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 ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø 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.

“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’

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 ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø 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 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 ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø 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.

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.”

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.

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.

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 ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø 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.”

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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“Did we hike this morning?” she asked.

“Yes, we hiked,” said her husband, Steve Francks. “And you did really well.”

But 15 seconds later, she asked the same question: “Did we hike today?”

Anderson, 65, a retired finance executive, doesn’t remember any of it. She can recall what happened that afternoon only because her husband started recording her on his cellphone.

“I was just on this nonstop loop,” she said.

Almost immediately, Francks knew something was wrong. “Jan was out of it,” he said.

He took her to an emergency room in Sedona, where staff initially thought she might be having a stroke. Because the facility wasn’t fully equipped to evaluate or treat stroke patients, Francks said, she was airlifted to a Phoenix-area hospital, where she was admitted.

It turned out she wasn’t having a stroke. Her medical team eventually determined she was probably experiencing , a rare, temporary, and benign memory disorder.

The good news was that her symptoms didn’t last long, and she has suffered no long-term effects from the episode. It took about 24 hours before she was able to start forming new memories, and she was discharged the next day. Anderson and Francks, who split their time between Sedona and Edmonds, Washington, returned to the Pacific Northwest a few weeks later.

Then the bill came.

The Medical Service

The sudden confusion associated with transient global amnesia can also be a sign of a more common neurological condition, so it’s important to rule out other possible causes — such as a stroke, for which timely emergency care can spell the difference between life and death.

Anderson’s records show her care at Abrazo Health’s Arrowhead Campus in Glendale, Arizona, included an electrocardiogram, which can detect underlying cardiac abnormalities, and imaging, which would rule out any vessel blockages that might cause a stroke. She also underwent various lab tests commonly used to diagnose a stroke.

The Bill

$59,181: $35,302 for diagnostic/therapeutic imaging, $8,147 for laboratory services, $8,146 for a special care unit, $5,532 for EKG services, and $2,054 for pharmacy. Anderson’s first bill from Abrazo Health said she owed $15,312.43, citing an insurance adjustment of $43,868.57, even though her insurer had not covered any of the charges.

Anderson said her insurer covered separate charges for the ER and helicopter transfer.

The Billing Problem: Communication Breakdown

The federal No Surprises Act bans out-of-network bills for most emergency services, even if those services are received at an out-of-network facility and are not preapproved by the insurer.

That means the cost of Anderson’s hospital care should have been covered as though it were in-network. At the time, she was insured by Molina Healthcare, through a plan purchased on the federal Affordable Care Act marketplace.

But for a year, Molina declined to pay for her care in Glendale, at one point arguing that her hospital stay required authorization when, or even before, she was admitted.

“I can’t get anyone to resolve it,” Anderson said. “It’s almost $60,000 hanging over my head.”

The first problem arose about two weeks after she was discharged, when Abrazo Health sent Anderson a bill indicating she was a self-pay patient.

The hospital didn’t request her insurance information at any point during her stay, Francks said. He assumed, at the time, that his wife’s financial paperwork had been transferred from the ER in Sedona. It had not.

She called the Glendale hospital and corrected the error.

Then, in late June, Anderson received notice from the hospital indicating she was not a Molina member.

“Your insurance company notified our office that the patient was not a covered member for the services provided by Abrazo Arrowhead Campus on the above referenced service date(s),” the notice said. It showed the total charges for her stay exceeded $59,000.

But when Anderson called Molina to confirm her coverage, she said, the insurance company assured her the claim was being processed.

That didn’t mean Molina was willing to cover her hospital bill.

Anderson spent months trying to resolve the balance. She filed complaints with members of Congress, the Arizona Department of Insurance and Financial Institutions, and the Office of the Insurance Commissioner in Washington state.

In an October letter to Washington’s insurance commissioner, an appeal and grievance specialist for Molina wrote that the claim was denied because “inpatient stays require prior authorization, or notification at the time of admission. No notification of admission or prior authorization was received from the hospital, so the claim was denied.”

It continued: “Molina covers out of network emergency services but since this was an inpatient admission authorization is required.”

Nicole Broadhurst, who focuses on medical billing issues as CEO of a , said this dispute appears to rest between the insurer and the medical provider.

She said that Anderson’s insurance information should have been transferred between the first ER and the Glendale hospital. Since it wasn’t, Broadhurst said, Anderson shouldn’t be held liable for her hospital bill. (Broadhurst was not involved in efforts to resolve Anderson’s billing dispute.)

Unfortunately, Broadhurst said, these situations are “not uncommon, even though we have the No Surprises Act.”

The Resolution

Anderson said she was told by Abrazo Health for months that it was working with Molina to resolve the bill. She said she was also told that even if Molina did not cover the full cost of her hospital care, she would not be liable for the balance — but she never received that assurance in writing.

Meanwhile, Molina continued to uphold its decision to deny payment.

After ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News contacted the insurer and the hospital with questions about her case, Molina told Anderson it had launched an internal review of her claim, and a revenue director with Abrazo Health told her the company was “treating this as a high-priority matter,” she recalled.

Anderson said the revenue director for the health system assured her that if Molina continued to deny payment, “the balance will be written off on the hospital’s end,” she said. “I will not be responsible for any balance” — not even the $15,312.43 the hospital initially billed her after the hospitalization.

Linda Nofer, a spokesperson for Abrazo Health, would not answer questions about Anderson’s bill. In a statement, she said the hospital system is “committed to working closely with our patients to resolve billing questions and concerns.”

Molina spokesperson Caroline Zubieta would not discuss or respond to questions about Anderson’s case on the record.

The Takeaway

The flurry of insurance paperwork and medical bills patients receive after a hospital stay can be overwhelming — and may sometimes appear contradictory.

Broadhurst said it’s important for patients to focus on the “patient responsibility” portion of an insurance document called an explanation of benefits.

Patients should not pay a bill if their explanation of benefits indicates they aren’t responsible for the amount charged.

In this case, Anderson had received a bill from the hospital saying she owed money. And her explanation of benefits from Molina confirmed she’d racked up more than $59,000 in hospital charges.

But that document also indicated her patient liability was “$0.00.” Anderson said the hospital was not pressuring her to pay the $15,312.43 bill or any of the charges tied to her account, but she was worried she would eventually owe a large sum because the charges remained unresolved for more than a year.

“The question I kept asking them was, ‘How much am I going to owe?’” said Anderson, who is now insured by Medicare. “It could be anywhere from that $15,000 adjusted amount to the full balance of $59,000.”

Broadhurst said she tells patients facing similar situations to “send the hospital a copy of the EOB and ask them to correct the account to $0 patient responsibility.”

“Even if no one is actively trying to collect, I’d still push for written closure so it doesn’t keep hanging over them,” she said.

Bill of the Month is a crowdsourced investigation by ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News and that dissects and explains medical bills. Since 2018, this series has helped many patients and readers get their medical bills reduced, and it has been cited in statehouses, at the U.S. Capitol, and at the White House. Do you have a confusing or outrageous medical bill you want to share? Tell us about it!

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Lately, however, the community has been trying to stave off a new identity of “prison town” as it fights the opening of what could become the nation’s largest immigration detention center, holding up to 10,000 people.

