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My Search for a Psychiatric Bed in an Overburdened Health System

Helen Santoro — Thu, 09 Jul 2026 09:00:00 +0000

If you or someone you know may be experiencing a mental health crisis, contact the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline by dialing or texting “988.”

Eight days before my 33rd birthday in April, a social worker at a crisis clinic near Denver determined I was an imminent danger to myself. She placed me on an involuntary 72-hour mental health hold.

What came next wasn’t treatment, but a search for a bed. Clinic staffers called area hospitals with inpatient psychiatric units, asking if they had available beds. They didn’t. So, I was told I had to spend the night at the clinic, which is open 24/7. I settled into a recliner, trying to make myself comfortable as my mind drifted in a blank, disassociated haze. Sleep came in brief bursts.

Since the 1950s, the United States has seen a nationwide due in part to deinstitutionalization and the rise of antipsychotics. But that has created a critical shortage for those needing help. From 2011 to 2023, the number of hospitals with inpatient psychiatric units , according to a 2025 study. Another study from that year found that this country has 28.4 inpatient psychiatric beds per 100,000 people — not even half the 60-bed ratio researchers frequently refer to as the .

The shortage has created what the American Psychiatric Association : emergency rooms overwhelmed with people suffering from severe mental health illnesses, inpatient stays prematurely shortened to speed up bed turnover, and acutely ill individuals left without critical care.

(Oona Zenda/��ýҕ�l Health News)

“Where are these people going?” said , an assistant health policy professor at Rutgers University, who co-authored those 2025 studies. “For people who don’t receive this care, they don’t just go away. How is it affecting them? Society? Their families?”

Meanwhile, the White House shut down the part of the national suicide hotline catering to LGBTQ+ youth, President Donald Trump’s 2027 budget proposal calls for cuts to agencies , and Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. recently announced a plan to .”

A Fractured System

I was already intimately familiar with the country’s fractured mental healthcare system before I was involuntarily committed. What I had yet to experience myself, I saw through my wife: waitlists, outpatient programs stretched beyond capacity, and inpatient psychiatric care so scarce that access often depends on surviving a crisis severe enough to justify it.

She died by suicide after we had separated.

As the years passed, grief and anxiety pushed me from observer to patient.

At the crisis clinic, I woke up the following morning disoriented and groggy. In the bathroom — its door deliberately unable to latch, swinging both ways so staffers could enter in case of an emergency — I stood at the sink and watched the faucet run, trying to piece together how I had ended up here.

(Oona Zenda/��ýҕ�l Health News)

America’s history of treating mental illness is long and complicated.

The 19th and 20th centuries saw the removal of people with severe mental disorders from jails and — squalid facilities designed to house the poor — to state asylums that (though they ultimately became ). From the 1860s to the 1930s, the number of psychiatric hospitals increased dramatically, according to the American Psychiatric Association, and by 1955, the number of psychiatric beds in the U.S. peaked at more than half a million.

However, owing to the development of antipsychotics, the belief that psychiatric institutions were inhumane, and President John F. Kennedy’s 1963 to free thousands of Americans from a life in institutions, many state hospitals shut down. An estimated for adults and kids are left in a country where more than 14 million experience severe mental illness each year.

Two years after JFK’s legislation passed, a new policy prohibited federal Medicaid funds from covering inpatient psychiatric care in facilities . The goal was to encourage states to move patients out of large, often substandard psychiatric institutions into community-based care settings.

The consequences of these changes, however, have been far-ranging. People with severe mental illnesses are often forced to as they wait for a bed to open. The length of stay in state psychiatric hospitals , according to research by the Treatment Advocacy Center, a national organization focused on eliminating barriers to the treatment of severe mental illness. And some people with mental illness .

From 1986 to 2014, as the behavioral health crisis intensified, mental health expenditures in the U.S. rose from $32 billion to $186 billion — though the proportion of that spending allocated to inpatient care .

This period also recorded major policy shifts affecting inpatient hospitalization rates, notably the 1999 U.S. Supreme Court decision in Olmstead v. L.C. The ruling shifted care away from psychiatric facilities by mandating states to people with developmental and mental disabilities.

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” said Leslie Carpenter, legislative advocacy manager at the Treatment Advocacy Center. “A lot of these bills, including the Community Mental Health Act, were really well intended and ended up with adverse consequences.”

For me, that next day at the clinic passed both painfully slowly and in a blur. A staff member I hadn’t met before told me they were still reaching out to hospitals across the region. The search for a bed continued.

(Oona Zenda/��ýҕ�l Health News)

‘No One Wants To Pay for Any of This Care’

Last year, members of Congress introduced two bills to change the 16-bed Medicaid funding cap at inpatient psychiatric facilities, the and the , which would increase the cap to 36 beds. Both have stalled in the House.

According to the Congressional Budget Office, a federal agency that analyzes budgetary and economic issues, eliminating the 16-bed limit would increase Medicaid expenditures from 2024 to 2033.

“No one wants to pay for any of this care that people need,” said Colorado state Sen. , a Democrat who has witnessed limitations to Colorado’s mental healthcare system firsthand because her son has schizoaffective disorder.

In lieu of federal action, states are stepping up to bridge the gaps.

Colorado, 15 other states, and Washington, D.C., now operate under waivers allowing Medicaid to fund inpatient facilities for mental health treatment, according to KFF data. Seven additional states have waivers pending. One 2025 study found that these waivers may be tied to fewer hospitalizations, emergency department visits, and incarcerations .

Yet even local efforts to improve mental healthcare face resistance. In California, Colorado, Iowa, Missouri, Nebraska, and New York, locals have pushed back against proposed psychiatric facilities for minors, claiming such facilities will worsen safety and lower property values. Behavioral health advocates have disputed these claims and argued they are rooted in stigma.

That psychiatric facility in Colorado was . The state has nearly 20 inpatient beds per 100,000 people, , according to 2022 data across all 50 states plus Washington, D.C., collected by the Treatment Advocacy Center. Wyoming ranked first with 47.3 beds per 100,000 residents, although, as the least populous state, it has only 275 total inpatient beds compared with California’s 5,703. Minnesota ranked last, with only 4.3 inpatient beds per 100,000 residents.

While increasing the number of inpatient psychiatric beds is vital, mental health advocates are also calling for , such as peer support specialists and clubhouses, where people with serious mental illnesses can learn life skills and find community.

(Oona Zenda/��ýҕ�l Health News)

When it came time for me to use our mental health safety net, I was among the fortunate ones: At noon the day after my hold began, a bed opened at a hospital in Denver — a rare stroke of luck in a system in which many people wait days or weeks for the care they need. An ambulance transferred me to the hospital at 3 p.m., marking 21 hours into my 72-hour hold.

Two days later, on my last day at the psychiatric hospital, I stood outside the nurse’s station awaiting discharge papers.

A man I had not seen before looked at me and asked, “Are you leaving?”

“Yes,” I said. “Are you being admitted?”

“Yeah,” he responded. “This is my third time being hospitalized in a year.”

I shook his hand. “Good luck,” I said, and I walked out the door.

��ýҕ�l Health News is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues and is one of the core operating programs at KFF—an independent source of health policy research, polling, and journalism. Learn more about .

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Thousands of Medicare Beneficiaries Thought Their Drug Plan Was Free. Then They Lost It.

Susan Jaffe — Tue, 07 Jul 2026 09:00:00 +0000

Jude Pare and his partner, Diane Tix, live in rural Minnesota until temperatures dip below freezing, when they take refuge in Arizona for the winter. While away, their mail is forwarded. But Pare, 77, said he didn’t receive any warning from his Medicare prescription drug plan that his $0 monthly premium was about to increase.

So he didn’t know he had a bill to pay. After he and Tix returned home to Minnesota in April, they got a letter from Wellcare, the insurer that provided his drug plan, saying his coverage had been terminated after three months of unpaid premiums totaling $28.80. Under Medicare’s rules, he can’t enroll in a plan again until the fall, for coverage beginning in 2027.

Pare takes Xarelto, a blood thinner that reduces his risk of strokes, blood clots, and pulmonary embolism. “He could bleed to death without it,” Tix said. A 90-day supply of the drug costs about $1,800 using a coupon from GoodRx, a discount drug website, she said.

Pare is among tens of thousands of Medicare beneficiaries who were on Wellcare’s Value Script drug plan who will likely go without prescription drug coverage for the rest of the year because they didn’t pay premiums for three months.

Next year, thousands more people in 32 states and Washington, D.C., who are enrolled in zero-premium drug plans from Wellcare and other insurance companies may find themselves in the same situation if their premiums go up and they don’t realize it, according to a ��ýҕ�l Health News analysis of drug plan data. Premiums and other changes for 2027 will be unveiled in September.

Going without medication can be life-threatening, especially for Medicare beneficiaries. take one or more prescription drugs, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Almost half live with four or more chronic health conditions that can cause functional or cognitive impairments.

By the time Jude Pare and his partner, Diane Tix, found out he owed $28.80 for three months of drug plan premiums, his coverage had been canceled. He is among tens of thousands of Medicare beneficiaries who will likely go without prescription drug coverage for the rest of the year after their drug plans were canceled. (Diane Tix)

Congress added prescription drug coverage to Medicare in 2003. But the coverage is administered by commercial insurance companies, which compete fiercely with one another for the business of about enrolled in drug plans.

Zero-dollar or very low monthly premiums have helped make Wellcare’s Value Script the bestselling stand-alone prescription drug plan in Medicare, with nearly 6 million customers across the U.S., according to government data. But in 26 states and Washington, D.C., some Value Script members who didn’t have to pay a premium last year were caught off guard by increases in 2026.

After a two-month grace period — which Wellcare extended to three — Medicare drug plans can drop customers who don’t pay their premiums, no matter how small the amount. Some members who lost their coverage in Nevada, for example, owed as little as $8.10 for three months, according to a ��ýҕ�l Health News analysis of Medicare drug plan data.

Wellcare terminated coverage for about 140,000 Value Script beneficiaries in April, according to a person with knowledge of the matter who was not authorized to speak publicly about it and feared reprisals at work for doing so. About 40,000 of the people who were dropped may be able to enroll in new coverage immediately because they have low incomes and receive financial assistance through a program Medicare calls “.”

Multiple state officials said they had heard the same disenrollment figures, including Nevada’s insurance commissioner, Ned Gaines, who chairs the National Association of Insurance Commissioners’ senior issues task force; Rebecca Gouty, director of the State Health Insurance Assistance Program in West Virginia; and Tim Smolen, director of Washington state’s Statewide Health Insurance Benefits Advisors. The West Virginia and Washington initiatives are part of the federally funded , or SHIP, which provides free, unbiased help navigating Medicare.

Surprise Bills

The Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services, which oversees Medicare drug plans, declined to provide the number of Value Script members who lost coverage due to unpaid premiums. “The agency does not publicly provide plan-specific disenrollment figures or state-level breakdowns related to the non-payment of premiums,” Christopher Krepich, a spokesperson, said in a written statement to ��ýҕ�l Health News.

Centene Corp., Wellcare’s parent company, also declined to provide disenrollment numbers.

“We recognize how disruptive a loss of coverage can be and are committed to helping members understand their options,” said Sarah Baiocchi, senior vice president for specialty and prescription drug plans at Centene. She acknowledged that “some members in our Value Script plan experienced a premium for the first time, or for the first time in several years.”

Baiocchi said all Value Script members received a CMS-required annual notice of changes in September, before the premium increases took effect.

