In February, Hawai‘i’s parole board granted the now-52-year-old compassionate release, which allows prisoners to receive early probation to seek .

But without a long-term care facility willing to accept him, Alameda has not been able to leave.

As of June, at least three other prisoners granted release to tend to their medical needs were living indefinitely in the infirmary after long-term care facilities were unwilling to accept them, primarily because of their criminal backgrounds, the state parole authority said.

“This is a challenge across the country,” said Molly Crane, an attorney for FAMM, which advocates for .

Every state allows for prisoners, though HawaiÊ»i is the only one without a specific law, relying instead on an internal policy. The prisoners who typically qualify for compassionate release can’t care for themselves or have terminal illnesses and may need an assisted living center, a nursing home, or hospice.

But many long-term care facilities nationwide decline to take such prisoners, leaving them incarcerated for months — or years — after they were granted release.

In , a study found that rejections from nursing homes soared after they were told that a patient was coming from prison. , prisoners with extensive medical needs stayed an average of 200 days after being granted parole, because of denials from long-term care centers. And in , prisoners granted parole sued the state when they couldn’t get placed in nursing homes.

President Donald Trump’s signature One Big Beautiful Bill Act further strains long-term care providers’ ability to take people from incarceration. Prisoners don’t qualify for Medicaid, so parolees after they’re granted the release. The law, enacted last summer, reduces the window in which facilities can get reimbursed from three months to before they apply. That means facilities risk not getting paid for new Medicaid patients whose applications are not submitted within the reduced timeframe.

The Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services “encourages providers and beneficiaries to prioritize timely application submission to maximize coverage,” CMS spokesperson Timothy Foster said.

‘Risk Is Just Too High’

Most nursing homes nationwide already have a waiting list for new residents, according to a by the American Health Care Association and the National Center for Assisted Living. Those waitlists are another hurdle to getting prisoners placed, said Bob Merce, a former attorney who advocates for prisoners’ compassionate release.

“We tell the nursing homes that most of the people who we are talking about cannot hurt somebody,” Merce said.

Some of the prisoners staying at the Halawa infirmary in June couldn’t walk or dress themselves. One man couldn’t recall what his illness was. Another with brain cancer couldn’t coherently respond to questions.

Sean Sanada, the OÊ»ahu Region CEO with the HawaiÊ»i Health Systems Corp., oversees the region’s two state-funded long-term care facilities, Leahi Hospital and Maluhia. Sanada said that the health system has reviewed dozens of compassionate release referrals but has never accepted any of them.

Sanada said the facilities don’t discriminate based on where the resident comes from. His main concerns, he said, were his staff’s safety and the lack of resources to adequately care for the patient.

“The risk is just too high in most of those instances,” Sanada said.

Violent incidents in long-term care facilities have been well documented. A observing 14 assisted living facilities found that in just one month, 15% of residents experienced resident-to-resident aggression.

When long-term care facilities refuse to accept prisoners who have been granted compassionate release, it leaves state taxpayers footing a larger bill. The annual cost to incarcerate an individual in Hawai‘i with complex needs is up to eight times the $112,505 average of housing one person in prison, according to FAMM. In comparison, the average Medicaid reimbursement for a long-term care patient at a Hawaiʻi Health Systems Corp. facility is about .

Four states — Connecticut, Georgia, Massachusetts, and Vermont — contract with nursing facilities to take prisoners who are granted compassionate release, according to FAMM.

The iCare Health Network’s MissionCare Health, which operates nursing homes for people coming out of prison, secured contracts in three of those states. David Skoczulek, iCare’s vice president of business development and communication, estimated that its rates are $100 to $350 a day more per patient than the average nursing home rates in the states where they operate.

In Hawaiʻi, the correctional department determines recommendations to send to the parole board, which decides whether to grant the release. Prisoners who are granted the early probation can be released to family members who commit to caring for them or to a long-term care facility.

Corey Reincke, head of the HawaiÊ»i Paroling Authority, said that in his 24-year career he couldn’t recall getting anyone placed into a long-term care facility without family intervening, for instance by contacting facilities themselves.

“Parole has to find a facility that can meet their medical needs and is also willing to take them,” Reincke said. “That’s where we’re hitting the roadblocks.”

For one parolee, Reincke called more than 100 care homes, he said, but they all declined to accept the patient, over safety concerns. According to a 2024 state report, while HawaiÊ»i’s long-term care facilities use about workforce strains make it difficult to maintain even those levels.

HawaiÊ»i Prisoners’ Refuge: Family

Last year, 69-year-old Paul Kupihea died at a hospital five days after the state granted him compassionate release to his family. He died before he could get on a flight to his home island.

In July 2025, Lahela Kruse, the mother of Kupihea’s child, received a call from a Honolulu hospital informing her that his condition had become severe. By then he had been diagnosed with an incurable form of cancer and had been in and out of the hospital while still in custody.

Kruse and their daughter flew to Oʻahu to see him and were shocked when they saw how sick he was. Their daughter agreed to take him into her home in Hilo, on Hawaiʻi Island, despite not having a relationship with him for most of her life.

“She knew he was sick,” Kruse said. “I told her that, but she didn’t know the severity of it. I didn’t truly know.”

Her daughter’s willingness to take him prompted his compassionate release. But Kruse said the notification about Kupihea’s illness came too late.

