The thrill of delivering newborns helped pull Dr. Jack Feltz into the field of obstetrics and gynecology.
More than 30 years later, he still enjoys treating patients, he said. But now, Feltz is also working to change the way doctors are paid for maternity care.
Feltz's New Jersey-based practice, Lifeline Medical Associates, recently partnered with the insurer UnitedHealthcare to test a new payment model. The insurer sets a budget with the practice to pay doctors one lump sum for prenatal services, delivery and 60 days of care afterward. If the costs come in below that amount, the medical practice gets to keep some of the savings. (Hospitals aren't a part of this contract; the insurer pays them separately for their services.)
"We've always been taught to take care of patients as if they were our mothers and our daughters," said Feltz, who also leads a coalition of obstetricians called the U.S. Women's Health Alliance that advocates for high-quality, affordable care. "But now we have to take care of our patients as if they were our mothers and our daughters, and as if it was our money."
This new program, announced in May, is a first step by the insurer to bundle physician payments for maternity care into a single flat fee that covers all care and procedures. A handful of insurers and state Medicaid programs are experimenting with similar models, sometimes incorporating hospitals and other health providers as well.
By moving from paying for maternity care in a piecemeal way to relying on bundled payments, insurers and doctors say they hope to cut costs and improve the quality of care for pregnant women. The lump sums are also seen by doctors and insurers as a possible way to improve outcomes, including driving down the number of cesarean sections in the United States.
About one-third of all deliveries in the U.S. occur through C-sections, even though the World Health Organization estimates they are medically required in only 10% to 15% of births. The ratevaries dramatically among individual hospitals.
These surgeries can increase the risk of infections or other medical problems for the mother and baby. And they are more expensive than a vaginal delivery.
"The way we've been doing things is just not justifiable," said David Lansky, a senior adviser at the Pacific Business Group on Health, a San Francisco-based coalition of private and public organizations that collectively purchase health care for 10 million Americans. "The shift we're talking about is to say someone is accountable for all the care that needs to be provided to support a family through this experience."
The professional association that represents obstetricians, however, is approaching the new payment strategy with caution because it could expose doctors to financial risks.
And even fans of such a model acknowledge there are still significant obstacles to be worked out before this sort of flat-fee system could be implemented broadly.
The bundled-payment model is relatively new in maternity care, and its structure can differ by insurer. Some insurers could pay a single amount to one doctor, who uses that to cover the hospital care. Other plans can opt to negotiate a separate contract with the hospital. Insurers can choose to pay doctors before or after patients receive services. The length of care, eligibility and services included in the bundle can also vary.
Patients generally are not even aware their care is being handled under a bundled payment.
In traditional coverage, insurance payments for some women are delivered as bundled payments for portions of their prenatal care, said Suzanne Delbanco, executive director of Catalyst for Payment Reform, an organization that helps advise employers and other organizations that buy health coverage. However, the latest version is different because insurers are adding quality measures that increase accountability and additional services, such as delivery costs, to the bundle.
UnitedHealthcare began testing the option with Feltz's practice and another in Texas. The insurer said it hopes to expand to as many as 20 practices by the end of the year. Cigna and Humana are also piloting bundled maternity care programs. A few Medicaid programs, including those in Arkansas, Ohio and Tennessee, have experimented with it.
Expanding the rarely used model to include maternity care could represent a major shift in health care finance. Births were the most common cause of hospitalizations among patients discharged in 2016, according to government data.
"Maternity care is kind of the sleeper of health care services," said Dr. Neel Shah, an assistant professor of obstetrics, gynecology and reproductive biology at Harvard Medical School.
The pivot in payments is being made as the quality of maternity care in the United States comes under renewed scrutiny. An estimated 700 women in the U.S. die each year because of pregnancy-related complications, the federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention reported. The rate of deaths in the U.S. is worse than that of many other affluent countries, NPR and ProPublica reported in 2017.
And C-sections cost more. In the Denver area, for instance, the average vaginal delivery costs $7,716 while the average C-section costs $14,274, according to 2019 data from the Health Care Cost Institute. On average, commercial and Medicaid insurers pay 50% more for C-sections than for vaginal deliveries, according to a 2013 report by Truven Health Analytics, a health industry consulting group.
Lansky's group tested bundled payments for births in 2014 in Southern California. According to their report, the rate of C-sections in first-time, low-risk pregnancies dropped by nearly 20% in less than one year among the first three participating hospitals.
However, some of the bundled-payment models fall short of aspirations. Tennessee saved money in 2017 after adopting the payment model for Medicaid beneficiaries. But the rate of C-sections remained unchanged, according to a report by the Medicaid and CHIP Payment and Access Commission (MACPAC), a nonpartisan advisory group for Congress.
In Ohio, where the Medicaid program covered complicated pregnancies as well as those that were low-risk, bundling payments into a lump sum for OB-GYNs cost the state more than expected, the advisory group found.
Bundling raises other concerns, too. Because some bundled-payment programs assign the total cost of care to a single physician, the financial burden falls on that physician. Dr. Lisa Hollier, the immediate past president of the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists, is concerned that these models may discourage team-based care.
If the physician providing prenatal care overlooks a problem that a different doctor must treat during delivery, for example, it wouldn't be fair for the OB-GYN delivering the baby to bear the financial burden, Hollier said.
How payers define a low-risk pregnancy is also unclear, she said. If the target price for the suite of services in the model is not risk-adjusted for the cost of treating conditions like gestational diabetes, she said, doctors could be penalized for treating these patients.
Gestational diabetes occurs in up to 10% of pregnancies in the U.S. annually, according to the CDC, and patients with the condition need additional tests, checkups and insulin.
Julianne Pantaleone, national director of bundled payments and strategy at UnitedHealthcare, said the insurer, as it works through its pilot program, will not penalize physicians for providing care beyond the initial budget.
The lack of robust data systems built for bundled payments also poses a potential barrier to successfully adopting the model, said Blair Barrett Dudley, a senior manager at the Pacific Business Group on Health.
Insurers and doctors need real-time data to ensure they are meeting the model's quality measures. However, these information banks are expensive to build, Dudley said, and many of the existing ones aren't structured for this payment structure.
Feltz agreed that getting such data will be imperative to a successful bundled payment program. Without the information, he said, "it's like launching a ship and not knowing where it's going to go."
People at companies with large numbers of lower-wage employees faced bigger deductibles for single coverage and were asked to pony up a larger share of their incomes to pay premiums than those at firms with fewer people with low earnings, according to the annual employer health benefits survey by the Kaiser Family Foundation.
