for reasons that aren’t clear from the filings.

In any case, audits for 2011 through 2015 “are not yet final and are subject to change,” CMS official Steven Ferraina stated in a July court affidavit.

“It’s galling to me that they haven’t recovered more than they have,” said Edward Baker, a whistleblower attorney who has studied the issue.

“The government needs to be more aggressive in oversight and enforcement of the industry,” he said.

Senior CMS official Cheri Rice recommended in the October 2015 email thread with key staff that CMS could devote more resources to supporting whistleblowers who report overbilling and fraud.

“We think the whistleblower activity could be as effective – or even more effective – than CMS audits in getting plans to do more to prevent and identify risk adjustment overpayments,” Rice wrote.

But the handful of cases that DOJ could realistically bring against insurers cannot substitute for CMS fiscal oversight, Baker said.

“Unfortunately, that makes it appear that fraud pays,” he said.

Spending Surge

In December, a bipartisan group of four U.S. senators, including Bill Cassidy (R-La.), wrote to CMS to voice their alarm about the overpayments and other problems. “It’s unclear why CMS hasn’t taken stronger action against overpayments, despite this being a longstanding issue,” Cassidy told KFF Health News by email.

In January, Sen. Elizabeth Warren (D-Mass.) and Rep. Pramila Jayapal (D-Wash.) called for CMS to crack down, including by restricting use of chart reviews and home visits, known as health risk assessments, to increase plan revenues.

Cassidy, a physician, said that “upcoding and abuses of chart review and health risk assessments are well-known problems CMS could address immediately.”

Advocates for Medicare Advantage plans, whose more than 33 million members comprise over half of people eligible for Medicare, worry that too much focus on payment issues could harm seniors. Their research shows most seniors are happy with the care they receive and that the plans typically cost them less out-of-pocket than traditional Medicare.

Buck, the spokesperson for the Better Medicare Alliance, said that as the annual open enrollment period starts in mid-October, seniors may see “fewer benefits and fewer plan choices.”

The group has ramped up total spending in recent years to keep that from happening, IRS filings show.

In 2022, the most recent year available, the Better Medicare Alliance reported expenses of $23.1 million, including more than $14 million on advertising and promotion, while in 2023, it paid for a Super Bowl ad featuring seniors in a bowling alley and left viewers with the message: Cutting Medicare Advantage was “nuts.”

Bruce Vladeck, who ran CMS’ predecessor agency from 1993 through 1997, said that when government officials first turned to Medicare managed care groups in the 1990s, they quickly saw health plans enlist members to help press their agenda.

“That is different from most other health care provider groups that lobby,” Vladeck said. “It’s a political weapon that Medicare Advantage plans have not been at all reluctant to use.”

The Better Medicare Alliance reported lobbying on 18 bills this year and last, according to OpenSecrets. Some are specific to Medicare Advantage, such as one requiring insurers to report more detailed data about treatments and services and another to expand the benefits they can offer, while others more broadly concern health care costs and services.

Proposed reforms aside, CMS appears to believe that getting rid of health plans that allegedly rip off Medicare could leave vulnerable seniors in the lurch.

Testifying on behalf of CMS in a May 2023 deposition in the UnitedHealth Group suit, former agency official Anne Hornsby said some seniors might not “find new providers easily.” Noting UnitedHealth Group is the single biggest Medicare Advantage contractor, she said CMS “is interested in protecting the continuity of care.”

There’s a new morning ritual in Pinedale, Wyoming, a town of about 2,000 nestled against the Wind River Mountains.

Friends and neighbors in the oil- and gas-rich community “take their morning coffee and pull up” to watch workers building the county’s first hospital, said Kari DeWitt, the project’s public relations director.

“I think it’s just gratitude,” DeWitt said.

Sublette County is the only one in Wyoming — where counties span thousands of square miles — without a hospital. The 10-bed, 40,000-square-foot hospital, with a similarly sized attached long-term care facility, is slated to open by the summer of 2025.

DeWitt, who also is executive director of the Sublette County Health Foundation, has an office at the town’s health clinic with a window view of the construction.

Pinedale’s residents have good reason to be excited. New full-service hospitals with inpatient beds are rare in rural America, where declining population has spurred decades of downsizing and closures. Yet, a few communities in Wyoming and others in Kansas and Georgia are defying the trend.

“To be honest with you, it even seems strange to me,” said Wyoming Hospital Association President Eric Boley. Small rural “hospitals are really struggling all across the country,” he said.

There is no official tally of new hospitals being built in rural America, but industry experts such as Boley said they’re rare. Typically, health-related construction projects in rural areas are for smaller urgent care centers or stand-alone emergency facilities or are replacements for old hospitals.