Walton County, home to this city of about 5,500, voted overwhelmingly for President Donald Trump in 2024. But, as the administration’s mass deportation strategy hits closer to home — with plans moving forward to transform a more than 1 million-square-foot warehouse into a holding pen — locals say the city’s infrastructure just can’t handle such an influx of people.

This month, Social Circle in federal court against U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. The city’s complaint argues that the operation of a detention facility, what it calls a “mega center,” would harm public health, strain the local freshwater and sewage treatment systems, and overburden emergency medical services “due to Social Circle’s modest EMS capacity and DHS’ nebulous plan for emergency transport,” referring to the Department of Homeland Security, which oversees ICE.

“The community is very unified,” City Manager Eric Taylor said. “We want them to go away.”

Social Circle is one of several communities across the country thrust into a charged national debate about the administration’s mass immigrant deportation strategy. On the campaign trail, Trump said migrants were . But local leaders, , advocacy groups, and others in , , , , and claim the administration is doing the same thing by plopping detention centers into communities without the capacity to handle a surge of people.

Last year, Todd Lyons, who is serving as acting director of ICE , described a goal to have the mass deportation operate with the . Deportations would move “like Prime, but with human beings,” he said at a border security expo in Phoenix.

ICE is now putting every person they seek to deport in detention, including those with no criminal records, without the possibility of release on bond. In January, the agency held almost twice as many people as it had that same month in 2024 under President Joe Biden.

However, while many supporters remain aligned with Trump’s immigration stance, some locals fear their city’s stability will be jeopardized. “Social Circle is not exactly flourishing, but it’s making it,” said Gareth Fenley, a retired social worker who ran for state Senate in 2024 as a Democrat and was not among the locals who voted for Trump.

“If Social Circle becomes a prison town,” she said, “we’re gonna lose what we have.”

‘I Thought It Was a Joke’

In February, DHS purchased the 235-acre site in Social Circle for nearly five times its assessed value. It plans to house more people there than at the Rikers Island Correctional Facility in New York City, and nearly triple the number of people now housed at the country’s biggest immigration detention facility, which is in El Paso, Texas.

“I thought it was a joke,” said John Miller, when he first read about the plans last year. He and his wife, Kathlene, have lived in Social Circle for 21 years. When they bump into neighbors, Kathlene knows their children’s names, and John can cite the kids’ baseball stats. Their 50-acre horse farm is less than a mile from the elementary school, and right across the street from the detention center site.

The Millers support Trump’s stance on immigration but feel that turning the vacant warehouse into a detention center would re-create the very problems his administration is trying to solve. Whether people are concentrated in a detention center or out in the public, “they’re still there,” John Miller said.

DHS estimates that the facility would require about 1 million gallons of water daily, according to the city’s suit, which alleges that volume would bleed residents’ taps dry and contaminate local streams with sewage. Emergency medical calls from the detention center, the lawsuit claims, would overwhelm the city’s first responders, which Taylor said clock in at 14 firefighters, 15 police officers, and two school resource officers. The city relies on Walton County for ambulance services.

Additionally, Social Circle would live under an ever-present threat of a major disease outbreak, the lawsuit said, adding that the federal government didn’t conduct the needed environmental reviews or solicit community input beforehand.

Taylor said federal officials had only one meeting with local leaders and brushed off concerns about water, sewage, and emergency care, which administration officials said the site wouldn’t need to use. “I don’t buy that,” Taylor said. “And that’s the problem.”

Supercharging Health Concerns

Current DHS Secretary Markwayne Mullin has said he is reviewing , Kristi Noem, to transform warehouses like this one into detention facilities. And the department’s whether the federal government overpaid for some of the buildings. Mullin also said officials are reviewing agency policies and working with community leaders. “We want to be good partners,” said Lauren Bis, a DHS spokesperson.

Still, the administration’s swift escalation of immigrant detention has exacerbated long-standing allegations of medical neglect for those in custody across the country and led to the in at least two decades.

Three detention facilities in Folkston, Georgia, about an hour north of Jacksonville, Florida, issued 130 emergency calls from Feb. 4, 2025, to Feb. 3, 2026, according to dispatch reports obtained by ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News through a public records request. The calls from the facilities, which hold about 2,000 people, were for wide-ranging reasons, including anaphylaxis, assaults, suicide attempts, overdoses, seizures, strokes, head injuries from falls, and other health issues.

GEO Group, ICE’s largest contractor, which runs the Folkston facility, provides “around-the-clock access to medical care” and relies on emergency medical services as needed, said Christopher Ferreira, director of corporate relations.

ERO El Paso Camp East Montana, built on a Texas military base, is currently the nation’s largest detention center and holds about 2,500 people. In the five months from Aug. 17, 2025, to Jan. 20, 2026, about 130 emergency medical calls were made from the site, according to city records. Several detainees have died at the facility; several others have for tuberculosis, measles, or covid-19.

Amentum Services, which recently took over management of the facility, did not respond to questions about emergency calls.

Even bigger detention facilities, such as the “mega center” planned in Social Circle, would only supercharge those health issues and bring them to new communities, said , who was immigration ombudsman at the Department of Homeland Security under Biden. Existing facilities already suffer from staffing shortages, poor ventilation and hygiene, and insufficient medical care, she said.

The proposed facilities are enormous and generally built for boxes, not people, she said. “There’s no way, without extreme cost, both to the community and just in dollars, to make these safe for humans,” she said.

In the meantime, people such as Kathlene Miller said they feel that Social Circle has become “collateral damage” in the larger debate over immigration. “We’re like the children in a divorce,” she said.

But Social Circle may face an uphill battle. Taylor said Walton County leaders and the state of Georgia have been silent on the center.

“They say it’s federal issues, that they have no jurisdiction,” he said. “They don’t have any interest in helping us.”

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The 59-year-old retired teacher, who recently moved from Ohio to Michigan, now pays $341 a month for a pair of plans, one that covers routine and urgent care and another that pays fixed amounts for hospital stays. Neither meets federal standards for comprehensive coverage.

Though she practices yoga and is healthy, Miller said she still feels “vulnerable.” If she lands in the hospital, her plan pays a flat $2,000, a fraction of the of an average hospital stay.

“I don’t gamble. But I may as well,” she said. “This is gambling.”

Congress’ decision late last year not to extend enhanced marketplace tax credits has boosted the appeal of alternatives to comprehensive insurance — plans like Miller’s, which have lower premiums but don’t meet ACA standards for coverage or consumer protections. Unlike plans sold on the exchanges, these options — some sold by major insurers, others by small companies or nonprofits — can deny claims with few or no legal rights for consumers to appeal. The plans are not required to cover “essential health benefits,” such as preventive care, and can impose annual or lifetime caps on benefits.

There is debate over whether these options help or harm patients. Consumer advocates dismiss them as “junk insurance,” while proponents say restricting alternatives to pricey marketplace plans risks driving up the number of uninsured. Some states, including Kansas and Florida, and the federal government itself have eased regulations on such plans or created incentives to join them, while other states, including California and Massachusetts, have tried to deter enrollment in alternative insurance. Those regulatory guardrails, however, are now being stress-tested as premiums blow out household budgets.

Alternative insurance takes many forms, including short-term policies, which were designed to bridge temporary gaps in coverage and often exclude preexisting conditions, and fixed-indemnity plans, which pay a flat rate per service regardless of how high costs go and are intended for supplemental use. Arrangements in which people pool their money to cover one another’s bills, including faith-based “healthcare sharing ministries,” also provide a cheaper alternative to the marketplace options. Because they are not considered insurance under federal or state law, they are not legally bound to pay for even .