Arizona became the first state to revamp its Medicaid regulations to make it easier for ride-sharing companies to participate in its nonemergency transportation benefit.
This article was first published on Thursday, September 26, 2019 in Kaiser Health News.
Arizona Medicaid Director Jami Snyder heard many complaints about enrollees missing medical appointments because the transportation provided by the state didn't show or came too late.
So this summer she hatched a solution familiar to millions of Americans looking for an efficient ride: She turned to Uber and Lyft.
Arizona became the first state to revamp its Medicaid regulations to make it easier for ride-sharing companies to participate in its nonemergency transportation benefit. Under the changes, Arizona eliminated several safety rules such as requiring all drivers to undergo drug testing and first aid training.
The strategy has added thousands of vehicles to the fleet serving Arizonans on Medicaid, nearly 24% of the state's 7 million residents.
"It seemed like an obvious solution," Snyder said. "So far, our anecdotal reports have been very positive."
As they seek to lower costs and improve care, Medicaid and other insurers have begun to examine the transportation needs of patients — along with other so-called social determinants of health such as adequate food and housing. Whether states save money remains to be seen.
In 2017, more than 2 million Medicaid enrollees under age 65 ― about 4% of the program's members — delayed care because they lacked transportation, according to a federal survey.
Lyft is working with about 35 state Medicaid programs, according to LogistiCare, one of the nation's largest Medicaid transportation brokers. Uber works with Medicaid only in Arizona.
Lawmakers in Florida and Texas this year also relaxed state regulations to make it easier for Uber and Lyft to provide services for appropriate Medicaid patients. That service is expected to begin early next year.
Uber and Lyft can't handle all Medicaid transportation demands because they generally don't have enough drivers with cars fit to ferry people with serious disabilities, such as those who use a wheelchair. But Arizona's Snyder said many Medicaid enrollees are healthy enough to use a typical ride-sharing service.
Van Means, executive director of a company that Arizona pays to arrange transportation for Medicaid enrollees, said the expanded options help even some patients who can't use them.
"It gives us way more supply, it's faster and frees up space [in specialized transportation] for people who need more substantial help such as those in wheelchairs," he said.
In most traditional Medicaid transportation programs, patients need to reserve rides days ahead and then often must share a van. In contrast, the ride-sharing companies need little advance notice and can easily take solo passengers.
To ease the use of Uber and Lyft, states generally waive safety requirements that are standard for more traditional transportation. Those include mandates that drivers undergo drug testing and learn first aid and CPR. State officials said such mandates are not necessary since Uber and Lyft serve ambulatory enrollees who likely are in better health than those needing specialized transportation.
The ride-sharing companies already work with hospitals and health systems across the country, but participating in Medicaid could bring them millions of more riders.
Unlike typical Uber or Lyft riders, Medicaid enrollees don't order rides on their smartphones. Instead, these patients will continue to request transportation services by phone or computer through their health plan or a Medicaid transportation broker.
The Medical Transportation Brokerage of Arizona said about 15% of rides taken by Medicaid recipients this summer relied on Uber and Lyft.
So far, though, Means said the brokerage hasn't found the service substantially cheaper in most areas of the state.
Arizona officials did not have an estimate of cost savings.
Officials at Atlanta-based LogistiCare said working with Lyft in dozens of cities has added vehiclesand helped speed service.
"The ride-sharing companies are cost-effective and for curb-to-curb, urban or suburban short-distance trips," said Effie Carlson, a LogistiCare executive vice president.
But she cautioned that the companies are not the ideal option for enrollees who need extra time getting in and out of their house because drivers typically leave within five minutes of arriving.
Uber and Lyft are often cheaper than using taxis or other private transportation companies, but not always. She noted that when companies raise prices during peak-traffic hours, alternatives may be less expensive.
Carlson said her company decides whether ride-sharing services or more traditional transportation is most appropriate based on the health information provided about each Medicaid enrollee.
The Medicaid transportation benefit varies by state but typically includes rides by taxi services, wheelchair vans, private vehicles and public transportation. Enrollees are eligible for the services if they do not have another means of transport.
Despite states' growing interest in expanding transportation options, a University of Pennsylvania study, published last year in JAMA Internal Medicine, found providing ride-sharing services did not improve the no-show rate for primary care appointments among Medicaid patients in West Philadelphia. The no-show rate among patients offered free rides was 36.5%, compared with 36.7% for those who weren't offered free rides.
Krisda Chaiyachati, co-author of the study and a University of Pennsylvania associate professor of medicine, said reliability of transportation is not the only factor determining whether Medicaid enrollees show for medical appointments. "People on Medicaid tend to live more chaotic lives, so they may be more OK with missing primary care appointments," he said, referring to how low-income people often fear missing work, or have difficulties arranging child care and other necessities.
Still, Chaiyachati envisions Uber and Lyft playing larger roles for Medicaid.
"Their cars can be everywhere, and having a dispatcher draw upon that network is a no-brainer," he said. "It may not solve the transportation needs for everybody, but it's certainly an answer for many."
Megan Callahan, vice president of health care at Lyft, said she expects more states to adopt ride-sharing.
"I think what we are seeing is the beginning of a domino effect," she said. "Our overall driver availability and speed are the big advantages that will have an impact on Medicaid members' satisfaction."
Uber officials said in about dozen cities they are developing a fleet of drivers trained to work with patients who must travel with fold-up wheelchairs, walkers and scooters.
"From a cost standpoint, we can save states significant dollars," said Dan Trigub, head of Uber Health.
Nationwide, drug shortages of all kinds — from antibiotics to heart drugs to saline solution — are increasing and having a high impact on public health.
This article was first published on Tuesday, September 24, 2019 in Kaiser Health News.
Medical treatment has knocked down tumors in 6-year-old Easton Daniels' brain, but the drug used also wiped out his immune system.
To bolster his immune function and help keep him healthy, he has visited a hospital for intravenous infusions of immune globulin about every month for the past year and a half.
But in early July, his family was stunned by a letter from Cincinnati Children's Hospital: "All of Easton's appointments canceled until further notice," said his dad, Jeremy Daniels, who works in custodial services for a school.
Like Cincinnati Children's, hospitals and clinics nationwide report a shortage of the medication, whose long manufacturing process starts with donated blood plasma. Often referred to as IVIG, intravenous immune globulin is used for a wide variety of medical conditions, beyond those for which it was first targeted — some treatments proven effective and some not. It is rich in antibodies, which are proteins that help fight off infection.
With IVIG in short supply, hospitals are left to make tough choices about who receives it, setting up a type of triage, like that faced by Easton's family, who find themselves caught in a gray area over which conditions qualify.
