Pennsylvania is rolling out its new "Pennie" this fall: a state-run insurance exchange that officials say will save residents collectively millions of dollars on next year's health plan premiums.
Since the Affordable Care Act's marketplaces opened for enrollment in fall 2013, Pennsylvania, like most states, has used the federal www.healthcare.gov website for people buying coverage on their own.
But in a move defying the usual political polarization, state lawmakers from both parties last year agreed the cost of using the federal marketplace had grown too high and the state could do it for much less. They set up the Pennsylvania insurance exchange (nicknamed "Pennie"), designed to pass on expected savings to policyholders. Although the final rates for 2021 are not yet set, insurers have requested about a 3% average drop in premiums.
Pennsylvania is one of six states shifting in the next several years from the federal insurance exchange to run their own online marketplaces, which determine eligibility, assist with enrollment and connect buyers with insurance companies. They will join 12 states and the District of Columbia with self-contained exchanges.
The transitions come amid mounting evidence that state marketplaces attract more consumers, especially young adults, and hold down prices better than the federal exchange. They've also been gaining appeal since the Trump administration has cut the enrollment period on healthcare.gov and slashed funds for advertising and helping consumers.
State policymakers say they can run their own exchanges more cheaply and efficiently, and can better respond to residents' and insurers' needs.
"It comes down to getting more bang for your buck," said Rachel Schwab, a researcher at Georgetown University's Center on Health Insurance Reforms in Washington, D.C.
The importance of state-run exchanges was highlighted this year as all but one of them held special enrollment periods to sign up hundreds of thousands of people hurt financially by COVID-caused economic turmoil. The federal exchange, run by the Trump administration, refused to do so, although anyone who has lost workplace insurance is able to buy coverage anytime on either the state or federal exchange.
Like Pennsylvania, New Jersey expects to have its state-run exchange operational for the start of open enrollment on Nov. 1.
In fall 2021, New Mexico plans to launch its own marketplace and Kentucky is scheduled to fully revive its state-run exchange, which was dismantled by its Republican governor in 2015. Maine has also announced it will move to set up its own exchange, possibly in fall 2021.
Nationwide, about 11 million people get coverage through the state and federal exchanges, with more than 80% receiving federal subsidies to lower their insurance costs.
"Almost across the board, states with their own exchanges have achieved higher enrollment rates than their federal peers, along with lower premiums and better consumer education and protection," according to a study published this month in the Journal of Health Politics, Policy and Law.
Controlling 'Their Own Destiny'
Since 2014, states using the federal marketplaces have had a rise in premiums of 87% while state exchanges saw 47% growth, the study found.
In one key metric, from 2016 to 2019 the number of young enrollees in state exchanges rose 11.5%, while states using the federal marketplace recorded an 11.3% drop, a study by the National Academy for State Health Policy found.
Attracting younger enrollees, who tend to be healthy, is vital to helping the marketplaces spread the insurance risk to help keep premiums down, experts say.
When the Affordable Care Act was debated, Republicans and some Democrats in Congress were cautious about a one-size-fits-all approach to insurance and accusations about a federal takeover of healthcare. So the law's advocates gave states more control over selling private health coverage. The law's framers included a provision that allowed states to use millions in federal dollars to launch their own insurance exchanges.
Initially, 49 states took the money. But in 2011, conservative groups convinced Republican-controlled states that forgoing state-run exchanges would help undermine Obamacare.
As a result, most GOP-controlled states defaulted to the federal marketplace.
In the ensuing years, several states that had started their own marketplaces, such as Oregon, Nevada and Hawaii, reverted to the federal exchange because of technological problems. Nevada relaunched its exchange last fall.
"States want to control their own destiny, and the instability of healthcare.gov in the Trump administration has frustrated states," said Joel Ario, managing director for the consulting firm Manatt Health Solutions and a former Obama administration official, who helped set up the exchanges. States running their own platform can use data to target enrollment efforts, he said.
An Effort to Hold Down Premium Increases
Marlene Caride, New Jersey commissioner of Banking and Insurance, said that "the beauty of [a state-based exchange] is we can tailor it to New Jersey residents and have the ability to help [them] when they are in dire need."
About 210,000 New Jersey residents enrolled in marketplace health plans for this year.
New Jersey has been spending $50 million a year in user fees for the federal exchange. After startup costs, the state estimates, it will cost about $7.6 million a year to run its own exchange enrollment platform and $7 million a year for a customer service center.
Open enrollment on the New Jersey exchange — called Get Covered NJ — will run from Nov. 1 to Jan. 31.
Kentucky officials said insurers there were paying $15 million a year in user fees for healthcare.gov, a cost passed on to policyholders. When the state switches to its own operation, it plans to collect $5 million in its first year to cover the startup costs to revive its Kynect exchange and another $1 million to $2 million in annual administrative costs. So insurers will pay lower fees and those savings will help cut premium costs, said Eric Friedlander, secretary of the Kentucky Cabinet for Health and Family Services.
States using the federal marketplace this year paid either a 2.5% or 3% surcharge to the federal government on premiums collected.
In Pennsylvania, where about 330,000 residents buy coverage through an exchange plan, those fees accounted for $90 million a year. State officials estimate they can run their own exchange for about $40 million and will use the savings for a reinsurance program that pays insurers to help cover the cost of extremely expensive healthcare needed by some customers. Removing those costs from the insurers' responsibility allows them to drop premiums by 5% to 10%, the state projects.
"When we talk about bringing something back to state control, that is a real narrative that can appeal to both sides of the aisle," said Jessica Altman, the state's insurance commissioner. "There is nothing political about making health insurance more affordable." (Altman is the daughter of Drew Altman, CEO of KFF. KHN is an editorially independent program of KFF.)
Without the savings from running its own exchange, Pennsylvania would not have been able to come up with the more than $40 million needed for the reinsurance program, state officials said.
In addition, Pennsylvania has extended its enrollment period to run an extra month, until Jan. 15 (federal marketplace enrollment ends Dec. 15). Pennie also plans to spend three to four times the $400,000 that the federal government allocated to the state for navigators to help with enrollment, said Zachary Sherman, who heads Pennie.
"We think increased outreach and marketing will bring in a healthier population and broaden enrollment," he said.
After terrorists slammed a plane into the Pentagon on 9/11, ambulances rushed scores of the injured to community hospitals, but only three of the patients were taken to specialized trauma wards. The reason: The hospitals and ambulances had no real-time information-sharing system.
Nineteen years later, there is still no national data network that enables the health system to respond effectively to disasters and disease outbreaks. Many doctors and nurses must fill out paper forms on COVID-19 cases and available beds and fax them to public health agencies, causing critical delays in care and hampering the effort to track and block the spread of the coronavirus.
“We need to be thinking long and hard about making improvements in the data-reporting system so the response to the next epidemic is a little less painful,” said Dr. Dan Hanfling, a vice president at In-Q-Tel, a nonprofit that helps the federal government solve technology problems in health care and other areas. “And there will be another one.”
There are signs the COVID-19 pandemic has created momentum to modernize the nation’s creaky, fragmented public health data system, in which nearly 3,000 local, state and federal health departments set their own reporting rules and vary greatly in their ability to send and receive data electronically.
Sutter Health and UC Davis Health, along with nearly 30 other provider organizations around the country, recently launched a collaborative effort to speed and improve the sharing of clinical data on individual COVID cases with public health departments.
But even that platform, which contains information about patients’ diagnoses and response to treatments, doesn’t yet include data on the availability of hospital beds, intensive care units or supplies needed for a seamless pandemic response.
The federal government spent nearly $40 billion over the past decade to equip hospitals and physicians’ offices with electronic health record systems for improving treatment of individual patients. But no comparable effort has emerged to build an effective system for quickly moving information on infectious disease from providers to public health agencies.
In March, Congress approved $500 million over 10 years to modernize the public health data infrastructure. But the amount falls far short of what’s needed to update data systems and train staff at local and state health departments, said Brian Dixon, director of public health informatics at the Regenstrief Institute in Indianapolis.
“The data are moving slower than the disease,” said Janet Hamilton, executive director of the Council of State and Territorial Epidemiologists. “We need a way to get that information electronically and seamlessly to public health agencies so we can do investigations, quarantine people and identify hot spots and risk groups in real time, not two weeks later.”
