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 <a target="_blank" href="/courts/ice-immigration-detention-medical-care-neglect-court-records-ap-investigation/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">KFF Health News</a> and is republished here under a <a target="_blank" href=" Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.<img src="/wp-content/uploads/sites/8/2023/04/kffhealthnews-icon.png?w=150&quot; style="width:1em;height:1em;margin-left:10px;">

At least that’s the way many Democrats see it.

They have seized on the situation to charge that the U.S. is ill prepared to respond to outbreaks — let alone a pandemic — after President Donald Trump and funding for public health infrastructure and pandemic preparedness. Infectious disease specialists have called on the White House to reverse cuts and rejoin the World Health Organization.

The White House, meanwhile, is on the defensive, trying to reassure a pandemic-weary public that the federal government can still mount effective responses to infectious disease outbreaks.

The FDA and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention as part of an effort led by billionaire businessman Elon Musk and the Department of Government Efficiency, or DOGE, that also resulted in the cancellation of billions of dollars in federal contracts and grants.

“These outbreaks are unfolding at a time when the U.S. public health infrastructure is under significant strain,” said , an emergency medicine physician and former Baltimore health commissioner. “The CDC currently lacks a director, the FDA lacks a director, there is no surgeon general, and many leaders with outbreak response management experience have left the federal government.”

The U.S. government has and is monitoring potential exposures to hantavirus after an outbreak on a cruise ship. It is also implementing new restrictions for foreign travelers amid an Ebola outbreak in Uganda and the Democratic Republic of Congo that has grown to more than . While neither situation is seen as likely to become a global pandemic, Democrats and infectious disease leaders have seized on the outbreaks to criticize the effects of the DOGE cuts and other administration public health policies.

The hantavirus cluster occurred on the , an expedition ship that left Argentina on April 1 for a monthlong sojourn with almost 150 people aboard. The earliest cases, including two deaths, were on May 2. infected passengers have died. Hantavirus is typically spread to people from rodents, but this version, known as the , can be passed person to person.

The Ebola outbreak has captured public attention, though no cases have been confirmed in the U.S. The virus — a rare strain called Bundibugyo, against which there are no proven vaccines or treatments — spread undetected for weeks, prompting WHO Director-General Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus to say he’s concerned about the “” of the outbreak. , including a doctor exposed to the virus, were evacuated to Germany by the U.S. State Department.

This <a target="_blank" href="/public-health/ebola-hantavirus-trump-cuts-federal-response-infectious-disease-usaid-africa/">article</a&gt; first appeared on <a target="_blank" href="">KFF Health News</a> and is republished here under a <a target="_blank" href=" Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License</a>.<img src="/wp-content/uploads/sites/8/2023/04/kffhealthnews-icon.png?w=150&quot; style="width:1em;height:1em;margin-left:10px;">

“I’m freaking out,” said Wood, who lives in a 1,700-square-foot home in Terryville, a village just outside Bristol, Connecticut. “I don’t understand it.”

Wood, 52, had weight loss surgery at Bristol Hospital in 2022, hoping it would help with her sleep apnea and the pain in her knees and back. Before scheduling the procedure, she checked with her insurer, she said, and was told the surgery would cost $5,000 out-of-pocket. She paid in advance.

More than six months later, Bristol sent Wood another bill that pushed the cost of her surgery to more than $17,000. Wood said she tried to dispute the charge. The hospital sued her.

“That’s ridiculous. I was told so many times by Aetna: ‘$5,000 out-of-pocket,’” Wood said. “I never would have had the surgery had I known it was going to cost almost 20 grand.”

Wood is among more than three dozen Connecticut patients the Connecticut Mirror and ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News interviewed over the past year who were sued by their hospital or physician over unpaid bills.

The patients include teachers, small-business owners, a postal worker, a retired nursing home aide, a nurse, and a hotel bellhop. Most had jobs and health insurance. Nearly all said they wanted to pay what they owed.

Patients taken to court described baffling bills, confusing health plan rules, and frustrating and fruitless telephone calls to hospital billing offices and health insurers’ customer-service lines. Even when they tried to resolve their outstanding bills, many said they couldn’t get answers.

Their experiences encapsulate breakdowns in the healthcare system that trap patients in debt. Health insurance didn’t cover care for reasons they couldn’t understand. Several patients did not qualify for financial assistance from providers, despite modest incomes. If they committed to pay, patients were hit with liens on their homes or interest payments and court fees that piled new debt onto their medical bills.

The industry’s key players blame one another for a broken system. Providers say insurers’ saddle patients with massive bills even when they have coverage. Insurers say at rates that outpace inflation.

Meanwhile, patients are stuck with the fallout. In 2022, about carrying medical or dental debt.

“It’s bad enough that I have bad health and have to pay mountains of medical bills,” said Samantha Mantiera, whom Danbury Hospital sued in 2024 over $10,000 she said she was erroneously charged. “Then to constantly be dealing with incorrect bills and then a lawsuit on top of it took me over the top.”

Mantiera said she spent months trying to explain to the hospital and then a collection agency that her insurance statements indicated she owed just $260. She was sued anyway.

After Mantiera contested the lawsuit, Danbury Hospital withdrew it, court records show.

Mantiera said she and her husband now travel up to an hour from their Brookfield, Connecticut, home to avoid hospitals owned by Danbury’s parent company, now called Northwell Health.

Kathy Holt, who leads the state Office of the Healthcare Advocate, said that in the past several decades healthcare has only gotten harder for patients to navigate. The agency fields thousands of calls every year from residents looking for help with medical billing questions.

“I’ve talked to too many people who have just given up,” Holt said. “The system has been made so hard for them, and I feel like it’s deliberate.”

‘They Would Not Talk to Me’

Debt collection lawsuits against patients have declined in Connecticut since 2019, a CT Mirror-ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News analysis of state court records found. And court records show most Connecticut hospital systems have stopped suing patients, including the state’s two largest systems, Yale New Haven Health and Hartford HealthCare.

Most hospitals stopped suing patients during the covid-19 pandemic as they reevaluated their collection practices, said Sarah Ginnetti, chief revenue cycle officer at UConn Health. The system ceased lawsuits in 2022, records show.

“In some of those circumstances, it just felt misaligned with our mission as an organization,” Ginnetti said. “For the small handful of cases that we might gain some type of legal victory, we really didn’t feel as though that would be our best path forward.”

Yale New Haven Health and Hartford HealthCare would not discuss why they stopped suing patients, instead issuing statements about their financial assistance programs.

Scores of medical providers — including physician groups, dentists, and hospitals — , data shows. The CT Mirror-ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News analysis found more than 1,500 healthcare-related debt cases filed in Connecticut courts in 2024.

This included lawsuits by Bristol Health, an independent local health system that includes Bristol Hospital, and Nuvance Health, a chain of seven hospitals recently acquired by Northwell Health, a multibillion-dollar system based in New York.

Nuvance hospitals filed over 4,000 collection lawsuits from 2019 to 2024, records show. Over the five years, the health system accounted for more than a quarter of the roughly 16,300 medical debt collection lawsuits against patients identified in state court records.

Hospital officials and other medical providers say they try to work with patients who have trouble paying their bills. Nikki Schulz, chief revenue officer for Northwell’s Connecticut hospitals, said in a statement that years ago the system “eased” its collection practices, leading to a “precipitous decline” in medical debt referred to collections.

“We fundamentally retooled our approach to align with industry best practices,” Schulz said. Records show the health system sued about 200 patients in 2024, down from 2,200 in 2019.

Healthcare executives also say they have a responsibility to try to collect.