"IVIG can be a useful treatment for evidence-based purposes, but it's also often used as a last-chance, nothing-is-working Hail Mary kind of approach for myriad conditions even when there is not clear evidence that it helps the patient," wrote Dr. Jerry Avorn, a professor of medicine at Harvard Medical School, in an email. He was speaking in general, not about any specific patient.
Nationwide, drug shortages of all kinds — from antibiotics to heart drugs to saline solution — are increasing and having a high impact on public health, the Food and Drug Administration said in a November public meeting. They often result from manufacturing problems — such as when a factory shuts down or too few suppliers exist to meet demand.
But the reasons for shortages of expensive infused drugs are particularly complicated, involving complex manufacturing processes, scientific uncertainty and financial motivations.
In the case of IVIG, the expensive treatment may be a victim of its own widening use.
Dating to the 1950s, immune globulin is often the only therapy for certain genetic, life-threatening conditions that disable the body's infection-fighting function. Its intravenous form is FDA-licensed for six conditions, including primary immunodeficiencies; Kawasaki disease, which causes inflammation in the blood vessels; preventive care after bone marrow transplants; and a neurological condition called chronic inflammatory demyelinating polyneuropathy.
Today, it is prescribed for patients whose immune systems have been compromised by viruses or treatments for cancer, so-called secondary immunodeficiency, although there may be other medicines for reinvigorating the immune system in those cases.
Prescribing a medicine for a purpose not approved by the FDA — known as off-label use — is legal and common. It sometimes leads to new and effective uses of a drug.
Some evidence shows that expanding the use of immune globulin to patients with a wider variety of illnesses, including types of cancers or recurrent infections, is helpful. But it is also being tried for conditions "where it is ineffectual and may actually increase the risks to patients," the American Academy of Allergy, Asthma and Immunology warned in a March 2017 journal article that weighs the clinical rationale for various uses of the therapy.
In part as a result of this expanding off-label use, the industry's trade group shows a 66% increase in distribution of the treatment from 2012 to 2018 across North America and Europe.
And Avorn said a portion of these uses may be encouraged by financial motivations. Cincinnati Children's, for example, charges $6,800 to $10,000 for every 10-gram dose, according to the hospital's list prices, which are generally higher than insurers pay. Adults often get more than 10 grams per infusion.
"And anytime an extremely costly infusion medicine is used in any setting, it's worth looking at who benefits economically from its use, especially for conditions in which data on effectiveness is limited or absent," Avorn said.
Nonetheless, increasing demand helped create the shortages, say pharmacists and others who study shortfalls. Immune globulin takes up to a year to produce, which includes plasma collection from healthy donors, processing, packaging and shipping — often at overseas manufacturing centers.
Aside from trying to boost plasma collection to deal with a shortfall, "the other piece is stewardship [of the supply], and that really is up to the hospitals, by and large," said John Boyle, CEO of the Immune Deficiency Foundation, a group that advocates on behalf of people with genetic defects of the immune system. "Hospitals use an enormous portion of the plasma products out there."
Many are scrambling to come up with ways to stretch their supplies.
Some, like Cincinnati Children's, give top priority to patients with no other alternatives, often those with primary immune deficiencies, and those for whom not getting the treatment would be life-threatening.
Others, whose indications "were not as clear-cut or it was not necessarily dangerous to them to forgo it were placed on the bottom of the list," said Dr. Derek Wheeler, chief of staff at Cincinnati Children's.
Shortages are not affecting every hospital or clinic. That variation occurs because facilities have contracts with specific distributors or manufacturers, each of which can have a different supply line.
Dr. Cristina Porch-Curren, an immunologist in Camarillo, Calif., said her patients have not run into problems getting the treatment, although one had to change brands.
She is concerned about the increasing use of immune globulin for "off-label" conditions.
"Off-label doesn't always mean bad. If you have someone who is really sick, with some terrible infection, on occasion that may be OK," she said. But with limited supplies, she worries about growing interest by researchers and some physicians in using immune globulin for more widespread or ongoing conditions, such as dementia.
"That's concerning, especially for patients with primary immune deficiencies [who have no other alternatives]," she said.
Back in Cincinnati, a temporary solution has been found for Easton.
FFS Enterprises offered to supply his family with a different type of immune globulin after Easton's father reached out to the company, which is one of the largest distributors of the therapy. Instead of an intravenous dose, it has given Easton a subcutaneous form, injected as a shot at home. His doctor approved the switch, said Daniels, and the drug distributor said it would pick up the cost if his insurer, the state's Medicaid program, balks.
Managing the condition requires other essential, often lifesaving medical supplies. And patients frequently face hurdles in getting access to those supplies — hurdles put in place by insurance companies.
This story was first published on Tuesday, September 24, 2019 inKaiser Health News.
In the first three months after getting his Dexcom continuous glucose monitor, Ric Peralta said, he reduced his average blood sugar level by 3 percentage points.
"It took me from not-very-well-managed blood sugar to something that was incredibly well managed," said Peralta, a 46-year-old optician in Whittier, Calif., who was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes in 2008.
Peralta was so enthused that he became a "Dexcom Warrior," a sort of grassroots spokesman for the product. It became hard to imagine life without his new monitor, a device that lets him track the trends in his blood sugar 24 hours a day on his smartphone. And yet, he has spent weeks at a time without the device over the past year because of insurance restrictions. Physician groups and patients consider those rules burdensome, but insurers defend them as necessary.
Diabetes activistsand legislatorshave started to focus attention on the surging price of insulin, leading to legislative pushes, lawsuits and congressional hearings. But insulin isn't the only thing people with Type 1 diabetes are struggling to get. Managing the condition requires other essential, often lifesaving medical supplies. And patients frequently face hurdles in getting access to those supplies — hurdles put in place by insurance companies.
A Life-Changing Device
Peralta learned about the latest version of the Dexcom continuous glucose monitor from the mother of one of his patients. He visited the company's website and, within two weeks, the device was shipped to his front door.
"I still didn't 100% appreciate exactly how it was going to change my life," Peralta said. "It was amazing."
Typically, people with Type 1 diabetes check their blood sugar by drawing a drop of blood from a finger and placing it on a disposable test strip that's read by a blood glucose meter. Doctors suggest checking blood sugar this way between four and 10 times a day. These readings are crucial for helping people with diabetes manage their blood sugar — keeping it from getting too low, which can lead to sudden seizures and loss of consciousness, as well as from getting too high, which can cause vision loss and nerve damage and can even, over time, lead to amputations.
Instead, Peralta's continuous glucose monitor gave accurate blood sugar readings every five minutes. That's 288 readings a day, or about 278 more readings than even the most conscientious patients get the old-fashioned way.