The impact of these data failures is felt around the country. The director of the California Department of Public Health, Dr. Sonia Angell, was forced out Aug. 9 after a malfunction in the state’s data system left out up to 300,000 COVID-19 test results, undercutting the accuracy of its case count.
Other advanced countries have done a better job of rapidly and accurately tracking COVID-19 cases and medical resources while doing contact tracing and quarantining those who test positive. In France, physicians’ offices report patient symptoms to a central agency every day. That’s an advantage of having a national health care system.
“If someone in France sneezes, they learn about it in Paris,” said Dr. Chris Lehmann, clinical informatics director at UT Southwestern Medical Center in Dallas.
Coronavirus cases reported to U.S. public health departments are often missing patients’ addresses and phone numbers, which are needed to trace their contacts, Hamilton said. Lab test results often lack information on patients’ races or ethnicities, which could help authorities understand demographic disparities in transmission and response to the virus.
Last month, the Trump administration abruptly ordered hospitals to report all COVID-19 data to a private vendor hired by the Department of Health and Human Services rather than to the long-established reporting system run by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. The administration said the switch would help the White House coronavirus task force better allocate scarce supplies.
The shift disrupted, at least temporarily, the flow of critical information needed to track COVID-19 outbreaks and allocate resources, public health officials said. They worried the move looked political in nature and could dampen public confidence in the accuracy of the data.
An HHS spokesperson said the transition had improved and sped up hospital reporting. Experts had various opinions on the matter but agreed that the new system doesn’t fix problems with the old CDC system that contributed to this country’s slow and ineffective response to COVID-19.
“While I think it’s an exceptionally bad idea to take the CDC out of it, the bottom line is the way CDC presented the data wasn’t all that useful,” said Dr. George Rutherford, a professor of epidemiology at the University of California-San Francisco.
The new HHS system lacks data from nursing homes, which is needed to ensure safe care for COVID patients after discharge from the hospital, said Dr. Lissy Hu, CEO of CarePort Health, which coordinates care between hospitals and post-acute facilities.
Some observers hope the pandemic will persuade the health care industry to push faster toward its goal of smoother data exchange through computer systems that can easily talk to one another — an objective that has met with only partial success after more than a decade of effort.
The case reporting system launched by Sutter Health and its partners sends clinical information from each coronavirus patient’s electronic health record to public health agencies in all 50 states. The Digital Bridge platform also allows the agencies for the first time to send helpful treatment information back to doctors and nurses. About 20 other health systems are preparing to join the 30 partners in the system, and major digital health record vendors like Epic and Allscripts have added the reporting capacity to their software.
Sutter hopes to get state and county officials to let the health system stop sending data manually, which would save its clinicians time they need for treating patients, said Dr. Steven Lane, Sutter’s clinical informatics director for interoperability.
The platform could be key in implementing COVID-19 vaccination around the country, said Dr. Andrew Wiesenthal, a managing director at Deloitte Consulting who spearheaded the development of Digital Bridge.
“You’d want a registry of everyone immunized, you’d want to hear if that person developed COVID anyway, then you’d want to know about subsequent symptoms,” he said. “You can only do that well if you have an effective data system for surveillance and reporting.”
The key is to get all the health care players — providers, insurers, EHR vendors and public health agencies — to collaborate and share data, rather than hoarding it for their own financial or organizational benefit, Wiesenthal said.
“One would hope we will use this crisis as an opportunity to fix a long-standing problem,” said John Auerbach, CEO of Trust for America’s Health. “But I worry this will follow the historical pattern of throwing a lot of money at a problem during a crisis, then cutting back after. There’s a tendency to think short term.”
During six weeks on life support at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago, Ramirez said, she had terrifying nightmares that she couldn’t distinguish from reality.
“Most of them involve me drowning,” she said. “I attribute that to me not being able to breathe, and struggling to breathe.”
On June 5, Ramirez, 28, became the first known COVID-19 patient in the U.S. to undergo a double lung transplant. She is strong enough now to begin sharing the story of her ordeal.
Mysterious Exposure
Before the pandemic, Ramirez worked as a paralegal for an immigration law firm in Chicago. She enjoyed walking her dogs and running 5K races.
Ramirez had been working from home since mid-March, hardly leaving the house, so she has no idea how she contracted the coronavirus. In late April, she started experiencing chronic spasms, diarrhea, loss of taste and smell, and a slight fever.
“I felt very fatigued,” Ramirez said. “I wasn’t able to walk long distances without falling over. And that’s when I decided to go into the emergency room.”
From the ER to a Ventilator
The staff at Northwestern checked her vitals and found her oxygen levels were extremely low. She was given 10 minutes to explain her situation over the phone to her mother in North Carolina and appoint her to make medical decisions on her behalf.
Ramirez knew she was about to be placed on a ventilator, but she didn’t understand exactly what that meant.
“In Spanish, the word ‘ventilator’ — ventilador — is ‘fan,’ so I thought, ‘Oh, they’re just gonna blow some air into me and I’ll be OK. Maybe have a three-day stay, and then I’ll be right out.’ So I wasn’t very worried,” Ramirez said.
In fact, she would spend the next six weeks heavily sedated on that ventilator and another machine — known as ECMO, or extracorporeal membrane oxygenation — pumping and oxygenating her blood outside of her body.
One theory about why Ramirez became so sick is that she has a neurological condition that is treated with steroids, drugs that can suppress the immune system.
By early June, Ramirez was at risk of further decline. She began showing signs that her kidneys and liver were starting to fail, with no improvement in her lung function. Her family was told she might not make it through the night, so her mother and sisters caught the first flight from North Carolina to Chicago to say goodbye.
When they arrived, the doctors told Ramirez’s mother, Nohemi Romero, that there was one last thing they could try.
Ramirez was a candidate for a double lung transplant, they said, although the procedure had never been done on a COVID patient in the U.S. Her mother agreed, and within 48 hours of being listed for transplant, a donor was found and the successful procedure was performed on June 5.
At a recent news conference held by Northwestern Memorial, Romero shared in Spanish that there were no words to describe the pain of not being by her daughter’s side as she struggled for her life.
She thanked God all went well, and for giving her the strength to make it through.
‘I Just Felt Like a Vegetable’
Dr. Ankit Bharat, Northwestern Medicine’s chief of thoracic surgery, performed the 10-hour procedure.
“Most patients are quite sick going into [a] lung transplant,” Bharat said in an interview in June. “But she was so sick. In fact, I can say without hesitation, the sickest patient I ever transplanted.”
Bharat said most COVID-19 patients will not be candidates for transplants because of their age and other health conditions that decrease the likelihood of success. And early research shows that up to half of COVID patients on ventilators survive the illness and are likely to recover on their own.
But for some, like Ramirez, Bharat said, a transplant can be a lifesaving option of last resort.
When Ramirez woke up after the operation, she was disoriented, could barely move her body and couldn’t speak.
“I just felt like a vegetable. It was frustrating, but at the time I didn’t have the cognitive ability to process what was going on,” Ramirez said.
She recalled being sad that her mother wasn’t with her in the hospital, not understanding that visitors weren’t allowed because of the pandemic.
Her family had sent photos to post by her hospital bed, and Ramirez said she couldn’t recognize anyone in the pictures.
“I was actually sort of upset about it, [thinking,] ‘Who are these strangers and why are their pictures in my room?’” Ramirez said. “It was weeks later, actually, that I took a second look and realized, ‘Hey, that’s my grandmother. That’s my mom and my siblings. And that’s me.”
After a few weeks, Ramirez said, she finally understood what happened to her. When COVID-19 restrictions loosened at the hospital in mid-June, her mother was finally able to visit.
“The first thing I did was just tear up,” Ramirez said. “I was overjoyed to see her.”
The Long Road to Recovery
After weeks of inpatient rehabilitation, Ramirez was discharged home. She’s now receiving in-home nursing assistance as well as physical and occupational therapy, and she’s working on finding a psychologist.
Ramirez eagerly looks forward to being able to spend more time with her family, her boyfriend and her dogs and serving the immigrant community through her legal work.
But for now, her days are consumed by rehab. Her doctors say it will be at least a year before she can function independently and be as active as before.
Ramirez is slowly regaining strength and learning how to breathe with her new lungs.
She takes 17 prescription medicines, some of them several times a day, including medicines to prevent her body from rejecting the new lungs. She also takes anxiety meds and antidepressants to help her cope with daily nightmares and panic attacks.