“I don’t have a choice,” said Bristol Hospital CEO Kurt Barwis. “What we’re trying to do is sustain a mission of taking care of this community.”

Bristol Health is one of Connecticut’s most financially strained systems, and executives are currently in talks with the administration of Democratic Gov. Ned Lamont about an . The proposed deal is, in part, an effort to keep the hospital afloat.

Barwis said the hospital has taken steps to help patients with unexpected bills, including enlisting financial counselors to reach out to patients before elective procedures to discuss cost and financial assistance.

But Wood, who was sued by Bristol, said no one from the hospital talked to her before her surgery. When she called the hospital after receiving the $12,000 bill, she said she was told there was nothing they could do because her insurance had denied the claim.

“They would not talk to me about it,” Wood said. “They wanted their money.”

Bristol spokesperson Albert Peguero also blamed Wood’s insurer and said the hospital worked with Wood as she went through numerous insurance appeals with Aetna.

Wood didn’t fare any better with Aetna. It turned out that her health plan covered only $15,000 worth of bariatric surgery, meaning she was responsible for any bills that exceeded that.

Aetna spokesperson Shelly Bandit said Wood had been notified of this provision, though Wood disputes this.

The back-and-forth with the hospital and the insurer enraged Wood. But after she was sued, she concluded she had no more options. She settled with Bristol, agreeing to pay the full balance on a payment plan of $150 a month, court records show. Under the agreement, it would take Wood almost seven years to pay off the debt.

Last year, Wood faced additional financial challenges after her mother died and her husband lost his job and was unemployed for six months.

Wood said she’s regained about a third of the 100 pounds she lost after her surgery because of the stress. Some months she pays Bristol less than $150. In January, the hospital placed a lien on her home.

“We don’t have savings. We don’t have the extra money. We’re living check by check,” Wood said. “We’re working-class people trying to make a living, trying to do the right thing. And we always get screwed.”

‘I Don’t Have Hours on End’

It’s difficult to know how many medical debt lawsuits arise from disputed bills. But most U.S. adults with healthcare debt say they’ve received a bill in the past five years that they thought contained an error, according to a .

The prevalence of disputed medical bills is one reason many advocates for patients say hospitals and other healthcare providers shouldn’t sue people they treat.

“Understanding insurance to begin with and then navigating denials or bills that are not plainly understood leaves patients stuck in an opaque system where they have the least leverage and power,” said Eva Stahl, a vice president of Undue Medical Debt, a nonprofit that has worked with states to buy and retire debt — including for more than 150,000 Connecticut residents.

“Patients understandably are left with questions and confusion,” Stahl said.

Timothy Bigham, who owns a construction company and was sued in 2023 by Danbury Hospital, said he never understood why he was billed more than $64,000 after he was hospitalized following a 2019 heart attack.

Bigham, who lives in Danbury, Connecticut, said he was insured at the time. But soon after he got home, Bigham began getting regular calls from the hospital. He was told his insurer wasn’t paying the bill because he refused to “release medical records,” he recalled.

“I had insurance when I had the heart attack, but it’s my job to get the insurance company to pay?” Bigham said. “I’m self-employed. I work in construction. I don’t have hours on end to sit on the phone trying to talk to somebody at an insurance company.”

Bigham said he ultimately “stopped dealing with it” because he didn’t know what else to do.

Then, in 2023, Danbury Hospital sued him. A judge dismissed the case in 2025, citing the hospital’s “failure to prosecute with reasonable diligence,” according to court records. But by then, the alleged debt had devastated Bigham’s credit score, tanking it by over 100 points, he said.

Northwell’s Schulz declined to comment on any specific patient cases, citing privacy laws.

Connecticut barring medical debt from consumer credit reports.

A handful of states have tried to protect patients from lawsuits through limiting when hospitals can pursue legal action. Illinois, for example, prohibits lawsuits against uninsured patients who prove they can’t afford their unpaid bills. Nevada, New York, North Carolina, Maryland, and Virginia prohibit liens and foreclosures for medical debt.

‘It Was a Nightmare’

Dominique Jean Pierre was equally surprised by the $20,000 bill he got after he was hospitalized at Norwalk Hospital with a urinary tract infection in July 2020.

Jean Pierre, 66, had worked for nearly two decades as a bellhop at a Hilton hotel in Stamford owned and operated by Atrium Hospitality, a Georgia-based company. When he got sick, the hotel was temporarily closed because of covid lockdowns.

What Jean Pierre didn’t realize, he said, was that the hotel had also cut off employee health benefits. He said he was told by the hospital that he’d be responsible for the bill.

“It was a nightmare,” he said.

Jean Pierre said he begged his manager for help but was told there was nothing the company could do. Atrium Hospitality did not respond to requests for comment.

Two years after Jean Pierre’s hospitalization, Norwalk Hospital sued him for more than $20,000, court records show.

Jean Pierre said he tried twice to apply for financial assistance, but the hospital told him he and his wife made too much to qualify, even though his medical bills totaled almost a quarter of their annual income of about $87,000.

With nowhere to turn, Jean Pierre settled with Norwalk Hospital, now part of the Northwell system, in 2025, agreeing to pay the full bill in $100 monthly installments, records show. At that rate, he will be paying off the debt until 2042.

After the settlement, he said, the judge encouraged him to reach out to elected officials to try to get the debt canceled. Jean Pierre was exhausted.

“He says to me, ‘You have to go to your senators. Go to the governor.’ I said, ‘That’s too much. [I’m just going to] let it go.’”

Jean Pierre has left the Hilton and now works as a personal care attendant, as does his wife. But he said it still nags him that businesses and healthcare providers received millions of dollars in government aid during the pandemic, while he was left with $20,000 in medical debt.

“They gave money for the hotel. They gave money for the hospital. They gave money for a lot of stuff,” he said. “But we don’t see none.”

‘I’m Not Trying To Run Away’

Other patients said they felt trapped, even if they tried to do the right thing.

Deneen Brown, who runs a small daycare out of her home in Norwalk, was sued by Norwalk Hospital in 2024 for $7,200 over bills she allegedly incurred “on or about 2019 and 2020,” according to the lawsuit.

Brown said she was stunned by the lawsuit, as she believed she’d had health insurance at the time. But as a small-business owner who took pride in maintaining good credit and staying on top of her finances, she said she committed to taking care of it.

“I’m not trying to run away from something that may be my responsibility,” Brown said. “If you say I owe it, I’m going to figure it out, and I’m going to pay it.”

In January 2025, she agreed to a nearly 13-year payment plan of $50 a month, court records show. Often she pays more, she said.

The following month, the hospital placed a lien on her home. Brown said she never realized the hospital would continue to penalize her, even after she agreed to a payment plan.

“Had I known that, I would have never settled,” she said.

This article was produced in partnership with , a statewide nonprofit newsroom that covers public policy and politics.

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Recently divorced, the former stay-at-home mother had started working again in her mid-40s, taking a human resources job that paid $41,000 a year. Then, despite having insurance, she was hit with more than $8,000 in medical bills.

“I had my car and a basket of clothes,” Roberts recalled. “Medical bills were not something I could have afforded.”

Roberts sought financial assistance from CentraCare, the St. Cloud-based health system that treated her. It’s a nonprofit charity that receives millions of dollars in federal, state, and local tax breaks. In exchange, it’s obliged to offer charity care to patients who can’t afford their medical bills. But Roberts said CentraCare told her she made too much to qualify.

Roberts instead scrimped on groceries and Christmas gifts for her kids and paid off more than $6,000 over two years. Then CentraCare sued her last year because she hadn’t paid off all the debt.

“They’re supposed to be a nonprofit,” Roberts said. “It’s like, ‘Come on!’”