"When I had to do the old-fashioned finger prick test, I was only doing that right before I ate, so I could see how much [insulin] I was supposed to take," Peralta said. (People with Type 1 diabetes have to take multiple daily shots of insulin to keep their blood sugar within the normal range because their bodies stop producing the naturally occurring hormone.)
"I didn't realize that I had rather severe [blood sugar] peaks and valleys in between my mealtimes," Peralta said.
Tighter control of blood sugar can reduce the risk of heart disease, kidney failure and nerve damage. For Peralta, it also offered peace of mind.
The monitor sounds an alarm when his blood sugar gets dangerously low; Peralta said his co-workers have started bringing him sugary snacks when they hear the alarm, to help him raise his blood sugar back to normal. When he takes his family on road trips — a favorite activity — he no longer has to worry about the possibility of passing out while driving.
"It even syncs with my car so I can just say, 'Siri, what's my blood sugar?' And it will come over the car stereo system," Peralta said. "I'm safe for my family."
Prior-Authorization Requirements
When common chronic conditions such as diabetes are well controlled, it prevents worsening disease and saves money for the health system and the patient.
But Peralta said his efforts to use this new tool consistently to manage his diabetes have been stymied by insurance problems that began about a year ago.
The newest Dexcom continuous glucose monitor has three parts: a sensor that measures glucose levels, a transmitter that sends out the sensor's readings wirelessly and a receiver that displays those readings on a screen.
For each of these parts, Peralta needs "prior authorization" — a requirement that his physician get approval from his insurance company before prescribing the device.
The Dexcom sensors last about 10 days each, and Peralta's insurance allows him to buy a three-month supply at a time. But he also has to get prior authorization for each supply, meaning every three months his doctor needs to reconfirm with his insurance company that the sensors are medically necessary. Same goes for the device's transmitters — which last about six months each.
"I have to jump through hoops and they have to jump through hoops to get information from my insurance to get authorization," Peralta said in frustration, adding that "for the last year, basically every time there's been something that's gone wrong."
"Prior authorizations are in place to protect patients, to improve safety and to try to make sure that the care they receive is as safe as possible and also as affordable as possible," said Kate Berry of the trade group America's Health Insurance Programs.
But to Ric Peralta, the requirement is a burden.
The most recent snafu happened in March. Peralta ordered a new supply of sensors directly from Dexcom but said the company submitted a request for approval of a new transmitter as well. And because his insurance approves the sensors and transmitters on different authorization timelines, the whole claim was denied. Peralta estimates he spent four hours on the phone with Dexcom and his insurer over the next month and a half to sort it all out. During that time he had to revert to finger-stick tests.
"It's maddening," Peralta said. "If I do not have my proper management of this disease, I'm going to die from it. And they're making it as difficult as possible."
A Burden On Doctors, Too
Prior authorizations have become a major concern of physicians across the U.S. health care system, as evidenced by a December survey by the American Medical Association.
Of the 1,000 physicians surveyed, 91% said prior authorizations "have a negative impact on patient clinical outcomes"; 75% said the requirements "can at least sometimes lead to patients abandoning a recommended course of treatment"; and 28% said the prior-authorization process had "led to serious or life-threatening events" for their patients.
"In my practice, we have five individual physicians, and we hired five full-time employees whose primary duty is obtaining prior authorization and dealing with insurance companies," said Dr. Bruce Scott, an otolaryngologist from Kentucky and speaker of the AMA House of Delegates.
"Prior authorization is a burden on providers and diverts valuable resources," Scott said. "That's a problem."
The AMA has even created a website that catalogs stories of patients and providers who say they've struggled to gain access to important medical products and procedures because of problems with getting prior authorization from insurers — everything from pain medication for a cancer patient to X-rays in the ER. Scott said the AMA doesn't expect insurers to completely do away with requirements for prior authorization, "but we believe that it should be focused and that it should be better planned."
The American Association of Clinical Endocrinologists — an organization of the physicians whose specialty is often associated with diabetes treatment — goes further.
"We feel that physicians that are specialists in endocrine disease should not be required to fill out prior authorizations for endocrine treatments," said Dr. Scott Isaacs, an endocrinologist from Atlanta and a member of the board of directors of AACE.
"It's a huge burden for the patients trying to get this sorted out. Sometimes it's red tape; sometimes it's a true denial," Isaacs said. "It's a huge burden for the doctors as well, and the doctors resent it."
Berry, of America's Health Insurance Programs, acknowledges there's room for improvement in the prior-authorization process. In fact, in January 2018, the AMA and AHIP signed a consensus statementidentifying five areas for improvement. It was co-signed by the American Hospital Association, the American Pharmacists Association, the Blue Cross Blue Shield Association and the Medical Group Management Association.
Who Bears The Greatest Burden?
For Ric Peralta, the ultimate burden of getting all these prescriptions filled falls on him and other patients like him.
After his latest mix-up with the sensors in March, he discovered the battery in his transmitter had died.
Peralta made another frustrated call to Dexcom, and recently got a complimentary transmitter to get him back on the system while his formal order goes through the approval process.
"I'm quite nervous about what's going to happen again in two months when I am needing to call in orders again," Peralta said.
"Am I going to have to go through this whole thing over again?"
This story is part of NPR's reporting partnership with Kaiser Health News.
HILLSBORO, Ore. — On Kimberly Repp's office wall is a sign in Latin: Hic locus est ubi mors gaudet succurrere vitae. This is a place where the dead delight in helping the living.
For medical examiners, it's a mission. Their job is to investigate deaths and learn from them, for the benefit of us all. Repp, however, isn't a medical examiner; she's a Ph.D. microbiologist. And as the Washington County epidemiologist, she was most accustomed to studying infectious diseases like flu or norovirus outbreaks among the living.
But in 2012 she was asked by county officials to look at suicide. The request led her into the world of death investigations, and also appears to have led to something remarkable: In this suburban county of 600,000 just west of Portland, the suicide rate now is going down. It's remarkable because national suicide rates have risen despite decades-long efforts to reverse the deadly trend.
While many factors contribute to suicide, officials here believe they've chipped away at this problem through Repp's initiative to use data — very localized data that any jurisdiction could collect. Now Repp's mission is to help others learn how to gather and use it.
New York state has just begun testing a system like hers. Humboldt County, Calif., is implementing it. She's gotten inquiries from Utah and Kentucky. Colorado, meanwhile, is using its own brand of data collection to try to achieve the same kind of turnaround.
Following The Death Investigators
Back in 2012, when Repp looked at the available data — mostly statistics reported periodically to the federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention — she could see that suicide was a big problem and that rates were highest among older white men. But, beyond that, the data didn't offer a lot of guidance. Plus, it lagged two years behind.
