California Attorney General Xavier Becerra scores a win for California and other states in his effort to block Trump administration birth control rules.
SACRAMENTO, Calif. — Xavier Becerra, the political savvy Democratic attorney general of California, has sued the Trump administration 45 times in the past two years, often with much fanfare.
In winning a legal challenge Sunday against new government rules limiting birth control, he once against cemented himself as a national figure leading a fight against the administration across a range of issues — especially health care.
The 12 other states and the District of Columbia that had joined Becerra's lawsuit also gained a last-minute reprieve from the federal regulations that would have taken effect Monday. They would have allowed most employers to refuse to provide insurance coverage for workers’ birth control by raising a religious or moral objection.
Those rules were also halted for the rest of the country on Monday when a Pennsylvania judge granted a nationwide injunction in a similar lawsuit.
The contraception case is one of several fronts where Becerra has led state coalitions to defend the Affordable Care Act in lawsuits in Texas, California and Washington, D.C.
"The Trump administration is trying to chip away at those protections," said Andrew Kelly, an assistant professor at the Department of Health Sciences at California State University-East Bay. "It's left to states like California and Attorney General Becerra in taking a lead in confronting these efforts."
Becerra is perhaps best known for leading the opposition to the Texas v. U.S. lawsuit. In that suit, the Texas attorney general argued that the Affordable Care Act should be rendered unconstitutional because Congress eliminated the tax penalty on the uninsured. A federal judge last month sided with Texas, ruling that the federal health care law is unconstitutional.
Becerra, who said he helped write the health care law, said he felt compelled to step in when the Trump administration decided not to defend the law. Sixteen states and the District of Columbia joined that lawsuit, which is now on appeal.
The multistate strategy is one that attorneys general have used often in the past few decades when they don't agree with policies coming out of Washington, legal and political experts say. And it's not unique to one political party.
Republican attorneys general, for example, sued the Obama administration to block the expansion of Medicaid in their states. When George W. Bush was president, the state of Massachusetts led Democratic states in an effort to force the Environmental Protection Agency to regulate greenhouse gas emissions from cars.
The legal tit for tat is what Nicholas Bagley, a professor at the University of Michigan Law School, described as a disconcerting "militarization" of the state attorneys general offices to press an agenda in the courts.
"At a time of polarized politics, there's every incentive to pull whatever levers are available to you to try to advance your goals," Bagley said. "Over time, the state attorneys general have come to the view that the courts are an important forum to have these fights over important questions."
The behavior of the attorneys general also comes in response to an administration that is using its executive authority to push initiatives that it can't get Congress to approve.
President Donald Trump is left "to try to use either the regulatory process or executive order to accomplish his goals," said Gerald Kominski, a professor of health policy at UCLA. "Anyone who opposes those goals has to proceed through the legal process to challenge them."
Becerra, the first Latino to serve as California attorney general, has sued the Trump administration on a wide range of issues: health care, immigration, the Muslim travel ban, citizenship questions on the census, the border wall, climate change and clean-water rules.
When the former congressman was sworn in to his second term last week, he declared that he had "been a little busy keeping the dysfunction and insanity in Washington, D.C., from affecting California," and defending the state from the "overreach of the federal government." And he doesn't have any plans to let up.
"Whether it's the criminals on our streets or the con man in the boardrooms or the highest office of the land," Becerra said, "we've got your back."
But Becerra's record has been mixed.
The victory in court Sunday was limited. Oakland-based U.S. District Judge Haywood Gilliam Jr. blocked the rules from taking effect in the District of Columbia and the 13 states that challenged them, but he refused to stop them from taking effect in the rest of the country. That national reprieve came a day later in a Pennsylvania court, with U.S. District Judge Wendy Beetlestone describing the harm to women as "actual and imminent."
If the administration appeals, as expected, Pennsylvania, along with California and its legal coalition would move ahead with their cases to permanently throw out the rules, arguing that the Affordable Care Act guaranteed women no-cost contraception as part of their preventive health care, a provision that they say has benefited more than 62 million women since 2012, when the regulations went into effect.
The Trump rules, California argued in legal filings, would "transform contraceptive coverage from a legal entitlement to an essentially gratuitous benefit wholly subject to an employer's discretion." In its proposed regulations, the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services described the exemption as narrow and one that would affect a fraction of women — no more than 127,000.
That's a number Becerra disputes.
In claiming victory on the birth control lawsuit, Becerra said Sunday that his coalition will continue to advocate for women's access to reproductive health care.
How much more will Becerra fight during the next four years? Addressing the crowd who gathered this month to see him sworn in to a second term, he conveyed a simple response:
The proposed 'public charge' rule would allow the federal government to consider immigrants' use of an expanded list of public benefit programs, including Medicaid, as a reason to deny green card status.
While the Trump administration decides whether to adopt a controversial policy that could jeopardize the legal status of immigrants who use public programs such as Medicaid, doctors and clinics are torn between informing patients about the potential risks and unnecessarily scaring them into dropping their coverage or avoiding care.
"We are walking a fine line," said Tara McCollum Plese, chief external affairs officer at the Arizona Alliance for Community Health Centers, which represents 176 clinics. "Until there is confirmation this indeed is going to be the policy, we don't want to add to the angst and the concern."
However, if immigrants do come to a clinic wondering whether using Medicaid can affect their legal status, trained staff members will answer their questions, she said.
Other providers prefer to prepare their patients proactively in case the proposal is adopted. At Asian Health Services, a clinic group that serves Alameda County, Calif., staff members pass out fact sheets about the proposed changes, provide updates via their patient newsletter and host workshops where patients can speak to legal experts in several Asian languages.
"We can't just sit back and watch," said CEO Sherry Hirota. "We allocate resources to this because that's part of our job as a community health center — to be there not only when they're covered, but to be there always," even when that coverage is in jeopardy, she said.
The proposed "public charge" rule, which is awaiting final action by the U.S. Department of Homeland Security, would allow the federal government to consider immigrants' use of an expanded list of public benefit programs including Medicaid, CalFresh and Section 8 housing as a reason to deny lawful permanent residency — also known as green card status. Medicaid is the state-federal health insurance program for low-income people.
Currently, people are considered public charges if they rely on cash assistance (Temporary Assistance for Needy Families or Supplemental Security Income) or need federal help paying for long-term care.
Should the rule go into effect, it could force patients to choose between health care and their chance at a green card, McCollum Plese said. "And most people will probably not take the services," she said.
The rule would not be retroactive, meaning it wouldn't take into account past use of public benefits like Medicaid, according to legal experts.
But health centers and medical providers know that if they tell patients about it now, they risk scaring some of them into premature decisions about their benefits, including dropping coverage.
"For now, our focus has been on correcting misinformation, not necessarily raising awareness among those who haven't heard about the potential changes," said Erin Pak, CEO of KHEIR Center, a clinic group with three locations in Los Angeles. "This is a proposal that thrives on fear and misunderstanding, so we wanted to be thoughtful about how and when to engage patients on the issue, given that nothing has passed into law."
The Department of Homeland Security is reviewing more than 200,000 comments from the public before it issues a final rule. It's possible the department won't adopt the rule at all, legal experts say.
At KHEIR Center, the patient population is predominantly Korean immigrants, a group that is highly aware of the proposed public charge rule because of the coverage it has received in Korean-language media, according to Kirby Van Amburgh, the center's director of external affairs.
Other groups served by the clinic, such as Latino and Bengali immigrants, have asked few questions, she said.
Trained staff address patients' questions one-on-one, and hand out a fact sheet when needed.
Last month, L.A. Care health plan, which covers more than 2 million Medicaid enrollees in Los Angeles County, hosted a public charge webinar for about 180 providers. David Kane, an attorney at Neighborhood Legal Services of Los Angeles, led the webinar and urged doctors to tell concerned patients that nothing has changed yet, and that most immigrants would not be affected.