The long-term physical and mental health tolls on Ramirez and other COVID-19 survivors remain largely unknown, since the virus is so new.
While most people who contract the virus are left seemingly unscathed, for some patients, like Ramirez, the road to recovery is full of uncertainty, said Dr. Mady Hornig, a physician-scientist at the Columbia University Mailman School of Public Health.
Some patients can experience post-intensive care syndrome, or PICS, which can consist of depression, memory issues and other cognitive and mental health problems, Hornig said. Under normal circumstances, ICU visits from loved ones are encouraged, she said, because the human interaction can be protective.
“That type of contact would normally keep people oriented … so that it doesn’t become as traumatic,” Hornig said.
Hopes for the Future
COVID-19 has disproportionately harmed Latino communities, as Latinos are overrepresented in jobs that expose them to the virus and have lower rates of health insurance and other social protections.
Ramirez has health insurance, although that hasn’t spared her from tens and thousands of dollars’ worth of medical bills.
And even though she still ended up getting COVID-19, she counts herself lucky for having a job that allowed her to work from home when the pandemic struck. Many Latino workers don’t have that luxury, she said, so they’re forced to risk their lives doing low-wage jobs deemed essential at this time.
Ramirez’s mother is a breast cancer survivor, making her particularly vulnerable to COVID-19. She had been working at a meatpacking plant in North Carolina, for a company that Ramirez said has had hundreds of COVID-19 cases among employees.
So Ramirez is relieved to have her mom in Chicago, helping take care of her.
“I’m glad this is taking her away from her position,” Ramirez said.
Friends and family in North Carolina have been fundraising to help pay her medical bills, selling raffle tickets and setting up a GoFundMe page on her behalf. Ramirez is also applying for financial assistance from the hospital.
Her experience with COVID-19 has not changed who she is as a person, she said, and she looks forward to living her life to the fullest.
If she ever gets the chance to speak with the family of the person whose lungs she now has, she said, she will thank them “for raising such a healthy child and a caring person [who] was kind enough to become an organ donor.”
Her life may never be the same, but that doesn’t mean she won’t try. She laughs as she explains how she asked her surgeon to take her skydiving someday.
“Dr. Bharat actually used to work at a skydiving company when he was younger,” Ramirez said. “And so he promised me that, hopefully within a year, he could get me there.”
And she has every intention of holding him to that promise.
This story is part of a reporting partnership that includes Illinois Public Media, Side Effects Public Media, NPR and KHN.
Data to address racial discrepancies has been spotty during the pandemic, and it isn't available for most minority communities, which disproportionately bear the brunt of the virus.
This article was published on Thursday, August 13, 2020 in Kaiser Health News.
As the coronavirus swept into Detroit this spring, Wayne State University junior Skye Taylor noticed something striking. On social media, many of her fellow Black classmates who live or grew up in the city were "posting about death, like, 'Oh, I lost this family member to COVID-19,'" said Taylor.
The picture was different in Beverly Hills, a mostly white suburb 20 miles away. "People I went to high school with aren't posting anything like that," Taylor said. "They're doing well, their family is doing OK. And even the ones whose family members have caught it, they're still alive."
How do COVID-19 infection rates and outcomes differ between these ZIP codes? she wondered. How do their hospitals and other resources compare? This summer, as part of aneight-week research collaborative developed by San Francisco researchers and funded by the National Institutes of Health, Taylor will look at that question and other effects of the pandemic. She's one of 70 participants from backgrounds underrepresented in science who are learning basic coding and data analysis methods to explore disparity issues.
Data to address racial discrepancies in care and outcomes has been spotty during the pandemic, and it isn't available for most of these students' communities, whichdisproportionately bear the brunt of the virus. The participants are "asking questions from a perspective that we desperately need, because their voices aren't really there in the scientific community," said Alison Gammie, who directs the division of training, workforce development and diversity at the National Institute of General Medical Sciences.
Scientists from Black, Hispanic, Native American and other minority backgrounds have long been underrepresented in biomedicine. By some measures, efforts to diversify the field have made progress: The number of these minorities who earned life science doctoral degrees rose more than ninefold from 1980 to 2013. But this increase in Ph.D.s has not moved the needle at the faculty level.
Instead, the number of minority assistant professors in these fields has dipped in recent years, from 347 in 2005 to 341 in 2013. And some of those who have entered public health endure racial aggression and marginalization in the workplace — or, after years in a toxic environment, quietly leave.
"We really need to focus on making sure people are supported and find academic and research jobs sufficiently desirable that they choose to stay," said Gammie. "There have been improvements, but we still have a long way to go."
In 2014, the NIH launched the Building Infrastructure Leading to Diversity initiative. It offers grants to 10 undergraduate campuses that partner with scores of other institutions researching how to get poor and minority students to pursue biomedical careers.
Students in the program receive stipends and typically spend summers working in research labs. But when COVID-19 hit, many labs and their experiments shut down. "People were like, what do we do? How do we do that remotely?" said biologist Leticia Márquez-Magaña, who heads the initiative's team at San Francisco State University.
She and University of California-San Francisco epidemiologist Kala Mehta sketched out a plan for students to work remotely with bioinformatics, population health and epidemiology researchers to collect and analyze COVID-19 data for marginalized populations.
Gammie encouraged the Bay Area team to expand the summer opportunity to participants across the nation. From June 22 to Aug. 13, students spend two to three hours online four days a week in small groups led by master's-level mentors. They learn basic bioinformatics — computational methods for analyzing biological and population health data — and R, a common statistical programming language, to collect and analyze data from public data sets. "I think of basic bioinformatics and R coding as an empowerment tool," said Mehta. "They're going to become change agents in their communities, fighting back with data."
Bench science often takes years, whereas data crunching to solve problems offers a sense of immediacy, said Niquo Ceberio, who recently earned a master's in biology at SFSU and leads the team of mentors. "There was this sort of limitlessness about it that really appealed to me," she said.
Raymundo Aragonez, a University of Texas-El Paso biology major participating in the summer program, sees data analysis as a way to address confusion in the Hispanic community — including some of his family members who think the pandemic "is all a hoax." Dismayed by misleading YouTube videos and rampant misinformation shared on social media, Aragonez, who aims to be the first in his family to finish college, said he hopes to gain skills to "understand the data and how infections are actually happening, so I can explain it to my family."
He hopes to explore whether COVID-19 infection rates differ among people living in El Paso, those living in the Mexican city of Juárez, and those who frequently cross the border between the cities — like many of his friends and classmates.
Willow Weibel, an SFSU psychology major, is studying how COVID-19 restrictions affect the mental health of former foster youth and other young adults with traumatic backgrounds. Weibel spent much of her childhood in foster care before getting adopted into a Southern California family at age 17. "I've grown to really care about what other people go through in the system," she said.
Mental health is a common thread in the research questions proposed by several students in Weibel's group, including Skye Taylor, who is majoring in psychology with a minor in public health. While curious about disparities in Detroit-area COVID-19 outcomes, she also wants to examine how mental health issues affect COVID-19 susceptibility — "especially in the Black community, because mental health isn't really talked about," she said.
Having the chance to explore their own research questions is unusual for undergraduates, and particularly meaningful to students of color. "It feels like science is something that's been done to us or on us," said Ceberio, who is Black and Latina, and grew up in Los Angeles, Miami and Las Vegas before moving to the Bay Area. "This experience allows them to do research that they feel is relevant based on the way they're viewing the world. I'm trying to get them to trust their instincts."
Trainees from underrepresented groups will more likely stay in biomedicine if they feel they are giving back to their communities or doing something with a tangible purpose, said Gammie. This summer, participants "have an opportunity to engage in science that does both," she said. "Our hope is that this will inspire students to go on to be independent scientists."
Ever since he was a presidential candidate, President Donald Trump has been promising the American people a "terrific," "phenomenal" and "fantastic" new health care plan to replace the Affordable Care Act.
But, in the 3½ years since he set up shop in the Oval Office, he has yet to deliver.
In his early days on the campaign trail, circa 2015, he said on CNNhe would repeal Obamacare and replace it with "something terrific," and on Sean Hannity's radio show he said the replacement would be "something great." Fast-forward to 2020. Trump has promised an Obamacare replacement plan five times so far this year. And the plan is always said to be just a few weeks away.