She returned to her bosses. "I can tell you who has the highest suicide rate, but I can't tell you what to do about it," she recalled telling them. "It's too broad."
So she turned to the county medical examiner's death investigators. They gather information at every unnatural death scene to determine the cause (say, drowning or gunshot) and manner (homicide, suicide, accident). It's an important job, but a grim one, and it tends to attract unusual personalities.
Repp mustered the courage to introduce herself to one of the investigators, Charles Lovato. "I said, 'Hi, my name is Kim and I was hoping to go on a death investigation with you.' And he's like, 'You're that weirdo that does outbreak investigations, aren't you?' And I'm like, 'You're the weirdo that does death investigations.'"
The gambit worked. Repp accompanied Lovato on his grim rounds for more than a year. "Nothing can prepare you for what you're going to see," she said. "It gave me a very healthy dose of respect for what they do."
She studied the questions Lovato asked friends and family of the deceased. She watched how he recorded what he saw at the scene. And she saw how a lot of data that helped determine the cause and manner of death never made it into the reports that state and federal authorities use to track suicides. It was a missed opportunity.
Collecting Data On The Dead To Save Lives
Repp worked with Lovato and his colleagues to develop a new data collection tool through which investigators could easily record all those details in a checklist. It included not only age and cause of death, but also yes/no questions on things like evidence of alcohol abuse, history of interpersonal violence, health crises, job losses and so on.
In addition, the county created a procedure, called a suicide fatality review, to look more closely at these deaths. The review is modeled on child fatality reviews, a now-mandatory concept that dates to the 1970s. After getting the OK from family members, key government and community representatives meet to investigate individual suicides with an eye toward prevention. The review group might include health care organizations to look for recent visits to the doctor; veterans' organizations to check service records; law enforcement; faith leaders; pain clinic managers; and mental health support groups.
The idea, Repp said, isn't to point fingers. It's to look for system-level interventions that might prevent similar deaths.
"We were able to identify touchpoints in our community that we had not seen before," Repp said.
For example, data revealed a surprising number of suicides at hotels and motels. It also showed a number of those who killed themselves had experienced eviction or foreclosure or had a medical visit within weeks or days of their death. It revealed that people in crisis regularly turn their pets over to the animal shelter.
But what to do with that information? Experts have long believed that suicide is preventable, and there are evidence-based programs to train people how to identify and respond to folks in crisis and direct them to help. That's where Debra Darmata, Washington County's suicide prevention coordinator, comes in. Part of Darmata's job involves running these training programs, which she described as like CPR but for mental health.
The training is typically offered to people like counselors, educators or pastors. But with the new data, the county realized they were missing people who may have been the last to see the decedents alive. They began offering the training to motel clerks and housekeepers, animal shelter workers, pain clinic staffers and more.
It is a relatively straightforward process: Participants are taught to recognize signs of distress. Then they learn how to ask a person if he or she is in crisis. If so, the participants' role is not to make the person feel better or to provide counseling or anything of the sort. It is to call a crisis line, and the experts will take over from there.
Since 2014, Darmata said, more than 4,000 county residents have received training in suicide prevention.
"I've worked in suicide prevention for 11 years," Darmata said, "and I've never seen anything like it."
The sheriff's office has begun sending a deputy from its mental health crisis team when doing evictions. On the eviction paperwork, they added the crisis line number and information on a county walk-in mental health clinic. Local health care organizations have new procedures to review cases involving patient suicides, too.
Taking The Idea Elsewhere
Repp cautions that the findings can't be generalized. What's true in suburban Portland may not be true in rural Nebraska or the city of San Francisco or even suburban New Jersey, for that matter. Every community needs to look at its own data.
Still, Jay Carruthers, who runs New York's Office of Suicide Prevention, saw the potential. "To be able to close the loop and connect [the data] to prevention? That's the beauty," he said. This year, the state is beginning to test a similar system in several counties.
In Northern California's Humboldt County, public health manager Dana Murguía had been frustrated for some time that local prevention plans weren't making a dent. "I said, 'We don't need another plan. We need an operations manual.' That's what I feel Dr. Repp has given us."
Humboldt began using a Washington County-style checklist this year, and county officials have identified several unexpected touchpoints, including public parks and motels where people have died by suicide. Now, those sad facts can become action plans.
In Colorado, a different effort to reduce suicides also began with extensive data analysis. There, they realized that while youth suicide has understandably been a focus, the biggest numbers are among older men. They've not only crafted materials specifically for men in crisis, but they've also created materials for specialized groups, such as veterans, farmers and construction workers.
"What was unexpected to me was how empowering these data would be to so many different people to make change," Repp said — including Lovato and the other death investigators. "To know that they're actually keeping the living alive is really powerful."
IF YOU NEED HELP If you or someone you know is thinking about suicide, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, or use the online Lifeline Chat, both available 24 hours a day, seven days a week.
Dr. Wesley Boyd, an associate professor of psychiatry at Harvard, has spent years working with state programs that help doctors, nurses and other health care workers who have become addicted to opioids get back on their feet professionally.
He supports these non-disciplinary programs, in which doctors and nurses enroll for a number of years and are closely monitored by addiction specialists and state authorities as they seek to maintain or restore their medical licenses. But, he said, he is perplexed as to why these programs and other efforts to help health care providers generally do not stress a recovery method that has long been shown to be effective: the use of drugs like buprenorphine and methadone, known as opioid agonists, to relieve cravings.
"Obviously the data are clear that medication-assisted treatment is the best course of action," said Boyd, who worked for Massachusetts' Physician Health Services (previously known as the Society to Help Physicians) from 2004 to 2010. "Whether they're doctors, nurses or anybody else, [they] can function perfectly well at work and in their lives generally while they're using medication-assisted treatment."
Furthermore, he said, "the odds that they're going to stay clean and sober while using medications for treatment are better."
Clinical studies showmedication-assisted treatment significantlydecreases the rate of relapse and overdose more than other interventions alone. Most advocates advise using it in conjunction with regular therapy or counseling. Legal and medical researchers also made this point in the New England Journal of Medicine last month, calling it "ironic that clinicians, who are better positioned than most people to acquire and afford opioid-agonist therapy, are often denied it."
But some health care professionals believe opioid agonists are just a substitute for the drugs a doctor is addicted to, and, since they bind to the same brain receptors as opioids, may affect providers' ability to do their jobs. The opioid agonists help reduce relapses and cravings by stimulating the same pathways opioids do, but in a controlled manner that prevents a person from feeling high.