A sent to members in two states and Washington, D.C., is 21 pages long. The new premium is mentioned on pages 3 and 8, along with changes to out-of-pocket costs and how to find updates on covered drugs and network pharmacies.

The company also informed members about 2026 premium changes through phone calls, text messages, regular mail, or email, Baiocchi said.

People who are dropped are not able to reenroll or join another drug plan until the start of the open enrollment period this fall for coverage beginning Jan. 1, unless they qualify for an exception, Krepich said. And because they will have gone without coverage for at least 63 days, they could be hit with a permanent that increases every year for the rest of their lives.

“Medicare should be doing something about this so that we can go ahead and get coverage now,” said Wayne Bennett, 74, who lives in Durham, North Carolina.

In May, he found out that Wellcare had canceled his Value Script plan because he hadn’t paid his $3.60 monthly premiums. He takes nine prescription drugs to treat his blood pressure, glaucoma, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, and other health problems. He filled most of his prescriptions — including several at no cost — before he lost coverage. He doesn’t know what he’ll have to pay when his supply runs out.

Gouty, the West Virginia program head, said many Medicare beneficiaries arrange for their monthly drug plan premium to be automatically deducted from their Social Security benefits, and that many likely thought that choice remained in place until they changed it.

“They didn’t realize that when the plan was a zero premium in 2025, that stopped the Social Security premium deduction and they would have had to reelect it for 2026,” Gouty said.

In other words, even if they mistakenly thought the premium was still zero, Medicare beneficiaries would have needed to somehow allow Social Security to make deductions — something the agency doesn’t do — or set up a payment plan through their bank or credit card in case payment was necessary.

“That sounds goofy,” Tix said.

Centene’s Baiocchi blamed the Social Security Administration for the problem: “We believe this was a key driver of non-payment disenrollments and subsequent complaints.”

Spokespeople for the agency referred questions about the matter to CMS.

Krepich said legal requirements for drug plan enrollment and disenrollment limit what CMS can do to help beneficiaries who lose coverage for not paying their premiums.

‘Pretty Upset’

Now that Pare has no prescription drug coverage, his doctor replaced his blood thinner medication with a much less expensive drug that should be just as effective. Pare paid $111 for four other medications that used to be free under his Value Script plan. He hasn’t had to refill four more prescriptions yet and doesn’t know what they will cost, Tix said.

If Wellcare members knew about the premium increases, they could have set up direct billing or an automatic payment plan early this year before the payment grace period ended April 1. But they would have been able to fill prescriptions during the grace period, so if they didn’t see Wellcare’s notices, they likely assumed there was no problem with their coverage.

Bennett, the North Carolina man, said Wellcare used to send him text messages with health tips and reminders when it was time to pick up a prescription. He didn’t know his premium had increased from $0 to $3.60 until it was too late.

Wayne Bennett lost his Medicare drug coverage because he didn’t pay the premium, which was free last year but — without his knowing — went up this year. “Medicare should be doing something about this so that we can go ahead and get coverage now,” he says. (Wayne Bennett)

“I was pretty upset,” he said, when he called the company. “The premium wasn’t that much, and I was ready to pay it right off the bat. I had my credit card out ready to make the payment.”

The customer service representative wouldn’t let him pay because his coverage had been canceled, Bennett said.

Hoping to restore it, Bennett called , a Durham nonprofit that advises Medicare beneficiaries and is one of more than 2,200 SHIP sites across the country. He was told he must wait until January to restart his drug coverage, said the group’s executive director, Gina Upchurch.

He doesn’t qualify for the “Extra Help” low-income subsidy or meet other CMS criteria for a , which would allow him to change drug plans during the year. CMS typically allows midyear switches for beneficiaries who, for example, move out of their plan’s service area, experience a natural disaster, or get help paying for drugs from a .

Senior PharmAssist was able to help one of its participants join another drug plan after she lost Value Script coverage because she is in North Carolina’s pharmacy assistance program for people with HIV/AIDS and has limited income, Upchurch said.

A further exception allows any Medicare beneficiary to enroll at any time in a drug plan that has earned five stars, the top grade in Medicare’s performance ratings. However, there are no five-star Medicare drug plans available to the general public. Only two insurers offer five-star plans, and only for retirees from certain employers. Their combined enrollment is about 8,700 as of June 1, according to the insurers.

But Upchurch, with more than two decades of Medicare expertise, doesn’t blame beneficiaries for not paying attention or for assuming Wellcare’s messages were bogus. Older adults are particularly vulnerable to identity theft and other scams and are often advised to ignore junk mail and calls from telemarketers.

Since Value Script members such as Bennett continued to get their prescriptions filled during the payment grace period, “why wouldn’t they think this was a scam?” Upchurch asked. “They are constantly bombarded by people selling them something that’s illegitimate or trying to scam them.”

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Affordable Healthcare Emerges as a Voter Priority in Purple Nevada

Jazmin Orozco Rodriguez — Wed, 01 Jul 2026 09:00:00 +0000

One issue will decide Steven Cohen’s vote for Nevada governor this fall: Which candidate can best protect him from getting kicked off Medicaid?

Cohen is a 38-year-old Las Vegas resident with autism and has dual enrollment in Medicaid and Medicare. He said he’s very concerned that he could lose his Medicaid coverage once work requirements and more frequent eligibility checks take effect in January, under congressional Republicans’ One Big Beautiful Bill Act.

“When you’re going to some providers, notably mental health, once a month, or in the case of one provider, a couple of times a week, those copays quickly add up,” Cohen said.

Republican Gov. Joe Lombardo is running for reelection against Democratic state Attorney General Aaron Ford in one of to be decided in November. Lombardo has , but healthcare policy changes made by the Trump administration are working against him with voters like Cohen in the swing state.

Those changes include Medicaid funding cuts that are expected to strain state budgets, along with new work requirement and eligibility rules for Medicaid and the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, which provides food assistance for low-income families. The changes are expected to increase the number of people without health insurance nationwide by an estimated and decrease the number of people who receive SNAP by from 2025 to 2034.

People across the U.S. have also been feeling the pinch of rising health insurance premiums since Congress allowed enhanced Affordable Care Act subsidies to expire at the end of last year. Many who purchase health plans on the ACA marketplace have chosen less expensive plans with less coverage or are going without insurance altogether.

These changes will have a significant impact in Nevada, where tourism, hospitality, and gaming are cornerstones of the state’s economy. Nearly are self-employed, independent contractors, or freelancers without employer-sponsored health insurance benefits. Many purchase insurance through the state’s ACA health exchange, in enrollment this year after a record 110,000 people signed up for 2025.

Even before the federal changes, Nevada’s 11.4% uninsurance rate was already the , according to data from 2024. A in May that an estimated 70,000 Nevadans could lose their Medicaid coverage under the new rules. Around in the state lost access to SNAP in May.

“This is going to come down to an affordability election, and that’s going to hurt the Republicans,” said , a professor in the political science department at the University of Nevada-Las Vegas.

In a national this year, two-thirds of respondents said they were worried about affording healthcare, more than said the same about food and groceries, housing, or gas. And more than half said their healthcare costs had increased in the past year. KFF is a health information nonprofit that includes ��ýҕ�l Health News.

While most respondents said that healthcare costs will influence whom they vote for in November, the issue was more pressing among Democrats and independents.

Competitive gubernatorial races are also underway in Arizona, Georgia, Iowa, Michigan, and Wisconsin, with all those races .

The Democratic Party has the edge on healthcare issues over Republicans, but about 3 in 10 voters reported that they don’t trust either party, noted Liz Hamel, a senior vice president and the director of public opinion and survey research at KFF.

“It’s not an overwhelming advantage,” she said.

Not Your Textbook Republican Governor

Lombardo’s campaign his support for a children’s hospital set to be built in Las Vegas; his consolidation of the state’s Medicaid program, ACA marketplace, and public employee benefits program into a single agency; and the expansion of the number of community behavioral health centers in the state during his term.

Before running for governor and unseating Democrat Steve Sisolak in 2022, Lombardo served eight years as sheriff in Nevada’s Clark County. Before that he spent with the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department.

Lombardo has taken healthcare stances in his first term that diverge from the typical Republican playbook. For example, that he would oppose a national abortion ban, and in 2023 he prohibiting state agencies from cooperating with other states seeking to prosecute people for traveling to Nevada to get an abortion.

The governor also signed bills into law in 2023 that from engaging in gender discrimination and to ensure greater protections for transgender and nonbinary people, including setting standards for medical care and mental health treatment.

More recently, Lombardo has taken actions more aligned with the Make America Great Again movement. In 2025, he that would have created protections for clinicians who provide gender-affirming care. This year, he to ban transgender athletes from girls’ and women’s sports.

Lombardo’s campaign declined to make the governor available for an interview for this report. In a with Jon Ralston, CEO of the nonprofit news outlet The Nevada Independent, Lombardo said he was surprised during his first term as governor by how “complicated” and “encompassing” healthcare is, and by the “cost of it.”

“Government seems to complicate some of those bigger processes more often than not,” Lombardo said, “but in this case, they’re instrumental in the success or failure of healthcare and how people suffer as a result of bad decisions.”

His opponent, Ford, began his political career as a Nevada state senator and became the state’s first Black attorney general in 2019.

Ford has talked about how he raised his eldest son on his own while attending Texas A&M University. He said he relied on public benefits such as Section 8 housing, Medicaid, food stamps, and the Women, Infants and Children program to provide for them.

He said because of those experiences, his thoughts go to the Nevadans expected to lose Medicaid coverage whenever he hears a reference to the “Big Beautiful Bill.”

“It hits me differently,” Ford said.

His campaign’s calls for lowering prescription drug costs, boosting awareness of the state’s public-option health plans that debuted this year, and canceling medical debt.

A Referendum on Trump?

Most voters who responded to KFF’s poll said they have little or no confidence in how the Trump administration is addressing the cost of living.

“It seems like, if anything, the Trump administration’s approach is not going to help Republicans in the midterms,” Hamel said. But, she added, “November is many months away. A lot of things could change.”

Lombardo appears to be distancing himself from the president amid soaring gas prices and broader affordability issues.

When Trump visited Las Vegas in April, Lombardo didn’t attend the event. The governor later that he would be meeting with the president during his visit, but they spoke only by phone. Damore said he doesn’t think it was an accident that Lombardo didn’t appear with the president publicly.

“Lombardo has done a nice job trying to thread the needle between himself and Trump,” he said.

But Ford has an easier road ahead when it comes to campaigning for healthcare issues, Damore said.

“He just kind of has to say, ‘I’ll do better,’ and point the finger at Trump and say, ‘Where is Lombardo fighting this kind of stuff?’” Damore said. “That’s a pretty easy campaign for him.”

Partisan Nevada voters are nearly evenly split between the two parties, but the majority are registered as nonpartisans, probably because the state’s makes “nonpartisan” the default option for residents who register at the Department of Motor Vehicles. As of last year, voters can no longer choose a party at the DMV, instead needing to fill out paperwork their county election office mails after they register.

Clark County, home to Las Vegas and of , leans Democratic. The next-largest county by population is Washoe County, which is home to Reno and is the in the state. The rest of the state is rural and consistently votes Republican.

But voters in Nevada are fatigued, Damore said, after years of inflation and rising costs since the covid pandemic.

“People are just kind of surly,” he said. “They keep kind of ping-ponging back and forth between the parties. It doesn’t seem to change much.”

Cohen, the Las Vegas voter, is a registered nonpartisan. He said he plans to vote for Ford because he is the candidate who seems most willing to work to protect Medicaid enrollees.