The United States is also in the grips of the COVID-19 pandemic, which has resulted in more than 163,000 U.S. deaths. KFF estimatesthat 27 million Americans could potentially lose their employer-sponsored insurance and become uninsured following their job loss due to the pandemic. (KHN is an editorially independent program of the Kaiser Family Foundation.) All of this makes health care a hot topic during the 2020 election.
This record is by no means a comprehensive list, but here are some of the many instances when Trump promised a new health plan was coming soon.
2016: The Campaign Trail
Trump tweeted in February that he would immediately repeal and replace Obamacare and that his plan would save money and result in better health care.
During his speechaccepting the Republican nomination in July, Trump again promised to repeal Obamacare and alluded to ways his replacement would be better. And, by October, Trump promisedthat within his first 100 days in office he would repeal and replace Obamacare. During his final week of campaigning, he suggestedasking Congress to come in for a special session to repeal the health care law quickly.
2017: The First Year in Office
January and February:
Trump toldThe Washington Post in a January interview that he was close to completing his health care plan and that he wanted to provide "insurance for everybody."
He tweeted Feb. 17 that while Democrats were delaying Senate confirmation of Tom Price, his pick to lead the Department of Health and Human Services, the "repeal and replacement of ObamaCare is moving fast!"
And, on Feb. 28, in his joint address to Congress, Trump discussed his vision for replacing Obamacare. "The way to make health insurance available to everyone is to lower the cost of health insurance, and that is what we are going to do," he said.
March: Eyes on Congress — And Twitter
House Republicans, with backing from the White House, were the ones to introduce new health legislation, the American Health Care Act (AHCA). The repeal-and-replace bill kept in place some of the more popular provisions of the ACA. Some conservative Republicans said the bill didn't go far enough, deriding it as "Obamacare Lite" and refusing to vote on it.
On March 9, Trump tweeted, "Despite what you hear in the press, healthcare is coming along great. We are talking to many groups and it will end in a beautiful picture!"
Later that month, as efforts to pass the AHCA continued to stall, Trump updated his earlier promise.
"And I never said — I guess I'm here, what, 64 days? I never said repeal and replace Obamacare. You've all heard my speeches. I never said repeal it and replace it within 64 days. I have a long time," said Trump in his remarks from the Oval Office on March 24. (Which was true; he had said within 100 days.) "But I want to have a great health care bill and plan, and we will. It will happen. And it won't be in the very distant future."
April and May: A Roller-Coaster Ride of Legislation and Celebration, Then …
After an intraparty dust-up, the House narrowly passed the AHCA on May 4. Despite tepid support in the Republican-controlled Senate, Trump convened a Rose Garden celebratory event to mark the House's passage, sayinghe felt "so confident" about the measure. He also congratulated Republican lawmakers on what he termed "a great plan" and "incredibly well-crafted."
Nonetheless, Senate Republicans first advanced their own replacement bill, the Better Care Reconciliation Act, but ultimately voted on a "skinny repeal" that would have eliminated the employer mandate and given broad authority to states to repeal sections of the ACA. It failed to gain passage when Sen. John McCain (R-Ariz.) gave it a historic thumbs-down in the wee hours of July 28.
September and October: Moving On … But Not
Trump began September by signaling ina series of tweets that he was moving on from health reform.
But on Oct. 12, he signed an executive order allowing for health care plans to be sold that don't meet the regulatory standards set up in the Affordable Care Act. The next day, Trump tweeted, "ObamaCare is a broken mess. Piece by piece we will now begin the process of giving America the great HealthCare it deserves!"
It seems that 2018 was a quiet time — at least for presidential promises regarding a soon-to-be-unveiled health plan. It was reported that conservative groups were working on an Obamacare replacement plan. But in 2019, Trump again took up the health plan mantle with this March 26 tweet: "The Republican Party will become 'The Party of Healthcare!'" Two days later, in remarks to reporters before boarding Marine One, Trump said that "we're working on a plan now," but again updated the timeline, saying, "There's no very great rush from the standpoint" because he was waiting on the court decision for Obamacare. This was a reference to Texas v. U.S., the lawsuit brought by a group of Republican governors to overturn the ACA. It is currently pending before the Supreme Court.
Backtracking from his earlier promises to repeal and replace Obamacare within his first 100 days in office, Trump on April 3tweeted: "I was never planning a vote prior to the 2020 Election on the wonderful HealthCare package that some very talented people are now developing for me & the Republican Party. It will be on full display during the Election as a much better & less expensive alternative to ObamaCare…"
"We're going to produce phenomenal health care. And we already have the concept of the plan. And it'll be much better health care," Trump told George Stephanopoulos. When Stephanopoulos asked if he was going to tell people what the plan was, Trump responded: "Yeah, we'll be announcing that in two months, maybe less."
June 26:
But then, timing again changed as Trump promised a sweeping health plan after the 2020 election. "If we win the House back, keep the Senate and keep the presidency, we'll have a plan that blows away ObamaCare," Trump said in a speech to the Faith and Freedom Coalition's Road to the Majority conference.
Oct. 3:
He reiterated this post-2020 election pledge in a speech to Florida retirees. "If the Republicans take back the House, keep the Senate, keep the presidency — we're gonna have a fantastic plan," Trump said.
Oct. 25:
Trump told reporters that Republicans have a "great" health care plan. "You'll have health care the likes of which you've never seen," he said.
2020: 'Two Weeks'
Feb. 10:
During a White House business session with governors, Trump commented on the Republican governors' lawsuit to undo the ACA and whether protections for preexisting conditions would be lost: "If a law is overturned, that's OK, because the new law's going to have it in."
May 6:
During the signing of a proclamation to honor National Nurses Day, Trump again saidObamacare would be replaced "with great healthcare at a lesser price, and preexisting conditions will be included and you won't have the individual mandate."
July 19:
Trump told Chris Wallace in a Fox News interview that a health care plan would be unveiled within two weeks: "We're signing a health care plan within two weeks, a full and complete health care plan that the Supreme Court decision on DACA gave me the right to do."
July 31:
With no sign of a plan yet, reporters asked Trump about it at a Florida event. Trump responded that a "very inclusive" health care plan was coming and "I'll be signing it sometime very soon."
Aug. 3:
Pushing the timeline once again, Trump said during a press briefing that the health care plan would be introduced "hopefully, prior to the end of the month."
Aug. 7:
Citing his two-week timeline once again, Trump said during a press briefing that he would pursue a major executive order in the next two weeks "requiring health insurance companies to cover all preexisting conditions for all customers." Trump also said that covering preexisting conditions had "never been done before," despite the ACA provisions outlining protections for people who have preexisting conditions being among the law's most popular components. The Trump administration has backed the effort to overturn the ACA — including these protections — now pending before the Supreme Court.
Aug. 10:
In response to a reporter's question about why he was planning to issue an executive order when the ACA already protects those with preexisting conditions, Trump said: "Just a double safety net, and just to let people know that the Republicans are totally strongly in favor of … taking care of people with preexisting conditions. It's a second platform. We have: Preexisting conditions will be taken care of 100% by Republicans and the Republican Party."
Just before publication, we asked the White House for more information regarding when exactly the plan might be unveiled. The press office did not respond to our request for comment.
For every person who dies of COVID-19, nine close family members are affected, researchers estimate based on complex demographic calculations and data.
This article was published on Wednesday, August 12, 2020 inKaiser Health News.
Every day, the nation is reminded of COVID-19's ongoing impact as new death counts are published. What is not well documented is the toll on family members.
New research suggests the damage is enormous. For every person who dies of COVID-19, nine close family members are affected, researchers estimate based on complex demographic calculations and data about the coronavirus.
Many survivors will be shaken by the circumstances under which loved ones pass away — rapid declines, sudden deaths and an inability to be there at the end — and worrisome ripple effects may linger for years, researchers warn.
If 190,000 Americans die from COVID complications by the end of August, as some models suggest, 1.7 million Americans will be grieving close family members, according to the study. Most likely to perish are grandparents, followed by parents, siblings, spouses and children.
"There's a narrative out there that COVID-19 affects mostly older adults," said Ashton Verdery, a co-author of the study and a professor of sociology and demography at Pennsylvania State University. "Our results highlight that these are not completely socially isolated people that no one cares about. They are integrally connected with their families, and their deaths will have a broad reach."