He also explained that if the federal government adopts the rule, it would not be effective immediately. There would most likely be a 60-day grace period before the changes take effect, Kane said. After that, implementation could be further delayed in court.
John Baackes, CEO of L.A. Care, who has been critical of the public charge proposal, said his organization offered the webinar because of the estimated 170,000 legal immigrants on his plan who could potentially be affected.
"I think we've got to let people know what could come, and try to give them more accurate information so that they don't act imprudently," he said. To do that, "we have to stay current."
A recent study out of Oregon suggests emergency medical responders — EMTs and paramedics — may be treating minority patients differently from the way they treat white patients.
Specifically, the scientists found that black patients in their study were 40 percent less likely to get pain medication than their white peers.
Jamie Kennel, head of emergency medical services programs at Oregon Health and Science University and the Oregon Institute of Technology, led the research, which was presented in December at the Institute for Healthcare Improvement Scientific Symposium in Orlando, Fla.
The researchers received a grant to produce the internal report for the Oregon Emergency Medical Services department and the Oregon Office of Rural Health.
Outright discrimination by paramedics is rare, the researchers say, and illegal; in these cases, unconscious bias may be at work.
A few years ago, Leslie Gregory was one of a very few black female emergency medical technicians working in Lenawee County, Mich. She said the study's findings ring true based on her experience.
She remembered one particular call — the patient was down and in pain. As the EMTs arrived at the scene, Gregory could see the patient was black. And that's when one of her colleagues groaned.
"I think it was something like: 'Oh, my God. Here we go again,'" Gregory said. She worried — then, as now — that because the patient was black, her colleague assumed he was acting out to get pain medication.
"I am absolutely sure this was unconscious," added Gregory, who now lives and works in Portland, Ore., where she founded a nonprofit to spread awareness about racial disparities in health care. "At the time, I remember, it increased my stress as we rode up on this person. Because I thought, 'Now am I going to have to fight my colleague for more pain medication, should that arise?'"
Unconscious bias can be subtle — but, as this new report shows, it may be one of the factors behind race-linked health disparities seen across the U.S.
The study looked at 104,000 medical charts of ambulance patients from 2015 to 2017. It found that minority patients were less likely to receive morphine and other pain medication compared with white patients — regardless of socioeconomic factors, such as health insurance status.
During a shift change at American Medical Response headquarters in Portland, EMTs and paramedics discussed the issue with a reporter as they got their rigs ready for the next shift.
Jennifer Sanders, who has been a paramedic for 30 years, was adamant that her work is not affected by race.
"I've never treated anybody different — regardless," said Sanders.
Most of the emergency responders interviewed, including Jason Dahlke, said race doesn't affect the treatment they give. But Dahlke also said he and some of his co-workers are thinking deeply about unconscious bias.
"Historically it's the way this country has been," Dahlke said. "In the beginning, we had slavery and Jim Crow and redlining — and all of that stuff you can get lost in on a large, macro scale. Yeah. It's there."
Asked where he thinks unconscious bias could slip in, Dahlke talked about a patient he just treated.
The man was black and around 60 years old. Dahlke is white and in his 30s. The patient has diabetes and called 911 from home, complaining of extreme pain in his hands and feet.
When Dahlke arrived at the patient's house, he followed standard procedure and gave the patient a blood glucose test. The results showed that the man's blood sugar level was low.
"So it's my decision to treat this blood sugar first. Make sure that number comes up," Dahlke said.
He gave the patient glucose — but no pain medicine.
Dahlke said he did not address the man's pain in this case because by the time he had stabilized the patient they had arrived at the hospital — where it was the responsibility of the emergency department staff to take over.
"When people are acutely sick or injured, pain medication is important," Dahlke said. "But it's not the first thing we're going to worry about. We're going to worry about life threats. You're not necessarily going to die from pain, and we're going to do what satisfies the need in the moment to get you into the ambulance and to the hospital and to a higher level of care."
Dahlke said he is not sure whether, if the patient had been white, he would have administered pain medicine, though he doesn't think so.
"Is it something that I think about when I come across a patient that does not look like me? I don't know that it changes my treatment," he said
Asked whether treatment disparities might sometimes be a result of white people being more likely to ask for more medications, Dahlke smiled.
"I wonder that — if, in this study, if we're talking about people of color being denied or not given narcotic medicines as much as white people, then maybe we're overtreating white people with narcotic medicines."
Research has found African-Americans more likely to be deeply distrustful of the medical community, and that might play a role in diminished care, too. Such distrust is understandable and goes back generations, said Gregory.
"How can a person of color not disrespect a system that is constantly studying and talking about these disparities, but does nothing to fix it?" she asked.
Gregory wrote an open letter to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in 2015, asking it to declare racism a threat to public health.
Past declarations of crisis — such as those focusing attention on problems such as smoking or HIV — have had significant results, Gregory noted.
But the CDC told Gregory, in its emailed response, that while it supports government policies to combat racial discrimination and acknowledges the role of racism in health disparities, "racism and racial discrimination in health is a societal issue as well as a public health one, and one that requires a broad-based societal strategy to effectively dismantle racism and its negative impacts in the U.S."
Kennel said false stereotypes about race-based differences in physiology that date to slavery also play a role in health care disparities. For example, despite a lack of any supporting science, some medical professionals still think the blood of African-Americans coagulates faster, Kennel said, citing a recent study of medical students at the University of Virginia.
Another question in the survey asked the students whether they thought African-Americans have fewer pain receptors than whites. "An uncomfortably large percentage of medical students said, 'Yes, that's true,'" said Kennel.
On top of that, he said, EMTs and paramedics often work in time-pressured situations, where they are limited to ambiguous clinical information and scarce resources. "In these situations, providers are much more likely to default to making decisions [based] on stereotypes," he said.
Disparities in health care are well-documented. Whites tend to get better care and experience better outcomes, whether they're in a doctor's office or the ER. But before Kennel's study, nobody knew whether the same was true in the back of an ambulance.
And they nearly didn't get to know, because the research required ambulance companies to release highly sensitive data.
"We were prepared to maybe not look that great," said Robert McDonald, the operations manager at American Medical Response in Portland. AMR is one of the nation's largest ambulance organizations, and it shared its data from more than 100,000 charts with Kennel.
Some people chalk up the disparities he found to differences in demography and health insurance status, but Kennel said he controlled for those variables.
So now that AMR knows about disparities in its care, what can the company do?
"My feeling is we're probably going to put some education and training out to our folks in the field," McDonald said.
In addition, he said, AMR is going to hire more people of color.
"We want to see more ethnicities represented in EMS — which has historically been a white, male-dominated workforce," McDonald said.
AMR's policies must change, too, he added. The company has purchased software that will enable patients to read medical permission forms in any of 17 different languages. And the firm is planning an outreach effort to communities of color to explain the role of EMS workers.
As the partial government shutdown drags on, about 800,000 federal employees who work for the shuttered agencies — and their families — are facing the reality of life without a paycheck.
And those workers need to consider a host of other related issues as they attempt to make ends meet.
For starters, what will happen to their health insurance?
For the most part, federal employees needn't worry about that, according to the Office of Personnel Management (OPM) in an FAQ blog post.
Both the online FAQ and the health insurance industry's trade association confirm that coverage through the Federal Employees Health Benefits (FEHB) program will continue even if some federal agencies affected by the shutdown aren't issuing those paychecks or paying premiums.
"The shutdown should not impact their coverage," said Kristine Grow, spokeswoman for America's Health Insurance plans, the trade group that represents insurers, including those that offer coverage through the federal program. "It's business as usual."
Once the shutdown ends and those payments resume, workers should expect that their usual share of premiums plus some of the accumulated amount that wasn't deducted during the missed pay periods will be taken out.