“Sometimes the only way to get something done, to protect it, is to sue,” Cohen said. “I think he’ll bring that background.”

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Even in Blue States, Hospitals Have Continued To Drop Gender-Affirming Care for Youths

Karen Brown, New England Public Media — Wed, 24 Jun 2026 09:00:00 +0000

One afternoon in late 2024, a sixth-grader nicknamed Bug came home from school with an announcement to make. Bug, who was assigned female at birth, told his parents he was a boy — and would be using he/him pronouns.

“OK, cool,” his mother, J, remembered saying. (J asked to be identified by only her first initial, and Bug by his nickname, because the family fears harassment.)

“‘What do you need to be supported?’” she recalled asking next. “He asked to get healthcare.”

This was the kind of moment J had been anticipating since the family had moved earlier that year from Texas to Massachusetts, for its more liberal and inclusive politics. She felt confident they could find the right medical experts. But she hadn’t realized that access to gender-affirming treatment could disappear even when their state’s laws and leaders supported it.

Individual hospitals all over the U.S., in red and blue states, have responded to President Donald Trump’s attacks on transgender healthcare by deciding to withdraw care on their own. At least did so in the first months of the Trump administration as it threatened to pull back federal funding or initiate fraud or wrongful-claim investigations, and such services have continued to drop off since.

Bug and his younger sister were born in Austin, Texas, but J and her husband became worried after the state outlawed abortion; dismantled diversity, equity, and inclusion programs; and limited medical and civil rights for queer and transgender people. The parents worried the support services they needed for the siblings, both of whom have autism, might be affected, too.

“I had a fear of being like the frog in the boiling water and not realizing what was happening until it was too late,” J said. “I needed to get the kids out of Texas.”

So when Bug came out as trans, J was relieved they’d landed in a state that not only has a to who offer but also is requiring commercial insurance, which Bug’s family has, to cover it.

After Bug’s gender announcement, J’s queries led her to the largest hospital system in the region, Springfield, Massachusetts-based , where they began the months-long process of getting set up to start hormone therapy.

Bug, an artistic 14-year-old who loves horses, cats, and making short films with friends, was too old for , but he was excited about the prospect of starting on testosterone. That would cause his voice to deepen, facial hair to grow, and muscles to get bigger.

“Every part of it sounds fun,” he said.

J (right) and her son, Bug, at their home in western Massachusetts. Bug, who came out as a trans boy in 2024, had turned to Baystate Health for treatment until the health system stopped providing gender-affirming medications to youths. (Karen Brown/New England Public Media)

But this past February, two weeks before Bug was scheduled to start testosterone, Baystate announced it would no longer provide gender-affirming medications to minors, offering only counseling. A letter to patients’ families did not explain why.

Baystate spokesperson Heather Duggan sent a statement that said the decision to end treatment for minors reflected the fact that Baystate could lose “hundreds of millions of dollars in government reimbursement” as a result of the Trump administration’s plans. “Nearly 70 percent of Baystate Health’s patients rely on Medicaid and Medicare for coverage,” it said.

All Bug knew was that the care he’d eagerly awaited was about to vanish.

“I felt frustrated that they would do that,” Bug said.

“I bet there’s tons and tons of kids who are like: ‘OK, I’m going for trans-affirming healthcare. Yay!’” he said. “And then, like, tons and tons of kids were disappointed and sad and frustrated.”

J said it felt as if the floor had fallen out from under them. “Maybe this is naive, but I didn’t think that would happen in Massachusetts,” she said.

Baystate is among the providers still choosing not to offer puberty blockers and hormones as the issue wends its way through the courts. This spring, in , a federal judge concluded that it was unlawful for the Department of Health and Human Services to threaten federal funding for providers that offered gender-affirming care to minors. In June, another federal judge cleared 16 states, including Massachusetts, with another lawsuit against the administration over its push to criminalize gender-affirming care.

Baystate Medical Center in Springfield, Massachusetts. The Baystate Health system stopped providing gender-affirming medications to youths in February, after the Trump administration said it would pull Medicaid and Medicare funding from hospitals providing them. (Karen Brown/New England Public Media)

The American Academy of Pediatrics declined an interview request but said in a that young patients and their families should make decisions about gender-affirming care with their doctors, “delivered with compassion, and offered without political interference.”

One mother of a former Baystate patient said that before her child came out as a transgender girl, she had been severely depressed, battling suicidal thoughts. (The mother asked that only her first initial, L, be used, because the family also fears harassment.)

After Baystate doctors prescribed puberty blockers and estrogen, her daughter’s mood and grades rose markedly, L said. So when she received the letter announcing Baystate was ending the medical treatment, she was furious. L said she and other parents filed civil rights complaints with the Massachusetts attorney general.

The attorney general’s office did not respond to a request for comment.

“There’s a sense of, ‘How could you?’” L said. “And there’s also the awareness of the impact just pulling care could have on a youth — from a physical health perspective but also from a mental health perspective.”

L and J both found alternatives for their children. L asked the family’s primary care doctor to take over hormone prescriptions. Bug’s family was referred to in Northampton, Massachusetts, that said it has taken on about 50 of Baystate’s former patients.

“Transhealth has been staffing ourselves up for a while now in anticipation of the fact that this may be happening across the state,” said.

Erwin said Transhealth can weather the funding threats because the clinic gets large private donations and is not as dependent on Medicaid and Medicare as most hospitals. But Erwin said that doesn’t entirely reassure the broader LGBTQ+ community, including transgender adults.

“When you see something like that go down, people get scared that it’s ultimately going to happen to everyone,” Erwin said.

In May, Colorado’s Supreme Court in that state to resume medical treatments for transgender youths, while in Texas compelled a children’s hospital there to do the opposite — start the nation’s first “detransition clinic.” The Trump administration has continued to pressure providers, including by of transgender minors.

After Bug’s false start at Baystate, he was able to start taking testosterone at the new clinic in the spring.

His mother, J, said that the treatment is going smoothly and that Bug has learned how to give himself the injections. But J is nervous that the federal government will find other ways to stop his treatment again. She sometimes second-guesses the family’s move from Texas to Massachusetts, wondering whether they should have gone to Canada instead.

This article is from a partnership that includes , , and ��ýҕ�l Health News.

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Medicare’s AI Push Snarls Patients and Doctors in Errors and Delays

Darius Tahir — Tue, 23 Jun 2026 09:00:00 +0000

Bill Curry, 65, raises cattle on the same land in rural Oklahoma once owned by his father and generations before him. Each quarter, for several years, he has made the 2½-hour drive to Oklahoma City for an epidural in his spine to treat his back pain.

But this year, because of a new Medicare program, Curry has traveled a little more often.

In February, during one trip, he was told unexpectedly that he needed preapproval for the procedure. Then he went again a month or so later to get the injection, for a total of 10 hours on the road. His clinic wanted him to come in a third time, which they had never asked of him before. That appointment was “just to fill out a piece of paper to tell them how you feel again,” Curry said, so he hasn’t gone.

In January, Oklahoma became one of six states to begin a pilot program testing the use of preapprovals in traditional Medicare, the federal health insurance program for people 65 and older or with disabilities. Medicare had previously eschewed the practice — also known as prior authorization — which requires patients or someone on their medical team to seek insurance approval before proceeding with certain procedures, tests, and prescriptions.

Epidurals like Curry’s are among 13 medical services subject to the new program because the Trump administration says they’re prone to fraud or misuse. Powered by artificial intelligence, the program — called the Wasteful and Inappropriate Service Reduction Model, or WISeR — is intended to save the federal government money and protect patients from potentially unsafe or unneeded care.

Yet early reviews from Oklahoma and the other pilot states — Arizona, New Jersey, Ohio, Texas, and Washington — suggest WISeR’s rollout has not been smooth. Patients, doctors, and other healthcare professionals who spoke with ��ýҕ�l Health News say the effort has created confusion, errors, long wait times, and stress. Some described the rollout as “horrendous” and say people enrolled in Medicare in the pilot states are now getting ensnared in the same red tape as those with private insurance.

One key concern is that it all happened too hastily. WISeR was and launched in mid-January.

That was “quicker than normal” for the federal government, said Todd Baker, who recently stepped down as CEO of the Ohio State Medical Association. Doctors “just sort of had to figure it out,” added Jeb Shepard, director of policy at the Washington State Medical Association.

Government contractors have also acknowledged the rapid pace. “We’ve had an aggressive rollout from the time of being notified to going live,” said Jeremy Friese, CEO of Humata Health, the vendor for Oklahoma. Tech executives servicing other states have said they were still adding features to their products in the spring.

Abe Sutton, director of the Center for Medicare and Medicaid Innovation, which is administering the program, didn’t comment on the rollout schedule. But he said in a statement that the goal of these reforms is to ensure that prior authorization is efficient, fast, and streamlined.

“The model aims to reduce inappropriate care without delaying appropriate care,” he said.

Mehmet Oz, the leader of the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services, that they were “rolling out some prior authorization on abused practices.”

“The purpose of these is not to deny care,” Oz continued. “It’s to make sure you get the care you need and deserve, not the care some unscrupulous doctor wants to use on you.”

Medicare has struggled in recent years with suspected fraud associated with particular services. The Department of Health and Human Services’ inspector general spending on skin substitutes, for example, had surged nearly 700% over two years, raising “major concerns about fraud, waste, and abuse.” Skin substitutes are among the currently subject to review under WISeR.

The program also imposes prior authorization requirements for kyphoplasty, a surgery for spinal fractures, which a report by the Medicare Payment Advisory Commission .

Sutton acknowledged, however, that “the percentage of providers committing waste, fraud, and abuse is small.”

Consumers and clinicians largely detest prior authorization. Even as federal health officials test the process for Medicare, the Trump administration is for those with private insurance. According to a conducted in January, 69% of insured adults consider prior authorization a burden for care.

Through WISeR, doctors and their staff log in to online portals to submit medical records that justify the procedures. Using artificial intelligence, the systems quickly approve applications that meet the program’s criteria, Friese, Humata’s chief executive, told ��ýҕ�l Health News. He said there is an “immediate yes” in 88% of cases for which clinical data supports an approval.

CMS has touted the process as one in which decisions are returned within 72 hours. After that, clinicians receive a “universal tracking number,” which allows them to schedule the procedure and get paid. In practice, however, participants say the process is anything but easy.

The University of Washington’s medical system alone had nearly 100 patients waiting earlier this year for epidural injections due to WISeR-related delays, from the office of U.S. Sen. Maria Cantwell (D-Wash.) that drew on hospital association data. “Now, patients are subject to delays or denials which did not exist prior to the WISeR Model,” the report said.

Curry, the Oklahoma cattle farmer, said he might go to Kansas for future treatments to avoid the approval process. Dorota Gribbin, a New Jersey-based physical medicine and rehabilitation physician, said that by the time authorization came for one of her patients who needed a back pain procedure, the patient had gone to the hospital for more expensive care.

Jennifer Valle, a precertification and insurance supervisor at Clinical Radiology of Oklahoma, said when it comes to kyphoplasties, there has been a lot of “nitpicking” from reviewers. Other times, information her practice provides to CMS gets overlooked, she said, and reviewers ask for imaging that’s already in the file.

Claims with no problems are supposed to be paid within 15 days, said James Webb, a musculoskeletal radiologist in Tulsa, Oklahoma, who has also been frustrated by the prior approval and reimbursement process for kyphoplasties. “Six- to eight-week delays is what we’ve been seeing,” he said.