FAMM’s Crane has been working on expanding compassionate release laws in states to allow for more prisoners to qualify and strengthen transparency in the process. HawaiÊ»i lawmakers have tried for years to pass bills on compassionate release, but none has succeeded.

Crane said without a law that outlines a formal process and who qualifies, even family support isn’t enough. Prisoners can still face life-threatening delays, she said.

“The absence of a compassionate release statute means that people who need compassionate release languish and even die in prison,” Crane said.

In Alameda’s cell, two beds stood about 3 feet apart, with a seatless metal toilet in the corner and a window looking out on a concrete wall. The smell of bleach permeated the room. Alameda said he hoped to see his daughter soon. She recently turned 5.

“I made some mistakes in my life,” said Alameda, who has been incarcerated since 2024 for drug possession, driving a stolen vehicle, and jumping bail. “I tried when my daughter was born, but I know I’ll change, because she needs me out of here.”

Merce, the former attorney, is still trying to find a place for Alameda, who committed no violent crimes. Merce became aware of prisoners’ struggles through his work as a trial lawyer. He said he has helped about 15 prisoners leave HawaiÊ»i correctional facilities for medical treatment.

He said he’s seen cases in which people have waited years to get out.

“The ones that stick with me, though,” Merce said, “are the ones that I never found placements for.”

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California lawmakers an expired law that would require the state to identify companies that employ 100 or more people and have employees enrolled in Medi-Cal, the state’s Medicaid program. Nevada has had a similar law in place since 2017, though a proposal for one in Oregon stalled when its legislative session ended in March.

The California bill author, Democratic state Sen. Lola Smallwood-Cuevas, said she is deeply troubled by what is going to happen when work requirements kick in. According to the state, out of more than on Medi-Cal will be subject to the rule.

“We think this is a bill that’s about fairness,” Smallwood-Cuevas said. “It’s a basic principle that taxpayers deserve transparency about which large employers are shifting their healthcare costs onto the public.”

Large employers that regularly top Nevada’s list, such as Walmart and Amazon, have said that the state included part-time and seasonal workers in their counts and that their full-time hourly employees to qualify for Medicaid.

Walmart spokesperson Katrina Proffitt said that the company offers affordable medical coverage to most employees, including eligible part-time workers, and that most of its plans include no-cost virtual care options.

“Healthcare affordability and access to quality care remain real barriers for many Americans, and Walmart continues to be committed to being part of the solution,” Proffitt said.

The push to name and shame companies reflects dueling narratives about the biggest abusers of the joint state-federal Medicaid program, which reached nearly in government spending in 2024. The Trump administration, led by Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services Administrator Mehmet Oz, has called out blue states for not doing enough to fight insurer fraud and abuse. State Democratic leaders, meanwhile, are pushing back by calling attention to big employers that don’t offer affordable health benefits, which leaves taxpayers subsidizing healthcare costs for the low-wage workforce.

Some states have considered financial penalties. Democratic New Jersey Gov. Mikie Sherrill signed a bill in June that have at least 50 Medicaid-enrolled employees. Companies with 50 to 249 workers on Medicaid per person, and those with at least 500 will pay $725.

Bills that would have penalized companies with workers enrolled in Medicaid failed in this year.

In Sacramento, California, Democrats want to figure out a way to make large businesses pay for their employees’ health coverage. State lawmakers struck a deal with Democratic Gov. Gavin Newsom, who is contemplating a presidential bid as he wraps up his final year in the governor’s office, to explore tax options. Any tax hike would be up to the new governor.

States face of dollars under HR 1, the GOP tax-and-spending law known as the One Big Beautiful Bill Act, notably through that requires nondisabled Medicaid enrollees ages 19 to 64 in most states to prove they are working, volunteering, or going to school at least 80 hours a month to keep their coverage.

Yet federal work requirements are projected to increase the number of uninsured people nationwide by more than 5 million by 2034, according to the . Nebraska and Montana have begun enforcing the rule.

One health policy researcher said employer Medicaid reports highlight the lack of affordable healthcare options available to low-wage workers. More than half of adults enrolled in Medicaid who don’t have dependent children already meet the 80-hour-a-month requirement or face challenges that would likely qualify them for an exemption, .

“There’s a whole set of people who are working — they may not satisfy the work requirement provisions, they may not get the exemption that they’re qualified for, and they don’t have access to that employer-sponsored insurance either,” said Edwin Park, a research professor at the Center for Children and Families at Georgetown University.

Employers Push Back

While employer lists haven’t succeeded in bringing down Medicaid costs, supporters say measuring the burden can be the first step and help lawmakers make the case for further action.

In Nevada, Amazon has employed more Medicaid enrollees than any other company since 2020, according to the state’s report . For state fiscal year 2025, Walmart, the Clark County School District, the state government, and Tesla rounded out the top five.

Employers that the reports are misleading because they have included part-time and seasonal employees. The state’s includes only full-time employees, plus those who could not be confirmed as either full- or part-time employees.

That came to 4,914 Amazon employees and 3,503 Walmart workers in Nevada on Medicaid in 2025.

There are no penalties for companies on the list.

Amazon said it pays its workers more than double the $7.25-an-hour federal minimum wage and noted that Medicaid eligibility is based on household income and size rather than an individual’s wage. That means two employees who earn the same pay may have different eligibility depending on whether they have children or live with parents.

“Pointing fingers at Amazon over Medicaid is a red herring,” said spokesperson Alisa Carroll. “What really needs to happen is a significant and large increase in the federal minimum wage — that would be a big boost for American families.”