CentraCare earmarks a tiny fraction of its budget for helping patients with medical bills they can’t pay, but it’s not alone, a Minnesota Star Tribune-ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News investigation found.

Minnesota’s hospitals and health systems are among the least charitable in the country, the investigation found, providing less financial aid as a percentage of their operating budgets on average than hospitals in almost every other state, including Illinois, Iowa, Nevada, and Texas.

The investigation drew on a detailed review of every hospital charity care program in the state, an analysis of five years of hospital financial data, and dozens of interviews with patients, hospital executives, and state officials.

Nationally, hospitals spend an average of about 2.4% of their operating budgets on charity care, according to federal hospital data compiled by Hossein Zare, a researcher at Johns Hopkins University. Minnesota hospitals spend about a third of that, on average.

Some spend considerably less. Of Minnesota’s 123 general hospitals, 62 devoted less than 0.5% of their operating budgets to charity care from 2020 through 2024, the Star Tribune-ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News investigation found.

“The system is not working,” said Erin Hartung, director of legal services at Cancer Legal Care, a Minnesota nonprofit that helps patients with medical debt and other financial challenges. “And the burden is falling hardest on the people who are least able to bear it.”

CentraCare’s flagship St. Cloud Hospital spent less than 0.25%, according to the analysis. That works out to $25 in patient aid for every $10,000 spent on hospital operations.

Charity care will become even more vital in coming years as Minnesotans lose health coverage or can’t afford rising copays and deductibles. The state’s uninsured rate rose sharply last year, since 2017, and it’s expected to increase further as budget cuts pushed by President Donald Trump force states to pare Medicaid and other safety net programs. Charity care is also critical to many people with health insurance who can’t afford their bills.

Hospital officials say it’s unfair to expect them to solve this affordability problem when many of their facilities are financially strained. “No amount of charity care from hospitals will ever fully meet the needs of uninsured or underinsured Minnesotans. The need is simply too great,” Minnesota Hospital Association spokesperson Tim Nelson said in a statement.

But state Attorney General Keith Ellison said hospitals have a duty to boost charitable help for all needy patients in exchange for the tax breaks they receive.

“There is a benefit you get from being a nonprofit hospital in the state of Minnesota,” he said. “But do the people get the benefit?”

Several small Minnesota hospitals give financial aid to fewer than two dozen patients a year. Mahnomen Health Center, which recently converted to a rural emergency center, didn’t provide any charity care in eight years, despite serving one of Minnesota’s . Other hospitals serving large low-income populations were among those providing the least charity care, the analysis found.

Several factors help explain why Minnesota hospitals provide so little financial aid. For one, job-based insurance and an expanded Medicaid program offer broad coverage. Hospitals in states with less government assistance and more uninsured people typically spend more on charity care.

But Minnesota patients also face significant barriers accessing financial aid at many hospitals, including inconsistent eligibility standards and extensive applications, the Star Tribune-ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News investigation found.

To qualify at many hospitals, patients must submit detailed personal information, including bank statements, retirement accounts, mortgage documents, and estimates of other assets such as cars, homes, or livestock.

And because Minnesota has not standardized the criteria for charity care, patients might receive aid at one hospital but not another. The investigation found that some hospitals give free care to patients with an annual household income of $47,000, while others cap it at about $15,000.

Had Roberts driven 30 miles east to Princeton or 35 miles north to Little Falls, she would have found medical providers with more generous financial aid policies than CentraCare. But she didn’t know to look.

Roberts, now 49, has remarried and lives in a split-level home in St. Cloud decorated with inspirational plaques such as “Faith, Family, Friends.” CentraCare recently dropped the lawsuit against her, but only after she took out a loan against her retirement plan to pay off the medical debt. “It just feels very unfair,” she said.

‘We Have To Defend Being Paid’

CentraCare spokesperson Karna Fronden said medical privacy laws prevented her from discussing Roberts’ case. She also declined interview requests about the health system’s charity care spending.

In a statement, Fronden said CentraCare provides assistance in addition to charity care, such as helping enroll patients in insurance. “This helps provide broader, longer-term protection for patients,” she said.

Other hospital leaders said they serve their communities in ways besides forgiving medical bills, including training doctors and nurses and preserving money-losing services such as obstetrics and mental health care.

“Rural hospitals like ours are often portrayed as though we are sitting on piles of cash and simply choosing not to spend it on charity care. That is far from the reality,” said Robert Pastor, chief executive of Rainy Lake Medical Center in International Falls.

“We are the second- or third-largest employer in town, running on razor-thin margins while navigating escalating labor and supply costs and routine underpayment by public programs,” Pastor said. “Meanwhile, many health insurers post billions in profits.”

Hospitals typically are paid less for care provided to Medicare and Medicaid patients. More than 80% of Rainy Lake’s patients are on one of those government programs.

Minnesota hospitals collectively write off about $200 million of what’s deemed bad debt every year after trying unsuccessfully to collect unpaid bills from patients through calls, letters, and even lawsuits. By comparison, they devote about $163 million annually to charity care, state figures show. In 2024, hospitals collectively posted $2.4 billion in net income.

“I feel like I’m put in the position, being the hospital, where we have to defend being paid,” said Patti Banks, the head of Ely-Bloomenson Community Hospital and a senior Minnesota Hospital Association board member.

Some hospitals face intense financial pressures. Thirty-one have lost money on operations in four of the past eight years. HCMC in Minneapolis — the state’s largest safety net hospital, which provides the most charity care — is losing so much money that, without additional taxpayer support, .

But larger health systems such as Mayo Clinic, Essentia Health, and Sanford Health have remained financially sound. And the operating margins at most CentraCare hospitals exceeded 10% in 2024, state data shows.

Medical Debt’s High Toll

Nationwide, health care debt — much of it from hospitals — burdens an estimated 100 million people, increasing their stress and even leading to premature deaths, .

Abby Kelley-Hands, a special education coordinator in St. Paul, has a rare immune condition that causes frequent, severe allergic reactions. Her illness can be controlled only with a costly drug, which a Mayo Clinic doctor prescribed.

When Kelley-Hands briefly lost health coverage in 2021 in an insurance mix-up, she was hit with more than $20,000 in bills. And although she and her husband earned less than $100,000 a year, Kelley-Hands said Mayo denied her financial assistance because she earned too much.

“I was in tears,” Kelley-Hands said. “It was so scary and so hard. And it causes all of this additional stress, which then makes you sicker and less able to even figure things out.”

Kelley-Hands and her husband sold a car and agreed to a payment plan before Mayo would resume her treatment, she said. Her husband now bikes 5 miles to work. They have no dishwasher. And she and her husband took a honeymoon only last fall, seven years after their wedding. “We live very simply,” she said.

Mayo spokesperson Kristyn Jacobson declined to discuss Kelley-Hands’ case.

In 2024, state lawmakers from denying care to patients with outstanding debt. And in 2025, Attorney General Ellison reached an agreement with Mayo to overhaul its charity care program after an investigation found the multibillion-dollar institution was systematically discouraging patients from applying.

After the state began investigating Mayo, the system’s , topping 1.5% of operating expenses in 2024.

‘Optimized To Get Payment’

Complying with a 2023 , Minnesota hospitals now post their financial aid policies online, although several, including CCM Health in Montevideo and Northfield Hospital, did so only after being contacted by the Star Tribune or ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News.

But many hospitals make financial aid more difficult to find than information about paying bills, said Jared Walker, founder of Dollar For, a nonprofit that helps patients nationally apply for charity care.

“Hospitals have optimized to get payment,” he said. “If you want to get on a payment plan, if you want to get on a credit card, it’s so easy.”