Non-Disciplinary Treatment Programs For Addiction
Non-disciplinary treatment programs have been operating in most states since the 1970s to help health professionals overcome their addiction. Instead of revoking the license of an individual who is found to be impaired on the job, these peer-run programs try to get participants back to work with mandated treatment plans that include intensive therapy, monitoring their behavior in and out of the workplace and, of course, drug testing. Throughout treatment, participants are actively discouraged, if not outright banned from, using opioid agonists that could aid their recovery.
Members of the non-disciplinary program may advocate for a participant's return to work when they believe the individual is ready, but, ultimately, it is the state board that determines when an individual is fit to care for patients.
Bill Kinkle, a registered nurse in Pennsylvania, developed an addiction to opioids more than a decade ago and lost his license. He tried several recovery programs but relapsed and overdosed several times.
He has been working with the state's Peer Nurse Assistance Program to get his license back. When he asked if he could use Suboxone, a brand name for a combination of buprenorphine and naloxone, he was told that the nurse assistance program would not allow it unless he had a detailed plan for tapering off the drug.
So he is treating his addiction through the state program without the medication. He was required to participate in a 30-day inpatient program, undergo partial hospitalization (in which a participant is treated for several hours a day but can go home in the evenings) for an additional three weeks, receive three months of intensive outpatient therapy, attend Alcoholics Anonymous meetings three to five times a week and pay for expensive random urine screenings.
The Peer Nurse Assistance Program did not respond to requests for comment.
Some state officials are beginning to consider the use of drugs like methadone and buprenorphine. The North Carolina Medical Board, which handles physician licensing and discipline, is encouraging the state program for doctors with opioid addictions to introduce these medications.
Critics argue that the non-disciplinary programs can, in fact, feel more disciplinary than supportive and don't help as many people as they could if opioid agonists were made available.
The programs "have no independent oversight and patients don't have a recourse," said Dr. Peter Grinspoon, an internist in Boston who had an opioid addiction and was both a participant in, and eventually a board member of, Massachusetts' Physician Health Services program for addicted doctors.
Grinspoon, who also teaches at Harvard, said that although he was unaware of any formal state policy against medication-assisted treatments, none of the program's participants with opioid addictions used opioid agonists while he served.
Impairment in Safety-Sensitive Positions
Scott Teitelbaum, medical director at the University of Florida Recovery Center, which treats health care professionals from all over the country, said he sometimes prescribes the medicines to the half of his patients who don't work in "safety-sensitive positions."
But, he said, it makes sense to have a different strategy for patients in those positions. When the programs ask him if a person should return to practice, they're not asking what's best for the individual; they're asking whether it's safe for the public. And when patients are using agonist therapies, Teitelbaum, who also was treated for cocaine and marijuana use, said he isn't sure it is.
A review in Mayo Clinic Proceedings of several studies in 2012 showed small effects of both methadone and suboxone on performance in measures such as reaction time and memory. The review was criticized for weak evidence and a lack of appropriate control groups.
Grinspoon noted that doctors could be taking other medications that affect their performance but face no repercussions. For example, he said, they may take benzodiazepines for anxiety or Ambien to help them sleep.
"There are tons of pharmaceuticals that could affect our performance — all of which doctors are allowed to take," he said. "And it's just because of the stigma that they're singling out addiction."
Success Rates
Critics of medication-assisted treatment often point to the overwhelming five-year success rates reported by the non-disciplinary programs — generally between 70% and 90%.
But Boyd is wary of those rosy statistics. First, he noted, they rarely count people who dropped out of the program or died by suicide. He said some professionals who never suffered from substance use disorder are forced into the program by bad evaluations.
So far, Kinkle, the nurse in Pennsylvania, has stayed on track, "white-knuckling it" without Suboxone. If all goes according to plan, his license will be reinstated in another 13 months.
"My wife found me multiple times after an overdose lying on the floor unconscious," said Kinkle. "All that could have been prevented had I been offered" Suboxone.
FORT SCOTT, Kan. — On a hot June day as the Good Ol' Days festival was in full swing, 7-year-old Kaidence Anderson sat in the shade with her family, waiting for a medevac helicopter to land.
A crowd had gathered to see the display prearranged by staff at the town's historic fort.
"It's going to show us how it's going to help other people because we don't have the hospital anymore," the redheaded girl explained.
Since the hospital closed, air ambulance advertising has become a more common sight in mailboxes and at least one company's representative has paid visits to a local nursing home and the Chamber of Commerce, offering memberships. A prepaid subscription would guarantee that if an AirMedCare Network helicopter comes to your rescue, you will pay nothing.
Nationwide, though, state insurance leaders, politicians and even one of the nation's largest air ambulance companies have raised alarms about the slickly marketed membership campaigns.
The air ambulance industry expanded by more than a hundred bases nationwide from 2012 to 2017 and prices increased as well, according to a recent federal report. The median price charged for a medevac helicopter transport was $36,400 in 2017 — a 60% increase compared with the roughly $22,100 charged in 2012, according to the March report from the U.S. Government Accountability Office.
Insurance seldom covers the trips and consumers often are surprised to get a bill showing they are responsible for the bulk of the cost. However, both Medicare and Medicaid control the price of the service, so enrollees in those government insurance programs face much lower out-of-pocket costs or have none.
AirMedCare Network, which includes 340 bases across mostly rural America, has more than 3 million people enrolled in memberships, said Seth Myers, president of Air Evac Lifeteam, one of the medevac companies under the AirMedCare Network umbrella.
One brightly colored AirMedCare advertisement mailed in southeastern Kansas promised entry in a summer vacation giveaway as an incentive to sign up. A one-year membership is $85 — unless you are 60 or older, which qualifies you for a discount. Buying multiyear memberships increases the odds of winning that summer trip.
"We're a safety net for people in rural areas," Myers said. "Generally, if I tell you the names of the towns that most of our bases are located in, you wouldn't know them unless you lived in that state."
Increasingly, though, state regulators have a skeptical view.
North Dakota Insurance Commissioner Jon Godfread called the memberships "another loophole" that air ambulance companies use to "essentially exploit our consumers." The state banned the memberships in 2017, noting that the subscription plans don't solve the problem of surprise medical bills as promised.
Too often, the company responding to a patient's call for help is not the one the patient signed up with, Godfread said. North Dakota has nine different air ambulance operators who respond to calls and patients have no control over who will be called, he explained.
Air Evac's Myers said his company, which operates mostly in the Midwest and Texas, doesn't get many complaints from customers about other companies picking them up. He counted three this year.
Texas Rep. Drew Springer, a Republican, introduced a bill passed by the state legislature this year that would require companies to honor the subscriptions or memberships of other air ambulance companies.