Nevada Medicaid spent nearly $950 million on healthcare for more than 133,000 full-time employees and more than 140,000 of their dependents. While the total amount spent dipped in fiscal year 2025, the average cost per member per year increased by nearly 17%.

Yvanna Cancela, a former Nevada lawmaker who sponsored the legislation on Medicaid work reports, said the annual reports force an important conversation “about whether or not this is the kind of economy we want and whether or not it is right or just that people who work full-time don’t make enough to have health insurance.”

A Fraying Safety Net

Health researchers say that uninsured people delay or skip and that their children may end up losing coverage, too.

One analysis found that more than were enrolled in Medicaid and the Children’s Health Insurance Program this April than in January 2025. California is among the states with the among children.

The loss in healthcare coverage among residents will be compounded by the loss of public food assistance benefits, Smallwood-Cuevas said. is pending in the legislature.

She compared Medi-Cal to a trampoline that has become a “very tattered kind of fishnet” overwhelmed by people falling into it. President Donald Trump’s spending-and-tax law pulls and rips at the safety net, she said.

When people lose food assistance and health benefits, they must choose between paying for medicine and paying for rent, Smallwood-Cuevas said.

“We’re going to see more people in their cars, more people on the street, and a lot more people in the emergency room,” she said. “That is dangerous for all of California.”

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The Republican blasted California during back-to-back political attacks in May, saying the heavily Democratic state is committing “outrageous fraud” and “stealing” by spending state and federal Medicaid money meant for basic medical treatment on unconventional services such as housing and nutrition assistance, gym memberships, and even tribal prayers and, he claimed, exorcisms.

“The California Medicaid program will pay for herbal medicines, meal deliveries. They’ll pay for housing,” Kennedy said. “I don’t know what housing has to do with healthcare.”

“California, they’re just setting all kind of records,” he added. “They’re wild people.”

Despite criticism from congressional Republicans and growing scrutiny from the Trump administration, Gov. Gavin Newsom, a Democrat considering a presidential run, said he’s proud of California’s spending on social services in Medi-Cal, the state’s Medicaid program. It’s a multibillion-dollar experiment to help medically frail patients meet their housing, food, and other social needs that Newsom says is not only legal but also a more cost-effective and evidence-backed approach to providing healthcare for Californians with complex health conditions. He counters that investing in services outside clinical settings can help people avoid emergency rooms and hospital admissions, improve their long-term health, and ultimately save taxpayers money.

“It’s about whole-person care,” Newsom said, adding that he hopes President Donald Trump’s administration sees California’s leadership and agrees with the “reforms we’re advancing as national best practices.”

Now one of the governor’s marquee health initiatives is at the center of an intensifying partisan battle with Republicans in Washington, D.C., who have moved to rein in billions in healthcare spending on low-income and disabled people across red and blue states. It’s a philosophical divide: Conservatives say social services are a financial strain on Medicaid and shouldn’t be considered healthcare, while liberals argue that investing in prevention ultimately saves money. While experiments proliferated across the country under President Joe Biden, the Trump administration federal policy encouraging state Medicaid programs to address health-related social needs.

The Medicaid fight is putting patients in limbo.

Lucy Rodriguez teaches Mexican folk dancing in the town of Hollister, in California’s Central Coast region. She said her life turned around this year once an intensive case manager with Titanium Healthcare, which contracts with health insurers to provide services, began helping her manage her chronic diseases and stay on top of her medical appointments and prescriptions, even picking up free food boxes for her. The 73-year-old is on Medicare and Medi-Cal, which offers more extensive benefits. The low-income health program has helped pay her utility bills, and she was recently approved for home-delivered meals.

“This has been a godsend,” said Rodriguez, who has diabetes, high blood pressure, and kidney disease. “I was getting so stressed out and depressed. It’s really hard when you’re on a fixed income. Groceries are so expensive, and with summer, electricity gets even more expensive. But this is really improving my life.”

She worries the Trump administration will cut benefits to low-income older people.

Last year, the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services warned states that federal funding for social services would be determined on a . CMS spokesperson Christopher Krepich said the agency is not ending current agreements, known as waivers, that grant states temporary permission to provide social services, which are paid for with state and federal dollars. But future applications, for new services or to extend existing initiatives, could be at risk if they veer too far from traditional healthcare.

“Moving forward, CMS will work with states on innovative waivers that address core healthcare needs, as consistent with evidence-based approaches tied to clinical diagnoses and services, to the goal of ultimately improving health outcomes in the Medicaid population,” Krepich said in a statement.

In a further escalation, the Justice Department put out a allowing states to institutionalize people with disabilities and severe mental illness instead of providing community-based care. Republicans have also targeted states, mostly blue ones, for what they say is a failure to go after waste, fraud, and abuse in Medicaid. In May, CMS Administrator Mehmet Oz stood alongside JD Vance as the vice president announced the deferral of in Medicaid money to California over suspicions of fraud.

California Attorney General Rob Bonta said Republicans are simply trying to score political points while ignoring the healthcare needs of poor people. “The federal government wants to politicize fraud,” Bonta said, “and use it, unfortunately, as a bludgeon and a cajole to beat up on blue states.”

Social Healthcare

Health policy researchers say roughly are linked to socioeconomic, environmental, and behavioral factors, such as housing instability, homelessness, food insecurity, and exposure to violence, whereas 20% is associated with medical care delivered in hospitals and clinics. That evidence to tackle social services.