"Procedures may vary somewhat by payroll office, but the maximum additional deduction allowed under regulations is one pay period's worth of premiums (in addition to the current pay period's premium)," said an OPM spokeswoman.
What about government contract workers?
Less clear is what happens to workers under contract with the affected federal agencies — including some people working as analysts, administration assistants and janitorial staff — who are mostly excluded from the FEHB program.
Many companies that contract with the federal government offer workers insurance. The federal Office of Personnel Management recommends these contracted employees consult the human resources office at their company for answers regarding the shutdown.
"In 95 percent of cases, even if it's not required by law, I would think most everyone would continue that coverage," said Rachel Greszler, a senior policy analyst and research fellow at the Heritage Foundation who studies economics, budget and labor issues.
For contract workers who buy their own coverage and are struggling to pay bills without their paychecks, it's a different story. One strategy may be to ask their insurers for a grace period in paying their premiums, similar to how the government has suggested workers seek accommodation from mortgage lenders and other creditors. But there is no requirement that insurers grant such a request.
"We are concerned about the disruption that this shutdown has caused our members and their families," noted a corporate statement from CareFirst BlueCross BlueShield. "We are currently exploring how to best address this issue should the shut-down continue."
What else could be affected?
Depending on how long the shutdown lasts, dental, vision and life insurance programs may start sending bills directly to workers.
Federal workers pay the premiums for these benefits themselves, according to Dan Blair, who served as both acting director and deputy director of the OPM during the early 2000s. He is now a senior counselor and fellow the Bipartisan Policy Center.
Because workers' checks are not being processed, the amounts usually sent to these carriers each pay period also aren't being paid. If the shutdown lasts longer than two or three pay periods, workers will get premium bills directly from these firms and should pay them "on a timely basis to ensure continuation of coverage," the OPM says in its FAQ. Blair agrees.
There also may be a delay in processing claims for flexible spending accounts. These are special accounts in which workers use pretax money deducted from their paychecks to cover certain eligible medical expenses, such as eyeglasses, braces, copayments for doctor visits or medications, including some over-the-counter products. With no paychecks going out, these deductions are not being made and transferred into FSAs. Once paychecks start up again, the amount deducted will be adjusted so the worker will get the annual total they had requested.
During the shutdown, though, reimbursement claims to these accounts also won't be processed, the OPM says. Blair suggests holding off on big-ticket purchases during the shutdown, if possible, and always keeping paperwork on the purchases.
Another consideration: Those who changed plans before the furlough may find their paperwork wasn't processed in time.
In those cases, the OPM says to stick with the old health plan until the shutdown ends and the new plan is processed. The new plan will pick up any claims incurred.
How will workers know if their change was processed? The OPM's FAQ says workers who receive an ID card in the mail are enrolled.
"The new policy will be what applies and pays benefits, but there could be some administrative burdens and hassles on the part of workers if the shutdown continues much longer, if the initial bills are not going to the right insurance company," Greszler said.
Overall, Blair says workers should continue to monitor news media sites, particularly those that focus on federal workers and issues, looking for any updates.
"We're getting into uncharted territory and there are always things that pop up that no one has planned for," said Blair, who did not face any shutdowns during his tenure at OPM.
'I think this sets the standard for the unique role of Medicaid managed care in bridging health care and social services,' said a George Washington University health law and policy professor.
Emilia Ford became pregnant at 15 and, after her daughter was born, dropped out of high school.
As she held down different jobs during the past decade — including housekeeping and working in a relative's retail store — she always thought about going for her GED to show she met high school academic skills.
But the Brookhaven, Pa., woman needed assistance finding tutors and paying for the set of four tests, which cost $20 each.
She found help from an unexpected source: her Medicaid health plan.
AmeriHealth Caritas, a Philadelphia-based insurer with 2 million Medicaid members in Pennsylvania and five other states, helps connect members with nonprofit groups providing GED test preparation classes, offers telephone coaching to keep members on track and pays the testing fees.
Ford is one of 62 plan members who have earned a GED certificate since the benefit began in 2013.
"I could not believe this was something a health insurance company would do," said Ford, 25. "I thought health insurers only paid for medical costs."
Not anymore.
Medicaid health plans are starting to pay for non-traditional services such as meals, transportation, housing and other forms of assistance to improve members' health and reduce medical costs.
That change follows efforts by state Medicaid programs to give health plans financial incentives to control spending, said Jill Rosenthal, senior program director for the National Academy for State Health Policy.
Rather than continue to pay a set fee each month to cover members' health costs, many states are implementing policies that let health plans share in any savings they can demonstrate. That provides motivation for insurers to address factors such as literacy and poor housing, which can drive up health costs.
"Health plans now have incentives for them to find the root causes of problems that will reduce costs that will benefit the plan, its beneficiaries and the states," Rosenthal said.
AmeriHealth Caritas CEO Paul Tufano said studies show people with lower educational levels tend to be in poorer health. "Helping members attain their GED can be incredibly consequential for them to live the kind of life they want to live," he said.
But Tufano acknowledged that only a small fraction of people who need the assistance reach out for it. About 1,000 members have started GED training through the insurer in Pennsylvania, Louisiana, South Carolina and Delaware.
"Many of our members are just surviving to keep their heads over water, holding on to jobs and dealing with issues like safe housing, access to food and transportation to get to work or doctor," he said.
AmeriHealth Caritas is one of just a handful of Medicaid health plans that offer a GED benefit.
WellCare, which covers 2.2 million Medicaid recipients in Missouri, Nebraska, Georgia, Kentucky, Hawaii and Illinois, had 226 members sit for their GED exams since the plan began paying for it in 2012, said spokeswoman Alissa Lawver. The Tampa-based plan does not know how many passed.
A Wellcare survey of its Medicaid adult members in Georgia in 2012 found that about 20 percent did not have a high school diploma or a GED.
"There is a significant relationship between education and health," Wendy Morriarty, president of WellCare's Ohana Health Plan in Hawaii, said when launching the benefit in 2016. "A GED is a tool that can lead to increased opportunities for our members to attend college, seek higher-paying jobs and find stable housing. This benefit has the ability to improve the health and well-being of local families and communities."
Advocates for Medicaid praise the health plans' efforts.
"I think this sets the standard for the unique role of Medicaid managed care in bridging health care and social services," said Sara Rosenbaum, health law and policy professor at George Washington University.
Ford said having a coach at AmeriHealth walk her through the sign-up process for GED classes, help her register for tests and call her twice a week to keep her motivated was vital to her success. The program also offered child care and transportation to the prep classes and exam sites. She started in May 2017, taking two classes a week, and passed her exams last summer.
When she finished, AmeriHealth hired Ford as an intern in its member services department. In December 2017, the insurer hired Ford to a full-time position — with health benefits — to work as a GED coach for other Medicaid members.
The job meant Ford became the first of nine siblings to get off Medicaid and find employer-based coverage.
"I feel like I was saved from the struggle I was going through," Ford said. "This is something big that my family was proud of." While she was growing up, she said, her father drove a school bus and her mom took care of the kids.
In the past year, Ford has helped 12 plan members earn their GEDs and she's coaching 30 more.
"I can tell them I have been where you are on the other side of the phone and can share my experience and it helps give them more trust in me," Ford said.
"The hardest thing is not giving up even after failing a test and being able to get back up and push yourself and get over the discouragement," she said. "There is always something good that you can take from a bad situation."
For weeks on end, a small group gathered at the shuttered hospital to pray for some avenue to reopen. Then, as the odds looked increasingly long, they got a call out of the blue from two Austin-based doctors.
Five months ago, the 6,500 residents of Crockett, Texas, witnessed a bit of a resurrection — at least in rural hospital terms.