Glacial Ridge Health System in Glenwood posts a “Bill Pay” tab at the . But it takes several clicks to find the hospital’s financial assistance plan. The information couldn’t be found on the site searching for “charity care” or “financial assistance.” The public hospital 130 miles northwest of Minneapolis devoted less than 0.7% of its operating budget to charity care from 2019 to 2024.

Patients in interviews frequently said they weren’t told about charity care.

Joe Robling, 29, was treated at St. Francis Regional Medical Center in Shakopee for a broken pelvis and fractured spine after a 2024 motorcycle accident. His mother, Janet, who helped him navigate the bills, said the hospital never informed him about financial aid.

“They didn’t offer any of that,” she said.

Robling, a construction worker in Henderson, was between jobs and uninsured. “He had zippo,” Janet Robling said. “What he had in reserves were all depleted.”

The Allina Health-affiliated hospital billed him more than $19,000, the Roblings said.

An internet ad connected the family to Dollar For, which helped Robling qualify for charity care five months after his accident.

Allina spokesperson Jennifer Steingas declined to comment on the case, citing medical privacy restrictions, but said the health system has since reached out to the family.

In another case, M Health Fairview’s University of Minnesota Medical Center didn’t offer financial aid to an unemployed and uninsured man from Idaho while he was hospitalized for two months for psychiatric care and amassed $150,000 in bills.

Attorney Margaret Henehan, who represented the man, said the hospital instead offered him a two-year payment plan at $6,500 a month. “He had no income, which he told Fairview,” Henehan said.

The man, who is not identified because of his mental health condition, eventually received charity care after his sister, a doctor, reached out to Henehan for help.

Aimee Jordan, a Fairview spokesperson, said she couldn’t comment on the case because of patient privacy laws, but she said patients who are offered payment plans can always apply for charity care, even after a hospitalization.

A Maze of Standards

State law prohibits hospitals from making “unreasonable” demands of patients when they apply for charity care. But the law sets few specific standards.

The result is a dizzying array of policies, including 11 income thresholds used by Minnesota hospitals to determine whether patients qualify for free care, the Minnesota Star-Tribune-ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News review found.

HCMC parent company in Minneapolis and Olmsted Medical Center in Rochester offer the highest threshold for free care, at — almost $48,000 a year for an individual.

Sometimes standards vary even between neighboring hospitals. Madelia Health in south-central Minnesota to patients who make less than twice the federal poverty level. About 13 miles away at Mayo’s hospital in St. James, can qualify for aid.

To determine eligibility, some Minnesota hospitals consider only income, but most demand information about patients’ bank accounts as well. More than two-thirds require even more information, including the value of retirement accounts, life insurance policies, property, and vehicles. Madelia’s “may be required to sell recreational vehicles.”

Stringent requirements ensure that limited resources go to patients who need them, said Travis Olsen, chief executive of Hendricks Community Hospital, near the South Dakota border. “We don’t feel it’s fair for someone with lower annual income but yet owns numerous acres of land, debt-free, to be able to qualify for charity care.”

In addition to copies of tax returns, W-2 forms, pay stubs, and bank statements, 53 questions about their finances. These include questions about the make, model, and value of vehicles; the current market value of farm equipment, livestock, and land; and the purchase price and square footage of homes.

Other hospital applications ask patients to detail their monthly spending on food, utilities, and other medical bills.

Olsen said community pressure is more of a deterrent to applying for aid than the application: “People are too proud to pick up an application. We all know each other.”

But Walker at Dollar For said the biggest barrier is complexity. “The drop-off rates are much higher the more questions you ask and the more documentation you have to provide,” he said.

Arleen Mullenax had a cancerous tumor removed from her neck at Mayo in Rochester. Assembling her aid application and following up with the hospital billing department amid her “cancer fog” was almost more than she could take, she said.

“I knew as a former office manager I had to stay on top of it,” she said. “But it was the most daunting thing I had to do as a patient.”

Fixing the System

Ellison and several state lawmakers say Minnesota’s hospitals should make it simpler for patients to access charity care.

They’ve called for, among other things, common eligibility standards and a standard application across hospitals. New York and Maryland already have both.

“Eliminating as many barriers as possible for people is really important,” said state Sen. Liz Boldon, who also said she hopes lawmakers can enact these standards next session.

The Minnesota Hospital Association has opposed standardizing financial assistance, saying hospital boards are in the best position to assess the need for charity care in their communities. “Adding mandates for providers across the state will not close that gap, and will only increase bureaucratic and procedural barriers to patient care,” spokesperson Nelson said.

Ellison also has pushed to require hospitals to use a process that automatically screens and qualifies low-income patients for financial aid without requiring an application.

Some hospital systems, including South Dakota-based Sanford Health, already use software that checks patients’ eligibility based on information such as their credit history, said Nick Olson, the system’s chief financial officer. At Sanford Health’s 10 hospitals in Minnesota, about a quarter of the patients who receive financial aid get it this way, he said.

Nearly all Sanford hospitals devote more than 1% of their operating expenditures to charity care — higher than most hospitals in the state.

Screening software can be costly. Several executives at small Minnesota hospitals said they can’t afford it. But there are other options. In California, Los Angeles County is developing a public system to allow hospitals to quickly assess patients’ eligibility so they don’t have to buy a system themselves.

Other states — including Texas and Nevada — have laws requiring hospitals to provide minimum amounts of charity care.

Back in St. Cloud, Roberts said that when she drives past CentraCare’s $200 million expansion at its Plaza campus in St. Cloud, she wonders why Minnesota hospitals don’t live up to higher standards themselves.

“They have all the money,” she said. “But they can’t grant a good person some grace?”

Minnesota Star Tribune staff writers Bill Lukitsch and Victor Stefanescu contributed to this report.

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No surprise. About are “worried about being able to afford prescription drug costs for themselves or their families,” a recent KFF nationwide poll showed. More than 80% consider the price of prescription drugs “unreasonable,” and most support increased regulation to lower costs. Americans pay about three times as much as people in other countries for the same prescription drugs.

Last July, Trump sent letters to 17 drugmakers, demanding they voluntarily lower drug prices. Then the president said he’d negotiated one by one at the White House. In December, that he had compelled them to agree to on Medicaid, the government coverage for low-income Americans.

Then came the , a site where cash-paying patients could find discounted medicines, and a promise to speed biosimilar products — generic versions of certain high-priced specialty drugs — by cutting through FDA red tape.

The scope of these grand gestures remains uncertain. But it’s certainly less than what the announcement promised, partly because many details of the negotiations, even which drugs are covered, are hazy.

White House spokesperson Kush Desai did not answer queries about TrumpRx.

Medicaid already buys drugs at deep discounts. And other patients may well have better options through commercial drug discount programs, which offer far more products, or through their insurance and associated drug company copayment cards.

So, for all Trump’s showmanship, the share of Americans likely to benefit from these options remains slim, even if some people do come out ahead.

“If it makes a difference to any patient, it’s a win,” said Mark Cuban, a billionaire investor on his own mission to bring down drug prices. He pointed to discounted pricing on TrumpRx for branded fertility drugs and GLP-1 weight loss drugs for people without insurance or whose plans don’t include coverage. Cuban launched the Mark Cuban Cost Plus Drug Co., known as Cost Plus Drugs, in 2022 to sell drugs cheaply by eliminating middlemen — buying from factories and selling directly to consumers. Most of the drugs he sells are generics.

Aaron Kesselheim, a professor of medicine at Harvard Medical School whose research focuses on drug prices, said the Trump announcements are “one-off agreements made for publicity purposes. They don’t change anything about the way drugs are priced.”