Enrollment data for alternative plans is mostly confidential, but several indicators point to shifts in the market. Recent estimates suggest marketplace enrollment from 2025, and a of people on the exchanges last year found that 5% switched to private, nonmarketplace individual coverage, including plans that don’t comply with the ACA. Covered California, the state’s marketplace, plans to survey former enrollees to find out where they went.

Insurance industry insiders also report that, amid the expiration of subsidies, alternative plans are making a marketing push. Colorado insurance broker Samantha Albritton said that before ACA open enrollment, she saw more marketing from fixed-indemnity plans than in previous years. One healthcare sharing plan, Zion HealthShare, had more than 75,000 members in February — a 50% increase since last June, it said in a statement.

Critics of these alternative plans say the major issues occur when people use them as primary insurance and don’t realize the coverage is inadequate until they need it most. “Humans have bodies that can fail them,” said Amy Killelea, an assistant research professor at Georgetown University’s Center on Health Insurance Reforms.

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“They’re the folks that work at restaurants. They’re the teacher’s aides,” said Starr, a registered nurse who became Open Door’s chief executive more than six years ago. Those patients, he said, are “really the heart and soul of rural America.”

He said if his remote health centers don’t get a share of the billions of dollars Congress earmarked to transform health care in rural America, patients may soon lose services. About 50% of Open Door’s 60,000 patients are on Medicaid, the joint state and federal insurance program that, together with the related Children’s Health Insurance Program, covers with low incomes or disabilities.

When Congress approved the One Big Beautiful Bill Act last summer, it cut nearly $1 trillion from Medicaid over the next decade. Now, Starr hopes the $50 billion Rural Health Transformation Program, which was part of the same bill, will help keep his patients covered.

Yet, small community health care providers, such as Open Door, may find they are sharing the billions with an army of corporate giants before it reaches their patients.

Months after federal leaders announced that all 50 states won first-year awards, ranging from $147 million for New Jersey to $281 million for Texas, state plans reveal that a heavy dose of prescribed spending will go to companies that can increase the use of electronic health records, strengthen cybersecurity, and improve state and health system technology platforms.

And at least four large-scale coalitions of companies are now pitching multipronged services to the states. Many of the companies already work with regional health systems and states through Medicaid contracting or mobile and telehealth operations.

How those services will help improve the health care of rural Americans at places such as Open Door remains an open question.

States Stare Down Reporting Deadlines

Federal regulators were “really interested in seeing digital health investments” when they crafted the five-year rural health program rules last year, said Maya Sandalow, an associate director at the Bipartisan Policy Center, a think tank based in Washington, D.C. She co-authored a recent report on how the 50 states plan to invest in technology, including modernizing health care infrastructure and expanding virtual care options such as telehealth and remote patient monitoring.

“The rural health fund isn’t really designed to directly replace or offset the lost Medicaid funding,” Sandalow said, noting that the federal staffers in charge of the program — money that could help rural hospitals and clinics pay for patient care — at 15% of the total funding awarded to a state.

Federal regulators also established tight reporting deadlines, forcing states to move quickly.

States must file progress reports and obligate all first-year funding , according to the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services, the federal agency overseeing the program. States could see their awards decreased or terminated at any time if they fail to follow federal requirements, according to the .

As of early April, CMS had not approved or had only partially approved some state budgets, including those of Wyoming, Colorado, and Vermont, according to state officials. CMS spokesperson Catherine Howden, who declined to say which states still needed revised budgets approved, said the agency does not provide “state-by-state updates.”

In Alaska, the budget is approved but the state has not announced when it will release full grant proposals and awards, said Tricia Franklin, program coordinator for Alaska’s rural health transformation.

“Early summer was the target,” Franklin said. But the response from vendors and applicants has been “much greater than expected, so it may take us a little longer.”

Working with consulting companies is an established way for states to “quickly and effectively” meet federal deadlines and roll out grant money, said , national director for population health at the Milbank Memorial Fund, a nonprofit focused on state health policy work.

Upgrading Technology, Modernizing Rural Health

Science Applications International Corp., a Fortune 500 government contractor, pulled together the . SAIC does a variety of technology work such as cybersecurity and engineering support. The alliance also includes Walgreens and Mission Mobile Medical, which turns RVs into primary care clinics. A data analytics company, a telemedicine and software company, and a company that helps place medical graduates in health systems are also part of the coalition.

The SAIC alliance offers “an ecosystem” of companies that can coordinate the work states have promised, said , SAIC’s Rural Health Transformation Program lead and a former chief information officer for the Virginia Department of Health. Each of the companies has representatives focused on the rural program, he said.

A lack of digital infrastructure — such as electronic health records at different clinics and hospitals that can talk to one another — has been a consistent barrier for rural medical care teams, said the Bipartisan Policy Center’s Sandalow.

“The funding hasn’t always been there in order for rural areas to create the infrastructure that’s needed to fully adopt remote patient monitoring, telehealth, artificial intelligence in ways that will really be supportive,” Sandalow said. “It takes things like updating infrastructure, changing workflows.”

Sandalow’s found that Maine and Utah are investing in cybersecurity; Indiana, Missouri, and New Mexico plan to modernize their electronic health records; Oklahoma plans to buy hardware and software, subsidize subscriptions, and give technical support to rural providers; and states such as Arizona and South Carolina will use funds to create telehealth hubs or buy remote patient monitoring equipment.

Federal regulators, when creating the rural program’s spending rules, also said no more than 5% of a state’s total funding awarded could be used to replace electronic medical records systems that already meet federal standards. Sandalow said that means states will focus on enhancements and upgrades to their current systems.

Gainwell Technologies, which operates the systems for dozens of state Medicaid programs, is spearheading . Rushil Desai, a Gainwell senior vice president, said states’ detailed spending plans are “changing in real time.”

Maine’s Medicaid plan contracts with Gainwell, and the state’s initial application listed four contracts worth more than $16 million over five years for the company. The state confirmed it has received federal approval for only its first year of spending, which includes a to implement changes to the state’s Medicaid claims system.

James Lomastro, a senior-care advocate in rural Massachusetts with the nonprofit , said he worries that large vendors and health systems will get the state’s transformation dollars.

Clinics, home care agencies, and nursing homes that “actually provide day-to-day support in the community are mostly on the margins” of state discussions about how to spend the money, he said. A spokesperson for Massachusetts’ Executive Office of Health and Human Services, Olivia James, said state officials would “ensure that everyone has a seat at the table” with training, financial incentives, and direct investments.

Arizona’s rural fund budget, which is $167 million for the first year, allocates for medical diagnostic equipment and technology upgrades, including to electronic health records, specifically for rural health care facilities.

But it also for county public health departments, said Pima County Public Health Director Theresa Cullen. The approved budget includes up to $4 million for grants to support community health workers.

“In these rural communities, you need to be present,” Cullen said.

Alina Czekai, director of the CMS rural health transformation office, said her team plans to visit all 50 states. She spoke at the National Rural Health Association’s policy conference in Washington, D.C., in February and told the audience that her team wants “the money to go to rural communities, rural providers, rural patients.” The association’s members include rural hospitals and clinics, which are expected to suffer big losses under the Medicaid cuts.