“It’s been horrendous,” said Jerry Sobel, a Phoenix-area pain management doctor. “Right from the beginning, there seemed to be no organization.” Sobel said that as of May, he hadn’t gotten paid by Medicare for nine epidurals.

“We continuously monitor operations and work closely with stakeholders to address questions and improve the provider experience,” said Sundar Subramanian, the CEO of Zyter, which has the contract for Arizona.

During an April webinar, another Zyter executive acknowledged a large backlog in payments stretching to January. Those backlogs “are currently being resolved,” Medicare’s Sutton said, without providing further detail.

When asked about other issues — including what doctors suspect are AI-driven errors — Medicare’s Sutton said the agency appreciates “feedback on provider experience.” It will be used “to help providers better understand WISeR processes,” he said.

Although CMS vendors say humans make the final decisions on approvals, doctors and their staffs believe artificial intelligence is playing a large role in the process and that denials are sometimes the result of AI hallucinations that garble or make up information.

One Arizona doctor, who wasn’t authorized by his practice to speak, recalled a denial saying his patient wasn’t eligible for procedures in the thoracic region, or mid-back. The patient needed an injection to the neck. Webb, the Oklahoma radiologist, documented four times that a patient lacked numbness, and yet his WISeR application was still denied, citing numbness, which, in the reviewer’s interpretation, would rule out the spinal surgery procedure.

Friese, Humata’s CEO, said he hasn’t heard about any AI hallucinations.

The process is also raising government costs. With more rejections, more appeals are being filed with Medicare’s administrative contractors. The government pays the contractors to handle the appeals, and Medicare’s Sutton acknowledged that the agency has “accounted for potential changes in the volume of Medicare appeals because of the WISeR program and its associated costs.”

Eighty-four percent of commercial insurers already use AI tools, according to a survey released in 2025 by the National Association of Insurance Commissioners, though they have consistently said AI isn’t used to deny prior authorization requests.

Its use in Medicare risks introducing friction and frustration into the program — and piling costs onto its beneficiaries. Prior authorization saves money for insurers partly by making patients pay a price in wait times and inconvenience, said Miranda Yaver, a University of Pittsburgh health policy researcher studying the technique.

“People will end up getting ensnared in a lot of red tape, having to be on hold, and getting rerouted,” she said. She often wonders whether prior authorization simply shifts costs to patients and doctors, rather than saving them.

Some doctors involved in Medicare’s prior authorization experiment believe it will inevitably expand beyond a few services officials in Washington consider fraud-prone.

“Everybody knows that if this pilot project works, it will be prior auth for basically all procedures,” said Mary Clarke, a family practice physician in Stillwater, Oklahoma. “If they can show that they can save money, then that’s going to be extrapolated and rolled out to other procedures and multiple other things in other states.”

When asked whether CMS is considering expansion of its prior authorization pilot, Sutton said in his statement that there are “currently no changes” considered for the list of services subject to the WISeR program, “but CMS continues to assess whether any changes are warranted.”

Do you have an experience with prior authorization you’d like to share? to tell ��ýҕ�l Health News your story.

��ýҕ�l Health News Southern correspondent Lauren Sausser contributed to this report.

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Backed by Threat of Clawbacks, Feds Wield Tight Grip on $50B Rural Health Fund

Sarah Jane Tribble — Tue, 16 Jun 2026 09:00:00 +0000

In Maine, state health officials hoped to steer a slice of $190 million in new federal rural health funding to shield hospitals and clinics from the fallout caused by cuts to federal health programs.

Their plan would have helped pay to treat low-income, uninsured patients.

But federal leaders overseeing the five-year, $50 billion Rural Health Transformation Program said no.

“It was not our decision,” said Lisa Letourneau, a senior adviser at Maine’s health department.

Letourneau told an audience of healthcare providers, advocates, and community groups during a March webinar that the change was “disappointing.”

Maine isn’t alone in having to make changes to plans pitched to win a share of the Trump administration’s new rural health fund.

Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services Administrator Mehmet Oz when announcing the rural health program awards last year and said his agency would help states “turn their ideas into lasting improvements for rural families.”

But state officials and healthcare leaders said it’s also clear the agency wants to encourage specific policy changes and hold states accountable to the promises they made and rules they agreed to follow.

During the past six months, as states raced to meet the program’s looming federal deadlines, CMS staffers worked with state health departments to make a flurry of changes, including scrapping some initiatives. The federal agency to rescind existing funding — or reduce future awards — if states don’t follow rules or meet their goals. “We will take the money back” if states “don’t abide by what they wrote, if they don’t do a good job,” Oz said at an event this month in Washington, D.C.

Congressional Republicans created the Rural Health Transformation Program as a last-minute sweetener in their One Big Beautiful Bill Act last summer. The funding was intended to offset concerns about the anticipated in rural communities from the law, which is expected to reduce Medicaid spending by more than $900 billion over a decade.

Read an excerpt from the One Big Beautiful Bill Act.

1 in 4 Covered California Enrollees Could Get State Aid Under Newsom Proposal

Christine Mai-Duc — Fri, 12 Jun 2026 09:00:00 +0000

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When Congress allowed covid-era subsidies for health insurance to expire, California used its own funds to offset the hike in Obamacare premium costs for residents with low incomes.

But the reach has been limited.

As Gov. Gavin Newsom negotiates his last budget with the legislature, the Democrat wants to offer financial help to more than 1 in 4 enrollees in Covered California, the nation’s largest state-run health insurance marketplace. Democratic lawmakers, who hold a supermajority, are still debating the plan.

“My budget proposal would KEEP $0 monthly plans for low-income Californians to help clean up the financial disaster Trump created,” Newsom , where he often chides the president and GOP Congress.

have put up their own funds to keep Affordable Care Act plans affordable and residents insured as the rising cost of healthcare has emerged as a among voters. Newsom’s $300 million proposal would make California’s program among the most generous, but even the nation’s richest state can’t patch a left by the expiration of enhanced subsides at the end of last year.

“The gap between what people can pay in their monthly budget and what health insurance costs is so big that it’s a lot for states to take on,” said , a senior research fellow at the Center on Health Insurance Reforms at Georgetown University. “They’re going to have to figure out how they can finance that.”

New Mexico lawmakers have of the lost federal subsidies with state money. It seems to have worked; New Mexico saw in marketplace enrollment this year, but state analysts that the subsidy program isn’t sustainable.

and , which, like California, tax residents , are also spending hundreds of millions of dollars to try to keep premium payments low. Their hope, healthcare experts say, is to avoid the exodus seen in states such as Georgia that didn’t offer enrollees help.

Since the enhanced subsidies expired, have seen their premium payments increase by $65 a month on average.

Conservatives including have long argued that the subsidy expansion was too generous to high-income enrollees and .

“There are never enough subsidies to make health insurance affordable because subsidies are the problem,” said Michael Cannon, director of health policy studies at the libertarian Cato Institute. “They are causing people to turn a blind eye to fraud and waste and excessive prices because it’s someone else’s money that they’re spending, not their own.”

Helping the Poorest?

People who earn too much to qualify for Medicaid got relief starting in January after Newsom and legislators softened the blow for about 300,000 of the lowest-income enrollees. They offset lost federal premium tax credits for individuals who last year and partially filled the gap for those who earned up to $25,823.

The governor now wants to expand subsidies to those who earn up to $31,920 this year for an individual and $66,000 for a family of four — an estimated 218,000 additional people.

Veronica and William Walter, who live in the San Francisco Bay Area, earn less than $40,000 a year in one of the nation’s most expensive regions. They’re counting on a more generous state healthcare tax credit if they have to pay for health insurance next year.

Veronica Walter says she wouldn’t be able to afford the nearly $200 monthly premium for health insurance that she and her husband would likely pay on Covered California, even after a proposed expansion of state subsidies. (Christine Mai-Duc/��ýҕ�l Health News)

A car accident two years ago left William temporarily disabled, qualifying the couple for Medi-Cal, the state’s Medicaid program.

Now he’s back at work as a security guard, and Veronica said she’s worried they’ll be kicked off Medi-Cal. She’s even more worried about how they’ll get by with federal premium tax credits not nearly as generous as before.

“Without it, we’re going to be facing worse problems than we have now,” she said. Under Newsom’s proposal, Veronica and others in the highest eligible income bracket could receive an average monthly subsidy of $36 a person.

“For them, $36 a month is the sort of thing that can make a difference between keeping coverage and losing coverage,” said Peter Lee, former executive director of Covered California. “We can’t fix everything with that gap, but we can focus the dollars on those who need it most.”

The Walter family, though, may still face a nearly $200 monthly premium payment to cover both of them, $130 more than they previously paid for healthcare and prescriptions through Covered California.

“I can’t afford that, not really,” said Veronica, a pet sitter who works part-time at a school. “A giant state like this with this many people, and this many resources? You can’t just leave the people with nothing for healthcare or healthcare they can’t afford.”

California policy researchers and health advocates acknowledge the limits of a partial subsidy but say that concentrating funds on those who earn less is the most efficient way to maximize impact. People who drop coverage are , healthier, and less likely to have high healthcare costs — all factors that help stabilize the insurance risk pool. Without coverage, Lee said, they’re also more likely to experience debt from medical emergencies or leave unpaid hospital bills that strain the .

Cary Sanders, senior policy director at the California Pan-Ethnic Health Network, a health advocacy group, said the state’s move last year kept low-income enrollment in Covered California steady and reduced racial disparities in coverage.

“It’s working; it’s just that it’s not enough,” Sanders said. “We need the federal subsidies back.”

Still No Help for Many

When Congress passed enhanced subsidies in 2021, it capped monthly premium payments for even the highest earners at 8.5% of income. Those temporary enhancements allowed about 8 million Americans to choose robust plans with no monthly premium payment last year and helped double Obamacare enrollment to of 24 million.

At the end of last year, 22 million of them lost that help when the GOP-led Congress blocked the extension.

The pressures on Obamacare enrollees don’t stop at premiums. Federal legislation Republicans passed last summer known as the also shortens enrollment windows, tightens income verification requirements for subsidies, and requires enrollees who earn more than they projected to pay back the full amount.

Even if Newsom’s proposal passes, most Covered California customers won’t get state help. Nearly 1 million enrollees — 52% — earn above the $31,300-a-year individual earning cutoff.

Victoria Garzouzi was one of many middle-income retirees hit with one of the most extreme premium increases: The monthly payment for her low-level bronze plan jumped eightfold to $1,600.

To make ends meet, she came out of retirement and dipped into her savings. “I’m working to pay for my insurance,” she said. “I am an army of one.”

Despite a $6,000 deductible, her health insurance premium payment is more than the mortgage on her two-bedroom house. She’s putting off a needed cataract surgery until October, when she turns 65 and qualifies for Medicare.

While GOP leaders have not publicly weighed in on the state subsidies, some Democratic lawmakers have questioned why more help hasn’t been proposed.

Assembly member Dawn Addis, who chairs the chamber’s budget subcommittee on health, suggested Newsom could tap an additional $230 million from a fund for healthcare cost relief — money raised from a state penalty levied on those who can afford to enroll in health insurance but choose not to.

Lawmakers have previously criticized state officials for socking away much of the penalty revenue, which was supposed to go toward healthcare affordability. After California discontinued its premium subsidies thanks to increased federal assistance, the Newsom administration said the state was saving to help consumers once those temporary subsidies expired. Instead, California borrowed from the subsidy fund to cover state budget shortfalls, to the tune of $771 million. Starting this year, the subsidy fund should see an influx of cash as the state pays back the loan.