At least 24 states use their own money while drawing federal Medicaid funds for . Colorado, Massachusetts, New York, North Carolina, Oregon, and Pennsylvania are among those that provide housing and nutrition assistance.

As the Trump administration pulls back on social services, states are rethinking how to fund benefits that have improved preventive care for low-income people. Some have launched new benefits under what’s known as a state plan amendment, a mechanism states use to modify their Medicaid programs that doesn’t need federal waiver approval. and , for example, use this to add recuperative care for homeless patients after hospitalization. These short-term care facilities offer people the opportunity to recover, bridging the gap between hospital discharge and independent living.

This approach “has the advantage of establishing a permanent, statewide benefit that does not require ongoing federal renewals, offering greater stability and predictability,” said Lynn Sutfin, a spokesperson for the Michigan Department of Health and Human Services.

Other states, meanwhile, rely on federal waivers, which require renewal to provide social services. Arizona officials said the state intends to submit a request by the end of September to continue to provide housing and other services to homeless patients, or those at risk of homelessness, with a serious mental illness and a chronic health condition or recent incarceration.

“When members have access to stable housing and supportive services, they are more likely to engage in ongoing care and less likely to experience avoidable emergency department visits and inpatient admissions,” said Roberta Harrison, interim director of the Arizona Health Care Cost Containment System.

California, which has been the most aggressive state in adopting social services, has taken a two-pronged approach to keep its vast offerings funded past this year. The state is using its authority to make most of its existing social services and benefits permanent in Medi-Cal managed-care coverage. That regulatory maneuver bypasses federal waiver approval — a move that could attract further Republican scrutiny.

But not everything the state offers can be funded without permission from the federal government. As some services are made permanent, the Newsom administration is seeking new waivers to continue other social services, while also adding more.

It’s an ambitious approach that would expand California’s social healthcare experiment. Newsom said he’s worried that the federal government will decline the . “How could you not be with this administration?” he said. “I’m always concerned.”

New Front in Healthcare

California offers most of its health-related social services under within Medi-Cal, which has a proposed budget of . Although there are more than 14 million residents on Medi-Cal, the state has been selective about who gets help from in its program, called California Advancing and Innovating Medi-Cal, or . Patients with complex needs can also receive help navigating their health and social needs from specialized social workers under a benefit known as .

Since 2022, California has been offering social services, spending nearly $12 billion in joint state and federal money, long-term Medi-Cal spending by keeping enrollees out of costly institutions including emergency rooms, jails, nursing homes, and mental health crisis centers.

CalAIM had provided social services to more than patients as of September 2025, the most recent state data available. And nearly low-income Californians have received intensive . Some patients receive both services.

Among the services California is making permanent: Homeless patients can get help finding an apartment, with Medi-Cal paying rental and six months of rent. Patients with chronic conditions such as diabetes and heart disease are eligible for home-delivered meals. Asthmatic patients can get mold removed from their homes to control flare-ups. Low-income seniors with disabilities can get a wheelchair ramp installed free of charge. And inmates leaving jail or prison can be connected immediately with primary care, mental health, and substance use treatment.

The social services — especially housing, food assistance, and home modifications — are success in stabilizing the health of the most complex patients, while achieving savings for Medi-Cal through reductions in emergency room visits and hospitalizations and less reliance on institutional care such as nursing homes, the state Department of Health Care Services.

In the Central Valley, for instance, Health Plan of San Joaquin CEO Lizeth Granados said CalAIM has helped place homeless patients who were routinely hospitalized into housing. And patients with uncontrolled diabetes saw their blood sugar drop after receiving nutrition counseling and home-delivered meals.

Overall, Granados said, the health plan has seen major improvements in chronic disease management and reductions in hospital stays, dropping to 44 inpatient hospitalizations per 1,000 members since it launched in 2022, down from 61 per 1,000 before CalAIM.

In Orange County, officials with CalOptima Health credited CalAIM housing services for contributing to a nearly . “We’ve been able to expand our street medicine programs, too,” said Yunkyung Kim, the insurer’s chief operating officer.

Around the state, Medi-Cal health insurers said they’re optimistic that CalAIM will continue to save money and improve patient health. Yet, the fate of some services will be decided by the Trump administration.

California has asked CMS to continue enrolling jail and prison inmates in Medi-Cal 90 days before their release to maintain consistent treatment for substance use, mental disorders, or physical conditions, a .

The state has also proposed a new job assistance benefit that counties could opt into to help patients find and retain work in response to upcoming federal work requirements imposed by congressional Republicans’ One Big Beautiful Bill Act, signed by Trump last summer.

And the state wants to continue its array of traditional healers and natural helpers for Californians with tribal affiliations, including music therapy, dancing, drumming, and referrals to sweat lodges for mental health treatment and substance use recovery. While it covers spiritual services, such as ceremonies, rituals, and herbal remedies, state officials said Medi-Cal does not cover exorcisms.

Already, the Trump administration’s positioning has forced the state to eliminate room-and-board benefits, which is threatening local efforts to provide recovery beds.

The state is cutting short-term post-hospitalization housing, which was meant to prevent hospitals from or those at risk of homelessness onto the streets. The CalAIM service providing up to six months of temporary housing and ongoing care is ending at the close of this year. And the state is cutting recuperative care benefits, no longer paying for beds for patients to recover from illness or injury, instead offering only wraparound services.