Because of family structures, Black families will lose slightly more close family members than white families, aggravating the pandemic's disproportionate impact on African American communities. (Verdery's previous research modeled kinship structures for the U.S. population, dating to 1880 and extending to 2060.)
The potential consequences of these losses are deeply concerning, with many families losing important sources of financial, social and caregiving support. "The vast scale of COVID-19 bereavement has the potential to lower educational achievement among youth, disrupt marriages, and lead to poorer physical and mental health across all age groups," Verdery and his co-authors observe in their paper.
Holly Prigerson, co-director of the Center for Research on End-of-Life Care at Weill Cornell Medicine in New York City, sounds a similar alarm, especially about the psychological impact of the pandemic, in a new paper on bereavement.
"Bereaved individuals have become the secondary victims of COVID-19, reporting severe symptoms of traumatic stress, including helplessness, horror, anxiety, sadness, anger, guilt, and regret, all of which magnify their grief," she and co-authors from Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center in New York noted.
In a phone conversation, Prigerson predicted that people experiencing bereavement will suffer worse outcomes because of lockdowns and social isolation during the pandemic. She warned that older adults are especially vulnerable.
"Not being there in a loved one's time of need, not being able to communicate with family members in a natural way, not being able to say goodbye, not participating in normal rituals — all this makes bereavement more difficult and prolonged grief disorder and post-traumatic stress more likely," she noted.
Organizations that offer bereavement care are seeing this unfold as they expand services to meet escalating needs.
Typically, 5% to 10% of bereaved family members have a "trauma response," but that has "increased exponentially — approaching the 40% range — because we're living in a crisis," said Yelena Zatulovsky, vice president of patient experience at Seasons Hospice & Palliative Care, the nation's fifth-largest hospice provider.
Since March, Seasons has doubled the number of grief support groups it offers to 29, hosted on virtual platforms, most of them weekly. All are free and open to community members, not just families whose loved ones received care from Seasons. (To find a virtual group in your time zone, call 1-855-812-1136, Season's 24/7 call center.)
"We're noticing that grief reactions are far more intense and challenging," Zatulovsky said, noting that requests for individual and family counseling have also risen.
Medicare requires hospices to offer bereavement services to family members for up to 13 months after a client's death. Many hospices expanded these services to community members before the pandemic, and Edo Banach, president and CEO of the National Hospice and Palliative Care Organization, hopes that trend continues.
"It's not just the people who die on hospice and their families who need bereavement support at this time; it's entire communities," he said. "We have a responsibility to do even more than what we normally do."
In New York City, the center of the pandemic in its early months, the Jewish Board is training school administrators, teachers, counselors and other clinicians to recognize signs of grief and bereavement and provide assistance. The health and human services organization serves New Yorkers regardless of religious affiliation.
"There is a collective grief experience that we are all experiencing, and we're seeing the need go through the roof," said Marilyn Jacob, a senior director who oversees the organization's bereavement services, which now includes two support groups for people who have lost someone to COVID-19.
"There's so much loss now, on so many different levels, that even very seasoned therapists are saying, 'I don't really know how to do this,'" Jacob said. In addition to losing family members, people are losing jobs, friends, routines, social interactions and a sense of normalcy and safety.
For many people, these losses are sudden and unexpected, which can complicate grief, said Patti Anewalt, director of Pathways Center for Grief & Loss in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, affiliated with the state's largest not-for-profit hospice. The center recently created a four-week group on sudden loss to address its unique challenges.
The day before Julie Cheng's 88-year-old mother was rushed to the hospital in early July, she had been singing songs with Cheng's sister over the phone at her Irvine, California, nursing home. The next morning, a nurse reported that the older woman had a fever and was wheezing badly. At the hospital, COVID-19 was diagnosed and convalescent plasma therapy tried. Within two weeks, after suffering a series of strokes, Cheng's mother died.
Since then, Cheng has mentally replayed the family's decision not to take her mother out of the nursing home and to refuse mechanical ventilation at the hospital — something she was sure her mother would not have wanted.
"There have been a lot of 'what ifs?' and some anger: Someone or something needs to be blamed for what happened," she said, describing mixed emotions that followed her mother's death.
But acceptance has sprung from religious conviction. "Mostly, because of our faith in Jesus, we believe that God was ready to take her and she's in a much better place now."
Coping with grief, especially when it is complicated by social isolation and trauma, takes time. If you are looking for help, call a local hospice's bereavement department and ask what kind of services it provides to people in the community. Funeral directors should also have a list of counselors and grief support programs. One option is GriefShare, offered by churches across the country.
Many experts believe the need for these kinds of services will expand exponentially as more family members emerge from pandemic-inspired shock and denial.
"I firmly believe we're still at the tip of the iceberg, in terms of the help people need, and we won't understand the full scope of that for another six to nine months," said Diane Snyder-Cowan, leader of the bereavement professionals steering committee of the National Council of Hospice and Palliative Professionals.
The pandemic has renewed the push to get rid of fee-for-service — in large part because it has underscored that doctors don't get paid at all when they can't see patients.
This article was published on Wednesday, August 12, 2020 in Kaiser Health News.
For Dr. Gabe Charbonneau, a primary care doctor in Stevensville, Montana, the coronavirus pandemic is an existential threat.
Charbonneau, 43, his two partners and 10 staff members are struggling to keep their rural practice alive. Patient volume is slowly returning to pre-COVID levels. But the large Seattle-area company that owns his practice is reassessing its operations as it adjusts to the new reality in healthcare.
Charbonneau has been given until September to demonstrate that his practice, Lifespan Family Medicine, is financially viable — or face possible sale or closure.
"We think we're going to be OK," said Charbonneau. "But it's stressful and pushes us to cut costs and bring in more revenue. If the virus surges in the fall … well, that will significantly add to the challenge."
Like other businesses around the country, many doctors were forced to close their offices — or at least see only emergency cases — when the pandemic struck. That led to sharp revenue losses, layoffs and pay cuts.
Dr. Kevin Anderson's primary care practice in Cadillac, Michigan, is also scrambling. The practice — like others — shifted in March to seeing many patients via telemedicine but still saw a dramatic drop in patients and revenue. Anderson, 49, and his five partners are back to about 80% of the volume of patients they had before the pandemic. But to enhance their chances of survival, they plan to overhaul the way the practice gets paid by Medicare.
Jodi Faustlin, CEO of the for-profit Center for Primary Care in Evans, Georgia, manages 37 doctors at eight family medicine practices in the state. She's confident all eight will emerge from the pandemic intact. But that is more likely, she said, if the company shifts from getting paid piecemeal for every service to a per-patient, per-month reimbursement.
One of those 37 doctors is Jacqueline Fincher, the president of the American College of Physicians. Fincher said the pandemic "has laid bare the flaws in primary care" and the "misguided allocation of money and resources" in the U.S. healthcare system.
"It's nuts how we get paid," said Fincher, whose practice is in Thomson, Georgia. "It doesn't serve patients well, and it doesn't work for doctors either — ever, let alone in a pandemic."
Physicians and health policy experts say the pandemic is accelerating efforts to restructure primary care — which accounts for about half the nation's doctor visits every year — and put it on a firmer financial footing.
The efforts also aim to address long-festering problems: a predicted widespread shortage of primary care doctors in the next decade, a rising level of physician burnout and a long-recognized underinvestment in primary care overall.
No data yet exist on how many of the nation's primary care doctors have closed up shop permanently, hastened retirement or planned other moves following the COVID-19 outbreak. An analysis by the American Academy of Family Physicians in late April forecast furloughs, layoffs and reduced hours that translated to 58,000 fewer primary care doctors, and as many as 725,000 fewer nurses and other staff in their offices, by July if the pandemic's impact continued. In 2018, the U.S. had about 223,000 primary care doctors.
"The majority [of primary care doctors] are hanging in there, so we haven't yet seen the scope of closures we forecast," said Jack Westfall, a researcher at the academy. "But the situation is still precarious, with many doctors struggling to make ends meet. We're also hearing more anecdotal stories about older doctors retiring and others looking to sell their practices."
Three-quarters of the more than 500 doctors contacted in an online survey by McKinsey & Co. said they expected their practices would not make a profit in 2020.