But Texas Gov. Greg Abbott, also a Republican, vetoed Springer's reciprocity bill, saying it would unnecessarily intrude on the operations ofprivate businesses.
Myers said that AirMedCare Network was "very careful to educate the legislature and the governor's office" in Texas. A letter signed by Myers and other industry executives noted that the 1978 Airline Deregulation Act — a law created for the commercial airline industry — protects them. The federal law limits states' ability to regulate rates, routes or services. The law is at the core of the industry's defense of its prices.
Like North Dakota, though, Montana used insurance regulations to limit the memberships. A 2017 law requires air ambulance subscriptions to be certified by the state's insurance department. As of August, no company had applied for certification — essentially opting out of the state.
Air Methods, one of the nation's largest private air ambulance companies, decided memberships "aren't right for patients," according to Megan Smith, a spokeswoman for the company.
While membership programs promise customers will avoid out-of-pocket expenses, in reality the contractual fine print "isn't as cut and dry," she said in an email.
Patients who sign up for memberships and have private insurance would still receive a bill and then must work through their insurance company's claims, denial and appeal processes.
And while Air Evac's Myers said the AirMedCare Network memberships or subscription fees replace copays and deductibles, Air Method's email highlighted in bold print that "a membership is not necessary" for Medicare patients because federal law prohibits companies from charging more than copays and deductibles. Myers said having a membership offers peace of mind, particularly to those Medicare enrollees who do not have an added supplemental insurance plan that covers transportation.
Also, because the memberships are not officially insurance or a covered benefit, air ambulance companies can end them at any time "without obligation to notify the customer," stated the Air Methods email. This means a patient could believe his or her emergency air transport was taken care of, only to face a rude awakening when the bill came.
Air Methods is the preferred helicopter service for Fort Scott's dispatch service, according to city officials. Yet, Midwest AeroCare operated the helicopter that dropped in during the Good Ol' Days festival.
Midwest AeroCare is part of the AirMedCare Network — not Air Methods. Families like the Andersons were there looking for reassurance that someone would come for them if needed, said Dawn Swisher-Anderson, Kaidence's mom. Her son, Connor, has frequent and severe asthma attacks that require hospitalization.
"It's obviously scary with a young one when he's having breathing complications," Swisher-Anderson said.
Once the helicopter landed, a tall pilot and two crewmembers stepped out and the onlookers quickly formed a line on the grass. Susan Glossip, who brought her grandchildren to see the helicopter, encouraged them to pose for a picture.
Midwest AeroCare representative Angela Warner stood nearby and asked if she could post the picture on the company's Facebook page.
After Glossip said yes, Warner began talking about the membership program emphasizing that "with Fort Scott losing its hospital … having a helicopter be able to fly in can mean the difference between living and dying for some people."
Glossip agreed and asked for a membership brochure.
A month ago, during a visit to her doctor's office in Sequim, Wash., Sue Christensen fell to her knees in the bathroom when her legs suddenly gave out.
The 74-year-old was in an accessible stall with her walker, an older model that doesn't have brakes. On her left side was a grab bar; there was nothing to hold onto on the right.
Christensen tried to pull herself up but couldn't. With difficulty, she rearranged her clothing and, inching forward on her knees, exited the stall. There, she tried calling the front desk on her cellphone but was placed on hold by the automated phone system.
Altogether, Christensen, who has a herniated disk in her back, was on the floor for almost half an hour before a nurse and her husband, who'd been parking the car, lifted her to her feet.
"I just wish there had been a button that I could have pushed indicating that someone in the restroom needs assistance," she said.
For older adults, especially those who are frail, who have impaired cognition, or who have trouble seeing, hearing and moving around, health care facilities can be difficult to navigate and, occasionally, perilous.
Grab bars may not be placed where they're needed. Doors may be too heavy to open easily. Chairs in waiting rooms may lack arms that someone can use to help them stand up.
Toilets may be too low to rise from easily. Examination tables may be too high to get onto. Lettering on signs may be too small to read. And there may not be a place to sit down while walking down a hallway if a break is needed.
"Most hospitals and clinics have been designed for 40- or 50-year-olds, not 70- or 80-year-olds," said Dr. Lee Ann Lindquist, chief of geriatrics at Northwestern University's Feinberg School of Medicine in Chicago. "Additional thought has to be given to seniors who have functional disabilities."
What changes could be made to better accommodate older adults' needs? I asked geriatric specialists and seniors to identify practical issues that should be addressed. Here are a number of suggestions that came up repeatedly.
Parking
Difficulties start in the parking lot, which may not be adjacent to the medical center.
That's the case at Long Island Jewish Medical Center, a large teaching hospital in New Hyde Park, N.Y. Every day, Dr. Maria Torroella Carney, a geriatrician at the hospital, crosses a busy road from the parking lot to the hospital's entrance.
"It's challenging. There isn't clear signage indicating where to cross safely, and if you need to stop and rest there aren't any benches nearby," said Carney, who is also chief of geriatrics at Hofstra/Northwell School of Medicine.
Dr. Michael Wasserman, a California geriatrician on the board of the American Geriatrics Society's Health in Aging Foundation, observed that accessible parking spaces are often in short supply. "Even then, not all older adults who need help have a handicap sticker," he noted.
The University of Florida's Senior Care Clinic has a solution: valet services. "When an older patient comes by themself, if they need help, the valet will call our clinic and someone will come down and take the patient up," said Dr. Bhanuprasad Sandesara, division chief of geriatrics.
Signage
All too often, easy-to-read signs indicating where patients should go can't be found, either inside or outside medical centers. For older patients, this can lead to confusion and unnecessary wandering, accompanied by pain, fatigue and annoyance.
Last year, a committee examining how Long Island Jewish Medical Center should handle patients with special needs (for instance, people with cognitive impairments or hearing or speech problems) identified better signage as a priority.
Now, signs in the parking lot and outside the medical center are bigger, with larger type. Inside the medical center, large signs have been placed at bathrooms, showing clearly if they're accessible to those with disabilities. And the staff is creating a comprehensive map of the hospital campus — a handout — to help patients find their way more easily, according to Roseanne O'Gara-Shubinsky, associate executive director for quality management at Long Island Jewish.
Appointment cards were also altered: Carney persuaded the hospital to print phone numbers in large type on cards for seven geriatricians at its senior clinic.
At Northwestern, Lindquist realized that older patients were having trouble seeing whiteboards in their hospital rooms listing scheduled procedures and the names of physicians and nurses responsible for their care. Upon Lindquist's urging, the hospital bought whiteboards that are more than double the normal size.