He added: “The agreements are opaque and unenforceable.”

It was unclear, for example, which drugs would be sold at “most favored nation” prices or how exactly that was defined. But, clearly, not all were.

Doing the Math

46brooklyn, a consulting firm and data project that tracks brand-name drug prices, found that close to 1,000 brand drugs went up in price in January 2026. What’s more, 2025 had the highest number of list price increases ever. “This is not a material change, it’s business as usual,” said Antonio Ciaccia, the company’s co-founder.

In the first week of 2026, Pfizer raised the list prices of 71 drugs by an average of 5% and lowered the price of only one, by 9.8%, the data project found.

The biggest win for patients has likely been the Trump administration’s quiet continuation of a Biden administration program: Medicare drug price negotiation for expensive drugs. The negotiated discounts on the — from blood thinners to insulins to medicines for inflammatory disorders — went into effect Jan. 1. With reductions in price of on some products, the estimated $6 billion in annual savings allowed the program to cap Medicare patients’ out-of-pocket spending on Part D prescription drugs at $2,000 for 2025 and beyond.

An additional 15 high-priced drugs — including popular weight loss and cancer drugs — were subject to negotiation in 2025, with discounted Medicare prices taking effect next year. And 15 more high-priced drugs are . All told, the 40 negotiated drug prices are expected to save Medicare well over $20 billion a year.

Even as these discounts take effect, drug industry lobbyists have been working to limit the impact, with some success. For example, the One Big Beautiful Bill Act from negotiations.

Still, “this is historic because it’s the first time the United States has negotiated prices, like every other developed country,” Kesselheim said. “And guess what? Innovation didn’t stop.”

Of course, these discounts benefit only Medicare enrollees. The newer Trump administration initiatives help some other patients, but they are limited and require knowledge of how to access the discounts.

Trump’s One-on-Ones

The president’s televised appearances with the heads of major drug companies resulted in deals, but few, if any, will mean much to patients. For example, after Trump met with Albert Bourla, CEO of Pfizer, the company announced discounts on 30-plus drugs. Bourla “a win for American patients, a win for American leadership, and a win for Pfizer.”

The discounts are offered via TrumpRx, which, in turn, offer coupons co-branded on GoodRx.com, which already offers discount coupons for many hundreds of medicines.

Pfizer made hay of the deal, announcing it was part of Pfizer’s broader, landmark with the U.S. government, enabling patients to pay lower prices for their prescription medicines “while strengthening America’s role as the global leader in biopharmaceutical innovation.”

Pfizer spokesperson Steven Danehy cited a press release from September noting that the TrumpRx site offers patients savings that “range as high as 85%.”

Most of the list features brand-name drugs, competing with far cheaper generic versions from other manufacturers, such as the cholesterol-lowering drug Colestid, which TrumpRx lists for “50% off” at $127.91. Generic versions cost about $17 on the Cost Plus site.

This means the branded companies aren’t making a sacrifice by offering them at lower costs as reflected on Trump’s portal, said Sean Tu, a patent law expert at the University of Alabama. “That’s a sale they would not have made if not for TrumpRx.”

Others are very old drugs, such as Cortef, or hydrocortisone, whose 5-milligram branded Pfizer version is listed at $45 on TrumpRx, half its list price of $91.80. It sells for far less on Cuban’s Cost Plus site. Still others, such as the $607.20 HIV treatment Viracept, are useful only in combination with other drugs that are not discounted.

Last week, TrumpRx added AbbVie’s Humira, for years the world’s best-selling drug, at $950 a dose, down from a list price of nearly $7,000. But Humira lost its patent protection in 2023, and biosimilars — essentially generic equivalents — have since come to market. More to the point, two of those biosimilars are listed on TrumpRx for as little as $207.60 a dose.

Since most of the TrumpRx products are available only to customers without insurance who pay cash, the arthritis drug Xeljanz’s drop from $2,277 to $1,518 a month would still leave it unaffordable.

A Few Notable Deals

The much-touted TrumpRx site, launched Feb. 6, consists largely of Pfizer’s 30 drugs (30 of roughly 85) with a smattering of discounts likely to generate headlines.

These include three fertility drugs from EMD Serono, a subsidiary of the pharmaceutical giant Merck KGaA, the most expensive of which, Gonal-F, has a list price of $966 but is only $168 per IVF cycle using a TrumpRx coupon.

They will save women thousands of dollars — although the overall cost of fertility treatment will continue to put them beyond the reach of many, since drugs represent only a portion of the payment.

The TrumpRx discounts could reduce the $15,000-to-$25,000 cost of a single fertility treatment cycle — women typically need two or three cycles to become pregnant — by about 10%, said Sean Tipton, spokesperson for the American Society for Reproductive Medicine. In some European countries, each cycle costs about $3,000.

In exchange for lowering those prices, EMD Serono got tariffs lifted on its mostly overseas-produced medications. It also won the right to a sped-up FDA approval process for a fertility drug it’s been marketing heavily in Europe.

Another newsworthy offering on the site resulted from a deal with Novo Nordisk for Wegovy, its GLP-1 drug for weight loss and diabetes, with the price reduced to as little as $199 a month for the pen. (Many insurers cover such drugs only for diabetes, leaving those who are interested in losing weight paying out-of-pocket. Zepbound, Wegovy’s Lilly & Co. competitor, is also on the list, at $299.)

Pressure has been building on Novo and Lilly to lower the U.S. price of their GLP-1 drugs. The compounds have lost patent protection in India, and pressure from customers buying overseas will likely increase when generic Wegovy goes on sale in Canada, for as low as $73 a month, possibly this year.

In the United States, meanwhile, dozens of patents should keep Wegovy generics off the market until 2039, said professor Robin Feldman, a patent expert at the University of California Law-San Francisco. A from the research group I-Mak delved into several ways patent manipulation keeps generics off the U.S. market long after they are available in European countries and Canada.

And while the Trump administration has vowed to approve biosimilars more rapidly to ensure more competition and lower prices, that may not have much impact. The big hurdle in getting generics and biosimilars to market is often not FDA approval, but the time it takes to override the thickets of patents that U.S. law allows manufacturers to deploy to protect their intellectual property.

For example, in 2021, the FDA approved a generic of Otezla, a popular drug for psoriatic arthritis, but it will not hit the market until 2028. Its entry would to Medicare if they charged the program more than other developed countries for “single source” drugs and biologics. That would essentially allow the Medicare program to piggyback on other countries that negotiate the prices of some of the most expensive medicines. Those programs are still going through the rulemaking process and, again, would benefit only those covered by the Medicare program and only indirectly.

The average patient-consumer, if willing to pay cash, may find some bargains. But getting the best deal could take a lot of mixing and matching, forcing patients to become choosy shoppers, eyeing deals for essential medicines as they would for a carton of milk or eggs.

Data reporter Maia Rosenfeld contributed to this article.

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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.”

Someone in America dies by suicide every 11 minutes. It’s that common. But not normal.

Humans have evolved over centuries to survive. So when people try to kill themselves, something has gone wrong. Typically, the assumption is that something happened in the person’s mind — a mental illness.

But in recent decades, there’s been a growing movement to ask a different question: What went wrong in the world around that person?

For Chris Pawelski, it was a torrent of factors. His dad — one of his best friends, whom he worked with daily for decades — was diagnosed with renal cancer and died six months later. Pawelski was left as the primary caregiver for his mom, who had dementia.

His family’s in New York’s Orange County — where he first worked as a 5-year-old, collecting onions that fell out of crates — was hemorrhaging money. Pawelski said he was growing roughly $200,000 worth of crops some years but took home only about $20,000, unable to negotiate higher prices with wholesale buyers that dominated the market.