A study in the journal Health Affairs, published in June, put a hard number on that. It estimated that primary care practices would lose an average of $68,000, or 13%, in gross revenues per full-time physician in 2020. That works out to a loss of about $15 billion nationwide.
One main problem, said Westfall, is that payment for telehealth and virtual visits is still inadequate, and telehealth is not available to everyone.
Re-Engineering Primary Care Payments
The remedy being most widely promoted is to change the way doctors are reimbursed — away from the predominant system today, under which doctors are paid a fee for every service they provide (commonly called "fee-for-service").
Health economists and patient advocates have long advocated such a transition — primarily to eliminate or at least greatly reduce the incentive to provide excessive and unneeded care and promote better management of people with chronic conditions. Stabilizing doctors' incomes was previously a secondary goal.
Achieving this transition has been slow for many reasons, not the least of which is that some early experiments ended up paying doctors too little to sustain their businesses or improve patient care.
Instead, over the past decade doctors have sought safety in larger groups or ownership of their practices by large hospitals and health systems or other entities, including private equity firms.
A 2018 survey of 8,700 doctors by the Physicians Foundation, a nonprofit advocacy and research group, found, for example, that only 31% of doctors owned or co-owned their practice, down from 48.5% in 2012.
Fincher, the American College of Physicians president, predicts the pandemic will propel more primary care doctors to consolidate and be managed collectively. "More and more know they can't make it on their own," she said.
It's nuts how we get paid. It doesn't serve patients well, and it doesn't work for doctors either — ever, let alone in a pandemic.
Jacqueline Fincher, the president of the American College of Physicians, whose practice is in Thomson, Georgia
A 2018 survey by the American Medical Association found that, on average, 70% of doctor's office revenue that year came from fee-for-service, with the rest from per-member, per-month payments and other methods.
The pandemic has renewed the push to get rid of fee-for-service — in large part because it has underscored that doctors don't get paid at all when they can't see patients and bill piecemeal for care.
"Primary care doctors now know how vulnerable they are, in ways they didn't before," said Rebecca Etz, a researcher at the Larry A. Green Center, a Richmond, Virginia, advocacy group for primary care doctors.
Charbonneau, in Montana, said he's "absolutely ready" to leave fee-for-service behind.
However, he's not sure the company that owns his practice, Providence Health System — which operates 1,100 clinics and doctors' practices in the West — is committed to moving in that direction.
Anderson, in Michigan, is embracing a new payment model being launched next year under Medicare called Primary Care First. He'll get a fixed monthly payment for each of his Medicare patients and be rewarded with extra revenue if he meets health goals for them and penalized if he doesn't.
Medicare to Launch New Payment System
The Trump administration — following in the footsteps of the Obama administration — has been pushing for physician payment reform.
Medicare's Primary Care First program is a main vehicle in that effort. It will launch in 26 areas in January. Doctors will get a fixed per-patient monthly fee along with flat fees for each patient visit. A performance-based adjustment will allow for bonuses up to 50% when doctors hit certain quality markers, such as blood pressure and blood sugar control and colorectal cancer screening, in a majority of patients.
But doctors also face penalties up to 10% if they don't meet those and other standards.
Some private insurers are also leveraging the pandemic to enhance payment reform. Blue Cross and Blue Shield of North Carolina, for example, is offering financial incentives starting in September to primary care practices that commit to a shift away from fee-for-service. Independent Health, an insurer in New York state, is giving primary care practices per-patient fixed payments during the pandemic to bolster cash flow.
Meanwhile, two of the nation's largest primary care practice companies continue to pull back from fee-for-service: Central Ohio Primary Care, with 75 practices serving 450,000 patients, and Oak Street Health, which owns 50 primary care practices in eight states.
"Primary care docs would have been better off during the pandemic if they had been getting fixed payments per month," said Dr. T. Larry Blosser, the medical director for outpatient services for the Central Ohio firm.
Healthcare facilities are pressuring workers who contract COVID-19 to return to work sooner than public health standards suggest it's safe for them, their colleagues or their patients.
This article was published on Wednesday, August 12, 2020 in Kaiser Health News.
The first call in early April was from the testing center, informing the nurse she was positive for COVID-19 and should quarantine for two weeks.
The second call, less than 20 minutes later, was from her employer, as the hospital informed her she could return to her job within two days.
"I slept 20 hours a day," said the nurse, who works at a hospital in New Jersey's Hackensack Meridian Health system and spoke on the condition of anonymity because she is fearful of retaliation by her employer. Though she didn't have a fever, "I was throwing up. I was coughing. I had all the G.I. symptoms you can get," referring to gastrointestinal COVID symptoms like diarrhea and nausea.
"You're telling me, because I don't have a fever, that you think it's safe for me to go take care of patients?" the nurse said. "And they told me yes."
Guidance from public health experts has evolved as they have learned more about the coronavirus, but one message has remained consistent: If you feel sick, stay home.
Yet hospitals, clinics and other healthcare facilities have flouted that simple guidance, pressuring workers who contract COVID-19 to return to work sooner than public health standards suggest it's safe for them, their colleagues or their patients. Some employers have failed to provide adequate paid leave, if any at all, so employees felt they had to return to work — even with coughs and possibly infectious — rather than forfeit the paycheck they need to feed their families.
Unprepared for the pandemic, many hospitals found themselves short-staffed, struggling to find enough caregivers to treat the onslaught of sick patients. That desperate need dovetailed with a deeply entrenched culture in medicine of "presenteeism." Front-line healthcare workers, in particular, follow a brutal ethos of being tough enough to work even when ill under the notion that other "people are sicker," said Andra Blomkalns, who chairs the emergency medicine department at Stanford University.
In a survey of nearly 1,200 health workers who are members of Health Professionals and Allied Employees Union, roughly a third of those who said they had gotten sick responded that they had to return to work while symptomatic.
That pressure not only stresses hospital employees as they are forced to choose between their paychecks and their health or that of their families. The consequences are starker still: An investigation by KHN and The Guardian has identified at least 875 front-line health workers who have died of COVID-19, likely exposed to the virus at work during the pandemic.
But the dilemma also strains health workers' sense of professional responsibility, knowing they may become vectors spreading infectious diseases to the patients they're meant to heal.
Under Pressure
A database of COVID-related complaints made to the Occupational Safety and Health Administration this spring hints at the scope of the problem: a primary care facility in Illinois where symptomatic, COVID-positive employees were required to work; a respiratory clinic in North Carolina where COVID-positive employees were told they would be fired if they stayed home; a veterans hospital in Massachusetts where employees were returning to work sick because they weren't getting paid otherwise.
"What we learned in this pandemic was employees felt disposable," said Debbie White, a registered nurse and president of the Health Professionals and Allied Employees Union. "Employers didn't protect them, and they felt like a commodity."
Indeed, the pressure likely has been even worse than usual during the pandemic because hospitals have lacked backup staffing to deal with high rates of absenteeism caused by a highly infectious and serious virus. Hospitals do not staff for pandemics because in normal times "the cost of maintaining the personnel, the equipment, for something that may never happen" was hard to justify against more certain needs, said Dr. Marsha Rappley, who recently retired as chief executive of the Virginia Commonwealth University Health System in Richmond.
That has left many hospitals scrambling to find skilled staff to tend to waves of patients with COVID-19.
The nurse from Hackensack Meridian, the largest hospital chain in New Jersey, told the hospital's occupational health and safety office that she could not return to work, citing a doctor's instructions to isolate herself. No threat to fire her was made, she said.
But in daily calls from work, she was reminded her colleagues were short-staffed and "suffering."
She also discovered her employer had revoked most of the paid time off she believed she had accumulated.
White said Hackensack Meridian had conducted what it described as a "payroll adjustment" in March and taken leave from many of its employees without explaining its calculations.
A statement provided by a Hackensack Meridian spokesperson, Mary Jo Layton, said the system's occupational health office "has followed the CDC recommendations as it relates to the evaluation, testing and clearance of team members following infection with COVID-19."
Hackensack Meridian adjusted some employees' leave to correct a technical issue that prevented leave from being counted as it was taken, it said, adding workers were provided "an individual PTO reconciliation statement."
"No team members were shorted any PTO that they rightfully earned," Hackensack Meridian's statement said.
Federal officials acknowledge that staffing shortages may require sick healthcare workers to return to work before they recover from COVID-19. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention even has strategies for it.