About half of rural hospitals lost money in the prior year, according to Chartis, a health analytics and consulting firm. And nearly 150 rural hospitals have closed or converted to smaller operations since 2010, according to data collected by the University of North Carolina’s Cecil G. Sheps Center for Health Services Research.

To stem the tide of closures, Congress created a new rural emergency hospital designation that allowed struggling hospitals to close their inpatient units and provide only outpatient and emergency services. Since January 2023, when the program took effect, 32 of the more than 1,700 eligible rural hospitals — from Georgia to New Mexico — have joined the program, according to data from the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services.

Tony Breitlow is health care studio director for EUA, which has extensive experience working for rural health care systems. Breitlow said his national architecture and engineering firm’s work expands, replaces, or revamps older buildings, many of which were constructed during the middle of the last century.

The work, Breitlow said, is part of health care “systems figuring out how to remain robust and viable.”

Freeman Health System, based in Joplin, Missouri, announced plans last year to build a new 50-bed hospital across the state line in Kansas. Paula Baker, Freeman’s president and chief executive, said the system is building for patients in the southeastern corner of the state who travel 45 minutes or more to its bigger Joplin facilities for care.

Freeman’s new hospital, with construction on the building expected to begin in the spring, will be less than 10 miles away from an older, 64-bed hospital that has existed for decades. Kansas is one of more than a dozen states with no “certificate of need” law that would require health providers to obtain approval from the state before offering new services or building or expanding facilities.

Baker also said Freeman plans to operate emergency services and a small 10-bed outpost in Fort Scott, Kansas, opening early next year in a corner of a hospital that closed in late 2018. Residents there “cried, they cheered, they hugged me,” Baker said, adding that the “level of appreciation and gratitude that they felt and they displayed was overwhelming to me.”

Michael Topchik, executive director of the Chartis Center for Rural Health, said regional health care systems in the Upper Midwest have been particularly active in competing for patients by, among other things, building new hospitals.

And while private corporate money can drive construction, many rural hospital projects tap government programs, especially those supported by the U.S. Department of Agriculture, Topchik said. That, he said, “surprises a lot of people.”

Since 2021, the USDA’s rural Community Facilities Programs have awarded $2.24 billion in loans and grants to 68 rural hospitals for work that was not related to an emergency or disaster, according to data analyzed by KFF Health News and confirmed by the agency. The federal program is funded through what is often known as the farm bill, which faces a September congressional renewal deadline.

Nearly all the projects are replacements or expansions and updates of older facilities.

The USDA confirmed that three new or planned Wyoming hospitals received federal funding. Hospital projects in Riverton and Saratoga received loans of $37.2 million and $18.3 million, respectively. Pinedale’s hospital received a $29.2 million loan from the agency.

Wyoming’s new construction is rare in a state where more than 80% of rural hospitals reported losses in the third quarter of 2023, according to Chartis. The state association’s Boley said he worries about several hospitals that have less than 10 days’ cash on hand “day and night.”

Pinedale’s project loan was approved after the community submitted a feasibility study to the USDA that included local clinics and a long-term care facility. “It’s pretty remote and right up in the mountains,” Boley said.

Pinedale’s DeWitt said the community was missing key services, such as blood transfusions, which are often necessary when there is a trauma like a car crash or if a pregnant woman faces severe complications. Local ambulances drove 94,000 miles last year, she said.

DeWitt began working to raise support for the new hospital after her own pregnancy-related trauma in 2014. She was bleeding heavily and arrived at the local health clinic believing it operated like a hospital.

“It was shocking to hear, ‘No, we’re not a hospital. We can’t do blood transfusions. We’re just going to have to pray you live for the next 45 minutes,’” DeWitt said.

DeWitt had to be airlifted to Idaho, where she delivered a few minutes after landing. When the hospital financing went on the ballot in 2020, DeWitt — fully recovered, with healthy grade-schoolers at home — began making five calls a night to rally support for a county tax increase to help fund the hospital.

“By improving health care, I think we improve everybody’s chances of survival. You know, it’s pretty basic,” DeWitt said.

One evening in May, nursing assistant Debra Ragoonanan’s vision blurred during her shift at a state-run Massachusetts veterans home. As her head spun, she said, she called her husband. He picked her up and drove her to the emergency room, where she was diagnosed with a brain aneurysm.