At a May legislative hearing, Joseph Donaldson, then a Department of Finance analyst, said maintaining the reserve was a prudent and financially sustainable approach.

Dylan Roby, a public health professor at the University of California-Irvine who consults for Covered California, said the focus on lower-income enrollees is deliberate. They qualify for federal subsidies that higher earners don’t, maximizing federal investment and strengthening the broader system.

“You end up with more advanced premium tax credits flowing into the state that you would have been leaving on the table,” he said.

State lawmakers have until June 15 to pass a state budget. Then, Covered California’s board would decide eligibility and benefit amounts, a decision that could come this summer, with new subsidies starting Jan. 1.

Even with the extra help, Walter and her husband worry they won’t be able to afford a potential $200 monthly premium payment. Walter said she’d likely have to rely on free clinics or ration medications.

“I take so many pills, I rattle,” she said. “That, on top of the $200? For us, it really adds up.”

A pet sitter and part-time school employee, Veronica Walter is worried she and her husband wouldn’t be able to afford monthly health insurance premiums next year even with more generous state subsidies. (Christine Mai-Duc/��ýҕ�l Health News)

Are you struggling to afford your health insurance? Have you decided to forgo coverage? Click here to contact ��ýҕ�l Health News and share your story.

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Anguished Parents. Doctors in Tears. Utah’s Long Measles Outbreak Takes a Toll.

Amy Maxmen — Wed, 10 Jun 2026 09:00:00 +0000

SALT LAKE CITY — Ben Dowse hadn’t expected to treat measles when he became a doctor, but there he was, examining a newborn exposed to the virus in the womb. The infected mother had given birth just hours earlier. The hospital had alerted Dowse to the case before delivery, and he’d braced himself for the worst.

Dowse wore a full-body protective suit with a plastic face mask. As a pediatrician in southern Utah, he couldn’t risk getting even a mild infection, because many of his patients are babies too young for measles vaccines or children whose parents choose not to protect them with immunizations. “I went in looking like a scientist in E.T.,” he said.

Measles can cause brain damage, deafness, or death in newborns. If the baby entered the world with a measles rash and fever, Dowse was prepared to give the infant a spinal tap to assess the risk of neurological damage.

Luckily, flushed and crying, the baby looked healthy. To keep it that way, Dowse wanted to inject the baby with concentrated antibodies against the measles virus. To his surprise, the parents objected, promising to give their child “all kinds of vitamin A,” Dowse said. He begged them not to, saying, “You can’t see it on the surface, but the baby’s body is fighting the measles.” They were afraid of vaccines, so Dowse explained that antibodies were different and that they would stop measles from replicating in the infant.

“That shot is going to basically give the baby ammo to fight,” Dowse said.

The parents relented. A couple of days later, they left the hospital with a child who had narrowly skirted an infection that killed many thousands of babies a century ago. Nonetheless, Dowse said he doubted they would be returning for childhood vaccinations to protect their baby against a bevy of illnesses. Like more than a dozen Utah doctors and health officials who spoke with ��ýҕ�l Health News, Dowse has adjusted his expectations.

He is part of a reluctant cohort of medical professionals now on the front line of America’s regressive next chapter in health history, one in which dangerous and preventable diseases return.

“I wish that people could see what I see,” said Nathan Money, a hospital pediatrician in Utah whose eyes welled up with tears as he described children he’s treated for measles struggling to breathe. “This train is going in the wrong direction, and it can feel like a helpless situation, because we’re just not seeing the public messaging and leadership that’s needed to turn this around.”

Since measles was deemed eliminated in the U.S. a quarter century ago, public health workers have extinguished sporadic outbreaks in close-knit, undervaccinated communities with targeted methods: Isolate people with measles and quarantine their contacts to contain the virus. But as vaccination rates , the virus is moving beyond insulated communities, overwhelming public health departments constrained by shoestring budgets. Larger outbreaks, the kind not seen for a generation, have forced health officials into a new paradigm: They have stopped racing to “contain” infections and shifted gears into what they call “mitigation.”

Utah made that transition early this year, once the outbreak hit “a point where you no longer have control over it,” said state epidemiologist Leisha Nolen. By March, measles had been detected in every health jurisdiction in the state and in northern Arizona. More than 950 people have tested positive in the two states since the outbreak began in August, but many people with measles haven’t been tested. A of measles viruses suggested that the true number of cases last year could have been 6.5 times what was known.

Last year under President Donald Trump, U.S. measles cases exceeded 2,000 for the first time since 1992. Six months into 2026, the U.S. has already surpassed that threshold. Prolonged outbreaks exact a toll on children, who have spent days in hospitals for severe infections and missed weeks of school for mild ones. Adults with measles miss work. Parents delay daycare to keep their babies safe. Doctors in Utah have enacted labor-intensive protocols to keep measles from spreading in clinics. Newborns and people with weakened immune systems who have been exposed to the virus receive infusions of concentrated antibodies costing $500 to $1,000. Medical visits for measles . Health departments spend millions trying to curb infections.

Emilie Morris, a hospital pediatrician in Utah, has cared for multiple unvaccinated children who were severely sick with measles. She’s learning how to communicate with parents who hadn’t expected the virus to cause so much harm. (Amy Maxmen/��ýҕ�l Health News)

“This is like a snowball that gathers speed as it rolls downhill,” said Emilie Morris, a hospital pediatrician in Salt Lake County and Utah County. A full-throttle campaign to educate communities on the safety of vaccines and the diseases they prevent could turn the situation around, doctors and health officials said. It would require an effort similar to what the anti-vaccine movement has long done in videos, blogs, and podcasts. For example, the anti-vaccine organization that Robert F. Kennedy Jr. founded before taking the helm at the Department of Health and Human Services, Children’s Health Defense, visits , , and has bought that downplay the threat of viruses while wildly exaggerating the risk of vaccine side effects. Kennedy’s and as health secretary are adding to parents’ doubt.

After the development of vaccines and antibiotics in the mid-1900s, virologist and Nobel laureate Frank Macfarlane Burnet wrote, “One can think of the middle of the twentieth century as the end of one of the most important social revolutions in history, the virtual elimination of the infectious diseases as a significant factor in social life.”

He couldn’t have imagined what was coming.

‘Year of Sickness’

A view of St. George, a city in southwest Utah that’s been hit hard by an ongoing measles outbreak that started in August. Nearly 40% of the state’s cases have occurred in the region. (Amy Maxmen/��ýҕ�l Health News)

In communities nestled among the red sandstone cliffs and riparian forests of southern Utah, measles took hold last summer. At the main school in Hildale, a town along the Arizona border, just 30% of kindergartners are considered adequately immunized by Utah’s health department, meaning they’ve gotten recommended vaccines against measles, tetanus, polio, and more. Exemptions from childhood vaccine requirements are easily acquired in the state: Parents need only claim personal, religious, or medical reasons.

Many people in Hildale and the surrounding towns are connected to the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, a sect that has been leery of the government since a police raid in 1953 separated polygamous parents from their children. Shirlee Draper, a southern Utah resident who grew up in the faith, said they became ever more isolated in the early 2000s under the leadership of Warren Jeffs. Before he was sentenced to life in prison for sexual assault against minors, Jeffs instructed his followers to withdraw from public schools and mainstream medicine.

“Growing up, we all got our vaccines,” said Draper, who left the group during Jeffs’ reign. “It wasn’t until Warren Jeffs came along that there started to be more and more resistance.”

After Jeffs went to prison, many people left the faith but remained concerned about vaccines because of online misinformation, such as claims that the shots are toxic. Today a small shop in Hildale sells mouth sprays and oral drops professing to detoxify vaccines. Water, glycerin, and “whole grain alcohol” are listed as ingredients in one called Vxx-Dtx.

A mother who ��ýҕ�l Health News agreed not to name, because she fears stigmatization, said she considered getting her kids vaccinated when schools in southwest Utah started seeing measles cases last summer. She had split from the fundamentalist group but still worried about vaccines giving her children autism or other complications. in top-tier scientific journals have refuted a link between vaccines and autism, but the anti-vaccine movement has kept the notion alive.

Then the woman’s son told her that his classmate had a rash and spit on him, she said. A few days later, he fell ill with a fever, followed by vomiting, diarrhea, and a head-to-toe rash.

“He felt downright sick for 10 to 14 days,” the woman said. “It was hard to see the end of the tunnel.”

Then her daughters came down with measles. She had a fleeting case, too, even though she had been vaccinated as a child. Breakthrough infections and are relatively rare. Only 4% of reported this year and last have been among people who’ve had two doses of the measles, mumps, and rubella vaccine.

By the time the family recovered, the son had missed nearly three weeks of school, the daughters a month, and the mother had postponed an important family gathering because she didn’t want to spread infections. “I just got my youngest’s missed-school report and it’s super high,” she said. “This is the year of sickness.”

The Southwest Utah Public Health Department stocks vaccines against measles, whooping cough, tetanus, hepatitis B, and other diseases. (Amy Maxmen/��ýҕ�l Health News)

The woman said she regretted not getting her kids vaccinated when the outbreak started. She said she knows about 30 people who have fallen sick with the measles. Except for a few who needed medical care, they haven’t been tested. “I bet there’s been thousands of cases,” she said.

Measles doesn’t have a cure. She and others have tried to ease symptoms with cod liver oil, vitamin C, zinc, and “essential oils,” plant extracts long used in folk medicine that have become a lucrative industry in Utah. People in southwest Utah are trying a lot of things: One resident sells homemade lotion on Facebook, writing, “Breastmilk & Honey has been a life saver for the measles rash.”

Beyond Containment

The outbreak may have started among a fundamentalist community, but it’s spread far beyond because Utah’s vaccination rates have dropped steadily since the covid pandemic. Fewer than 80% of kindergartners in the 2024-25 school year in southwest Utah, with only 87% adequately immunized in the state as a whole — far below the 95% threshold required for herd immunity.

Several Utahns told ��ýҕ�l Health News that “alternative health” or “wellness” drives the trend, rather than religion. The state has a thriving supplement industry, , aided by deregulatory policies supported by the late Utah senator Orrin Hatch and a high concentration of people who earn income from multilevel marketing. These networks of people sell supplements, essential oils, peptides, and other alternative therapies on social media, YouTube, and podcasts, according to and .

Alternative health isn’t necessarily anti-vaccine, but many people who sell unconventional remedies online and in podcasts and mainstream medicine.

“People are suspicious, and it’s well founded,” Draper said. She described dismissive doctors, exorbitant medical bills, hospital systems that over care, and pharmaceutical companies that drove . Communities already wary of government authorities are poised to interpret failings in American healthcare as signs that medical authorities aren’t to be trusted, either, she said.

“Across America, we have entire populations who find safety in clinging to whatever confirms their deeply held beliefs,” she said.

A mistrustful disposition gave way to covid conspiracy theories in 2020 and 2021. In southwest Utah, for example, a tricked out with digital billboards showed up to covid vaccination sites to advertise Plandemic, a rife with , including that masks “activate” the coronavirus and that global elites planned covid-19 to control the population. Misinformation added fuel to anger about public health rules, and there was political backlash under the umbrella of a largely Republican “medical freedom” movement. Utah enacted laws reining in public health, including one that eases exemptions to childhood vaccinations and another that prohibits most employers from requiring vaccines.

In the wake of the covid backlash, health officials tread lightly. Rather than enforce containment measures, “we give our advice and focus on personal responsibility,” said David Heaton, public information officer at the Southwest Utah Public Health Department.