A little more than a year after the local hospital shut its doors, the 25-bed facility reopened its emergency department, inpatient beds and some related services, albeit on a smaller scale.
Without a hospital, residents of Crockett, located 120 miles north of Houston, were 35 miles away along rural roads from the next closest hospital when a medical crisis struck, said Dr. Bob Grier, board president of the Houston County Hospital District, which is the county's governmental authority that oversees Crockett, a public hospital. "Someone falls off the roof. A heart attack. A stroke. A diabetic coma. Start naming these rather serious things and health care is known for its golden hour," he said.
The late-July reopening of the newly named Crockett Medical Center makes it a bit of a unicorn in a state that has led nationally in rural hospital closures. Since January 2010, 17 of the 94 shuttered hospitals have been in Texas, including two that closed in December, according to data from the University of North Carolina's Cecil G. Sheps Center for Health Services Research.
But Crockett's story also reflects some of the challenges faced by rural hospitals everywhere. Board members frequently have limited background in health care management and yet are responsible for making financial decisions. Add to that mix a Lone Star State resistance to raising local property taxes. An effort to increase the county's 15 cents per $100 property valuation for the hospital district has been defeated twice since the hospital closed.
And a small rural hospital like Crockett's has "no leverage" when negotiating reimbursement rates with insurers, Grier repeatedly points out.
The tough reality is that too many rural hospitals in Texas and elsewhere, when negotiating with insurers and other financial players, "are almost always negotiating from weakness and sometimes from literally leaning out over the edge of the [survival] cliff," agreed Dr. Nancy Dickey, executive director of the A&M Rural and Community Health Institute at Texas A&M Health Science Center.
Rural communities must think more creatively about how to meet at least some of their health needs without a traditional hospital, whether it's forming partnerships with nearby towns or expanding telemedicine, Dickey said. "There is little doubt in my mind that many of these communities are going to see their hospitals close," she said, "and are not going to be able to make an economic case to reopen them."
The A&M institute, which in December published a report looking at these challenges for three Texas communities, recently landed a $4 million, five-year federal grant to help rural hospitals nationwide keep their doors open or find other ways to maintain local health care.
Demographics And Decisions
The financial headwinds have been particularly fierce in Texas, one of 14 states that has not expanded Medicaid eligibility after the passage of the Affordable Care Act. "That makes a huge difference," said John Henderson, chief executive officer of the Texas Organization of Rural & Community Hospitals, known in Texas rural circles as TORCH. "But that doesn't change the reality that we aren't going to do it."
Leading up to the state's biennial legislative session, which begins in January, rural leaders are making the case that state legislators need to take steps to bolster the state's 161 rural hospitals, starting with rectifying underpayments for Medicaid patients. As the state's program has transitioned to managed care, over time reimbursements have shrunk to the point that rural hospitals are losing as much as $60 million annually, according to TORCH officials, who cite state data.
They also support a congressional bill, HR 5678, that would make it easier for rural hospitals to close their inpatient beds but retain some services, such as an emergency room and primary care clinic. Under current federal regulations, facilities that make such a move are no longer considered a hospital and can't be reimbursed by Medicare and Medicaid at hospital rates, which are often higher than payments to clinics or individual doctors. Those lower rates make it harder for stripped-down facilities to keep up their operations, said Don McBeath, TORCH's director of government relations.
Crockett's hospital, then called Timberlands Healthcare, abruptly shut down in summer 2017 after just a few weeks' notice from its management company, Texas-based Little River Healthcare. Little River, which was also the subject of an analysis by Modern Healthcare that showed several of its hospitals engaged in unusually high laboratory billing for out-of-state patients, has since filed for bankruptcy. Two other rural hospitals affiliated with Little River closed their doors in December
As it struggled to stay open, Crockett's hospital had been treating a population that was increasingly poor and aging, according to Texas A&M's report. The researchers describe in the report — Crockett is "community 1" among three communities featured — that the hospital was overstaffed with more than 200 employees given its daily average census of three hospitalized patients. Also, they wrote, board members should have more closely questioned the management company. The board said they were given data at each meeting, "but that data did not suggest the imminent demise of the hospital," the report's authors wrote.
Fighting The Closure Tide
Leaders in Crockett tried to capture the interest of other hospital systems to reopen and manage the facility, without success, Grier said. Along with staffers losing their jobs, the community knew it would be more difficult to persuade people to relocate or retire to the area without a hospital nearby, he said.
Every weekday at noon for weeks on end, a small group of two to 20 people gathered beneath the hospital's front portico to pray for some avenue to reopen, Grier said. Then, as the odds looked increasingly long, they got a call out of the blue from two Austin-based doctors. "I feel God was involved," Grier said. "They have told us that they were looking for some kind of a larger investment."
Those initial conversations resulted in a five-year lease arrangement between the hospital district and the management company, operating as Crockett Medical Center LLC.
The two physicians, Dr. Kelly Tjelmeland and Dr. Subir Chhikara, are listed on Crockett Medical Center's website as chairman and president, respectively. They failed to respond to requests for comment about their plans for the hospital. But in a presentation to the board before the lease was signed, they said that one of their goals was to get the facility classified as a critical access hospital, which enables a higher reimbursement for Medicare patients.
Along with operating a primary care clinic and 24/7 emergency room, Crockett Medical Center staffs a handful of hospital beds for patients who need more limited medical treatment, such as heart monitoring or intravenous antibiotics, Grier said. But when the Crockett hospital reopened, it didn't resume delivering babies. Only 66 of Texas rural hospitals still provide obstetrics services, according to McBeath.
Eliminating baby deliveries was one possibility on the table at another rural hospital if that hospital CEO hadn't pulled off the sort of Texas miracle that Crockett has yet to achieve — persuading local voters to support a tax increase. Adam Willmann, CEO of 25-bed Goodall-Witcher Hospital Authority, northwest of Waco, said that he and others made the case in dozens of meetings that a hospital property tax was needed to support the financially struggling hospital.
In November, 58 percent of the county's voters backed the new tax, despite the community's political leanings. During that same election, 80 percent voted to re-elect Republican Sen. Ted Cruz.
"They want to be 5 minutes, 15 minutes from an ER and not 35 miles down the road," Willmann said, referring to the nearest hospitals in Waco. "And they're willing to pay a little more for it."
The FDA is supposed to inspect all factories, foreign and domestic, that produce drugs for the U.S. market. But a review of inspection records, recalls, warning letters, and lawsuits reveals how poorly manufactured or contaminated drugs can reach consumers.
ANN ARBOR, Mich. — Despite the jackhammer-like rhythm of a mechanical ventilator, Alicia Moreno had dozed off in a chair by her 1-year-old’s hospital bed, when a doctor woke her with some bad news: The common stool softener her son, Anderson, was given months earlier had been contaminated with the bacterium Burkholderia cepacia.
Suddenly, Anderson’s rocky course made medical sense. B. cepacia was the same unusual bacterium mysteriously found in the boy’s respiratory tract, temporarily taking him off the list for a heart transplant. The same bacterium resurfaced after his transplant and combined with a flu-like illness to infect his lungs. He’s been on a ventilator ever since.
The tainted over-the-counter medicine, docusate sodium, routinely prescribed to nearly every hospitalized patient to avert constipation, caused Anderson to suffer "serious and dangerous life-threatening injuries," a lawsuit filed by his family alleges. The drug was eventually recalled, but only after a Texas hospital staff noticed an uptick in B. cepacia infections, prompting a six-month investigation that led back to the tainted drug and its Florida manufacturing plant.
"Something that was supposed to help him hurt him," Alicia Moreno said.