In California, Open Door’s Starr said he provided input on his state’s initial application, which won $234 million in first-year funding, but he is not clear on what the next steps will be for getting money from the program.

For his patients, Starr said, money is needed for technology upgrades. After all, he said, updated electronic health systems could operate seamlessly and store the documentation needed to keep a patient enrolled in Medicaid.

Updated technology could be exactly what Open Door and other area clinics need to “help keep people covered,” Starr said.

ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News senior correspondent Phil Galewitz and rural health care correspondent Arielle Zionts contributed to this report.

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The patient lived alone, and “really struggles with social isolation,” Guzman said. After a serious fall and subsequent surgery, the woman was using a wheelchair. She confided that she would like to attend services at a church down the road but had no way to get there and did not want to seem “a bother.”

“We called the pastor to see if there was someone who could pick her up” on Sundays, Guzman said. And there was.

The next day, Guzman visited a woman with heart failure who required constant oxygen. She lives in “less than ideal housing,” with no kitchen and only a plug-in heater for warmth.

“We were trying to figure out if she qualifies for HUD housing or assisted living,” Guzman said, referring to the federal Department of Housing and Urban Development. “We spent a lot of time talking about the options and came up with a game plan.”

Wednesday’s schedule included a 20-mile drive to Hood River to see an 81-year-old woman whose partner of nearly 40 years was contending with a serious cancer. Guzman, who speaks to her in Spanish, found her distraught at the possibility of losing him.

Guzman had arranged for the woman to begin seeing a therapist to help her through the crisis — no minor achievement. But on this visit, “I just handed her tissues and tried to give words of comfort,” she said. “Honestly, sometimes just sitting and listening” is the best response.

A community healthcare worker, the , is a “trusted member” of a local community or someone who has “an unusually close understanding” of it, enabling the worker to serve as intermediary between patients and the healthcare system.

These workers have been on the job since the 1960s, particularly in rural and low-income areas. Today, their numbers are growing. The Bureau of Labor Statistics , which the National Association of Community Health Workers says is probably an underestimate.

That partly reflects the difficulty of counting workers who go by a variety of names — community health educators, outreach specialists, promotores de salud — and operate under different state regulations, sometimes with no licensure or certification required.

What they have in common is that “they talk like the people they work with,” said Sam Cotton, who directs the curriculum for several such programs at the University of Louisville in Kentucky.

With shortages of healthcare professionals and an aging population, “there’s a lot of momentum for this,” she said.

In Oregon, for example, five rural clinics employ community health workers, who become state-certified after completing 90 hours of online training, through a program called Connected Care for Older Adults. A sixth clinic employing a community health worker operates in neighboring Washington.

Their frail patients are struggling. “They can’t drive, so they can’t get to a grocery store and shop,” said Elizabeth Eckstrom, chief of geriatrics at Oregon Health & Science University, who helped oversee the program’s start in 2022. “They’re not taking their medications, either for cognitive reasons or because they can’t get to a pharmacy.”

Few have completed an advance directive, specifying the care they want — or don’t want — if they suffer a health crisis.

Connected Care’s community health workers tackle many of those not-exactly-medical problems — from installing wheelchair ramps to helping patients apply for food and housing benefits. They are allotted 90 days to work with each patient, usually during home visits.

They help coordinate follow-up appointments. They administer cognitive and mental health screenings and watch for the use of too many medications, entering their observations into the patients’ electronic health records.

“It’s like being the eyes and ears for the doctors, to see what’s happening outside the 20 minutes they get to spend with patients,” said Guzman, whose work has ranged from ordering a bath mat to reporting suspected financial abuse.

In a  (average age: 77), a subsample found substantial decreases in emergency department visits and hospitalizations among those served by community health workers.

More extensive research, not yet published, supports that finding, Eckstrom said.

“ED visits cost thousands, and hospitalizations are tens of thousands,” she pointed out. The cost per patient for the 90-day program is $1,500. Its workers earn $25 an hour, a fairly typical wage, and receive full employee benefits.

Manali Patel, an oncologist at Stanford University, found for older patients with advanced cancer in a clinical trial at the Department of Veterans Affairs’ Palo Alto Health Care System.

“Lots of people were passing away” in the intensive care unit, she recalled. “If we’d asked, they probably would have wanted to be at home.” Oncologists, she added, are “notoriously bad at engaging in and documenting those conversations.”

But when a lay health worker made regular phone calls to help patients understand their options, discuss their preferences with their care team, and file advance directives, the results — published in JAMA Oncology in 2018 — were “very dramatic,” Patel said.

More than 90% of the participating veterans had their goals documented in their records compared with fewer than 20% of the control group. The lay worker’s patients had significantly fewer emergency room visits and hospitalizations and were more likely to enroll in hospice care.

Patel and her co-authors have gone on to document the benefits of lay health workers, the term they used, in undertaking other tasks in other settings.

In oncology clinics in Arizona and California, for instance, two bilingual lay health workers to cancer patients over age 75 to assess symptoms like pain, nausea, breathlessness, and depression.

Alerting healthcare teams to these patients’ problems substantially reduced their emergency department use and hospitalizations, and the cost savings averaged $12,000 a patient.

“This low-tech, human-administered intervention reaped huge dividends,” said an  in JAMA.

“Community health workers should be part of every healthcare team,” Eckstrom said. “They support the patient in ways the medical system just can’t, no matter how hard we try.”

One obstacle to expanding their use, however, is unstable funding.

In 2024, Medicare began covering some community health worker services, but not all. (The costs of driving 30 miles to remote homes, for example, are not reimbursed.) Medicaid coverage is piecemeal, reimbursing for some services in some states and not others.

“A lot of community health worker roles rely on short-term grants,” said Neena Schultz, a director of the National Association of Community Health Workers. “Sustainability is something we talk about every day.”

The organization and other supporters are pressing for more state and federal funding. The new federal , which is distributing $10 billion a year, will include funding for community health worker programs, but cuts to state Medicaid budgets could more than offset those gains.

The grants funding Connected Care for Older Adults continue, though. Guzman, employed by the nonprofit clinic One Community Health, keeps making her rounds.

One recent victory: A newly widowed patient in his 60s, struggling financially without his wife’s income, lost his housing and was sleeping in his truck. Through another patient, Guzman learned of an unused recreational vehicle whose owner was willing to donate it.

The widower now lives comfortably in a mobile home park.

When you’re in a patient’s home, “there’s a sense of ease,” Guzman said. “They feel safer talking about things. They don’t feel rushed. You develop a relationship, and they feel they have someone to advocate for them.”

The New Old Age is produced through a partnership with .

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

Vince Lahey of Carefree, Arizona, embraces chatbots. From Big Tech products to “shady” ones, they offer “someone that I could share more secrets with than my therapist.”

He especially likes the apps for feedback and support, even though sometimes they berate him or lead him to fight with his ex-wife. “I feel more inclined to share more,” Lahey said. “I don’t care about their perception of me.”

There are a lot of people like Lahey.

Demand for mental health care has grown. Self-reported poor mental health days rose by 25% since the 1990s, analyzing survey data. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, suicide rates in 2022 that hadn’t been seen in nearly 80 years.