Utah state epidemiologist Leisha Nolen says that with a larger budget she would invest in connecting with communities. “We have a scientific solution,” she says about measles, “but we need a societal solution, too.” (Amy Maxmen/��ýҕ�l Health News)

One of the most contagious diseases in the world, measles spreads with astonishing speed among the unvaccinated. One of a New York school outbreak in 1974 found that a second-grader with measles infected 28 other students in 14 classrooms because measles can spread through ventilation systems.

As cases doubled then quadrupled in southern Utah, the regional health department couldn’t keep up with calling the contacts of everyone infected. It shifted its efforts to announcements guiding the public at large. For example, it asks people to call before showing up to clinics with measles symptoms. Still, patients in plenty of hospitals have been exposed. For example, when parents brought a sick, unvaccinated child to a large pediatric hospital in Utah in September, they shared the space with 11 infants too young to be vaccinated. Doctors rushed to give the babies infusions of antibodies and they remained healthy, according to a .

On the radio and in posts on social media, Heaton warns that measles is spreading and that vaccines are the best defense. “If you’re not immunized and you’re anywhere in public,” Heaton said, “you’re fair game for this virus.”

The department doesn’t have the capacity to talk with people directly in the five counties it serves. For a few years, it leaned on community health workers who went to churches, town halls, and other gathering places, listening to people’s concerns and telling them what the science said about covid, vaccines, and other matters of public health. But these workers were laid off early last year, after the Trump administration clawed back more than $12 billion in federal public health grants to states.

“We were starting to get a little bit of traction,” Heaton said of the community workers. “And then we lost all of our team.”

The department offers free measles vaccines to children, but uptake is slow. Nursing director Mindy Bundy said that when she started the job 20 years ago, demand was so high that she would give parents tickets while they waited, as if they were crowding around a deli counter.

“Now even in an outbreak,” she said, “we aren’t seeing a huge increase of people wanting vaccination.”

Anna Fajardo, a public health nurse, offers vaccines at a school registration event in Milford, in southwest Utah. A few mothers trickled in to get their children immunized or to find out their child’s vaccination status. (Amy Maxmen/��ýҕ�l Health News)

As officials tried to do the best they could, the outbreak spread north, hopping from one undervaccinated community to the next. When health officials in Utah County spoke with people who had tested positive, they often had no connection to other known cases. “Pretty quickly, we started to lose the links,” said Michael Leman, the county health department’s nursing director. Contact tracing, the cornerstone of containment, was failing.

Every week, the state health department posted a growing list of locations on its website — a Trader Joe’s, a Mormon temple, an aquarium, preschools — that people had visited while contagious. But many people who tested positive hadn’t been to those places, Leman said. “They could have gotten it at Walmart. They could have gotten it walking through a mall,” he said. “I mean, just anywhere in the public they could have been exposed.”

In February, high school students throughout Utah tested positive after a state wrestling tournament at Utah Valley University in Orem. A dashboard monitoring measles viruses in wastewater lit up with notifications around the state. “Wrestling really feels like our turning point,” said Nicholas Rupp, communications director at the Salt Lake County Health Department.

The new Lindon Utah Temple, belonging to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, was one of many locations listed as a potential measles exposure site in April by the Utah Department of Health and Human Services. (Amy Maxmen/��ýҕ�l Health News)

A Trader Joe’s in Orem, Utah, was also listed as a potential measles exposure site that month. (Amy Maxmen/��ýҕ�l Health News)

A science building at the University of Utah in Salt Lake City was also among the potential exposure sites listed in April. (Amy Maxmen/��ýҕ�l Health News)

Many measles cases traced back to a high school wrestling tournament at Utah Valley University in Orem in February. (Amy Maxmen/��ýҕ�l Health News)

Salt Lake County’s shift from containment to mitigation meant prioritizing high-risk situations and relaxing control everywhere else. When a student has a confirmed case, for example, health officials meet with the school nurse to figure out which kids are most vulnerable. Unvaccinated children in the same classroom as someone infected are asked to stay home for 21 days, but those in other classrooms might not be, said Melanie Crossland, an epidemiologist at the Salt Lake health department. Some schools with high vaccination rates have opted to monitor student temperatures daily instead of requesting quarantines. One school created a separate space for the unvaccinated.

Crossland said such bespoke strategies entail a “huge” amount of effort but have staved off blowback that deflated her during covid.

“We give everything when we’re here,” she said, “but the days of killing ourselves, when legislatively no one is going to give us any help, are done.”

Daycare Dilemma

The outbreak has lasted so long that some children who have recovered from measles have since been hospitalized for what should be mild illnesses from common bugs, said Kerri Smith, a hospital pediatrician in southwest Utah. Measles can , impairing a body’s ability to fight other viruses. “It’s making children very susceptible to getting sick again,” Smith said.

Her eyes were bloodshot, and she looked drained from a week of long shifts. Since the outbreak began, she’s treated more than a dozen babies and children severely sick from measles.

“They’re usually admitted to the hospital with measles pneumonia, so they’re struggling to breathe, pulling for air below their ribs,” she said. “High fevers, 104 to 105, absolutely miserable, extremely fatigued, really dehydrated with sunken eyes.” Most children fully recover from measles, but a fraction develop permanent , a small percentage die, and in , measles kills a person years after the infection.

No one has died so far in Utah’s outbreak. And barring that tragic outcome, Smith and other doctors said, some parents fail to grasp the gravity of measles, even as their own children have tubes inserted into their small nostrils to deliver oxygen. Despite repeated warnings, doctors said, some unvaccinated family members of patients — who could be contagious — walk around the hospital while visiting their loved one. This means the waiting room, the elevator, the cafeteria, and other places need to be shut down for cleaning, and vulnerable people alerted.

“People don’t realize how easily this spreads,” Smith said.

Morris, the pediatrician working in two counties, recalled a conversation with a nonchalant father who didn’t seem to understand the need for quarantine. “I know this is an inconvenience to you,” she said. “It’s also a huge inconvenience to the parent who has an infant who could be severely impacted by this disease.”

On top of feeling depleted, doctors with young children said they are anxious. Emily Chin, a physician in Salt Lake County, worries she’ll bring measles home to her newborn. One evening, she sat in her garage after caring for a child with a rash. The patient’s measles test was still being processed, so Chin isolated herself in a room for the night, wearing an N95 mask instead of holding her infant.

Emily Chin’s 4-month-old, sleeping here at home, is too young to be vaccinated, and Chin, a doctor in Salt Lake County, Utah, worries that she might acquire measles at work and pass it to him. (Amy Maxmen/��ýҕ�l Health News)

Like many mothers in Utah, Chin plans to give her baby an early dose of the measles vaccine at 6 months old because of the outbreak, in addition to two doses at ages 1 and 4. Several mothers said they avoid travel and public places because they fear their babies could be infected. Some are delaying daycare. Others, like Kandace Hyland, a marketing director in Salt Lake County, don’t have that option.

Hyland was shocked when her daycare told her that it didn’t track the vaccine status of staff, even amid the outbreak. In March, she posted an calling for the state to require daycare staff to be vaccinated against the measles when the virus is spreading. Even if daycare staff file for vaccine exemptions, she said, parents could at least find out what portion of their babies’ caretakers pose a life-threatening risk.

Hyland sent her idea to the state health department. Nolen, the state epidemiologist, said she agreed with the concern, and was “talking with the division of licensing about the issue,” in an email shared with ��ýҕ�l Health News. Hyland also wrote the Division of Licensing and Background Checks. In an email, its director, Shannon Thoman-Black, replied that the division does “not have the legislative authority to implement a mandate.”

“They always talk about parents’ choice,” Hyland said. “But I don’t feel like I have a really good ‘parents’ choice’ right now.”

Measles’ Comeback

The U.S. will almost certainly this year or next, but it could be regained if political leadership backed nationwide campaigns to boost confidence in vaccines, said Demetre Daskalakis, a former director of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s national immunization center and now the chief medical officer at the Callen-Lorde community health center in New York.

“Under Secretary Kennedy’s leadership, that’s unlikely to happen,” he said. “We’re going back to a pre-vaccine era.”

A sign outside a hospital in southwest Utah warns people who haven’t been vaccinated against measles to wait outside if they have a fever and other symptoms, such as coughing or a runny nose. Vulnerable people, including infants too young for vaccination, have been exposed to measles at hospitals and clinics. (Amy Maxmen/��ýҕ�l Health News)

HHS spokesperson Emily Hilliard defended the secretary and his agency in an email, writing that the CDC has “surged resources” to contain measles outbreaks. “The CDC, HHS principles and the Secretary have been vocal that the MMR vaccine is the best way to protect yourself against measles,” she said.

Kennedy’s words and actions suggest otherwise. He’s said that the measles vaccine leads to “deaths every year,” which is . He continues a potential link between autism and vaccines, no matter how many there is none. And he oversaw abrupt changes to the recommended childhood vaccine schedule, a move called dangerous and not backed by science. A federal judge blocked those changes in March, but Trump recently issued an executive order to reexamine the schedule.

“It’s been confusing for the public,” said Dorothy Adams, executive director of the Salt Lake County Health Department.

In May, Kennedy met with Republican Utah Gov. Spencer Cox, who has said little about the state’s ongoing outbreak. Kennedy praised Utah’s action on Make America Healthy Again priorities, such as banning fluoride in public drinking water and easing restrictions on raw milk sales, according to Salt Lake City’s . Cox declined to comment for this article.

Meanwhile, the U.S. public health system has been further weakened by the Trump administration’s cuts and delays to public health grants.

“If you’re in the thick of it and you don’t know if you will be reimbursed, you adjust your response,” said Angela Dunn, a doctor and former Utah state epidemiologist. “This outbreak is a perfect storm of disinformation, trauma from the covid pandemic, and the drop in funding.”

Measles isn’t the only preventable malady making a comeback. As children played nearby in a sun-speckled park in Salt Lake City, Morris talked about a baby in the intensive care unit who was bleeding uncontrollably after a fall. The baby’s parents had refused an injection of vitamin K that helps blood clot in newborns. As they fretted over their infant, Morris said, she felt awful for them and regretted not being able to overcome mistrust in basic, lifesaving interventions. She had the same swirl of emotions when an unvaccinated toddler in her care recently died of whooping cough.

“I was one of the only people in the room with the nurse when the child coded,” she said with tears in her eyes. “You think, ‘I wish this child was vaccinated,’ but it’s hard because I also see how much grief these parents are holding.”

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By September, Nearly a Third of Americans Will Live in States With Legal Aid in Dying

Paula Span — Mon, 08 Jun 2026 09:00:00 +0000

Jules Netherland traveled from her home in the Bronx to the New York state Capitol in Albany several times in the past few years, hoping to persuade the legislature to pass a medical aid in dying bill, allowing terminally ill patients to end their lives with a lethal prescription.

She spoke at rallies. With other members of the advocacy organization Compassion & Choices, she visited legislators’ offices. In 2024, as the state Assembly was debating the aid in dying bill, she helped unfurl a banner in the chamber gallery that read, “Stop the Suffering.”

Her activism was becoming difficult. Netherland, who is 59 and works for a nonprofit, was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2019. “I did a full year of aggressive treatment,” she said. “Chemotherapy. A mastectomy. Radiation treatment every weekday for five weeks. Six months of two oral medications.”

She recovered and felt well until the cancer returned a few years later. Although metastatic breast cancer is incurable, drugs are keeping her disease at bay for now. Netherland feels fortunate but also fatigued, and she contends with brain fog, gastrointestinal symptoms, and joint pain.