In San Francisco, these beds have been crucial in reducing overdose deaths, helping transition homeless people off the streets and into housing, and reducing hospital bed usage, said Neal Sheran, a medical director with the city’s Department of Public Health. The city’s health plan operates a sobering center, and recuperative care facilities where patients can recover from hospitalizations.

“We’re concerned,” Sheran said. “Funding for the overnight piece of these programs is really crucial to their success.”

Cuts on the Horizon

Even without federal threats, state budget pressures have strained CalAIM financing. Newsom has proposed for social services by $68.3 million this fiscal year. The cut will deepen next year and remain at $150.2 million per year beginning in 2028.

Providers worry that Medi-Cal patients will lose access. And services, such as home-delivered meals and housing assistance, will be further restricted.

“It’s moving us back to the old days where our healthcare system is more expensive and reactive, instead of investing in prevention,” said Anwar Zoueihid, a vice president and the chief strategy officer at the Los Angeles-based Partners in Care Foundation, a CalAIM provider. “It’s contradictory to Make America Healthy Again.”

To save money, the state is tightening eligibility to limit services and . For instance, Medi-Cal patients with food insecurity would no longer be eligible for home-delivered healthy meals without a qualifying condition like diabetes. And a homeless patient would get capped at six months for help finding an apartment.

Some of the biggest providers of CalAIM say services should be continuously evaluated and curtailed if health plans were too permissive. In some cases, food and housing services were given to low-income patients who didn’t necessarily qualify as the highest-need.

“It’s important everybody takes a look with a very sober view at whether we’re truly benefiting people so we’re spending money in the right places,” said Charlie Robinson, the chief health equity officer at L.A. Care, one of the state’s largest Medi-Cal health insurers.

Dorothy Seleski, the Medi-Cal president for Health Net, said the health insurer isn’t deterred by state and federal cuts.

“Regardless of what happens at the federal level, we are committed,” she said. “This is a significant transformation of the healthcare system, and we are already seeing major reductions in avoidable emergency room trips, avoidable hospital admissions, and we’ve closed gaps in preventive care.”

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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.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Fractured System

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

She died by suicide after we had separated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Each year, Amgen, which makes the drug, called , sent the coupon card worth thousands of dollars, and that counted toward Gruber’s health insurance deductible and out-of-pocket maximum.

Using the card, Gruber usually met that maximum by February, leaving his health insurance to fully cover his in-network medical costs and reducing his cost for the drug to $0 for the rest of the year.

But this year, his new health insurer, , pocketed the coupon card and required Gruber to pay for the drug until he satisfied the cost-sharing requirements on his own.

If Oscar Health had applied Amgen’s coupon toward Gruber’s cost sharing, he would have been on the hook for about $3,000 in covered services. Without it, he had to use his savings to meet the plan’s $10,600 out-of-pocket maximum.

“The real insult here is that they’re taking the money that’s intended to help you,” said Gruber, who had planned to buy a home next year with his savings. “I feel desperate, pressed against the wall, and squeezed.”

Oscar Health is one of many commercial health insurers that use what are often called copay accumulator programs to keep funds that are meant to defray patients’ out-of-pocket costs for expensive specialty drugs. Over the past decade, more insurers have to reduce their prescription drug costs, according to Avalere Health, a consulting company.

Patients who rely on copay assistance from drugmakers are typically heavy users of healthcare for whom delays in treatment or worsening conditions can lead to higher costs, according to patient advocates.

, Florida market president for Oscar Health, did not comment on the specifics of Gruber’s case. He said the company uses copay accumulators to manage rising medical and prescription costs and “to keep monthly premiums as low as possible.”

Drugmakers argue that insurers and pharmacy benefit managers use copay accumulators and other strategies to delay or deny care and steer patients toward medicines that insurers prefer instead. Insurers counter that coupon cards and other patient financial assistance from drug manufacturers drive up premiums and encourage patients to use higher-priced, brand-name drugs instead of less-expensive generics.

Meanwhile, patient advocates say it’s difficult for consumers to find out if their plan uses a copay accumulator or to understand how they work. Not only do the programs make medications unaffordable for consumers, critics argue, but they allow insurers to double-dip.

“They’re collecting the money twice and they’re hurting patients,” said , executive director of the HIV+Hepatitis Policy Institute, a patient advocacy group.

“Why does it make a difference to Oscar if they get the money from a drug company or, you know, his mother or him?” he said of Gruber’s experience. “They’re still getting the money.”

Controlling Costs or Harming Patients?

Not all insurance types use copay accumulators. Medicare and Medicaid prohibit copay assistance because federal anti-kickback laws forbid drug manufacturers from offering financial incentives to influence patients’ choices. And the Internal Revenue Service prohibits such help for high-deductible plans with health savings accounts. But individual and commercial group plans can use them.

Regulation of copay accumulator programs has fallen largely to states, which oversee individual and small-group plans sold on the Affordable Care Act marketplace.

For 2026, of ACA marketplace plans have such a program, according to a review from The AIDS Institute, a nonprofit group that opposes the programs. Of the 16 insurers that sell plans on the marketplace in Florida, 10 use copay accumulator programs, the review found.

Patients who take brand-name specialty drugs for conditions such as autoimmune disorders, multiple sclerosis, diabetes, HIV, and cancer are most likely to encounter these programs. Health insurers say that making patients share the costs for specialty drugs encourages them to choose value over brand.