Since the start of 2013, pharmaceutical companies based in the U.S. or abroad have recalled about 8,000 medicines, comprising billions of tablets, bottles and vials that have entered the U.S. drug supply and made their way to patients’ medicine cabinets, hospital supply closets and IV drips, a Kaiser Health News investigation shows. The recalls represent a fraction of the medicines shipped each year. But the flawed products contained everything from dangerous bacteria or tiny glass particles to mold — or too much or too little of the drug’s active ingredient.
Over the same period, 65 drug-making facilities recalled nearly 300 products within 12 months of passing a Food and Drug Administration inspection — as was the case with the stool softener, according to a KHN analysis of recall notices and inspection records kept by the FDA.
Those recalls included more than 39,000 bottles of the HIV drug Atripla laced with "red silicone rubber particulates," nearly 37,000 generic Abilify tablets that were "superpotent," and nearly 12,000 boxes of generic Aleve (naproxen) that were actually ibuprofen, according to the recall data KHN examined.
The medicine alleged to have sickened Anderson Moreno seriously infected at least 63 other people in 12 states, according to reports by the FDA and Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. The drug was made at a PharmaTech plant in Broward County, Fla. That same plant passed an FDA inspection even while it was making bacteria-laced products, according to a KHN review of the inspection records.
PharmaTech did not respond to KHN’s requests for comment. A lawyer for the drugmaker filed a motion to dismiss the lawsuit in April, but it was not granted. In follow-up court records, PharmaTech has denied claims against it.
Like other FDA commissioners before him, Scott Gottlieb has called his agency’s drug oversight program the "gold standard" for safety and effectiveness.
But veteran industry consultant John Avellanet, who has trained FDA inspectors, questions how effective the FDA’s drug plant inspections actually are. "It’s so easy" for FDA inspectors to miss things because they’re working with confusing regulatory terms and standards that are often decades out of date, Avellanet said.
Just how often people are sickened or die from tainted drugs is next to impossible to determine. No government agency tracks cases unless they’re linked to a major outbreak among hospital patients. And sudden, seemingly random illnesses in disparate places are notoriously hard to link to a tainted drug. That’s in part because drugmakers don’t have to divulge which products are made in which manufacturing plants, since that is regarded as proprietary information.
The result: Even someone who buys drugs for a major hospital can’t track down where a potentially dangerous product came from, said Erin Fox, who purchases medicines for University of Utah Health hospitals.
"Patient safety should come first," she said, adding that the KHN analysis indicates "our drug quality is probably not what we think it is," and calling it a "scary" reality. "Something does need to change if this is happening this many times and we’re having patients receiving contaminated products."
The FDA declined to be interviewed for this story, but responded to written questions.
"While the FDA would prefer that no drug be distributed that later is recalled, we do not think that a recall indicates a failure of FDA inspection and surveillance programs," FDA spokesman Jeremy Kahn said in an email. He said inspectors "may not uncover all issues or practices that may eventually result in a problem leading to a recall" and that "not all recalls are the result of poor manufacturing practice."
The PharmaTech Story
"Lucky fin, lucky fin, lucky fin," Alicia Moreno, 30, cheered as she untangled her now 3-year-old son’s stroke-weakened arm from a sweater and his portable ventilator in the back seat of the car for yet another four-hour drive to see doctors in Ann Arbor, Mich. In the Disney movie "Finding Nemo," Nemo’s father calls the young fry’s smaller fin his "lucky fin."
While her husband drives, Alicia pulls out a clear plastic case of syringes and watches the clock on the dashboard. Anderson needs about two dozen different medicines every 24 hours, and Alicia administers them via a port in his belly at designated times.
Alicia Moreno spends the day with her son, Anderson.(Heidi de Marco/KHN)
It wasn’t always like this. Anderson appeared healthy until his 6-month checkup in May 2016, his mother said. Partway through the exam, the Morenos rushed their baby to a nearby hospital and learned he was in heart failure and would need a transplant to survive. That’s where he received the tainted stool softener, his lawyers allege. The hospital where Anderson eventually received his transplant confirmed via email that Anderson tested positive for the same strain of B. cepacia involved in the outbreak traced back to PharmaTech’s contaminated drug.
In July, according to the family, Anderson started to have difficulty breathing and his temperature spiked to 106 degrees, which landed him in the ICU, where doctors and nurses packed him with ice and rushed to find the cause. Their tests turned up positive for B. cepacia, a bacterium found in untreated water that doesn’t typically make healthy people sick. Anderson’s status on the transplant list was put on hold, and his heart condition worsened. He was placed on a machine that transferred blood outside his body, oxygenated it and pumped it back in.
Anderson finally got a heart transplant in November 2016, but four days after doctors closed his chest, his fever was back and his lungs kept getting worse, requiring more complicated machinery. Tests came back positive for a flu-like virus and B. cepacia, according to the hospital.
"Where did he get it?" his parents pleaded. At the time, no one knew.
Anderson Moreno uses a portable ventilator because of his impaired lung capacity.(Heidi de Marco/KHN)
How Tainted Drugs Slip Through the Cracks
The FDA is supposed to inspect all factories, foreign and domestic, that produce drugs for the U.S. market. But a KHN review of thousands of FDA documents — inspection records, recalls, warning letters and lawsuits — offers insight into the ways poorly manufactured or contaminated drugs reach consumers: Inspectors miss serious hazards. Drugmakers fail to meet standards even after the FDA has taken enforcement action. Hundreds of plants haven’t been inspected for years, if ever.
Last July, for example, the FDA announced the first of many voluntary recalls of the blood pressure medicine valsartan because some tablets contain a cancer-causing impurity called N-nitrosodimethylamine (NDMA). They would later find a similar carcinogen, N-nitrosodiethylamine (NDEA), in valsartan pills. Over the prior two years, investigators had detected worrisome problems in two overseas factories involved in the manufacturing of the drug.
In 2017, FDA investigators found rust, chipping paint and deteriorating equipment at a plant run by Zhejiang Huahai Pharmaceutical Co. in Zhejiang, China. Plant staffers weren’t properly testing and investigating "anomalies" in their drugs, dismissing problematic test results, the FDA said at that time. Inspectors also found "black metallic particles" and other problems in some unidentified drugs.
The FDA inspected the plant in July 2018 after complaints about NDMA from a facility further down the drug supply chain. The FDA put the facility on import alert in late September and issued a warning letter in November detailing deficiencies, including "Failure of your quality unit to ensure that quality-related complaints are investigated and resolved."
At a facility of Hetero Labs in India, in 2016, FDA inspectors found colored and white residue in components, some of the factory’s tablets were twice as thick as others, and employees were shredding documents in the middle of the night. The FDA issued a warning letter to the company as a result of the inspection.
Plants making drugs for U.S. consumers are supposed to be inspected every few years, according to a risk-based system. However, in the past decade more than 2,500 facilities, both foreign and domestic, have gone more than five years without an FDA drug-quality inspection, a KHN analysis found. The FDA has no drug-quality inspection records over the past decade for more than 1,200 domestic plants and nearly 400 foreign plants, excluding those that make animal drug products, according to the analysis. Gottlieb said in December that he hopes to clear the backlog of uninspected drug facilities by the end of September 2019.
At best, the inspections are a snapshot in time, and involve looking at processes rather than evaluating the drugs themselves, said drug-quality specialist Dinesh Thakur, who has worked for drugmakers. The inspections might take place while the facility is making only one of a dozen or so drugs that it usually manufactures.
"The implicit assumption … is that if the [manufacturing] processes are sound, the product will be of good quality," said Thakur, who raised the alarm about quality-control problems at generics drugmaker Ranbaxy, resulting in a 2013 guilty plea and a $500 million settlement. "Your data tells us this is not true."
Many inspections, he said, are "stage-managed," so that factories pass on the appointed day, but "once the inspectors leave, it’s a completely different story."
David Gortler, a former FDA medical officer, said most drug plant inspections involve looking over paper records and trusting that they’re real, instead of randomly testing medicines.