“My energy is really limited,” she said.

As she emailed and called legislators, Netherland feared she might die before the aid in dying bill — first introduced in New York in 2016 — could become law.

‘A Breakthrough Moment’

On June 9, 2025, after the Assembly approved the bill, Netherland was in the state Senate chamber, watching the aye votes mount, and seeing it pass. an amended version in February; it is scheduled to take effect Aug. 5.

A similar law is in September in Illinois, which would become the (plus the District of Columbia) where medical aid in dying is legal.

“A breakthrough moment,” said Kevin Díaz, president of Compassion & Choices, which has spearheaded the long campaign for such laws. After almost 30 years — Oregon’s law, the first in the country, was enacted in 1997 — the addition of two populous states means that almost a third of Americans will live in one where medical aid in dying is legally available. “It shows that there’s broad support for this model,” Díaz said.

Polls consistently back that claim. A last spring found that almost two-thirds of respondents didn’t consider the practice “morally wrong,” either because they thought it was acceptable or not a moral issue. Support crossed many political and religious lines: A narrow majority of Republicans and 76% of Democrats both found “physician-assisted death” (also sometimes called “physician-assisted suicide”) permissible; so did most Catholics, Jews, and nonevangelical white Protestants.

In New York, that 54% of respondents supported aid in dying, including majorities of men and women, of all age groups, and of city, suburban, and upstate residents. A plurality of Latinos supported it; Black respondents narrowly opposed it.

Passing these laws has grown somewhat easier, said Thaddeus Pope, a bioethicist and professor at Mitchell Hamline School of Law in St. Paul, Minnesota, who tracks such policies. “You can say, ‘We have 10 years in California, 18 years in Washington, and 29 years in Oregon, and nothing bad has happened.’ It becomes more accepted.”

‘You Need A, B, and C’

Yet legalizing medical aid in dying, or MAID, has been and remains a long, contentious process. Catholic leadership and many disability organizations staunchly oppose it. (Pope Leo XIV personally not to sign the bill.)

The American Medical Association says that “physician-assisted suicide is fundamentally incompatible with the physician’s role as healer” and poses “serious societal risks,” although a number of state medical organizations have opted to remain neutral or, as in New York, to .

The Patients’ Rights Action Fund, through a sister organization, has lawsuits pending or on appeal in California, Delaware, and Colorado, arguing that aid in dying laws discriminate against people with disabilities by steering them toward physician-assisted suicide instead of treatment.

“This is a litigation strategy we’ve developed to ultimately get to the Supreme Court,” said Matt Vallière, the group’s executive director, who declined to say whether it would sue to block the Illinois and New York laws.

Even when aid in dying laws succeed, using them can prove challenging. In every state (except Montana, where it became legal through a court decision, so there is no statute governing eligibility), aid in dying is available only to people with incurable illnesses who are expected to die within six months.

It typically involves oral and written requests to two doctors, with mandated waiting periods between requests. Patients must have the mental capacity to make the decision, which disqualifies those with dementia, and they must ingest the medication without assistance. (An amendment Hochul insisted on adds a psychologist or psychiatrist to the process.)

All but two states require patients to be residents. Oregon and Vermont scrapped their residency requirements brought by Compassion & Choices. ( a .)

Moreover, any doctor, hospital, or healthcare system can legally decline to provide aid in dying, and religiously affiliated institutions often opt out. Those that participate can add their own requirements.

“The state can say ‘You need A, B, and C,’ and Columbia-Presbyterian can say, ‘We also want D, E, and F,’” said Pope, the Minnesota bioethicist.

Hotly Debated, Seldom Used

Perhaps these restrictions, or a lack of public awareness, help explain why, despite the headlines and fervent debates, the number of people who actually use the law is tiny in every state — usually 1% or fewer of the deaths recorded annually. The support for giving patients this kind of autonomy at the end of life remains widespread, but the desire to personally exercise it apparently is not.

Still, after studies showed that many patients seeking MAID were dying , the trend has been to loosen restrictions. California cut its 15-day waiting period to 48 hours; New Mexico allows physician assistants and advanced-practice nurses to write prescriptions along with doctors.

“Most states have now amended their laws two or three times,” Pope said. “We have liberalized.” Telehealth can also facilitate access to participating doctors.

Compassion & Choices is planning legal challenges to end residency requirements in additional states, Díaz said. It is also considering how to “make inroads in jurisdictions with a much different cultural and political environment,” he added, mentioning Florida and other Southern states.

Medical aid in dying represents a shift in power, Díaz said. “The person who has to bear the burden of the suffering should have the ability to decide when it’s enough,” he added.

Anne Gurnett Bander, 72, a retired research scientist in Carmel, New York, cared for her husband for four years as ALS — the relentlessly disabling neurological disorder also known as Lou Gehrig’s disease — rendered him bedridden and dependent on feeding and breathing tubes. “By the time he died, the only thing he could do was nod his head,” she recalled.

So being diagnosed with ALS herself last year was “my worst possible nightmare,” Gurnett Bander said. She was planning to fly to Switzerland, where the nonprofit organization Dignitas provides medical aid in dying, when she learned about the New York bill and began speaking publicly in support of it, her voice faltering as her illness advanced.

Gurnett Bander and Netherland say they’re not certain they’ll use lethal drugs to end their lives as their symptoms intensify. Not infrequently, patients complete the necessary steps, secure the prescribed medication, decide they don’t need it after all, and die of their diseases. But both women insist that the choice should be theirs.

“It can offer so much peace of mind,” Netherland said. “I thought, ‘People should have this option.’ Now, they will.”

The New Old Age is produced through a partnership with .

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Festering Infections to Untreated Cancer: ICE Detainees Describe Medical Neglect Across US

Rae Ellen Bichell — Tue, 02 Jun 2026 13:00:00 +0000

An Albanian man’s pain grew so unbearable, he said, he pulled out his own tooth as he languished for months in a New Mexico immigration detention center. A Honduran mother of two said she was hospitalized for a heart problem after she was denied blood pressure medications while held in Florida. A said his leg grew purple and swollen from flesh-eating bacteria when staffers at a Vermont facility did not bring him to a scheduled doctor appointment.

Hundreds of detainees across at least 33 states allege in federal suits that immigration detention facilities are failing to provide adequate medical care, an investigation by ��ýҕ�l Health News and The Associated Press found. Detainees say they didn’t get medications on time — or at all — for conditions including high blood pressure, diabetes, depression, epilepsy, Parkinson’s, and HIV. Requests for help went unanswered for weeks. Blood sugars rose. Infections festered. Cancers remained untreated. Detainees collapsed and had seizures.

U.S. jails and immigration detention centers have to meet the medical needs of the people in their charge. But the system is sagging under an influx of detentions since President Donald Trump returned to office: More than 75,000 immigrants were being detained by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement , up from around 40,000 a year earlier.

��ýҕ�l Health News and AP analyzed thousands of court cases filed since Trump’s second inauguration that use a legal route known as habeas corpus to argue people are being held illegally by ICE. The records offer a rare window into how those detained say, often under penalty of perjury, ICE is handling their medical needs. Reporters also interviewed more than 50 detainees, family members, and lawyers.

The investigation revealed that medical neglect is alleged across the sprawling detention system, including in offices not designed to house people, county jails, and quickly staged sites with nicknames such as “Alligator Alcatraz.”

ICE custody is deadlier than it has been in two decades, researchers wrote in April. The Department of Homeland Security reported 51 people had died in detention since the start of Trump’s second administration — with suicides .

��ýҕ�l Health News and AP asked DHS to respond to the findings six days before publication, but it did not provide comment. The department’s acting chief medical officer, Sean Conley, has “it is both policy and longstanding practice for aliens to receive timely and appropriate medical care from the moment they enter ICE custody” and that the agency recruits healthcare professionals to maintain high standards. “This is better, more responsive healthcare than many aliens have ever received in their entire lives,” he has said.

Individual facilities and private prison companies contracting with DHS that responded to requests for comment said they follow ICE standards and detainees receive medical care when it is required. Some said they were unfamiliar with the allegations outlined in court documents; others blamed some detainees for lapses in their medical care.

“I have never seen such disregard or medical neglect like this anywhere,” Vardan Gukasian, a political dissident and former paramedic who spent years behind bars in Armenia, wrote in in March to contest his detention in Henderson, Nevada, as it stretched to 13 months despite health problems.

Madeleine Skains, a spokesperson for the city of Henderson, said medical care is always available at the facility and that the court had not ordered changes to his care.

Last June, as Gukasian experienced the symptoms of uncontrolled high blood pressure — dizziness, a nosebleed, and a headache — his cellmate banged on their door for help.

“When it did not arrive, the rest of the block banged on their doors,” he wrote. Gukasian was hospitalized that day.

‘Brazen Indifference to Really Obvious Problems’

The administration’s mass deportation effort has swept up during routine immigration check-ins, at traffic stops, at their homes, and in hospitals.

About have no criminal conviction. Their immigration proceedings are civil, not criminal.

“I couldn’t understand why they treated me so harshly,” said a father of six in Georgia. He said he was injured while shackled in custody when the vehicle transporting him to an Atlanta facility jolted, throwing him out of his seat and into a metal armrest. His wound became infected with E. coli, he said, because he had to sleep on a dirty concrete floor amid leaking toilets.

Like other detainees interviewed, he spoke on the condition of anonymity; they said they fear for their safety, for the safety of their families, or that speaking out would jeopardize their immigration cases. The AP and ��ýҕ�l Health News are not naming anyone identified in court documents without their consent.

Staffers at Stewart Detention Center in rural Lumpkin, Georgia, didn’t adequately respond to that man’s request for medical help, , until he passed out and was taken to a hospital about an hour away. There, he said, a doctor told him he’d narrowly escaped amputation of his left leg. Medical staff found no records of a case matching this description, according to Brian Todd, a spokesperson for CoreCivic, which runs the facility.

The 48-year-old, who moved to the U.S. from Guatemala more than two decades ago, was released in October and is now a legal permanent resident. But he is unsure if he’ll be able to return to his job in construction because, he said, he can no longer lift heavy things due to his injury.

A man in the Atlanta area was injured while in U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement custody and developed an E. coli infection. “I couldn’t understand why they treated me so harshly,” says the father of six U.S. citizens, who is now a legal permanent resident but did not want to be named to avoid potential retaliation against his family. (Brynn Anderson/AP)

Some detainees or their lawyers said even basic care was denied: gauze to protect an open foot wound, prenatal care for a high-risk pregnancy, a pillow to ease the pain of sleeping with advanced stomach cancer, sanitary pads for postpartum bleeding.

“I would like to believe the government has the best interest of those it holds in detention for whatever period of time,” Judge Benita Pearson, a federal judge in Ohio, said during a hearing in October concerning a 70-year-old who alleged the government lost her glasses during her arrest. “If one is unable to see due to the loss of glasses when detained, that should be fixed.”

, who worked for ICE and now serves as a special adviser to the American Bar Association, said case law requires the government to treat people in immigration detention with the same care it affords those in traditional jails awaiting trial. But administrators are granted discretion and medical care standards vary.

Detainees are frequently moved across the country, often without warning, interrupting treatment. A woman from El Salvador said she missed a week of HIV medication when she was transferred from Colorado to a county jail in Wyoming.

A Russian man wrote that, while detained in Texas, he saw a gastroenterologist about his painful gallstones and scheduled an appointment with a surgeon. “Unfortunately, I never got to see him, due to my being moved around various detention centers.”