There are many patients who find a nonhuman therapist, powered by artificial intelligence, highly appealing — more appealing than a human with a reclining couch and stern manner. with begging for a therapist who’s “not on the clock,” who’s less judgmental, or who’s just less expensive.

Most people who need care don’t get it, said Tom Insel, former head of the National Institute of Mental Health, citing his former agency’s research. Of those who do, 40% receive “minimally acceptable care.”

“There’s a massive need for high-quality therapy,” he said. “We’re in a world in which the status quo is really crappy, to use a scientific term.”

Insel said engineers from OpenAI told him last fall that about 5% to 10% of the company’s then-roughly 800 million-strong user base rely on ChatGPT for mental health support.

Polling suggests these AI chatbots may be even more popular among young adults. A KFF poll found about 3 in 10 respondents ages 18 to 29 for mental or emotional health advice in the past year. Uninsured adults were about twice as likely as insured adults to report using AI tools. And nearly 60% of adult respondents who used a chatbot for mental health didn’t follow up with a flesh-and-blood professional.

The App Will Put You on the Couch

A burgeoning industry of apps offers AI therapists with human-like, often unrealistically attractive avatars serving as a sounding board for those experiencing anxiety, depression, and other conditions.

ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News identified some 45 AI therapy apps in Apple’s App Store in March. While many charge steep prices for their services — one listed an annual plan for $690 — they’re still generally cheaper than talk therapy, which can cost hundreds of dollars an hour without insurance coverage.

On the App Store, “therapy” is often used as a marketing term, with small print noting the apps cannot diagnose or treat disease. One app, branded as OhSofia! AI Therapy Chat, had downloads in the six figures, said OhSofia! founder Anton Ilin in December.

“People are looking for therapy,” Ilin said. On one hand, the product’s name ; on the other, it warns in that it “does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, treatment, or crisis intervention and is not a substitute for professional healthcare services.” Executives don’t think that’s confusing, since there are disclaimers in the app.

The apps promise big results without backup. its users “immediate help during panic attacks.” it was “proven effective by researchers” and that it offers 2.3 times faster relief for anxiety and stress. (It doesn’t say what it’s faster than.)

There are few legislative or regulatory guardrails around how developers refer to their products — or even whether the products are safe or effective, said Vaile Wright, senior director of the office of health care innovation at the American Psychological Association. Even federal patient privacy protections don’t apply, she said.

“Therapy is not a legally protected term,” Wright said. “So, basically, anybody can say that they give therapy.”

Many of the apps “overrepresent themselves,” said John Torous, a psychiatrist and clinical informaticist at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center. “Deceiving people that they have received treatment when they really have not has many negative consequences,” including delaying actual care, he said.

States such as Nevada, Illinois, and California are trying to sort out the regulatory disarray, enacting laws forbidding apps from describing their chatbots as AI therapists.

“It’s a profession. People go to school. They get licensed to do it,” said Jovan Jackson, a Nevada legislator, who co-authored an enacted bill banning apps from referring to themselves as mental health professionals.

Underlying the hype, outside researchers and company representatives themselves have told the FDA and Congress that there’s little evidence supporting the efficacy of these products. What studies there are — and some companion-focused chatbots are “consistently poor” at managing crises.

“When it comes to chatbots, we don’t have any good evidence it works,” said Charlotte Blease, a professor at Sweden’s Uppsala University who specializes in trial design for digital health products.

The lack of “good quality” clinical trials stems from the FDA’s failure to provide recommendations about how to test the products, she said. “FDA is offering no rigorous advice on what the standards should be.”

Department of Health and Human Services spokesperson Emily Hilliard said, in response, that “patient safety is the FDA’s highest priority” and that AI-based products are subject to agency regulations requiring the demonstration of “reasonable assurance of safety and effectiveness before they can be marketed in the U.S.”

The Silver-Tongued Apps

Preston Roche, a psychiatry resident who’s , gets lots of questions about whether AI is a good therapist. After trying ChatGPT himself, he said he was “impressed” initially that it was able to use techniques to help him put negative thoughts “on trial.”

But Roche said after seeing posts on social media discussing people developing psychosis or being encouraged to make harmful decisions, he became disillusioned. The bots, he concluded, are sycophantic.

“When I look globally at the responsibilities of a therapist, it just completely fell on its face,” he said.

This sycophancy — the tendency of apps based on large language models to empathize, flatter, or delude their human conversation partner — is inherent to the app design, experts in digital health say.

“The models were developed to answer a question or prompt that you ask and to give you what you’re looking for,” said Insel, the former NIMH director, “and they’re really good at basically affirming what you feel and providing psychological support, like a good friend.”

That’s not what a good therapist does, though. “The point of psychotherapy is mostly to make you address the things that you have been avoiding,” he said.

While polling suggests many users are satisfied with what they’re getting out of ChatGPT and other apps, there have been about the service or encouragement to self-harm.

And or have been filed against OpenAI after ChatGPT users died by suicide or became hospitalized. In most of those cases, the plaintiffs allege they began using the apps for one purpose — like schoolwork — before confiding in them. These cases are being .

Google and the startup Character.ai — which has been funded by Google and has created “avatars” that adopt specific personas, like athletes, celebrities, study buddies, or therapists — are settling other wrongful-death lawsuits, .

OpenAI’s CEO, Sam Altman, has said up to may talk about suicide on ChatGPT.

“We have seen a problem where people that are in fragile psychiatric situations using a model like 4o can get into a worse one,” Altman said in a public question-and-answer session reported by , referring to a particular model of ChatGPT introduced in 2024. “I don’t think this is the last time we’ll face challenges like this with a model.”

An OpenAI spokesperson did not respond to requests for comment.

The company has said it on safeguards, such as referring users to 988, the national suicide hotline. However, the lawsuits against OpenAI argue existing safeguards aren’t good enough, and some research shows the problems are . OpenAI its own data suggesting the opposite.

OpenAI is , offering, early in one case, a variety of defenses ranging from denying that its product caused self-harm to alleging that the defendant misused the product by inducing it to discuss suicide. It has also said it’s working to .

Smaller apps also rely on OpenAI or other AI models to power their products, executives told ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News. In interviews, startup founders and other experts said they worry that if a company simply imports those models into its own service, it might duplicate whatever safety flaws exist in the original product.

Data Risks

ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News’ review of the App Store found listed age protections are minimal: Fifteen of the nearly four dozen apps say they could be downloaded by 4-year-old users; an additional 11 say they could be downloaded by those 12 and up.

Privacy standards are opaque. On the App Store, several apps are described as neither tracking personally identifiable data nor sharing it with advertisers — but on their company websites, privacy policies contained contrary descriptions, discussing the use of such data and their disclosure of information to advertisers, like AdMob.

In response to a request for comment, Apple spokesperson Adam Dema to the company’s App Store policies, which bar apps from using health data for advertising and require them to display information about how they use data in general. Dema did not respond to a request for further comment about how Apple enforces these policies.

Researchers and policy advocates said that sharing psychiatric data with social media firms means patients could be profiled. They could be targeted by dodgy treatment firms or charged different prices for goods based on their health.

ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News contacted several app makers about these discrepancies; two that responded said their privacy policies had been put together in error and pledged to change them to reflect their stances against advertising. (A third, the team at OhSofia!, said simply that they don’t do advertising, though their app’s notes users “may opt out of marketing communications.”)