The CDC website lists mitigation options for short-staffed facilities, some of which have been implemented widely, such as canceling elective procedures and offering housing to workers who live with high-risk individuals.
But it acknowledges these strategies may not be enough. When all other options are exhausted, the CDC website says, workers who are suspected or confirmed to have COVID-19 (and "who are well enough to work") can care for patients who are not severely immunocompromised — first for those who are also confirmed to have COVID-19, then those with suspected cases.
"As a last resort," the website says, healthcare workers confirmed to have COVID-19 may provide care to patients who do not have the virus.
Like soldiers on the battlefield, Rappley said, front-line workers have been absorbing the consequences of that lack of preparedness on an institutional and societal level.
"This will leave scars for many generations to come," she said.
Dr. Lauren Schleimer, a first-year resident at NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital, exhibited symptoms of the coronavirus after working in a COVID-only intensive care unit. She was instructed to stay home for seven days. She was never tested. Schleimer returned to the ICU symptom-free to treat patients fighting the same virus she suspects she had. (Shelby Knowles for KHN)
Personal Choice or No Choice?
Shenetta White-Ballard carried an oxygen canister in a backpack at work. A nurse at Legacy Nursing and Rehabilitation of Port Allen in Louisiana, she needed the help to breathe after battling a serious respiratory infection two years earlier.
When COVID-19 began to spread, she showed up for work. Her husband, Eddie Ballard, said his paycheck from Walmart was not enough to support their family.
"She kept bringing up, she gotta pay the bills," he said.
White-Ballard died May 1 at age 44.
Legacy Nursing and Rehabilitation did not respond to requests for comment.
Ballard said his wife's employer offered no support for him and their 14-year-old son after her sudden death. "Only thing they said was, 'Come pick up her last check,'" he said.
Liz Stokes, director of the American Nurses Association's Center for Ethics and Human Rights, said immunocompromised workers, in particular, have faced difficult decisions during the pandemic — sometimes made more difficult by pressure from employers.
Stokes recounted the experience of a surgical nurse in Washington with Crohn's disease who took a temporary leave at her doctor's recommendation but was pressured by her bosses and co-workers to return.
"She really expressed severe guilt because she felt like she was abandoning her duties as a nurse," she said. "She felt like she was abandoning her colleagues, her patients."
The Right Thing to Do
Residents, or doctors in training, are among the most vulnerable, as they work on inflexible, tightly packed schedules often assisting in the front-line care of dozens of patients each day.
Not long after one of New York City's first confirmed COVID-19 patients was admitted to NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital, Lauren Schleimer, a first-year surgical resident, reported she had developed a sore throat and a cough. Because she had not been exposed to that patient, she was told she could keep working and to wear a mask if she was coughing.
Her symptoms subsided. But a couple of weeks later, as cases surged and ventilators grew scarce, she was working in a COVID-only intensive care unit when her symptoms returned, worse than before.
The hospital instructed her to stay home for seven days, as health officials were recommending at the time. She was never tested.
A NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital spokesperson said of its front-line workers: "We have been constantly working to give them the support and resources they need to fight for every life while protecting their own health and safety, in accordance with New York State Department of Health and CDC guidelines."
Schleimer returned to the ICU symptom-free at the end of her quarantine, caring for patients fighting the same virus she suspects she had. While she never felt that sick, she worried she could infect someone else — an immunocompromised nurse, a doctor whose age put him at risk, a colleague with a new baby at home.
"This was not the kind of thing I would stay home for," Schleimer said. "But I definitely had some symptoms, and I was just trying to do the right thing."
A review by KHN and The Associated Press finds at least 49 state and local public health leaders have resigned, retired or been fired since April across 23 states.
This article was published on Tuesday, August 11, 2020 in Kaiser Health News.
Vilified, threatened with violence or in some cases suffering from burnout, dozens of state and local public health officials around the U.S. have resigned or have been fired amid the coronavirus outbreak, a testament to how politically combustible masks, lockdowns and infection data have become.
One of the latest departures came Sunday, when California's public health director, Dr. Sonia Angell, was ousted following a technical glitch that caused a delay in reporting virus test results — information used to make decisions about reopening businesses and schools.
Last week, New York City's health commissioner was replaced after months of friction with the police department and City Hall.
A series examining how the U.S. public health front lines have been left understaffed and ill-prepared to save us from the coronavirus pandemic. The project is a collaboration between KHN and the AP.
A review by KHN and The Associated Press finds at least 49 state and local public health leaders have resigned, retired or been fired since April across 23 states. The list has grown by more than 20 people since the AP and KHN started keeping track in June.
Dr. Tom Frieden, former director of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, called the numbers stunning. He said they reflect burnout, as well as attacks on public health experts and institutions from the highest levels of government, including from President Donald Trump, who has sidelined the CDC during the pandemic.
"The overall tone toward public health in the U.S. is so hostile that it has kind of emboldened people to make these attacks," Frieden said.
The past few months have been "frustrating and tiring and disheartening" for public health officials, said former West Virginia public health commissioner Dr. Cathy Slemp, who was forced to resign by Republican Gov. Jim Justice in June.
"You care about community, and you're committed to the work you do and societal role that you're given. You feel a duty to serve, and yet it's really hard in the current environment," Slemp said in an interview Monday.
The departures come at a time when public health expertise is needed more than ever, said Lori Tremmel Freeman, CEO of the National Association of County and City Health Officials.
"We're moving at breakneck speed here to stop a pandemic, and you can't afford to hit the pause button and say, 'We're going to change the leadership around here and we'll get back to you after we hire somebody,'" Freeman said.
As of Monday, confirmed infections in the United States stood at over 5 million, with deaths topping 163,000, the highest in the world, according to the count kept by Johns Hopkins University researchers. The confirmed number of coronavirus cases worldwide topped 20 million.
Many of the firings and resignations have to do with conflicts over mask orders or shutdowns to enforce social distancing, Freeman said. Despite the scientific evidence that such measures help prevent transmission of the coronavirus, many politicians and others have argued they are not needed, no matter what health experts tell them.
"It's not a health divide; it's a political divide," Freeman said.
Some health officials said they were stepping down for family reasons, and some left for jobs at other agencies, such as the CDC. Some, like Angell, were ousted because of what higher-ups said was poor leadership or a failure to do their job.
Others have complained that they were overworked, underpaid, unappreciated or thrust into a pressure-cooker environment.
"To me, a lot of the divisiveness and the stress and the resignations that are happening right and left are the consequence of the lack of a real national response plan," said Dr. Matt Willis, health officer for Marin County in Northern California. "And we're all left scrambling at the local and state level to extract resources and improvise solutions."
Public health leaders from Dr. Anthony Fauci, director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, down to officials in small communities have reported death threats and intimidation. Some have seen their home addresses published or been the subject of sexist attacks on social media. Fauci has said his wife and daughters have received threats.
In Ohio, the state's health director, Dr. Amy Acton, resigned in June after months of pressure during which Republican lawmakers tried to strip her of her authority and armed protesters showed up at her house.
It was on Acton's advice that GOP Gov. Mike DeWine became the first governor to shut down schools statewide. Acton also called off the state's presidential primary in March just hours before polls were to open, angering those who saw it as an overreaction.
The executive director of Las Animas-Huerfano Counties District Health Department in Colorado, Kim Gonzales, found her car vandalized twice, and a group called Colorado Counties for Freedom ran a radio ad demanding that her authority be reduced. Gonzales has remained on the job.
In West Virginia, the governor forced Slemp's resignation over what he said were discrepancies in the data. Slemp said the department's work had been hurt by outdated technology like fax machines and slow computer networks. Tom Inglesby, director of the UPMC Center for Health Security at Johns Hopkins, said the issue amounted to a clerical error easily fixed.
Inglesby said it was deeply concerning that public health officials who told "uncomfortable truths" to political leaders had been removed.
"That's terrible for the national response because what we need for getting through this, first of all, is the truth. We need data, and we need people to interpret the data and help political leaders make good judgments," Inglesby said.
KHN and The Associated Press sought to understand how decades of cuts to public health departments by federal, state and local governments has affected the system meant to protect the nation's health.
Here are six key takeaways from the KHN-AP investigation.