"Anybody can write down anything on a piece of paper," said Gortler, who is now a consultant at FormerFDA.com. He added that FDA inspectors aren’t reprimanded — or even told — if they’ve passed a plant that issued a recall shortly thereafter.
A Lucky Break Solves A Mystery
The contaminated stool softener alleged to have sickened Anderson Moreno was one of many drugs recalled by plants shortly after they passed an FDA inspection. The bacteria was detected only after an outbreak of disease — and after a good deal of medical sleuthing.
More than 1,000 miles away from Anderson’s ICU bed in Michigan, staff at Texas Children’s Hospital’s pediatric ICU in Houston had diagnosed three cases of B. cepacia in one week in February 2016, according to a 2017 medical journal article published in Infection Control and Hospital Epidemiology. It was odd because there had been no cases the previous year.
Hospital staff members embarked on a months-long investigation and by July had identified 24 victims, whose median age was under 2 years old. Patients had the same strain of the bacteria in their blood, their respiratory tracts, their urine or their stool, according to the article.
Samples matched the bacteria found in liquid docusate, the stool softener, the researchers wrote.
The hospital alerted the CDC and other public health officials of its findings. The CDC would eventually identify 63 confirmed and 45 suspected serious B. cepacia infections in 12 states tied to the contaminated drug.
A 36-day FDA inspection of PharmaTech in Davie, Fla., that ended Aug. 9, 2016, revealed that the bacteria was in water used to clean equipment and make liquid products. FDA inspectors concluded that the bacterium made it into the facility’s drugs starting in 2015 and was still present in the water.
Anderson was treated with the stool softener in May 2016. His parents filed suit in September 2017 in PharmaTech’s home of Broward Country, Fla., against the drugmaker and others in the drug supply chain, alleging the drug was contaminated and caused him grievous damage. PharmaTech, which did not return KHN’s requests for comment, unsuccessfully filed a motion to dismiss and has denied all charges in a subsequent filing.
A 9-month-old girl in Pittsburgh who had received the stool softener died on May 4, 2016, according to a lawsuit her family filed in July 2017 in the U.S. District Court for the Western District of Pennsylvania. Her mother learned about the drug recall by chance and asked the hospital whether her deceased daughter received the tainted drug, her lawyer told KHN. The family filed charges against PharmaTech and others in the drug supply chain in a wrongful death lawsuit. The court rejected PharmaTech’s motions to dismiss and strike, and the drugmaker denied liability in a subsequent filing. In November 2017, a lawyer representing PharmaTech in that wrongful death case told the Orlando (Fla.) Sun Sentinel that it will defend itself against the allegations and couldn’t comment further "because of the ongoing nature of litigation."
According to federal records, FDA inspectors had a chance to catch the contamination during their March 2016 inspection, but the PharmaTech plant passed with no citations. PharmaTech CEO Ray Figueroa saluted the inspection results in a press release, calling it "a testimony to PharmaTech’s commitment to world-class quality."
How Things Can Go Wrong
The FDA has issued thousands of enforcement actions against drug plants over the years, citing safety violations, issuing warning letters and blocking imports from certain foreign plants. In rare cases, the FDA can also seize drug products and has done so 23 times in the past decade. The last drug seizure was more than two years ago, according to FDA records.
In an emailed statement, FDA chief Gottlieb said the FDA is "taking new steps" to identify problems before they occur and it is "not shy" to use its powers to mitigate risks.
But the system can be stymied or gamed and the FDA’s enforcement abilities are limited. For instance, it doesn’t have the power to issue a mandatory recall, and manufacturing citations don’t come with fines.
Many cases come to light only when a whistleblower sounds an alarm.
Thakur, the Ranbaxy whistleblower, said officials in other countries sometimes tip off plants about "surprise" FDA inspections. And FDA inspectors often have to rely on translators hired by the drug companies, said Avellanet, who has been a drug facility inspection consultant for more than 20 years.
At Nippon Fine Chemical in Japan, employees stood "shoulder-to-shoulder" to keep an FDA official out in December 2015, according to an enforcement letter sent to the plant and published online.
Less than a year later, Vikshara Trading & Investments Ltd. in India allegedly faked a worker strike to block the entrance to the plant, according to an FDA enforcement document that described the manufacturer’s "false statements." When inspectors were eventually allowed in, the lights were kept off.
"Our investigator had to perform parts of the walkthrough in the dark, using a flashlight," the FDA warning letter reads, adding that an unidentified powder was "scattered" and "caked on the floor" in production areas and detected on finished drug products.
Two former employees have filed a whistleblower suit against Gilead Sciences, alleging it lied to the FDA about using a drug-manufacturing facility in South Korea, when it was actually using an unregistered facility in China. According to the civil complaint filed in September 2014 in U.S. District Court for the Northern District of California, the ingredient produced at Synthetics China and used in HIV drugs Truvada and Atripla contained "glass-like shards," "black rubber-like particles," "plastic-like particles," "small stone or pebble-like particles" and "metal shards."
The whistleblowers alleged Gilead’s Alberta, Canada, plant was tasked with sieving contaminants and helping to conceal where the ingredient was made.
They said one batch of the ingredient was contaminated with arsenic, chromium and nickel. Another had a dangerous bacterium called Bacillus cereus, according to the whistleblowers’ suit. Still, Gilead released the product and didn’t initiate a recall, the whistleblowers alleged.
Years after the whistleblowers stopped working for Gilead, the drugmaker issued two voluntary recalls of HIV drugs in 2014, about seven months apart. Both recalls cited contamination with red silicone rubber particulates.
Anderson Moreno uses a portable ventilator because of his impaired lung capacity.(HEIDI DE MARCO/KHN)
Gilead declined to comment. Gilead has fought the lawsuit, alleging that since the government knew of the allegations and did not penalize it by denying drug approvals or payments, the suit could not move forward. In 2015, a federal judge dismissed the case, but a panel from the 9th District Court of Appeals reversed that decision in 2017. Now the Supreme Court may hear it; in April 2018, it invited the solicitor general to file a brief, "expressing the views of the United States." The Justice Department filed a brief in November, saying pursuing the lawsuit is “not in the public interest."
Since the FDA has little power to force a drugmaker to fix problems or issue recalls, FDA inspectors often flag the same violations again and again. A KHN analysis found that over the past decade 70 drug plants — most of them domestic — were penalized for the same violation at least four times. And more than a third of those plants has issued a recall at some point.
Altaire Pharmaceuticals in New York was cited five times by FDA inspectors for inadequate "procedures for sterile drug products." In 2013, it recalled 363,746 bottles of generic eye drops sold at CVS, Target and Walmart over sterility concerns — namely mold — because the preservative in the product "may not be effective" through the expiration date. Overall, Altaire was told to correct 15 violations at least twice.
KHN attempted to contact Altaire Pharmaceuticals, but the company did not reply.
Kept In The Dark
About a year after the initial PharmaTech recall in 2016, the FDA announced another recall for the same drugs and the same bacterium: B. cepacia. When Erin Fox saw the second recall, she thought it was a mistake. The alert said to avoid drugs made by PharmaTech under several labels "and possibly [products from] other companies." What other companies? Fox wondered. How could they not know which ones?
Doctors at the hospital asked Fox to remove all PharmaTech-made products from the shelves, but because of lax labeling laws, she said, she couldn’t be sure which those were. Drug labels need to include only the manufacturer, the packer or the distributor — not all three — so the doctors suggested she call PharmaTech and ask what else it manufactures and for whom.
As of Jan. 1, in the name of transparency, the Trump administration required that all hospitals post their list prices online. But what is popping up on medical center websites is a dog's breakfast of medical codes, abbreviations and dollar signs — in little discernible order — that may initially serve to confuse more than illuminate.