Debt to suppliers and equipment vendors piled up, and the burden strained his marriage. He had little time for friends, working sunup to sundown seven days a week, desperately trying to preserve his family’s legacy.

“It’s all stuff collapsing down upon you,” he said. “It’s weeks, months, years of dealing with all sorts of pressures that you can’t alleviate.”

Pawelski started wondering what it would be like to get hit by a truck on the busy road in front of his house. “You think you’re already on your way out, so why wait?” he said.

Millions of Americans have , and tens of thousands . Suicide repeatedly ranks among the — making the U.S. an .

Prevention efforts have typically focused on connecting individuals in crisis with treatment — despite therapy and medication being , the healthcare system , and a consensus that suicide is caused by a , including but not limited to mental illness.

Now, many people working to prevent suicide, including some who have tried to harm themselves or lost a loved one to it, are calling for a broader approach. Some were galvanized by the covid pandemic, when rates of — not because everyone’s brain chemistry suddenly changed but because the world changed. That led many to believe that, while treatments and crisis care are vital, the goal of suicide prevention needs to expand beyond stopping people from dying to also giving them reasons to live.

“It’s not rocket science,” said , a psychologist and internationally recognized suicide prevention researcher who lost her brother to suicide. If “you have happier, healthier people, they live longer, happier lives.”

That means suicide prevention shouldn’t be limited to answering hotlines or treating patients in psychiatric wards, she said. It should also involve running food banks to ensure families don’t go hungry or hosting weekly book clubs for homebound seniors to make friends. It can take the form of school programs that build resilience in children or housing policies that prevent evictions.

shows these — even if they don’t have the words “mental health” or “suicide” in the title — can reduce the number of people who kill themselves. They often lower rates of crime, addiction, and poverty, too.

The U.S. has lagged other countries in adopting this approach, Spencer-Thomas said, perhaps because it’s easier — and more politically palatable — to tell someone to go to therapy than it is to enact sweeping policy changes, such as an .

“As long as we have that convenient narrative that it’s just a bunch of broken people needing medicine and treatment, then we’re never accountable for fixing the broken things in our communities,” Spencer-Thomas said.

The Trump Administration’s Approach

Overhauling suicide prevention efforts to focus on broad social and economic policies might seem overwhelming and unrealistic — especially right now. This approach requires large upfront investments that lack across-the-board support, either because of budgeting realities or ideological bents.

President Donald Trump and his appointees have said little about suicide directly, but many of their policies do the opposite of what shows .

The administration has championed and the that are projected to leave and in coming years. It has injected uncertainty into the economy through , , and . It has for school-based mental health initiatives, gutted federal programs that focus on at-risk blue collar workers, and . (Suicides are the in America.)

“All of these changes are creating a firestorm,” said , the chief advocacy officer for the National Alliance on Mental Illness. They can cause “extreme stress and anxiety” in people’s lives, she added, and “when people feel desperate, that’s when crises can emerge.”

Federal health officials insist that suicide prevention remains a priority.

, director of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s injury center, said the agency is focused on creating systems that can support people “no matter what may be happening” in the world around them. “There’s always going to be turmoil in people’s lives,” she added.

Arwady and , who leads suicide prevention work at the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration, said several of the Trump administration’s priorities align with an upstream approach.

For example, they said, its could help address the , since exercise is proven . Similarly, people who are homeless have , and the administration has been . Federal officials have also encouraged , and research shows members of faith communities are .

However, the Trump administration has made at and and has for , leading to questions about whether or how this work will continue.

A History of Medical and Crisis Care

Suicide prevention reached the national stage in the late 1990s, said , who worked at the CDC for 15 years before joining the , a nonprofit focused on teen and young-adult mental health.

As suicide rates grew among young people, a group of government officials, clinicians, and advocates gathered in Reno, Nevada, in 1998 to discuss the pressing issue. Over the next few years, the surgeon general and the federal government published its .

These documents acknowledged the role of society and economics in suicide risk but focused heavily on identifying people in crisis and increasing access to medical treatment.

Those are critical steps to suicide prevention, many mental health researchers and clinicians say. They’re also politically favorable. For elected officials, who have a few years to demonstrate their achievements before the next campaign, it’s easier to count the number of people receiving therapy than the number of people who never developed suicidal thoughts because long-term economic and social investments helped them maintain steady jobs and strong friendships.

The push for individual treatment also comes from a pervasive misconception that suicide is always the result of an underlying mental illness, said , who is the senior director of population health at Mental Health America and contributed to a .

Although how many people who die by suicide — with estimates from to — the takeaway is that mental illness is not the sole cause, Reinert said. That means treating it can’t be the sole response.

Plus, mental illnesses can be by life circumstances. Treating depressive symptoms without looking at factors such as childhood trauma, the loss of a loved one, or being laid off from a job is an incomplete approach, many mental health researchers and clinicians say.

The covid pandemic, especially, made people in the field recognize “we really need to address all of these conditions that are creating stress, anxiety, and crises,” Stone said.

In July 2022, the federal government — a shorter number for the national suicide crisis line, meant to provide an alternative to 911 for mental health emergencies.

, who led federal work on 988, said the infusion of money and attention on the hotline helped states build better crisis response systems, from centers that answer calls to mobile crisis units.

But that’s not enough to solve America’s suicide problem, she said. “You’ll never be able to build a system based on crisis alone.”

Help for the Farm and the Farmer

Pawelski, the onion farmer in New York, hit his breaking point in 2020.

He had a decent crop that year, but Canadian exporters were into American markets, making it difficult for him to sell his product.

“I was having to beg people” to buy, he said. And when he managed to sell, prices were comparable to prices in the 1980s.

By the end of the season, he had incurred losses of a few hundred thousand dollars.

He said he and his wife decided, “We couldn’t afford to grow onions again.”

The idea that his family’s onion farm would end with him was “soul-crushing,” Pawelski said. He lost weight rapidly and thought about ending his life.

He and his wife called for help. Founded at Cornell University in 1986, the free program connects farmers with two consultants: a financial analyst specializing in farm planning and a social worker focused on emotional concerns and family dynamics.

The financial specialist helped Pawelski develop a new business plan. Instead of farming onions for wholesale, he could grow greens, tomatoes, peppers, and eggplants at a small scale to sell directly to consumers. He could upgrade an old truck with a cooler and deliver produce to people’s doors. He would supplement that income with teaching, speaking engagements, and other work that took advantage of his master’s degree in communications.

The social worker helped him accept that new reality — equally crucial, Pawelski said. “If you’re pissed off” about the change, “no matter what kind of proposal or idea they have, it’s not going to go anywhere.”

The adjustment took months. Pawelski also saw a therapist during that time.

Then one day a neighbor noted that Pawelski seemed much happier. That “caught me off guard,” Pawelski recalled. He didn’t realize his inner transformation was so apparent.

Today, Pawelski’s business has stabilized, and he and his wife are paying down debt. Pawelski advocates for programs to help farmers’ mental health and address their .

That can mean crisis hotlines and access to affordable therapy, Pawelski said. But what he really wants are policy changes that help farmers get fair prices for their produce, debt relief, and the installation of broadband internet in rural areas so farm families and employees can be connected.

“We need to think broader and longer-term than a helpline,” he said. That’s “a band-aid on a gunshot wound.”

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But physicians, dentists, ambulance companies, and other health care providers are still taking their patients to court, a Connecticut Mirror-ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News investigation of state legal records shows.

Lawsuits by doctors and other nonhospital providers now dominate health care collections in Connecticut, the records show, accounting for more than 80% of cases filed against patients and their families in 2024.