It was the latest in a drumbeat of health issues that she traces to the first months of 2020, when dozens of veterans died at the Soldiers’ Home in Holyoke, in one of the country’s deadliest covid-19 outbreaks at a long-term nursing facility. Ragoonanan has worked at the home for nearly 30 years. Now, she said, the sights, sounds, and smells there trigger her trauma. Among her ailments, she lists panic attacks, brain fog, and other symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, a condition linked to aneurysms and strokes.

Scrutiny of the outbreak prompted the state to change the facility’s name to the Massachusetts Veterans Home at Holyoke, replace its leadership, sponsor a $480 million renovation of the premises, and agree to a $56 million settlement for veterans and families. But the front-line caregivers have received little relief as they grapple with the outbreak’s toll.

“I am retraumatized all the time,” Ragoonanan said, sitting on her back porch before her evening shift. “How am I supposed to move forward?”

Covid killed more than 3,600 U.S. health care workers in the first year of the pandemic. It left many more with physical and mental illnesses — and a gutting sense of abandonment.

What workers experienced has been detailed in state investigations, surveys of nurses, and published studies. These found that many health care workers weren’t given masks in 2020. Many got covid and worked while sick. More than a dozen lawsuits filed on behalf of residents or workers at nursing facilities detail such experiences. And others allege that accommodations weren’t made for workers facing depression and PTSD triggered by their pandemic duties. Some of the lawsuits have been dismissed, and others are pending.

Health care workers and unions reported risky conditions to state and federal agencies. But the federal Occupational Safety and Health Administration had fewer inspectors in 2020 to investigate complaints than at any point in a half-century. It investigated only about 1 in 5 covid-related complaints that were filed officially, and just 4% of more than 16,000 informal reports made by phone or email.

Nursing assistants, health aides, and other lower-wage health care workers were particularly vulnerable during outbreaks, and many remain burdened now. About 80% of lower-wage workers who provide long-term care are women, and these workers are more likely to be immigrants, to be people of color, and to live in poverty than doctors or nurses.

Some of these factors increased a person’s covid risk. They also help explain why these workers had limited power to avoid or protest hazardous conditions, said Eric Frumin, formerly the safety and health director for the Strategic Organizing Center, a coalition of labor unions.

He also cited decreasing membership in unions, which negotiate for higher wages and safer workplaces. One-third of the U.S. labor force was unionized in the 1950s, but the level has fallen to 10% in recent years.

Like essential workers in meatpacking plants and warehouses, nursing assistants were at risk because of their status, Frumin said: “The powerlessness of workers in this country condemns them to be treated as disposable.”

In interviews, essential workers in various industries told KFF Health News they felt duped by a system that asked them to risk their lives in the nation’s moment of need but that now offers little assistance for harm incurred in the line of duty.

“The state doesn’t care. The justice system doesn’t care. Nobody cares,” Ragoonanan said. “All of us have to go right back to work where this started, so that’s a double whammy.”

‘A War Zone’

The plight of health care workers is a problem for the United States as the population ages and the threat of future pandemics looms. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy called their burnout “an urgent public health issue” leading to diminished care for patients. That’s on top of a predicted shortage of more than 3.2 million lower-wage health care workers by 2026, according to the Mercer consulting firm.

The veterans home in Holyoke illustrates how labor conditions can jeopardize the health of employees. The facility is not unique, but its situation has been vividly described in a state investigative report and in a report from a joint oversight committee of the Massachusetts Legislature.

The Soldiers’ Home made headlines in March 2020 when The Boston Globe got a tip about refrigerator trucks packed with the bodies of dead veterans outside the facility. About 80 residents died within a few months.

The state investigation placed blame on the home’s leadership, starting with Superintendent Bennett Walsh. “Mr. Walsh and his team created close to an optimal environment for the spread of COVID-19,” the report said. He resigned under pressure at the end of 2020.

Investigators said that “at least 80 staff members” tested positive for covid, citing “at least in part” the management’s “failure to provide and require the use of proper protective equipment,” even restricting the use of masks. They included a disciplinary letter sent to one nursing assistant who had donned a mask as he cared for a sick veteran overnight in March. “Your actions are disruptive, extremely inappropriate,” it said.

To avoid hiring more caretakers, the home’s leadership combined infected and uninfected veterans in the same unit, fueling the spread of the virus, the report found. It said veterans didn’t receive sufficient hydration or pain-relief drugs as they approached death, and it included testimonies from employees who described the situation as “total pandemonium,” “a nightmare,” and “a war zone.”

Because his wife was immunocompromised, Walsh didn’t enter the care units during this period, according to his lawyer’s statement in a deposition obtained by KFF Health News. “He never observed the merged unit,” it said.