Anyone who has ever tried to find out in advance how much a hospital test, procedure or stay will cost knows the frustration: "Nope, can't tell you" or "It depends" are common replies from insurers and medical centers.
While more information is always welcome, the new data will fall short of providing most consumers with usable insight.
That's because the price lists displayed this week, called chargemasters, are massive compendiums of the prices set by each hospital for every service or drug a patient might encounter. To figure out what, for example, a trip to the emergency room might cost, a patient would have to locate and piece together the price for each component of their visit — the particular blood tests, the particular medicines dispensed, the facility fee and the physician's charge, and more.
"I don't think it's very helpful," said Gerard Anderson, director of the Johns Hopkins Center for Hospital Finance and Management. "There are about 30,000 different items on a chargemaster file. As a patient, you don't know which ones you will use."
And there's this: Other than the uninsured and people who are out-of-network, few actually pay full charges.
The requirement to post charges online in a machine-readable format, such as a Microsoft Excel file, came in a 2018 guidance from the Trump administration that builds on rules in the Affordable Care Act. Hospitals have some leeway in deciding how to present the information — and currently there is no penalty for failing to post.
"This is a small step" toward price transparency amid other ongoing efforts, Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services Administrator Seema Verma said in a speech in July.
But finding the chargemaster information on a hospital's website takes diligence. Patients can try typing the hospital's name into a search engine, along with the keywords "billing" or "chargemaster." That might produce a link.
Even when consumers do locate the lists, they might be stymied by seemingly incomprehensible abbreviations.
The University of California San Francisco Medical Center's chargemaster, for example, includes a $378 charge for "Arthrocentesis Aspir&/Inj Small Jt/Bursa w/o Us," which is basically draining fluid from the knee.
At Sentara in Hampton Roads, Va., there's a $307 charge for something described as a LAY CLOS HND/FT=<2.5CM. What? Turns out that is the charge for a small suture in surgery.
Which services, treatments, drugs or procedures a patient will face in a hospital stay is often unknowable. And the charge listed is just one component of a total bill. Put simply, an MRI scan of the abdomen has related costs, such as the charge for the radiologist who reads the exam.
Even something as seemingly straightforward as an uncomplicated childbirth can't easily be calculated by looking at the list.
Comparisons between hospitals for the same care can also be difficult.
An uncomplicated vaginal delivery charge at the Cleveland Clinic's main campus is $3,466.
Looking for that same information on the Minnesota Mayo Clinic's online chargemaster page shows two listings, one for $3,030, described as "labor and delivery level 1 short" and the other for $5,236, described as "labor and delivery level 2 long." But, what's a short labor? What's a long one? How is a patient who didn't go to med school supposed to know the difference?
Also, those are just the charges for the actual delivery. There are also per-day room charges for mom and the newborn, not to mention additional charges for medications, physicians and other treatments.
To get at the total estimated charge, California requires hospitals to report charges for a select number of such "bundles" of care, called "diagnosis-related groups," or DRGs, in Medicare jargon.
At the University of California-San Francisco's hospital, for example, there are two chargemaster line items for vaginal childbirth: One is $5,497 and the other is $12,632. But there's no indication how these differ. Consumers might then turn to the "bundled" cost based on those DRGs, where the ancillary costs are included. That lists the total charge for an uncomplicated childbirth at an astounding $53,184.
A UCSF spokeswoman said no officials were available to comment on this figure.
Though chargemaster rates are quite different from the lower, negotiated rates that insurers pay, they do become the basis for what patients pay who are without insurance or who are treated at hospitals outside their insurer's network. Out-of-network patients are often surprised when they get what are called "balance bills" for the difference between what their insurer pays toward their care and those full charges.
Still, even knowing chargemaster rates "would be entirely unhelpful" in fighting a high balance bill, said Barak Richman, a law professor at Duke University who has written extensively about balance bills and hospital charges.
"Chargemasters are enormous spreadsheets with incredibly complicated codes that no one short of a billing expert would be able to make sense of," he said.
Nevertheless, some experts say that merely making the charges public shines a light on the often very high — and widely varying — prices set by facilities.
Even if those charges are only "what hospitals would like to receive," posting them publicly could make hospitals "totally embarrassed by the prices," said Anderson at Hopkins.
Billing expert George Nation, a finance professor at Lehigh University, said that rather than posting chargemaster lists, hospitals should be required to provide the average prices they accept from insurers. Hospitals generally would oppose that, saying negotiated rates are a trade secret.
It's unclear that the lists will have much impact. "It's been the norm here in California for over a decade," said Jan Emerson-Shea, vice president of external affairs for the California Hospital Association. Even so, "from a practical standpoint, I'm not sure how useful this information is," she said. "What an individual pays to [the] hospital is going to be based on what their insurer covers."
That could include such things as the annual deductible, whether the facility or physicians involved in the care are in-network and other details.
"The hospital piece is just a small piece," said Ariel Levin, senior associate director for state issues at the American Hospital Association.
Still, "the biggest concern is it falls short of that end goal because it really doesn't help consumers understand what they are going to be liable for," she said.
Government oversight fades as taxpayer money filters down through layers of companies eager to seize on Medicaid's substantial growth under the ACA. Medicaid officials say they have authority only over the health plans, not their subcontractors.
Marcela Villa isn't a big name in health care — but she played a crucial role in the lives of thousands of Medicaid patients in California. Her official title: denial nurse.
Each week, dozens of requests for treatment landed on her desk after preliminary rejections. Her job, with the assistance of a part-time medical director, was to conclusively determine whether the care — from doctor visits to cancer treatment — should be covered under the nation's health insurance program for low-income Americans.
She was drowning in requests, she said, and felt pressed to uphold most of the denials she saw. "If it was a high-dollar case, they tried to deny it," Villa said. "I told them you can't deny it just because it's going to cost $20,000."
Villa, 32, did not work for the government. She did not even work for an insurer under contract with the government. She worked for a company now called Agilon Health. Owned by a private equity firm, it's among the legion of private subcontractors looking to profit from Medicaid patients.
California's Medicaid program, known as Medi-Cal, has determined that the Long Beach company, which was paid to coordinate care for about 400,000 patients, improperly denied or delayed care for at least 1,400 of them, state officials confirmed. The state Department of Managed Health Care is investigating further.
The state findings, along with internal company documents and a whistleblower complaint obtained by Kaiser Health News, shine a light on the potential dangers of outsourcing care for poor people. Government oversight, not rigorous to begin with, fades as taxpayer money filters down through layers of companies eager to seize on Medicaid's substantial growth under the Affordable Care Act. Medicaid officials say they have authority only over the health plans, not their subcontractors.
In an interview, Agilon chief executive Ron Kuerbitz acknowledged that some patients experienced modest delays in care but disputed that any suffered unjustified denials. He noted that an internal investigation by the company found no evidence of "systemic" denials and that most of the problems existed before Agilon took over another firm, Primary Provider Management Co., in 2016.
"We did the right thing when it was identified," Kuerbitz said of the problems. "We disclosed it, we investigated it, and we pursued a remedial path."
Such concerns are not isolated to one company. Last year, KHN reported on similar irregularities at SynerMed, a Medicaid subcontractor that coordinated care for about 650,000 patients in California.
In response to a whistleblower complaint, the state Medicaid program said it found "widespread deficiencies" at SynerMed that put patients "in imminent danger of not receiving medically necessary healthcare services." The company's staffers had falsified documents for years to cover up improper denials of care, according to state officials.
Then SynerMed abruptly shut down, and some of its patients moved to Agilon's medical groups.
Skimping On Services?
Nearly three-quarters of the 73 million low-income Americans on Medicaid are now in managed care, in which states pay health insurers fixed monthly amounts for each enrollee to cover the range of services they need.
Under this system, keeping patients as healthy as possible is one way to make money. Another is to deny or skimp on services.