But Gruber doesn’t have a choice because there is no medically equivalent generic for Enbrel. Gruber’s livelihood as a trainer depends on his athleticism. The weekly injections, which he has to take for the rest of his life, prevent his joints from getting stiff. When he was diagnosed in 2010, Gruber said, he couldn’t shake hands or lift his knee to get into bed. Without treatment, he said, “I ache from my neck down to my toes.”

If manufacturers priced their drugs affordably, patients like Gruber wouldn’t need financial assistance, said , a senior vice president for AHIP, a trade association representing insurers.

“Drugmakers offer short-term ‘discounts’ to justify overcharging Americans in the long term, driving up healthcare costs for everyone,” he said in a statement. “Research shows limiting copay coupons can reduce premiums and lower consumers’ out-of-pocket costs.”

Sarah Ryan, a spokesperson for Pharmaceutical Research and Manufacturers of America, a trade association for the pharmaceutical industry, said copay assistance helps patients access medications free of charge or at reduced cost.

“Health insurance is supposed to protect patients,” Ryan said, adding that insurers and pharmacy benefit managers that refuse to count copay assistance toward cost sharing are “leaving patients facing unexpected costs and disrupting their care.”

Insurance companies already have tools to control costs without keeping financial assistance intended for patients, said , deputy executive director for The AIDS Institute.

Insurers choose what drugs to cover, whether they are medically necessary, and if a patient must try a cheaper alternative first.

“They are the ones making the decisions,” Klein said. “Now the individual is left trying to figure out how they’re going to pay for it.”

Consumers Stuck in the Middle

Before moving to Florida in 2024, Gruber said, he had bought coverage on the ACA marketplaces in Illinois and Louisiana, which prohibit copay accumulators. Gruber said he hadn’t encountered one until his experience with Oscar Health.

He complained to the office of Florida’s insurance consumer advocate, which informed him that the practice is legal in the state and that Oscar Health had disclosed its use of a copay accumulator program. Page 127 of his 168-page evidence of coverage states, “Third party assistance will not count towards your out-of-pocket maximum or deductible.”

Gruber said he selected his coverage using a tool on that listed all the Florida ACA plans that cover Enbrel. “I always choose the one with the highest deductible to get the lowest premium,” he said, “because I know I’m going to meet it.” His monthly premium is about $315 after subsidies.

Adding to Gruber’s confusion, he said, was that his patient portal with Oscar Health was counting his coupon card at first. He said he met his out-of-pocket maximum in February, and in March Oscar covered all the cost for the medication.

But when he ordered his refill for April, the pharmacy told him that Oscar would cover only $1,000 of the medication’s cost for that month. He would have to pay the remaining $6,700.

Gruber then received a letter from Oscar Health, telling him that an incorrect amount had been applied to his deductible.

“They sent me a letter that basically stated they made a mistake,” he said. “The fact that they’re allowed to sort of change things midstream is also, I think, a little galling.”

He began rationing the injections, taking them every other week instead of weekly. By May, he had dipped into his savings to pay for the drug.

States Step Up While Federal Oversight Stalls

The first state laws banning copay accumulators were adopted in 2019, and since then more states have moved to regulate the programs, said , public policy director for the Alliance for Patient Access, an advocacy group.

“The goal is to build upon that progress at the federal level and to continue to drive this momentum forward,” he said.

Twenty-six states, Washington, D.C., and Puerto Rico have adopted laws banning copay accumulators or prohibiting them for drugs that do not have a generic equivalent. Colorado also prohibits copay accumulators for drugs without a biosimilar. In states that have not banned or restricted the programs, insurance companies decide whether to use them.

But federal regulation of the programs, which would apply to all states, remains at a standstill.

A federal court in 2023 struck down a policy enacted during President Donald Trump’s first term that had permitted insurers to use copay accumulator programs. As a result, the Department of Health and Human Services reverted to that restricts their use to brand-name drugs with a medically appropriate generic equivalent.

After the court ruling, the Biden administration pledged to address copay accumulators in future rulemaking. But HHS has yet to do so, said Schmid, whose group, the HIV+Hepatitis Policy Institute, led a coalition of patient advocacy groups that sued to overturn the rule.

“The Trump administration can stop this once and for all at the national level,” Schmid said. “If they really care about patient affordability, this is something they can do.”

Bipartisan legislation in Congress called the would require financial assistance to count toward deductibles and other out-of-pocket costs on plans regulated by the federal government, including much employer-sponsored coverage.

Schmid said the bill has not gotten “enough traction on the Hill yet.”

Other ways to obtain medication don’t help patients facing copay accumulators either. The president’s , an online platform through which consumers can buy prescription drugs at a discount, requires patients to pay out-of-pocket, and the cost does not count toward their plan’s cost-sharing requirements.

Christopher Krepich, a Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services spokesperson, said that HHS, along with the departments of Labor and the Treasury, intend to address the issue of whether copay assistance must apply toward health plan cost sharing.

Until then, he wrote, “the Departments do not intend to take any enforcement action against health insurance issuers or group health plans based on their treatment of such manufacturer assistance.”

Outside of government regulation, consumers have few protections or alternatives.

Patients who rely on expensive medications — and who have a choice in their health insurance plan — should research their coverage options and choose wisely so they’re not caught by surprise, Clingham said.