That’s a major reversal from just five years earlier, when hospital system lawsuits made up three-quarters of health-related collection cases in the state’s courts.

The shift is moving medical debt collections into a less regulated realm. Most hospitals, because they are tax-exempt nonprofits, must make financial aid available to low-income patients and follow federal regulations that limit aggressive collection activities. Other medical providers, such as private medical groups, are generally exempt from these rules.

The lawsuits are typically over bills of less than $3,000, but the impact on patients can be devastating. Lawsuits are among the most ruinous byproducts of a health care debt problem that burdens an estimated 100 million people in the U.S.

Lawsuits can lead to garnished wages, liens on homes, and hundreds of dollars of added debt from interest and court fees. They also pile additional financial strains on struggling families, prevent patients from getting needed care, and sap trust in medical providers.

“It’s really messed up,” said Allie Cass-Wilson, a nurse in Bristol, Connecticut, who was sued over a $1,972 debt by an OB-GYN practice where she’d been a patient years earlier. “How can they do that to people?” She did not contest the lawsuit, court records show.

Cass-Wilson, who is 36 and lives in a small apartment just off an expressway on-ramp, said she learned of the outstanding debt only when she was sued. When she tried making an appointment, she said, she was told her doctor wouldn’t see her. “They said I was blacklisted,” Cass-Wilson said. “I was so confused. I couldn’t believe that my medical provider let my care be interrupted like this.”

Cass-Wilson ultimately sought medical care elsewhere.

Radiologists, Dentists, Ambulances

Overall, CT Mirror and ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News identified more than 16,000 health care-related debt cases in Connecticut courts from 2019 to 2024. The database was assembled from online court records with the help of January Advisors, a data science consulting firm that helped extract and sort the data.

Over the six-year period, most of Connecticut’s more than 25,000 did not pursue patients in court for outstanding balances.

But records show that more than 400 medical providers, including several hospital systems, sued their patients. Among those filing lawsuits were radiologists, anesthesiologists, eye doctors, podiatrists, allergists, and pediatricians.

Dentists, periodontists, and other dental providers filed more than 1,000 lawsuits against patients. And ambulance companies sued more than 140 people.

Med-Aid, a company based outside New Haven, Connecticut, that provides orthopedic braces and other medical supplies to patients, sued more than 400 people, the court records show. The company’s president, Frank Dilieto, did not respond to repeated interview requests.

Cass-Wilson was sued by Briar Rose Network in Bristol, Connecticut, a member of a large network of OB-GYN practices across Connecticut called Physicians for Women’s Health. The network’s members sued close to 100 patients in 2024, records show.

Paula Greenberg, CEO of Women’s Health Connecticut, a private equity-backed company affiliated with Physicians for Women’s Health that manages business operations for the network, said the lawsuits represent a small fraction of the more than 300,000 patients the network sees every year.

“This is an organization committed to patients,” Greenberg said. She noted that the group offers options to help patients pay, including installment plans and financial aid.

Geoffrey Manton, president of Naugatuck Valley Radiological Associates, said his practice also will work with people who say they can’t pay. But, he said, patients sometimes stop responding to their bills.

“Hiding from your problems isn’t going to solve them,” Manton said. “If we didn’t take any action, there could be that person that is in that late-model Mercedes that just chooses not to pay any bills.” The group sued more than 125 patients from 2019 to 2024, according to the court records.

Many medical providers say that aggressive collections stem from the growing prevalence of high-deductible health plans that leave patients with thousands of dollars of bills before their coverage kicks in.

Greenberg and Manton said each of their physician groups must collect. “This is a business,” Greenberg said. “We have to look at our operating costs.”

Critics of medical collection lawsuits note that the patients are typically sued over relatively small debts that are likely to have little impact on multimillion-dollar medical practices.

The average patient debt that members of Physicians for Women’s Health sued over in 2024 was less than $1,100, court records show. The physician group’s annual revenues are typically in the tens of millions of dollars, according to Greenberg.

Even relatively small debts — which often include interest — can place substantial burdens on families struggling to keep up with their bills, especially while dealing with a serious illness, patient advocates say.

“We don’t have a realistic choice in using health care,” said Lisa Freeman, who heads the Connecticut Center for Patient Safety and has advocated for patients struggling with medical bills. “To then get sued for it, when people have less and less funds available for anything extra, that’s very disheartening.”

A Stroke, Then a Lawsuit

Matthew Millman, 54, lost his job as an IT support worker after having a stroke. Then Meriden Imaging Center sued him over an $1,891 bill.

Millman and his wife said they tried to explain their financial situation to the center, which is affiliated with Midstate Radiology Associates, a large physician group that operates imaging centers and doctors’ offices across Connecticut.

“It was very frustrating,” said Millman, who lives in an aging apartment owned by his wife’s family in New Britain. Millman, his wife, and their teenage daughter are barely getting by on his two part-time jobs — one bagging groceries, the other helping homebound seniors. Together, the jobs pay about $1,500 a month, he said.

The imaging center, after winning the collection case against Millman, tried to garnish his wages, though that was unsuccessful because Millman had lost his IT job.

“It’s all about money,” Millman said, shaking his head. “If you are trained in helping somebody with their health, it shouldn’t be about the money first. It should be about their health.”

Court records show that Midstate Radiology, Meriden Imaging Center and affiliates filed more than 1,000 collection lawsuits against patients from 2019 to 2024, making them the most litigious nonhospital providers in the state. As is common in medical debt lawsuits, the plaintiffs prevailed in most cases, records show.

Midstate president Gary Dee, a radiologist, didn’t respond to emails and messages left at his West Hartford office.

Across town from Millman’s apartment in New Britain, Joseph Lentz lives in a cramped apartment with his wife and daughter. He used to oversee operations at a Boy Scout camp but is now unemployed. Lentz lost his job during the pandemic. The family home went into foreclosure, he said.

In 2023, Orthopedic Associates of Hartford sued Lentz over a $3,644 bill the practice said he owed after having shoulder surgery in 2018.

“I’d pay it if I could, I guess,” said Lentz, 59. “But I don’t even know where next month’s rent is coming from. I’m trying to climb out as best I can. I guess this is just one more thing to shovel in.”

The orthopedic group filed more than 580 lawsuits against patients from 2019 to 2024, prevailing in most, records show.

The medical group declined interview requests. But chief executive David Mudano said in a statement: “As an independent physician practice, we strive to balance compassion for patients with the financial responsibility required to sustain our practice.”

Old Debts and Disputed Claims

Lentz, who did not contest the lawsuit, said he has no reason to doubt he owes the debt. But in many cases reviewed by CT Mirror and ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News and in interviews, patients being sued questioned the accuracy of their medical bills, citing care they thought health insurance should have covered or, in some cases, bills for services they never received.

This reflects with aggressive collection tactics like lawsuits when disputes over the accuracy of medical bills and delayed or denied insurance claims are so widespread in American health care.

A by the federal Consumer Financial Protection Bureau found that nearly half of the medical debt complaints fielded by the agency involved bills that consumers said were erroneous in some way or that consumers said they’d already paid.

“We know people are billed incorrectly,” said Lester Bird, who studies debt collection lawsuits at the nonprofit Pew Charitable Trusts. Bird noted that courts are ill equipped to sort through disputed medical charges or insurance claims, especially when there is little documentation in most debt collection lawsuits.

“It’s complicated before it gets to the courts,” Bird said, “and it’s very complicated when it gets into the courts.”

This can create headaches for physicians and other providers. But billing problems ultimately affect patients and their families most, said Connecticut state Sen. Saud Anwar, a Democrat who is also a physician. “Patients are left to deal with it.”