Increasingly, Medicaid plans outsource the work of managing patients' health and medical treatment to subcontractors like Agilon — passing along a share of the government money coupled with the financial risk posed by a fixed budget.
These firms can be powerful gatekeepers. They run physician groups, bear responsibility for forming doctor networks and judge whether a request for care is necessary.
Agilon is a big player in California — doing business with insurers such as Molina Healthcare and Blue Shield of California — and it's now expanding in other states like Texas and Ohio.
Primary Provider Management Co. ran several medical groups, including Vantage Medical Group with more than 5,000 physicians across Southern California. By building off PPMC's base of Medicaid enrollees in California, the New York private equity firm that owns a majority stake in Agilon — Clayton, Dubilier & Rice — sought to coordinate care in Medicaid and Medicare Advantage plans across the country. (CD&R did not respond to interview requests.)
For several years, the problems at PPMC, and then Agilon, went undetected. Then, in early 2018, Agilon disclosed to the California Department of Managed Health Care its discovery that employees had been altering records prepared for auditors, which it said was not known to top management.
According to an internal report, completed in May and obtained by KHN, staffers had been falsifying documents since at least 2014 to pass audits by health plans. Employees were changing dates, for example, to cover up delays or withholding certain files so they couldn't be reviewed.
That same month, an anonymous whistleblower sent a letter to health plans and government officials, urging them to investigate "illegal, unethical" conduct at the firm. "Senior management delays treatments for cancer patients without any regard of patient's well-being, to save their dollars," the whistleblower wrote in a two-page letter reviewed by KHN. "They brag about how profitable we are."
In response to the allegations raised by the whistleblower and state, Agilon opened another internal investigation. That second report, finished in June, found inadequate staffing to handle the volume of work, various shortcuts and practices outside industry "norms" and improperly denied claims. Both internal reports were released to the state.
A top official Inland Empire Health Plan, one of the largest Medicaid insurers in the country, said the plan also looked into Agilon's conduct and found instances in which its patients were harmed.
In an interview, Inland Empire CEO Bradley Gilbert said Agilon denied a patient's transfusions for anemia, causing the person to be hospitalized. It also improperly denied cardiac rehabilitation to a patient recovering from a heart attack, he said. Inland Empire canceled its contract with Agilon's Vantage Medical Group in August, he said.
A 'Manager Told Me To Do It'
Agilon's June report depicts an operation that was often stretched thin: Nurses were handling 120 to 200 requests for care per day, on average, with no full-time medical director to review the findings.
From 2014 until May, the company relied on a family physician who was working 10 to 12 hours a day running his own medical practice, according to the report.
Dr. Reuel Gaskins was busy seeing his own patients at the Hampton Medical Clinic in Riverside, Calif., where a red neon sign flashes "Open" in the front window. In an interview, Gaskins said he reviewed cases during breaks throughout the day and after normal work hours. He said he left Agilon in April.
Ultimately, Agilon's internal investigation found that patient care may have been denied 439 times since 2014 without a physician's review of the medical records — a potential violation of state law. Under California law, only a licensed physician or health care professional who is "competent to evaluate the specific clinical issues involved" can determine medical necessity.
Gaskins said he was not aware of allegations that medical decisions were made without his review until he was interviewed by Agilon's lawyers.
"That's inappropriate and unacceptable," he said. "It really bothered me when I heard about it."
The June report also found that Villa helped alter 20 files at the request of a supervisor in 2014 so her employer could pass an upcoming audit by an insurer.
A "manager told me to do it," Villa said in an interview. "They were so adamant that everything look perfect for the auditors."
A few days after the company's lawyers made that discovery, Agilon sent Villa home on paid leave, the nurse said. She said that when she returned to work in August, she found she had been replaced as denial nurse, and shortly after that, she was fired.
Meanwhile, in recent months, Agilon has mended its relationships with some insurers and won new Medicaid contracts.
Consumer advocates worry that the concerns surrounding Agilon and SynerMed signal a much larger problem in the burgeoning Medicaid managed-care industry.
"These private entities get very little oversight," said Linda Nguy, a policy advocate at the Western Center on Law & Poverty in Sacramento, "and there's real harm being done to patients."
For the vast majority of the federal government's public health efforts, though, it's business as usual.
That's because Congress has already passed five of its major appropriations bills, funding about three-fourths of the federal government, including the Department of Health and Human Services and the Department of Veterans Affairs.
But seven bills are outstanding — including those that fund the Interior, Agriculture and Justice departments — and that puts the squeeze on some important health-related initiatives.
The shutdown itself is not about health policies. It's the result of differences of opinion between the administration and congressional Democrats regarding Trump's so-called border wall. But it's far-reaching, nonetheless. Here's where things stand:
Funding for "big-ticket" health programs is already in place, alleviating much of the shutdown's immediate potential impact.
Since HHS funding is set through September, the flagship government health care programs — think Obamacare, Medicare and Medicaid — are insulated.
That's also true of public health surveillance, like tracking the flu virus, a responsibility of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. The National Institutes of Health, which oversees major biomedical research, is also fine. It's a stark contrast to last January's shutdown, which sent home about half of HHS's staff.
But some other public health operations are vulnerable because of complicated funding streams.
Although the Food and Drug Administration falls under the HHS umbrella, it receives significant funding for its food safety operations through the Department of Agriculture, which is entirely caught up in the shutdown.
The USDA provided an estimated $2.9 billion last year to the FDA for these oversight efforts, which involve everything from food recalls to routine facility inspections and cosmetics regulation. Not having those dollars now means, according to the FDA contingency plan, that about 40 percent of the agency — thousands of government workers — is furloughed.
The FDA's responsibilities for drug approval and oversight are funded by user fees and are not affected. Regulation of tobacco products is also continuing.
Health services for Native Americans are also on hold.
Because Congress has yet to approve funding for the Indian Health Service, which is run by HHS but gets its money through the Department of the Interior, IHS feels the full weight of the shutdown. The only services that can continue are those that meet "immediate needs of the patients, medical staff, and medical facilities," according to the shutdown contingency plan.
That includes IHS-run clinics, which provide direct health care to tribes around the country. These facilities are open, and many staffers are reporting to work because they are deemed "excepted," said Jennifer Buschik, an agency spokeswoman. But they will not be paid until Congress and the administration reach a deal.
Other IHS programs are taking a more direct hit. For example, the agency has suspended grants that support tribal health programs, as well as preventive health clinics run by the Office of Urban Indian Health Programs.
Public health efforts by Homeland Security and the EPA face serious constraints.
The Department of Homeland Security's Office of Health Affairs assesses threats posed by infectious diseases, pandemics and biological and chemical attacks. It is supposed to be scaling back, according to the department's shutdown contingency plan. This office is just one component of the 204-person Countering Weapons of Mass Destruction Office, which is retaining about 65 employees during the funding gap.
Other DHS health workers are likely to work without pay — for instance, health inspectors at the border, said Peter Boogaard, who was an agency spokesman under the Obama administration. According to DHS's plan, the vast majority of border patrol employees will continue working through the shutdown.
The Environmental Protection Agency has also run out of funding. According to its contingency plan, it's keeping on more than 700 employees without pay, including those who work on Superfund sites or other activities where the "threat to life or property is imminent." (More than 13,000 EPA workers have been furloughed.)
That limits the agency's capacity for activities including inspecting water that people drink and regulating pesticides.
But it's not just regulation. The public health stakes are visceral — and sometimes, frankly, pretty gross.
Just look at the National Park Service, which has halted restroom maintenance and trash service for lack of funding. On Sunday, Yosemite National Park in California closed its campgrounds. On Wednesday, Joshua Tree National Park, also in California, did the same.
Why? Per a park service press release: "The park is being forced to take this action for health and safety concerns as vault toilets reach capacity."