One executive told ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News there’s business pressure to maintain access to the data.

“My general feeling is a subscription model is much, much better than any sort of advertising,” said Tim Rubin, the founder of Wellness AI, adding that he’d change the description in his app’s privacy policy.

One investor advised him not to swear off advertising, he said. “They’re like, essentially, that’s the most valuable thing about having an app like this, that data.”

“I think we’re still at the beginning of what’s going to be a revolution in how people seek psychological support and, even in some cases, therapy,” Insel said. “And my concern is that there’s just no framework for any of this.”

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But Republican lawmakers in some states think the new rules — part of the GOP’s One Big Beautiful Bill Act, signed last July by President Donald Trump — don’t go far enough.

Indiana is leading that charge, with a new law that requires applicants to prove they’ve been working or participating in a similar activity for three consecutive months to get benefits.

Meanwhile, residents in many other states will have to show they’ve been working just one month, the least cumbersome option under Trump’s signature tax-and-domestic-spending law. It instructs states to decide whether to require one, two, or three months of work history.

As in Indiana, Republican Idaho lawmakers approved a three-month requirement, and the state’s governor signed the bill into law on April 10.

The efforts, along with similar moves in Arizona, Missouri, and Kentucky, are aimed at restricting flexibility to implement the federal law at the state level.

“Normally, you would not see state legislators weighing in on these decisions,” said Lucy Dagneau, a senior official with the American Cancer Society’s advocacy arm.

The nonpartisan Congressional Budget Office estimated 18.5 million adults will be subject to the new rules, which will be enforced across 42 states and the District of Columbia. In Indiana, work rules will target about 33% of the state’s Medicaid population. The rules generally wouldn’t apply to children, people 65 or older, or people with disabilities or serious health issues.

Typically, state administrators — not lawmakers — detail how they plan to comply with new federal standards, and they often look to federal regulators for guidance. But officials at the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services have yet to tell states how to comply with many aspects of the sweeping budget law, leaving state lawmakers to intervene.

Gov. Mike Braun, a Republican, signed the Indiana bill into law on March 4, making his state the first to set the Medicaid work requirement at three months — the longest period allowed under the federal law.

Republican state Sen. Chris Garten introduced a bill in January, saying it was needed to “align” state law with the new federal Medicaid rules. He also pitched the bill as a way to crack down on “waste, fraud, and abuse” in public programs.

When ineligible people get enrolled, it robs “the truly vulnerable Hoosier who actually needs the help,” Garten said during a January committee hearing.

Democratic state Sen. Fady Qaddoura expressed skepticism during the hearing and questioned the necessity of the legislation. Qaddoura asked Indiana Family and Social Services Administration Secretary Mitch Roob to provide an estimate of the number of ineligible people who enrolled in Medicaid in the state.

“I think very few,” Roob replied. “It’ll never be none.”

After hearing Roob’s answer, Qaddoura said there is no evidence of a widespread problem in Indiana. He accused Republicans of using waste, fraud, and abuse as justification to deny health benefits and food aid to vulnerable Hoosiers.

Garten later called Qaddoura’s accusation a “fundamental mischaracterization” of the bill.

Republicans have said imposing these limits protects the Medicaid program’s longevity.

“We believe in a safety net for our most vulnerable, not a hammock for able-bodied adults that choose not to work,” Garten said. “By tightening these screws, we ensure that our safety net remains sustainable.”

Indiana’s Medicaid enrollment is expected to decrease because of Garten’s legislation, according to an analysis from Indiana’s nonpartisan Legislative Services Agency.

Medicaid helps keep people healthy, so they can continue to work, said Adam Mueller, executive director of the Indiana Justice Project, a nonpartisan legal advocacy organization focusing on health, housing, and food insecurity.

Mueller worries that people will struggle to prove their work history, especially those with nontraditional jobs.

“If the point is to get people engaged, the one month would do it,” Mueller said.

Ultimately, he fears the law will harm Hoosiers with the greatest need for assistance. “They’re going to get tripped up by the bureaucratic hurdles.”

An analysis by the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities predicted that work rules will and that how states choose to implement the rules will “significantly affect the number of people who lose coverage.” State policy decisions will determine just “how intense the burden is,” the left-leaning think tank found, and opting for a shorter look-back period “will enable more people to enroll.”

Lawmakers in multiple states considered limits. And the same right-leaning lobbying group, the Foundation for Government Accountability, testified in favor of these measures in Arizona, Indiana, and Missouri.

In Missouri, FGA lobbyist James Harris said the measure intends to “move people from dependency and give them back that dignity and pride of work.”

Missouri state Rep. Darin Chappell proposed requiring a three-month look-back period like the measure in Indiana. But the latest version of the bill he sponsored would require applicants to show they were working for only one month before enrolling.

Chappell, a Republican, said his initiative would encourage a “working mindset.”

Anna Meyer, owner of a small bakery in Columbia, Missouri, said the implication is that she and others on Medicaid are lazy. “I have been working since I was 15 years old,” she said. “I’m 43 now.”

Meyer, who voiced her opposition, said she previously had problems submitting information to the state Medicaid agency. She fears new reporting requirements will put her and others at risk of losing coverage, even if they meet the work rule.

She has fibromyalgia, a chronic condition that increases overall sensitivity to pain. She also has food allergies. Medicaid helps pay for medications and doctor visits that keep her healthy and allow her to keep working.

“I work very hard,” Meyer said.

In St. Louis, Jessica Norton, an OB-GYN, treats many Medicaid patients at an Affinia Healthcare clinic. She said they struggle to remain insured even though Missouri extends a full year of Medicaid coverage to eligible women after they give birth. Some of her patients are inexplicably kicked off that coverage by the time of their checkups six weeks after birth. She fears red tape from the new work requirements will make it harder to hang on to insurance, even though pregnant women and new mothers are supposed to be exempt.

Norton criticized lawmakers for the message this policy sends to vulnerable patients. They are saying, “Oh, actually, health care is a privilege, and you have to earn it,” she said.

of adults ages 19 to 64 on Medicaid already work, according to KFF. The reason many of the remaining adults on Medicaid are not working is that they are retired, serving as a caregiver, or too sick, KFF has found.

Some states are not only setting the strictest requirements but also blocking out the optional leniency built into the federal rules.

For example, states may adopt additional exemptions from work rules, such as allowing people to claim a “short-term hardship,” designed to provide continued Medicaid coverage to people with medical conditions that prevent them from working.

Missouri lawmakers are seeking a constitutional amendment to bar their state from offering such optional exemptions. But patient advocates warn these limits would harm the state’s vulnerable residents when they need coverage the most, particularly Missouri’s rural cancer patients.

Often, rural Missouri patients must travel to Kansas City or St. Louis for treatment, disrupting their ability to work, Emily Kalmer, a lobbyist for the American Cancer Society’s advocacy arm, testified at the January hearing. Recognizing this, the federal law provides certain exemptions for this kind of scenario.

But this short-term hardship exemption would be off the table in Missouri.

Time is “very important in the life of a cancer patient or a cancer survivor,” Kalmer said.

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The CDC withheld the data for months as a team hit hard by mass layoffs and resignations sorted through the information. But now that scientists at the agency have posted their first batch of whole measles genomes — the genetic blueprint of the viruses — the rest should “start flowing more smoothly at a more rapid cadence,” said Kristian Andersen, an evolutionary virologist at the Scripps Research Institute who isn’t involved with the CDC’s effort but is following it.