Since 2010, spending on state public health departments has dropped 16% per capita, and the amount devoted to local health departments has fallen 18%, according to a KHN and AP analysis. At least 38,000 state and local public health jobs have disappeared since the 2008 recession, leaving a skeleton workforce for what was once viewed as one of the world's top public health systems.
Another sudden departure came Monday along the Texas border. Dr. Jose Vazquez, the Starr County health authority, resigned after a proposal to increase his pay from $500 to $10,000 a month was rejected by county commissioners.
Starr County Judge Eloy Vera, a county commissioner who supported the raise, said Vazquez had been working 60 hours per week in the county, one of the poorest in the U.S. and recently one of those hit hardest by the virus.
"He felt it was an insult," Vera said.
In Oklahoma, both the state health commissioner and state epidemiologist have been replaced since the outbreak began in March.
In rural Colorado, Emily Brown was fired in late May as director of the Rio Grande County Public Health Department after clashing with county commissioners over reopening recommendations. The person who replaced her resigned July 9.
The months of nonstop and often unappreciated work are prompting many public health workers to leave, said Theresa Anselmo of the Colorado Association of Local Public Health Officials.
"It will certainly slow down the pandemic response and become less coordinated," she said. "Who's going to want to take on this career if you're confronted with the kinds of political issues that are coming up?"
Weber reported from St. Louis. Associated Press writers Paul Weber, Sean Murphy and Janie Har and California Healthline senior correspondent Anna Maria Barry-Jester contributed reporting.
This story is a collaboration between KHN and The Associated Press.
Given the high and rapidly growing volume, it's easy to see why joint replacement operations have become a vital chunk of revenue at most U.S. hospitals.
This article was published on Monday, August 10, 2020 in Kaiser Health News.
Dr. Ira Weintraub, a recently retired orthopedic surgeon who now works at a medical billing consultancy, saw a hip replacement bill for over $400,000 earlier this year.
"The patient stayed in the hospital 17 days, which is only 17 times normal. The bill got paid," mused Weintraub, chief medical officer of Portland, Oregon-based WellRithms, which helps self-funded employers and workers' compensation insurers make sense of large, complex medical bills and ensure they pay the fair amount.
Charges like that go a long way toward explaining why hospitals are eager to restore joint replacements to pre-COVID levels as quickly as possible — an eagerness tempered only by safety concerns amid a resurgence of the coronavirus in some regions of the country. Revenue losses at hospitals and outpatient surgery centers may have exceeded $5 billion from canceled knee and hip replacements alone during a roughly two-month hiatus on elective procedures earlier this year.
The cost of joint replacement surgery varies widely — though, on average, it is in the tens, not hundreds, of thousands of dollars. Still, given the high and rapidly growing volume, it's easy to see why joint replacement operations have become a vital chunk of revenue at most U.S. hospitals.
The rate of knee and hip replacements more than doubled from 2000 to 2015, according to inpatient discharge data from the Agency for Healthcare Research and Quality. And that growth is likely to continue: Knee replacements are expected to triple between now and 2040, with hip replacements not far behind, according to projectionspublished last year in the Journal of Rheumatology.
Joint procedures are usually not emergencies, and they were among the first to be scrubbed or delayed when hospitals froze elective surgeries in March — and again in July in some areas plagued by renewed COVID outbreaks. Loss of the revenue has hit hospitals hard, and regaining it will be crucial to their financial convalescence.
"Without orthopedic volumes returning to something near their pre-pandemic levels, it will make it difficult for health systems to get back to anywhere near break-even from a bottom-line perspective," said Stephen Thome, a principal in healthcare consulting at Grant Thornton, an advisory, audit and tax firm.
It's impossible to know exactly how much knee and hip replacements are worth to hospitals, because no definitive data on total volume or price exists.
But using published estimates of volume, extrapolating average commercial payments from published Medicare rates based on a study, and making an educated guess of patient coinsurance, Thome helped KHN arrive at an annual market value for American hospitals and surgery centers of between $15.5 billion and $21.5 billion for knee replacements alone.
That suggests a revenue loss of $1.3 billion to $1.8 billion per month for the period the surgeries were shut down. These figures include ambulatory surgery centers not owned by hospitals, which also suspended most operations in late March, all of April and into May.
If you add hip replacements, which account for about half the volume of knees and are paid at similar rates, the total annual value rises to a range of $23 billion to $32 billion, with monthly revenue losses from $1.9 billion to $2.7 billion.
The American Hospital Association projects total revenue lost at U.S. hospitals will reach $323 billion by year's end, not counting additional losses from surgeries canceled during the current coronavirus spike. That amount is partially offset by $69 billion in federal relief dollars hospitals have received so far, according to the association. The California Hospital Association puts the net revenue loss for hospitals in that state at about $10.5 billion, said spokesperson Jan Emerson-Shea.
Hospitals resumed joint replacement surgeries in early to mid-May, with the timing and ramp-up speed varying by region and hospital. Some hospitals restored volume quickly; others took a more cautious route and continue to lose revenue. Still others have had to shut down again.
At the NYU Langone Orthopedic Hospital in New York City, "people are starting to come in and you see the operating rooms full again," said Dr. Claudette Lajam, chief orthopedic safety officer.
At St. Jude Medical Center in Fullerton, California, where the coronavirus is raging, inpatient joint replacements resumed in the second or third week of May — cautiously at first, but volume is "very close to pre-pandemic levels at this point," said Dr. Kevin Khajavi, chairman of the hospital's orthopedic surgery department. However, "we are constantly monitoring the situation to determine if we have to scale back once again," he said.
In large swaths of Texas, elective surgeries were once again suspended in July because of the COVID-19 resurgence. The same is true at many hospitals in Florida, Alabama, South Carolina and Nevada.
The Mayo Clinic in Phoenix suspended nonemergency joint replacement surgeries in early July. It resumed outpatient replacement procedures the week of July 27, but still has not resumed nonemergency inpatient procedures, said Dr. Mark Spangehl, an orthopedic surgeon there. In terms of medical urgency, joint replacements are "at the bottom of the totem pole," Spangehl said.
In terms of cash flow, however, joint replacements are decidedly not at the bottom of the totem pole. They have become a cash cow as the number of patients undergoing them has skyrocketed in recent decades.
The volume is being driven by an aging population, an epidemic of obesity and a significant rise in the number of younger people replacing joints worn out by years of sports and exercise.
It's also being driven by the cash. Once only done in hospitals, the operations are now increasingly performed at ambulatory surgery centers — especially on younger, healthier patients who don't require hospitalization.
The surgery centers are often physician-owned, but private equity groups such as Bain Capital and KKR & Co. have taken an interest in them, drawn by their high growth potential, robust financial returns and ability to offer competitive prices.
"[G]enerally the savings should be very good — but I do see a lot of outlier surgery centers where they are charging exorbitant amounts of money — $100,000 wouldn't be too much," said WellRithm's Weintraub, who co-owned such a surgery center in Portland.
Fear of catching the coronavirus in a hospital is reinforcing the outpatient trend. Matthew Davis, a 58-year-old resident of Washington, D.C., was scheduled for a hip replacement on March 30 but got cold feet because of COVID-19, and canceled just before all elective surgeries were halted. When it came time to reschedule in June, he overcame his reservations in large part because the surgeon planned to perform the procedure at a free-standing surgery center.
"That was key to me — avoiding an overnight hospital stay to minimize my exposure," Davis said. "These joint replacements are almost industrial-scale. They are cranking out joint replacements 9 to 5. I went in at 6:30 a.m. and I was walking out the door at 11:30."
Acutely aware of the financial benefits, hospitals and surgery clinics have been marketing joint replacements for years, competing for coveted rankings and running ads that show healthy aging people, all smiles, engaged in vigorous activity.
However, a 2014 study concluded that one-third of knee replacements were not warranted, mainly because the symptoms of the patients were not severe enough to justify the procedures.
"The whole marketing of healthcare is so manipulative to the consuming public," said Lisa McGiffert, a longtime consumer advocate and co-founder of the Patient Safety Action Network. "People might be encouraged to get a knee replacement, when in reality something less invasive could have improved their condition."
McGiffert recounted a conversation with an orthopedic surgeon in Washington state who told her about a patient who requested a knee replacement, even though he had not tried any lower-impact treatments to fix the problem. "I asked the surgeon, 'You didn't do it, did you?' And he said, 'Of course I did. He would just have gone to somebody else.'"