That may mean reading plan benefit explanation packages, contacting their state’s insurance regulator, or calling an insurance company to ask if their plans use copay accumulator programs.

For Gruber, the extra expense means he won’t take a vacation this year. He’s also concerned that the money he was saving for a home will now go to his medication costs instead.

“It’s the first thing I think of when I wake up in the morning,” he said. “If this happens every year, it would be financially devastating.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Under a law enacted last year, five of Indiana’s largest nonprofit hospital systems cannot charge patients covered by job-based health plans more than an established price cap. Hospitals that fail to keep prices below the threshold by 2029 risk losing their tax-exempt status — which would mean owing millions of dollars in state taxes.

Even before that penalty kicks in, the law requires these hospitals, which control nearly half the state’s hospital market, to offer direct-to-employer contracts — bypassing insurers — and stay within limits set by the state. Hospitals that don’t comply face a $10,000-a-day penalty.

Many other Indiana hospitals must comply with this provision beginning in September.

Indiana’s law comes amid growing frustration with rising insurance costs and hospital prices, the of growing healthcare costs.

Government price controls, of course, are nothing new in healthcare. Since the mid-1960s, the federal government has set prices it pays hospitals for treating Medicare enrollees, as states do for Medicaid patients. Those two government programs cover more than 135 million people nationwide.

But hospitals face no such government limit on what they charge for the more than 165 million Americans covered by employer-paid insurance.

Indiana isn’t the only state targeting hospital prices. Vermont also limits how much hospitals can charge for people covered by employer plans.

Washington and Oregon have made similar attempts, on a smaller scale, targeting state employee health plans. Oregon’s hospitals cannot charge the state employee plan more than two times the Medicare rate for services. This caps the state payment for a service at $200 if Medicare pays $100. Within the first two years, the plan saved more than $100 million.

Legislation has been proposed in Colorado and New York to enact similar price controls.

Hospital leaders and other opponents of price controls argue that the strategy doesn’t address the root causes of high hospital prices, such as rising labor, drug, and technology costs, and that the caps will force hospitals to cut services. Another challenge is that few employers contract directly with hospitals.

On most policy issues, Indiana and Vermont likely agree on very little, “except for this is one area where they both see that hospital prices are high,” said Brown University economist Christopher Whaley.

Wielding state power to control prices is a strategy typically led by Democrats. But Mike Braun, the Republican governor who helped muscle through the changes over the objections of the Indiana hospital industry, said the healthcare system is too broken to leave alone.

“Government has to intervene, because healthcare is run like an unregulated utility,” he told ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News.

The five Indiana nonprofit hospital systems involved are Ascension St. Vincent, Community Health Network, Franciscan Health, Indiana University Health, and Parkview Health.

The price cap will be based on the statewide average for inpatient and outpatient hospital prices. Indiana will use Medicare as a yardstick by which to measure commercial prices, a comparison commonly used by researchers. This will show how much higher commercial prices are than the government program’s.

By June 30, the state is expected to issue a report showing average hospital prices in the state and where individual hospitals fall on the spectrum.

For years, have found that Indiana hospital prices are some of the highest in the nation.

The , produced in November, found three of the five nonprofit hospital systems exceeded a voluntary benchmark when excluding practitioner services, such as doctor fees.

However, all five hospital systems were below the voluntary benchmark when doctor services were wrapped into the overall score. This finding illustrates how prices for doctor visits may obscure overall hospital prices by bringing down the average, researchers and lobbyists for employers told ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News.

Rand researchers found that while Indiana is home to some of the highest-paid hospitals, its doctors are among the lowest paid in the nation. That’s partly because the doctors don’t have the same negotiating leverage as the handful of large health systems.

This disparity has sparked a debate over which prices should be used to calculate the upcoming cap. Including doctor services would likely allow hospitals to keep prices high because they would be offset by low doctor prices, said Whaley, who has co-authored Rand’s pricing reports. This would let hospitals off the hook from doing the work to “move the needle” on lowering prices, he said.

Indiana Hospital Association President Scott Tittle said it’s unfair to exclude doctor services.

Hospitals often acquire physician practices to help drive admissions, . But Tittle said it also helps keep doctor offices open and preserves access for residents. That comes at a cost, he said.

“We know it is absolutely part of the complete cost of care,” Tittle said.

Despite the hospital lobby’s efforts, Tittle said, the state will exclude doctor services from the cap.

Regardless, Tittle said it’s unnecessary to put price caps in state law. “Hospitals can and have done the hard work to reduce their pricing,” he said.

For employers, rising healthcare costs are a headache. They’re unpredictable and make it difficult to budget each year.

Doug Bawel, chairman of Jasper Holdings, an automotive parts company based in Jasper, Indiana, has tried various strategies to wrestle high healthcare costs. For his workers, he’s purchased diabetes drugs from New Zealand and housed on-site health clinics.

Under the law enacted last year, Indiana hospitals must offer direct contracts to employers for a variety of procedures priced at or below 260% of what Medicare pays for hospital care. That’s setting a ceiling at slightly more than 2.5 times what Medicare pays.

Bawel expects the state’s price controls on direct deals to significantly strengthen his negotiating leverage with hospitals. He belongs to a consortium of southern Indiana employers that buy services directly from area hospitals.

This move represents a departure from the status quo for the business lobby. Ashton Eller, a healthcare lobbyist for the Indiana Manufacturers Association, said the group generally opposes government price controls. But it believes this is a step in the right direction, he said.