The CDC did not answer queries from ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News on its timeline for publishing measles data or analyses. However, once all the data is public, researchers can run that will signal whether outbreaks across the U.S. last year resulted from the continuous spread of the disease between states, rather than separate introductions from abroad. If there was continuous transmission for a year, that means the U.S. has lost its status as a country that has eliminated measles. That status, which the U.S. has held since 2000, reflects a country’s vaccination rates: Two doses of the measles-mumps-rubella vaccine prevent most infections and so stop outbreaks from growing.

More careful analyses take weeks.

“We should see a report in April,” Andersen said, “assuming no political interference.”

This is the first time that the U.S. has applied sophisticated genomic techniques to measles, which largely disappeared from the country a quarter-century ago because of broad vaccine uptake.

Declining , misinformation, and the Trump administration’s to outbreaks have fueled a resurgence of the disease. With at least 2,285 cases in 44 states, 2025 was the worst year for measles in more than three decades. This year is on track to surpass that, with 1,575 cases as of late March.

While welcoming the science, researchers say the government’s top priority should be to stop the virus from spreading.

“I think it’s incredibly important to do whole genome sequencing for outbreaks,” Andersen said, “but we shouldn’t need to do this for measles in the first place, because we have an extremely effective and safe vaccine.”

“That we’re even talking about this is nuts,” he added.

Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. and other government officials should sound an alarm about measles’ comeback and launch nationwide vaccine campaigns, said Rekha Lakshmanan, executive director of , a nonprofit in Houston that advocates for vaccine access.

“I applaud the science,” she said, “but the more urgent need is to get measles under control as quickly as possible.”

Top officials have instead , and false notions about vaccines have been granted new life in Kennedy’s CDC. This includes abrupt changes to vaccine information on CDC websites that say aren’t based on evidence and endanger lives. 

Kennedy continues to promote unproven remedies that could mislead parents into believing that they can avoid vaccines without consequence. On the podcast in late February, Kennedy spoke at length about measures to improve America’s health but didn’t mention vaccines. He said preventive measures could entail “holistic medicine, or take vitamins, or take vitamin D, which is, as you know, it’s kind of miraculous.”

“The risk of measles remains low for most of the United States,” HHS spokesperson Emily Hilliard wrote. “CDC has made $8.5 million available to address measles response activities in 7 jurisdictions experiencing outbreaks,” she wrote. “The CDC, HHS principles, and the Secretary have been vocal that the MMR vaccine is the best way to protect yourself against measles.”

1,000 Genomes

In December, the CDC enlisted the help of one of the country’s leading centers for virus sequencing, the Broad Institute in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Major outbreaks in Texas, Utah, and South Carolina had been fueled by the same type of measles virus, labeled D8-9171. But since that type also circulates in Canada and Mexico, researchers need more data to discern whether it spread among states or entered the U.S. multiple times.

Whole genome sequencing provides that information because viruses evolve over time. The measles virus acquires a mutation every two to four transmissions between people, said Bronwyn MacInnis, director of pathogen surveillance at the Broad.

“There is enough signal in this data to tease apart questions at hand,” MacInnis said, “the main one being sustained transmission within this country.”

MacInnis’ team worked overtime to sequence the entire genomes of inactivated measles viruses that had been collected from states in 2025 and 2026.

“We’ve done about 1,000 samples and delivered the genome data back to the CDC,” sending it on a rolling basis since December, MacInnis said. “This is the CDC’s data to publish.”

The CDC didn’t post a single one of those genomes until late March, when eight appeared on a public database hosted by the National Center for Biotechnology Information. By April 1, an additional 154 had gone online.

“It should be on NCBI within a couple of weeks of being produced,” Andersen said, “and certainly not take longer than a month when you have an active outbreak.”

Genomic data holds clues about how outbreaks start and spread. It allows researchers to develop tests, treatments, and vaccines — and detect variants that might evade them.

Such data was critical in the covid pandemic. Chinese and Australian scientists online on Jan. 10, 2020, of sequencing it. “It definitely shouldn’t take the CDC months,” said Eddie Holmes, the Australian virologist who helped publish the first coronavirus sequence.

One reason for the delay is that the CDC’s measles lab has been sorely understaffed amid mass layoffs and other turmoil at the agency over the past year, a CDC scientist told ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News. Another reason, the researcher added, is a learning curve: The CDC and health departments haven’t needed to sequence hundreds of whole measles genomes before now. (ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News agreed not to identify the scientist, who feared retaliation.)

In contrast with the CDC, the Utah Public Health Lab has shared measles genomes rapidly. Most of some 970 measles genomes posted online since Jan. 1, 2025, were sequenced by the state, hailing from Utah, Arizona, South Carolina, and other states willing to share them.

“We’ve only got a handful of samples from Texas that were collected kind of in the middle of their outbreak,” said Kelly Oakeson, a genomics researcher at the Utah Department of Health and Human Services. The genomes of the Texas and Utah measles viruses are similar but distinct, Oakeson said, meaning that intermediate versions of the virus are missing.

If the genetic code of viruses collected late in the Texas outbreak are a closer match to those from Utah’s, that will suggest that spread was continuous and the country has lost its measles-free status. The hundreds of genome sequences still sitting at the CDC probably hold the answer.

Waiting on the CDC

The CDC expected to finish its analysis before April, said Daniel Salas, executive manager of the immunization program at the Pan American Health Organization, which works with the World Health Organization. That’s when PAHO was slated to evaluate the United States’ measles status.

He said PAHO delayed its evaluation until the organization’s annual meeting in November, partly because the CDC needed more time to do the genomic analysis and partly because the measles status of Mexico, Bolivia, and other countries is also under review, and holding staggered meetings for each country is inefficient.

The U.S. is the only country using whole genome sequencing to answer the elimination question, Salas said. Typically, countries classify measles viruses according to a tiny snippet of genes, then assume that large outbreaks caused by the same type are linked. Whole genomes provide a more accurate view.

“If the U.S. can fill in the blanks with genomic data, that’s a sort of breakthrough,” Salas said. “That doesn’t mean other countries are going to be able to pull off this kind of analysis,” he added. “It takes a lot of specialized knowledge and resources.”

Equipment to sequence and analyze genomes costs upward of $100,000, and the cost to process each sample, including paying the researchers involved, typically ranges from $100 to $500 per sequence.

“I’m pro-science, but we shouldn’t have to do this,” said Theresa McCarthy Flynn, president of the North Carolina Pediatrics Society. “We don’t have to have a measles epidemic.”

Flynn said she regularly fields questions from parents concerned by misinformation spread by Kennedy and anti-vaccine groups, including the one he founded before joining the Trump administration. Parents have also pointed to changes in the CDC’s recommendations and to its websites that are at odds with the scientific consensus.

Before Kennedy took the helm, a said “Vaccines do not cause autism” in prominent type, and listed in premier scientific journals that refuted a link between vaccines and developmental disorders.

Last year, shifted to saying, “Studies supporting a link have been ignored by health authorities.” The high-quality studies were replaced with a report from a single investigator who has ties to anti-vaccine groups. In an email to ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News, HHS spokesperson Hilliard echoed the altered website’s claims about vaccines, disregarding extensive studies on the topic.