In contrast, nursing assistants told KFF Health News that they worked overtime, even with covid, because they were afraid of being fired if they stayed home. “I kept telling my supervisor, ‘I am very, very sick,’” said Sophia Darkowaa, a nursing assistant who said she now suffers from PTSD and symptoms of long covid. “I had like four people die in my arms while I was sick.”

Nursing assistants recounted how overwhelmed and devasted they felt by the pace of death among veterans whom they had known for years — years of helping them dress, shave, and shower, and of listening to their memories of war.

“They were in pain. They were hollering. They were calling on God for help,” Ragoonanan said. “They were vomiting, their teeth showing. They’re pooping on themselves, pooping on your shoes.”

Nursing assistant Kwesi Ablordeppey said the veterans were like family to him. “One night I put five of them in body bags,” he said. “That will never leave my mind.”

Four years have passed, but he said he still has trouble sleeping and sometimes cries in his bedroom after work. “I wipe the tears away so that my kids don’t know.”

High Demands, Low Autonomy

A third of health care workers reported symptoms of PTSD related to the pandemic, according to surveys between January 2020 and May 2022 covering 24,000 workers worldwide. The disorder predisposes people to dementia and Alzheimer’s. It can lead to substance use and self-harm.

Since covid began, Laura van Dernoot Lipsky, director of the Trauma Stewardship Institute, has been inundated by emails from health care workers considering suicide. “More than I have ever received in my career,” she said. Their cries for help have not diminished, she said, because trauma often creeps up long after the acute emergency has quieted.

Another factor contributing to these workers’ trauma is “moral injury,” a term first applied to soldiers who experienced intense guilt after carrying out orders that betrayed their values. It became common among health care workers in the pandemic who weren’t given ample resources to provide care.

“Folks who don’t make as much money in health care deal with high job demands and low autonomy at work, both of which make their positions even more stressful,” said Rachel Hoopsick, a public health researcher at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. “They also have fewer resources to cope with that stress,” she added.

People in lower income brackets have less access to mental health treatment. And health care workers with less education and financial security are less able to take extended time off, to relocate for jobs elsewhere, or to shift careers to avoid retriggering their traumas.

Such memories can feel as intense as the original event. “If there’s not a change in circumstances, it can be really, really, really hard for the brain and nervous system to recalibrate,” van Dernoot Lipsky said. Rather than focusing on self-care alone, she pushes for policies to ensure adequate staffing at health facilities and accommodations for mental health issues.

In 2021, Massachusetts legislators acknowledged the plight of the Soldiers’ Home residents and staff in a joint committee report saying the events would “impact their well-being for many years.”

But only veterans have received compensation. “Their sacrifices for our freedom should never be forgotten or taken for granted,” the state’s veterans services director, Jon Santiago, said at an event announcing a memorial for veterans who died in the Soldiers’ Home outbreak. The state’s $56 million settlement followed a class-action lawsuit brought by about 80 veterans who were sickened by covid and a roughly equal number of families of veterans who died.

The state’s attorney general also brought criminal charges against Walsh and the home’s former medical director, David Clinton, in connection with their handling of the crisis. The two averted a trial and possible jail time this March by changing their not-guilty pleas, instead acknowledging that the facts of the case were sufficient to warrant a guilty finding.

An attorney representing Walsh and Clinton, Michael Jennings, declined to comment on queries from KFF Health News. He instead referred to legal proceedings in March, in which Jennings argued that “many nursing homes proved inadequate in the nascent days of the pandemic” and that “criminalizing blame will do nothing to prevent further tragedy.”

Nursing assistants sued the home’s leadership, too. The lawsuit alleged that, in addition to their symptoms of long covid, what the aides witnessed “left them emotionally traumatized, and they continue to suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder.”

The case was dismissed before trial, with courts ruling that the caretakers could have simply left their jobs. “Plaintiff could have resigned his employment at any time,” Judge Mark Mastroianni wrote, referring to Ablordeppey, the nursing assistants’ named representative in the case.

But the choice was never that simple, said Erica Brody, a lawyer who represented the nursing assistants. “What makes this so heartbreaking is that they couldn’t have quit, because they needed this job to provide for their families.”

‘Help Us To Retire’

Brody didn’t know of any cases in which staff at long-term nursing facilities successfully held their employers accountable for labor conditions in covid outbreaks that left them with mental and physical ailments. KFF Health News pored through lawsuits and called about a dozen lawyers but could not identify any such cases in which workers prevailed.