“Is this a silver bullet that will bring down prices overnight? We don’t pretend it is,” he said.

No matter what happens in the Hoosier State, Indiana’s experiment with price controls has attracted attention.

“As employers and states are dealing with double-digit premium increases, there is tremendous interest in healthcare affordability, and what happens in Indiana is being closely watched by many states and Washington, D.C.,” Whaley said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On a call with reporters in December, Oz said “one of the smartest things the president and Congress” did when creating the program was to create a threat of “clawbacks,” or taking money back if states don’t do what they promised in their applications.

Oz went on to describe how the clawback mechanism gives governors leverage to press their legislatures to adopt the Trump administration’s priorities, such as instituting the presidential fitness test in schools.

“This gives you extra umph, a little bit of gusto to go after these issues,” he said.

That message was received loudly and clearly in Tennessee. Michael Hendrix, policy director for the governor’s office, said during a hearing that federal officials said the state “would be more competitive for more funding through policy change.” He said CMS also relayed that “some share of this year’s funding, if policies are not implemented, might be clawed back.”

The threat of rescinding funding has caused fear and confusion among health organization leaders, said Alan Morgan, CEO of the National Rural Health Association.

“We’re worried that facilities and organizations won’t apply for the grant money because of the fears of the clawbacks,” he said, adding that he would like the administration to clarify if federal officials could take back grant money that states have already awarded to rural health organizations.

While clawbacks are a “necessary, important tool” to address misuse of funds and ensure the money goes toward helping rural communities, they are also “a dangerous tool,” said Morgan, whose organization represents rural hospitals and clinics.

CMS did not respond to multiple requests for comment.

States must file progress reports . They then have to commit their first-year funding and Sept. 30, 2027, to spend it.

States are progressing at wildly different rates, with some still developing grant applications and others already distributing money, created by Morgan’s rural health association.

In late January, Iowa became . The tracker shows that most states have opened grant applications, but 11 others, including Wyoming, Maine, and Colorado, have yet to post any funding opportunities.

CMS’ tight control over state programs is one reason for such disparity in progress.

Instead of typical grants, the rural health program uses cooperative agreements, which require a back-and-forth partnership, said Charlie Sagona, a grant specialist at Assel Grant Services, a consulting firm that helps organizations manage grants.

“You are going to be working very, very closely with them; things will ebb and flow and change and move,” said Sagona, who is helping several large hospital systems interested in winning some of the rural funding.

Kate Sapra, deputy director of CMS’ Office of Rural Health Transformation, said at a May event that the agency has “many avenues of oversight.” Staffers are tracking applications for state funding and “looking to see when contracts are executed,” she said.

Sapra said the agency wants to “have conversations with states before they get to the point” of putting out something that’s not allowed. It’s “really important to us” for the funding to reach rural providers, she added.

Sapra said her office has filled about half of 30 new slots for project officers. The officers and the states check in “at least twice a month, if not on a weekly basis.”

Vermont Medicaid Director Jill Mazza Olson, who led her state’s rural health application, said the officers are “very responsive.”

Vermont is one of the states that had to ditch or tweak its plans. Olson said the state pulled its plan to increase housing for rural healthcare workers after federal officials said they would evaluate the proposal based on the agency’s guidelines for construction projects at healthcare facilities. Those rules allow only “minor” renovations to existing buildings or campuses.

In Colorado, state leaders changed grant eligibility rules after they “received feedback” from CMS and healthcare providers, said Marc Williams, a spokesperson for the state’s Department of Health Care Policy and Financing.

Wyoming legislators and state officials spent months designing, discussing, and voting on a plan to invest most of its award into a perpetuity fund that could have generated $28.5 million for the state to spend every year, “forever,” according to .

The state had to pull the idea because it “was a degree too innovative for CMS to swallow,” said Republican state Sen. Charles Scott, a veteran lawmaker and cattle rancher. “This whole thing has been a bit of a disappointment to us in Wyoming.”

Stefan Johansson, director of the state’s health department, said Wyoming’s final spending plan wasn’t approved until mid- to late May. He said the department hopes to begin awarding money in late summer or early fall.

“Make no mistake — it is a very compressed timeline,” he said.

Across the country, Maine was forced to rework its plan to reimburse hospitals and clinics when they provide to certain uninsured patients.

Letourneau said during her March remarks that federal officials rejected this idea because “provider payments had to be more directly linked to a rural transformation kind of activity.”

Lindsay Hammes, a spokesperson for Maine’s health department, told ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News that funding will instead help providers transition to reimbursement models that aren’t based on how many patients they treat.

Reworked plans call for spending $28.5 million to support providers, Letourneau said in March.

“But there definitely will be more strings attached.”

ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News correspondent Darius Tahir contributed to this report.

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

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

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

“My energy is really limited,” she said.

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

‘A Breakthrough Moment’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You Need A, B, and C’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hotly Debated, Seldom Used

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The New Old Age is produced through a partnership with .

This article first appeared on ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News and is republished here under a .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Brazen Indifference to Really Obvious Problems’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Surge in Cases

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Watching Loved Ones Deteriorate

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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A Stroke on a Video Call

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Impossible Choices

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

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

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

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

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

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

Methodology

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This report is a collaboration between The Associated Press and ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News.

This article first appeared on ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News and is republished here under a .