Flynn, of the pediatrics association, said, “The CDC itself is spreading misinformation about vaccines. I cannot overstate the seriousness of this.”

Although the acting director of the CDC, Jay Bhattacharya, says vaccines are the best way to prevent measles, he too has undermined vaccine policy. He said the controversial to reduce the number of vaccines recommended to children was based on “gold standard science.” In fact, the new schedule makes the among peer nations. Hilliard wrote that the updated schedule was “aligning U.S. guidance with international norms.”

A federal court temporarily invalidated the change last month in a lawsuit brought by the American Academy of Pediatrics and other groups.

Bhattacharya hasn’t held briefings with the public or the press on the surge of measles this year or activated the CDC’s emergency capabilities.

“Normally, we’d have a big push to get vaccination rates up in areas where it’s low. We’d do a big social media push, put out ads on getting vaccinated,” said another CDC scientist whom ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News agreed not to identify, because of fears of retaliation. “People at the CDC want to do this, but political leadership at the agency has not allowed the CDC to do it.”

Further, the Trump administration’s to public health funds have made it hard for local health officials to protect communities. Philip Huang, director at Dallas County Health and Human Services in Texas, said the department lost over $4 million when the administration clawed back about $11 billion from health departments early last year as a measles outbreak surged in the state.

“We lost 27 staff and had to cancel over 20 of our community vaccination efforts, including to schools identified as having low vaccination rates,” he said. “There are simultaneous attacks on immunizations that are making our jobs harder.”

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Six months after a West Virginia man died following a protracted battle with his health insurer over doctor-recommended cancer care, the state’s Republican governor signed a bill intended to curb the harm of insurance denials.

West Virginia’s Public Employees Insurance Agency enrolls nearly 215,000 people — state workers, as well as their spouses and dependents. The new law, which will take effect June 10, will allow plan members who have been approved for a course of treatment to pursue an alternative, medically appropriate treatment of equal or lesser value without the need for another approval from the state-based health plan.

“This legislation is rooted in a simple principle: if a treatment has already been approved, patients should be able to pursue a medically appropriate alternative without being forced to start the process over again — especially when it does not cost more,” Gov. Patrick Morrisey said in a statement after signing the bill into law on March 31.

“This is about common sense, compassion, and trusting patients and their doctors to make the best decisions for their care,” he said.

Delegate Laura Kimble, the Republican from Harrison County who introduced the legislation, told ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News the measure offers “a rational solution” for patients facing “the most irrational and chaotic time of their lives.”

From Arizona to Rhode Island, at least half of all state legislatures have taken up bills this year related to prior authorization, a process that requires patients or their medical team to seek approval from an insurer before proceeding with care. These state efforts come as patients across the country await relief from prior authorization hurdles, as promised by dozens of major health insurers in a pledge announced by the Trump administration last year.

The West Virginia law was inspired by Eric Tennant, a coal-mining safety instructor from Bridgeport who died on Sept. 17 at age 58. In early 2025, the Public Employees Insurance Agency of a $50,000 noninvasive cancer treatment, called histotripsy, that would have used ultrasound waves to target, and potentially shrink, the largest tumor in his liver. His family didn’t expect the procedure to eradicate the cancer, but they hoped it would buy him more time and improve his quality of life. The insurer said the procedure wasn’t medically necessary and that it was considered “experimental and investigational.”

Becky Tennant, Eric’s widow, told members of a West Virginia House committee in late February that she submitted medical records, expert opinions, and data as part of several attempts to appeal the denial. She also reached out to “almost every one of our state representatives,” asking for help.

Nothing worked, she told lawmakers, until ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News and NBC News got involved and posed questions to the Public Employees Insurance Agency about Eric’s case. Only then did the insurer reverse its decision and approve histotripsy, Tennant said.

“But by then, the delay had already done its damage,” she said.

Within one week of the reversal in late May, Eric Tennant was hospitalized. His health continued to decline, and by midsummer he was no longer considered a suitable candidate for the procedure. “The insurance company’s decision did not simply delay care. It closed doors,” his wife said.

Had the new law been in effect, Kimble said, Tennant could have undergone histotripsy without preapproval, because it was a less expensive alternative to chemotherapy, which his insurer had already authorized. The bill was passed unanimously by the state legislature in March.

U.S. health insurers argue that most prior authorization requests are quickly, if not instantly, approved. AHIP, the health insurance industry trade group, says prior authorization in preventing potential harm to patients and reducing unnecessary health care costs. But denials and delays tend to affect patients who need expensive, time-sensitive care, .

The practice has come under intense scrutiny in recent years, particularly after the in New York City in late 2024. Americans rank prior authorization as their biggest burden when it comes to getting health care, according to a by KFF, a health information nonprofit that includes ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News.

Samantha Knapp, a spokesperson for the West Virginia Department of Administration, would not answer questions about the law’s financial impact on the state. “We prefer to avoid any speculation at this time regarding potential impact or actions,” Knapp said.

In a fiscal note attached to the bill, Jason Haught, the Public Employees Insurance Agency’s chief financial officer, said the law would cost the agency an estimated $13 million annually and “cause member disruption.”

West Virginia isn’t an outlier in targeting prior authorization. By late 2025, 48 other states, in addition to the District of Columbia and Puerto Rico, already had some form of a prior authorization law — or laws — on the books, according to a by the National Association of Insurance Commissioners.

Many states have set up “gold carding” programs, which allow physicians with a track record of approvals to bypass prior authorization requirements. Some states establish a maximum number of days insurance companies are allowed to respond to requests, while others prohibit insurance companies from issuing retrospective denials after a service has already been preauthorized. There are also a crop of new state laws seeking to regulate the use of artificial intelligence in prior authorization decision-making.

Meanwhile, prior authorization bills introduced this year across the country, including in Kentucky, Missouri, and New Jersey, have been supported by politicians from both parties.

“Republicans in conservative states see health care as a vulnerability for the midterm elections, and so, unsurprisingly, you’ll see some action on this,” said Robert Hartwig, a clinical associate professor of risk management, insurance, and finance at the University of South Carolina. “They realize that they’re not really going to get much action at the federal level given the degree of gridlock we’ve already seen.”

Last summer, the Trump administration announced a pledge signed by dozens of health insurers vowing to reform prior authorization. The insurers promised to reduce the scope of claims that require preapproval, decrease wait times, and communicate with patients in clear language when denying a request.

Consumers, patient advocates, and medical providers that companies will follow through on their promises.

Becky Tennant is skeptical, too. That’s why she advocated for the West Virginia bill.

“Families should not have to beg, appeal, or go public just to access time-sensitive care,” she told lawmakers. Tennant, who sees the bill’s passage as bittersweet, said she thought her husband would have been proud.

During Eric’s final hospital stay, Tennant recalled, right before he was discharged to home hospice care, she asked him whether he wanted her to keep fighting to change the state agency’s prior authorization process.

“‘Well, you need to at least try to change it,’” she recalled her husband saying. “‘Because it’s not fair.’”

“I told him I would keep trying,” she said, “at least for a while. And so I am keeping that promise to him.”

NBC News health and medical unit producer Jason Kane and correspondent Erin McLaughlin contributed to this report.

Do you have an experience with prior authorization you’d like to share? to tell ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News your story.

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