Getting Around
At a recent talk in the San Francisco Bay Area to promote her new book, "Elderhood," Dr. Louise Aronson was approached by an older woman who uses a portable oxygen tank to breathe and relies on a rollator walker (with a seat and basket attached).
The woman was new to the area and had been visiting various medical facilities. "Some of these places have ramps, but the angle is so steep I can't push my rollator up," she complained. "Whoever designed them wasn't thinking of someone like me."
At the University of Arkansas for Medical Sciences, Dr. Jeanne Wei, who heads the geriatrics department and the Donald W. Reynolds Institute on Aging, has seen many older adults injure themselves while pushing someone in a wheelchair up an incline. She has insisted that parking lots be on the same level as medical buildings and that sidewalks around facilities be kept in good shape to minimize older adults' risk of falling.
Also, at the University of Arkansas' Thomas and Lyon Longevity Clinic for older adults, examination tables are wider than usual and their height can be adjusted electronically. "Sometimes, it's difficult to navigate lying in a narrow strip" and many older adults are afraid of falling, Wei said.
The staff at Long Island Jewish didn't realize there weren't enough walkers and wheelchairs at the hospital's entrance until the issue came to light during deliberations by the special needs committee. Now, "we've made sure that we have plenty of these available," O'Gara-Shubinsky said.
Something as simple as having a hook to hang up a cane can be a thoughtful touch. "You see this a lot: An older patient sits down, there's nowhere to put a cane, and it falls on the floor," said Dr. Diana Anderson, a geriatric medicine fellow at the University of California-San Francisco, who's also a board-certified architect.
Doors
Diane Ashkenaz, 68, has fibromyalgia, chronic pain and a ruptured tendon. She also has undergone two knee replacements. Most of the time, she uses a walker when she visits doctors in the Washington metropolitan area.
Doors are often a problem. "Neither my primary care doctor nor my orthopedic surgeon have doors to their offices that open automatically," Ashkenaz said.
Not long ago, she said, the staff at a pain clinic's front desk handed her a pen and clipboard and asked, "Can you fill this out please?" How was Ashkenaz supposed to hold those items while finding her way to a chair? No one seemed to realize there was a problem.
At the clinic Sue Christensen visits in Washington, the front doors open wide automatically and a nursing assistant helps her into the exam room. But once her appointment is over, she's directed to an exit door that she must open herself.
"It's pretty heavy and hard to manage while trying to clunk my walker through," Christensen said. "I don't know why they don't have a door system that would be easier for people who don't have much strength or dexterity."
Seats
Ashkenaz has another pet peeve: chairs in waiting rooms with seats that are too low or without arms that she can grab to push herself up into a standing position.
At her cardiologist's office, there's a sofa with deep seats. "It looks nice, but I'd do anything not to sit there," Ashkenaz said. "I just can't get up from it."
Wei's clinic at the University of Arkansas has brought in chairs that are 4 inches taller than usual, with arms, for older patients. "These chairs are always occupied," she said.
Also, exam rooms at the clinic are large enough to accommodate chairs for multiple family members. "We'll bring everyone in to talk about Mom or Dad so they can hear what the other person is saying," Wei said.
We're eager to hear from readers about questions you'd like answered, problems you've been having with your care and advice you need in dealing with the health care system. Visit khn.org/columnists to submit your requests or suggestions for how medical facilities could become more age-friendly.
Gov. Ralph Northam and the president of the University of Virginia committed to changing UVA Health System's collections practices a day after Kaiser Health News detailed its aggressive and widespread pursuit of former patients for unpaid medical bills.
At the same time, the health system announced the departure of CEO Pamela Sutton-Wallace, who will leave in November to join New York-Presbyterian Hospital as a senior vice president.
Her exit "is in no way related" to the billing and collections problems, James Ryan, UVA's president, said in a message to employees Tuesday.
UVA sued former patients for unpaid bills more than 36,000 times over six years, seeking repayment of over $106 million and often pushing families into onerous payment plans or bankruptcy, according to KHN's investigation, published with The Washington Post.
Both Ryan and Northam expressed ignorance about UVA practices that were an open secret in Charlottesville, with hundreds of medical lawsuits often filed in a week.
Northam "was only just made aware of these practices," said spokeswoman Alena Yarmosky, adding that he "is not involved" in day-to-day university operations.
Northam, a pediatric neurologist who oversees UVA's board and often speaks about the need for affordable health care, said he is "absolutely concerned" about what the health system has been doing.
"I am glad to hear that UVA Health System is in the process of changing their policies and practices," Northam said Tuesday in a prepared statement. He declined to offer remedies or agree to an interview.
Ryan said in a tweet late Monday that he had asked Sutton-Wallace last month to look into collection and litigation practices. KHN informed UVA of its findings Aug. 1.
Fixing the problem "is complicated," in part because "we are legally obligated as a state agency to collect debts," he said. "But we have discretion within those legal constraints to make our system more generous and more humane."
Ryan and Sutton-Wallace also declined interview requests through spokesmen.
The health system is making a "comprehensive review" of its indigent care and financial assistance policies and will announce changes by the end of the week, said spokesman Eric Swensen.
"I learned about our aggressive billing and collection practices within the medical center a little over a month ago," Ryan said in his tweet. "Part of striving to be both a great and good university is honestly facing problems you encounter and doing what you can to address them."
The departure of Sutton-Wallace, named CEO five years ago, leaves the prestigious medical system with two top vacancies. Richard Shannon, executive vice president for health affairs, left in May.
UVA Health System, which is taxpayer-supported and state-funded, is the latest medical center to face withering scrutiny over patient collections as insurance coverage continues to leave consumers financially vulnerable—despite passage of the Affordable Care Act in 2010.
High-deductible health plans, unaffordable premiums, short-term insurance that doesn't cover preexisting illness and narrow provider networks all expose patients to unexpected bills of thousands or hundreds of thousands of dollars.
In recent months, journalists and academics have exposed collections practices in Baltimore, Memphis and New Mexico and at another Virginia hospital. A top federal health care regulator made a pointed reference to the coverage in a speech to hospital executives Tuesday.
"We are learning the lengths to which certain not-for-profit hospitals go to collect the full list price from uninsured patients," Medicare administrator Seema Verma said in a speech before members of the American Hospital Association. "These hospitals are referring patients to debt collectors, garnishing wages, placing liens on property and even suing patients into bankruptcy."
Phil Galewitz and Emmarie Huetteman contributed to this report. Kaiser Health News (KHN) is a national health policy news service. It is an editorially independent program of the Henry J. Kaiser Family Foundation which is not affiliated with Kaiser Permanente.