Advocates say that even obvious disabilities, like legal blindness, are ignored.

A detainee who lost one eye and had severe glaucoma in the other required twice-daily drops to maintain what vision remained. But, he said, some days the drops never came.

“Now I can only see a little bit straight in front. It now often looks like I’m seeing through gauze,” the man wrote in a court declaration. “This makes me very afraid that one of these times I am going to open my eyes and not be able to see anything at all.”

He wrote that he was scared he wouldn’t be able to see his infant son grow up.

“It’s just sort of brazen indifference to really obvious problems, things you would have thought absurd a decade ago — like the fact that you can’t see,” the man’s attorney, Brian Hoffman, said. “Before, you could attempt to work with folks on the government side and maybe shame them into doing the right thing. Now, it’s sort of like anything you want done you have to go to court and sue over.”

Even court orders aren’t always enough. One California judge ordered the government to take a man showing signs of prostate cancer to a specialist for diagnosis and treatment. Records show they did not take him.

Lawyers representing ICE told the judge that officials missed the appointment because of an “internal scheduling error.” CoreCivic, which runs that facility, said it was unable to comment on active litigation.

A Surge in Cases

When immigrants file habeas corpus petitions, they exercise a right to challenge unlawful imprisonment that dates to .

More than 40,000 such petitions have been filed during Trump’s second term, fueled by decisions last year to deny bond to many people held on immigration charges. Judges are split on whether that’s legal; the question appears headed to the Supreme Court.

Many habeas claims , but judges typically cite reasons unrelated to the medical neglect described in the petitions, such as detainees’ being held too long before being deported.

The more than 300 medical neglect claims found in this investigation represent a fraction of the problem. The details of habeas corpus cases are often hidden due to a federal rule barring the public from viewing such documents online. ��ýҕ�l Health News and AP obtained some documents from courthouses and received records on 4,400 cases from , a project of the nonprofit Immigration Justice Transparency Initiative. But tens of thousands more remain largely inaccessible.

Some judges have written that the habeas process is not how to raise allegations of medical neglect and have declined to release detainees over those claims. Not every detainee who believes they experienced medical neglect files a habeas petition or cites their medical issues if they do.

Jose-Antonio Segismundo’s petition made no mention of being unable to see an oncologist for the cancer in his abdomen while detained for more than seven months at the Florida detention facility known as Alligator Alcatraz and Folkston D Ray ICE Processing Center in Georgia. Medical records in his court filings show he was arrested about five weeks before his scheduled appointment with a cancer specialist.

His wife, Maria Jose Gonzalez, said he didn’t receive any treatment even though she sent his medical records and explained his condition to officials at Folkston. When his stomach pain erupted, often suddenly and intensely, she said, they gave him Tylenol.

Geo Group, which runs Folkston, follows ICE standards and provides healthcare and access to off-site medical specialists when needed, spokesperson Christopher Ferreira said.

This spring, Segismundo, 48, was deported to Mexico, a country he left nearly 30 years ago, Gonzalez said. Now, she said, he will have to restart his search for care in the Oaxacan village where he grew up.

Maria Jose Gonzalez of Wimauma, Florida, holds a photo of her husband, Jose-Antonio Segismundo, who was detained in U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement custody for more than seven months in Florida and Georgia before being deported to Mexico. Medical records show he was arrested about five weeks before his scheduled appointment with a specialist to treat his abdominal cancer. (Chris O'Meara/AP)

Watching Loved Ones Deteriorate

Detainees receiving inadequate healthcare have little recourse. The Department of Homeland Security last year gutted the Office of the Immigration Detention Ombudsman. In early May, it shut the office entirely, arguing that Congress didn’t fund it.

Previously, ombudsman staffers could help facilitate medical care or look into complaints of neglect, according to Matt Boles, an immigration attorney in Georgia. Now, he said, there’s no one to call.

Meanwhile, detainees’ families said they feel helpless, making desperate calls to facilities, the government, and their legislators while watching their loved ones deteriorate.

Riya Khan saw her mother get sicker at the California City Detention Facility, which is owned by CoreCivic. When she visited a week after her mother arrived at the facility in the Mojave Desert, Riya said, the 64-year-old woman stumbled into her seat. She was shaking and her breathing was labored.

Masuma Khan came to the U.S. from Bangladesh in 1997. She has no criminal history, her records say, and was detained in October when she showed up for her regular ICE check-in.

For the month she was detained, according to her daughter, she only intermittently received her medications for conditions including high blood pressure, hypothyroidism, and prediabetes. CoreCivic treats chronic conditions in line with applicable medical standards, Todd said.

“Nothing matters more to CoreCivic than the health, safety and well-being of the people in our care,” Todd said.

Khan said she got her asthma medication for the first time two days before she was released and that her eye drops for glaucoma never arrived. Staffers told Khan she needed to buy some of her medications from the commissary but it didn’t stock them, her daughter said.

Before ICE detained Masuma Khan, she made friends with everyone, her daughter said. She had worked for years at Lucky Boy, an iconic Pasadena fast-food restaurant, and in her free time fed birds and left out fruit for bees that visited her apartment’s balcony.

Now she’s too scared to go outside. She still must regularly check in with ICE, and she’s terrified each time.

Masuma Khan (center) waits in line with her attorney Laboni Hoq (left of Khan) to enter a federal building in Los Angeles for an appointment on April 21. (Jae C. Hong/AP)

Khan (second from right in the front row) and her daughter, Riya (fourth from right in the front row), pose with supporters outside a federal building in Los Angeles on April 21. (Jae C. Hong/AP)

Khan (right) came to the U.S. from Bangladesh in 1997 and was detained for a month after she showed up for a regular check-in with U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement in October. Here, she hugs her daughter, Riya (left). (Jae C. Hong/AP)

A “Welcome Home” balloon that was left at the front door of Khan’s apartment in Altadena, California, after she was released from an immigration detention facility. (Jae C. Hong/AP)

Khan’s daughter says that her mother has nightmares and is scared to go outside after being held at an immigration detention facility for a month in 2025. (Jae C. Hong/AP)

A Stroke on a Video Call

Previously, detainees with serious medical needs would likely have been released on humanitarian parole, in part to avoid the cost of their care, Vermont attorney Andrew Pelcher said.

In fiscal year 2023 — before the detained population soared — ICE spent more than $390 million on healthcare for detained noncitizens, according to its to Congress. In May, Todd Lyons, then acting director of ICE, said at a conference that the agency had already spent “almost half a billion dollars” on detainee healthcare this year.

Now, under “mandatory detention,” people are staying locked up with serious — and expensive — conditions.

A Romanian citizen underwent several heart surgeries, including an emergency triple bypass in April 2025, before he was arrested in July. As part of his recovery, the 52-year-old was required to take 16 daily medications. While at an ICE field office in Baltimore, his court filings allege, he went two days without any medication before officials moved him to a facility in New Jersey.

He was hospitalized three times while detained, complaining of chest pains — in part, medical records and court documents say, because despite “countless requests,” the detention center did not provide all his medications. Hospital discharge papers cited by his lawyer show he received only eight of the 16 medications after his second release from the hospital.

“Can you please talk to the ICE facility to make sure they give him his medications?” his treatment providers wrote in medical records included in his court filings. “He was admitted last week for chest pain and today he was readmitted again for chest pain secondary to non compliance for medications.”

Several weeks later in August, he had a stroke while on a video call with his daughter, according to court filings. “He was struggling to breathe, and was pointing at his chest where he was again experiencing pain, and suddenly stopped speaking.” His daughter screamed for help through the video monitor, according to his petition. “Eventually an officer came in to assist him and cut the feed.”

The man lost his ability to speak for four days, the document says. He was returned to detention, where he remained until a federal judge ordered his release in November.

Khan holds medication she takes daily. While detained, she says, she only intermittently received her medications for multiple conditions including high blood pressure, hypothyroidism, and prediabetes. (Jae C. Hong/AP)

Impossible Choices

Cassandra Amador waits for the phone to ring every morning, desperate to ask her husband the question that’s woken her up every night for months: “Did you get your medicine?”

Her husband, Pedro Javier Amador Gutierrez, 36, has high blood pressure and depends on the state-run facility in Florida nicknamed “Deportation Depot” to administer the prescriptions that have kept him alive for years. Many mornings, he tells his wife he did not get them.

When she talks to him, she said, he sounds weaker and more scared every day, not like the upbeat man who would take her kids out for ice cream.

“You can hear in his voice how he feels,” she said.

Now, she said, he’s considering returning to Cuba, which he fled because of political persecution, out of fear that he will die in detention without his medicines. Amador and her children would go with him, she said, even though she was born in New Jersey, has never been to Cuba, and doesn’t speak much Spanish.

But he’s already collapsed twice at the Baker Correctional Institution in Sanderson, Florida, his wife said. She’s terrified that the next time, he won’t get up.

Methodology

��ýҕ�l Health News and The Associated Press sifted through thousands of immigration habeas corpus claims to find allegations of medical neglect from people detained by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement during the second Trump administration.

Without a comprehensive, publicly available dataset of medical complaints by those in ICE custody, we used immigration habeas corpus claims to identify detainees’ healthcare-related allegations raised in federal court. Although the intended purpose of habeas corpus is to challenge the legality of a petitioner’s detention — rather than conditions of their confinement — these filings sometimes include detainees’ claims of inadequate healthcare.

But habeas corpus filings are not always publicly available. Federal rules restrict how members of the public can access habeas petitions filed by people in immigration detention. For most of these cases, court websites publish only court orders and dockets describing other filings. The initial petitions are available only through in-person visits to federal courthouses across the country. Habeas Dockets, a project of the nonprofit Immigration Justice Transparency Initiative, coordinates a nationwide network of volunteers to gather these petitions and make them available online.

��ýҕ�l Health News and AP analyzed the dockets of roughly 33,000 cases filed by detainees from Jan. 20, 2025, through March 2026. The vast majority of cases had only basic procedural information, like dates of court filings and rulings. Only about 4,400 included the original petitions.

We also gathered a few dozen case files from courthouses, lawyers, and the Massachusetts federal district court website, which posts most petitions under a unique standing order.

We ran keyword and semantic searches of court records, including petitions, motions, and orders, for terms and phrases potentially related to medical neglect, such as surgery, medications, inadequate medical care, and treatment for chronic conditions such as diabetes and high blood pressure.

We found about 500 cases potentially alleging medical neglect. At least two reporters reviewed each case manually, yielding more than 300 cases containing specific allegations in sworn filings of delayed, denied, or deficient healthcare.

To be conservative, we excluded dozens of cases that alleged inadequate medical care but lacked specifics, for example a petitioner writing, “I have been sick and don’t get proper treatment,” or a judge noting a petitioner “complains that ICE is ignoring his medical problems.” We also excluded cases in which petitioners claimed only that they were denied special diets, exercise, or other accommodations that they said were key to managing their health conditions, such as a petitioner writing, “I suffer from Parkinson’s and cannot properly exercise,” or claiming that the food provided was unfit for a person with diabetes.

The cases we analyzed were neither randomly selected nor representative of immigration habeas filings nationwide. The claims were not independently verified. Many filings are not publicly available, and not all detainees raise medical concerns in court, so our account of cases represents a limited window into the landscape of claims, rather than a comprehensive picture.

Associated Press journalists Garance Burke, Valerie Gonzalez, and Tim Sullivan as well as ��ýҕ�l Health News correspondent Kate Wells contributed to this report.

This report is a collaboration between The Associated Press and ��ýҕ�l Health News.

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