A Massachusetts chapter of the Service Employees International Union, SEIU Local 888, is looking outside the justice system for help. It has pushed for a bill — proposed last year by Judith García, a Democratic state representative — to allow workers at the state veterans home in Holyoke, along with its sister facility in Chelsea, to receive their retirement benefits five to 10 years earlier than usual. The bill’s fate will be decided in December.

Retirement benefits for Massachusetts state employees amount to 80% of a person’s salary. Workers qualify at different times, depending on the job. Police officers get theirs at age 55. Nursing assistants qualify once the sum of their time working at a government facility and their age comes to around 100 years. The state stalls the clock if these workers take off more than their allotted days for sickness or vacation.

Several nursing assistants at the Holyoke veterans home exceeded their allotments because of long-lasting covid symptoms, post-traumatic stress, and, in Ragoonanan’s case, a brain aneurysm. Even five years would make a difference, Ragoonanan said, because, at age 56, she fears her life is being shortened. “Help us to retire,” she said, staring at the slippers covering her swollen feet. “We have bad PTSD. We’re crying, contemplating suicide.”

I got my funeral dress out because the way everybody was dying, I knew I was going to die.

Debra Ragoonanan

Certain careers are linked with shorter life spans. Similarly, economists have shown that, on average, people with lower incomes in the United States die earlier than those with more. Nearly 60% of long-term care workers are among the bottom earners in the country, paid less than $30,000 — or about $15 per hour — in 2018, according to analyses by the Department of Health and Human Services and KFF, a health policy research, polling, and news organization that includes KFF Health News.

Fair pay was among the solutions listed in the surgeon general’s report on burnout. Another was “hazard compensation during public health emergencies.”

If employers offer disability benefits, that generally entails a pay cut. Nursing assistants at the Holyoke veterans home said it would halve their wages, a loss they couldn’t afford.

“Low-wage workers are in an impossible position, because they’re scraping by with their full salaries,” said John Magner, SEIU Local 888’s legal director.

Despite some public displays of gratitude for health care workers early in the pandemic, essential workers haven’t received the financial support given to veterans or to emergency personnel who risked their lives to save others in the aftermath of 9/11. Talk show host Jon Stewart, for example, has lobbied for this group for over a decade, successfully pushing Congress to compensate them for their sacrifices.

“People need to understand how high the stakes are,” van Dernoot Lipsky said. “It’s so important that society doesn’t put this on individual workers and then walk away.”

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Georgia is one of dozens of states that require health-care facilities to ask for permission to build or expand by obtaining “certificates of need.” Basically, state regulators get to decide whether a town needs a new hospital or long-term care center. If the need is deemed real, they’re granted a “CON.”

The intent of the decades-old system is to reduce duplicating medical services in an area, which, supporters argue, drives up health-care spending and reduces quality — an idea generally supported by the hospital industry, especially nonprofits.

But some researchers are skeptical.

“The evidence is pretty darn overwhelming that CON laws don’t achieve the initially stated goals of increasing access, lowering costs and improving quality,” said Matthew Mitchell, a senior research fellow at West Virginia University.

Some researchers argue the rules, which allow health-care organizations to file petitions to block competitors’ projects, are weaponized by powerful health-care interests to assert market dominance. That’s led a swath of states to roll them back in recent years.

In Georgia, lawmakers felt the need to put special exemptions in a certificate of need reform bill earlier this year to make sure the rules weren’t impediments to efforts to revive two recently closed hospitals.

The first exemption involves a shuttered hospital in rural Cuthbert, Ga. The carve-out could help an effort to reopen the facility as a “rural emergency hospital,” which means it would receive more federal money but offer only emergency and outpatient care.

“It’s much needed. People are hoping and praying we get it back,” said Brenda Clark, a local resident.

The second exemption concerns filling the gap left by the recently closed Atlanta Medical Center, one of the city’s two Level 1 trauma centers. That carve-out clears the way for a potential new hospital that would partner with Morehouse School of Medicine, one of the country’s few historically Black medical schools.

“You’ve got a community that is struggling to find care in the wake of the Atlanta Medical Center closure,” said Josh Berlin, CEO of rule of three, an Atlanta-based health-care consulting firm.

Elsewhere in the state, an effort to build a hospital in another rural county showed just how intense debates over CON rules can get, especially when politicians, the health-care industry and communities have conflicting priorities.

This drama involves the state’s powerful lieutenant governor and his wealthy father, who wants to build a hospital in their home county, which both feel is needed.

It calls to mind discussions over certificates of need in recent years in other Southern states, such as Tennessee, South Carolina and Florida, where hospital regulations were eased as lawmakers looked to stoke competition.

“This kind of a regulation is often there because powerful businesses want them,” Mitchell said, “not because they protect consumers.”

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