Andrew Skolnick, an attorney in Milford, outside New Haven, was sued in 2023 by an imaging center where his wife had received services in 2020.

Skolnick said that when the couple, who were covered through his job-based insurance, originally received the bill from Diagnostic Imaging of Milford, he tried to tell the imaging center it had submitted the claim to the wrong insurance plan, but he said they wouldn’t speak with him.

The center later filed the lawsuit, alleging he owed more than $2,000, plus almost $300 in interest.

Despite interview requests, officials at Diagnostic Imaging of Milford did not comment for this article.

Unlike most patients who are sued, Skolnick had the resources and expertise to contest the suit. He said he offered to pay what would have been his responsibility under the plan if the imaging center had filed his claim correctly. He ultimately settled for $1,700, court records show.

“It wasn’t a tremendous amount, but I knew that they had made a mistake,” Skolnick said. “The system is not working.”

More Protections?

Anwar, the state lawmaker and physician, expressed concern that lawsuits undermine patients’ faith in their doctors.

“It’s a sacred relationship,” he said. “If your physician, who is taking care of you, is suing you for money, that’s a problem.

Many hospitals, facing bad publicity from suing patients, have stopped taking patients to court over unpaid bills. Hospital collection lawsuits identified by CT Mirror and ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News in Connecticut court records plunged from more than 4,900 in 2019 to fewer than 300 in 2024.

Also, in recent years, several states, including Connecticut, have expanded protections for patients with bills they can’t pay.

Connecticut now from consumer credit reports, and legislators are pushing to get hospitals to provide more financial aid to patients. Other states have restricted the use of wage garnishment and property liens to collect medical debt.

But state efforts to rein in aggressive medical debt collections have mostly focused on hospitals. That may need to change, said Connecticut state Sen. Matt Lesser, a Democrat who co-chairs the legislature’s Human Services Committee.

He is a key backer of a bill that would bar hospitals from billing patients who receive public benefits like food assistance or who make less than twice the federal poverty level, about $32,000 for an individual.

The restriction would not apply to bills from physicians and other nonhospital providers, however. “We may have to go bigger if that’s where the heart of the matter is,” Lesser said.

Connecticut Gov. Ned Lamont, a Democrat who spearheaded an initiative to for more than 150,000 state residents, also expressed concern about physicians suing the people in their care.

“Everyone should do the right thing by patients,” he said.

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“I feel like I’m suffocating inside this shelter, trapped with no way out,” Carlos’ son said, according to one of the teens’ attorneys, when asked to describe how he felt after months at the Houston-area facility. “Every day, the same routine. Every day, feeling stuck. It makes me feel hopeless and terrified.”

During daily video calls, Carlos, who had temporary protected status, urged the siblings to be patient, to trust the process. Federal officials had vetted Carlos before he could be granted custody and told him his case was complete. He believed he would soon be back with his children, who, like him, had sought refuge from political violence in Venezuela.  

An immigration officer called Carlos on a Friday and asked him to attend a meeting at an ICE office the following Monday to discuss reunification with his children. Once Carlos arrived, officers tried to force him to sign documents he said he didn’t understand. When he refused, they stripped off his clothes, seized his ID and belongings, and chained him by the neck, waist, and legs.

“They tricked me,” Carlos said in a phone call from an immigration detention center in El Paso, Texas, where he was held for several months. “They used my children to grab me,” he said.  

In reporting on the family’s story, ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News reviewed court documents, spoke with the family’s immigration attorneys, interviewed Carlos, and reviewed statements from his children, translated from Spanish. Carlos is a pseudonym, being used at the request of attorneys concerned that speaking out could jeopardize Carlos’ immigration case or further delay his reunion with his family.

Using Children to Arrest Parents

Since 2003, the Department of Health and Human Services’ Office of Refugee Resettlement has cared for immigrant children under 18 who arrive in the country without their parents, often fleeing violence, abuse, or trafficking. The office, which in February had more than 2,300 children in shelters or with foster families across the country, is supposed to promptly release them to vetted caregivers, typically parents or other family members already living in the country.

Congress placed this responsibility with the health agency over 20 years ago to prioritize the well-being of unaccompanied children and separate their care from immigration enforcement priorities.

Now the second Trump administration is using migrant children held by the resettlement office to lure their parents, such as Carlos, whether or not they have a criminal record. A ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News investigation found the resettlement office, , coordinates with the Department of Homeland Security to arrest people seeking custody of migrant children.

Arrest documents show Homeland Security Investigations, the arm of the agency that normally focuses on organized criminals and traffickers, will interview parents or other caregivers then arrest them if they are in the country illegally. Before Donald Trump returned to the White House, the resettlement office prohibited data sharing and collaboration with immigration enforcement, and it did not deny caregivers custody of children solely because of their immigration status. Those last year.

It’s unclear exactly how many caregivers have been baited into arrest. LAist indicating more than 100 have been arrested while trying to get their kids out of detention, but ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News could not independently verify that number with federal agencies.

Since February, the Department of Health and Human Services, Department of Homeland Security, and Justice Department have not responded to questions about caregiver arrests. Prior to leaving DHS last month, Assistant Secretary Tricia McLaughlin said the administration protects children from being released to people who shouldn’t care for them. Andrew Nixon, an HHS spokesperson, referred questions related to immigration enforcement to DHS.

At the same time, the resettlement office has that make it harder for caregivers to gain custody of unaccompanied children. These include narrowing the range of accepted documents, requiring fingerprint-based background checks for every adult in the home and backup caregivers, and requiring in-person appointments to verify identification documents, sometimes with ICE agents present. The requirements keep “children safe from traffickers and other bad, dangerous people,” Nixon said.

As of January, the agency had detained at least 300 children already placed with vetted sponsors and asked their caregivers to reapply, according to the National Center for Youth Law and the Democracy Forward Foundation. The advocacy groups filed calling these actions “a quieter, new form of family separation.” 

Reverse Separation

Dulce, a Guatemalan mother in Virginia, said her 8-year-old son was sent to a government shelter after he was detained during a traffic stop last summer while visiting family members in a different state.

At first, Dulce expected to get her son back within days — she had passed the government’s sponsorship requirements in 2024 and was reunited with him three weeks after he first crossed the border. But resettlement agency officials asked her to repeat the entire process and resubmit documents, Dulce said. It took eight months to get him back.

Dulce is a pseudonym being used at her request because she fears speaking out could get her deported.

At one point, Dulce was told to attend an interview at an ICE office to show her identification as part of the process of reuniting with her son. She refused out of fear that she too might be detained, because she doesn’t have legal status. She believes ICE agents visited her home at one point.

“I stopped going home,” Dulce said. “I lived with some of my friends for days.”

Even though she lived just 45 minutes away, Dulce was allowed to visit her son only twice a month.

Until recently, most unaccompanied children landed in government custody after being detained at the border. But border crossings started to fall in 2024, and the number of people coming to the U.S. has dropped precipitously in President Trump’s second term.

Now, hundreds of kids have been taken to government shelters after being swept up inside the country, often during immigration raids or traffic stops, according to the advocates’ lawsuit. Many were already living with relatives, including guardians already vetted by the resettlement agency.

Releases have grinded nearly to a halt. According to the resettlement office, children in its custody stayed in government shelters or foster care for an average of one month in 2024. As of February, that had jumped to more than half a year.

When children do get released, it’s often only after their attorneys file a lawsuit in federal court challenging their detention as unconstitutional.

Authorities released Dulce’s son to her in February after the boy’s attorneys filed such a petition. Dulce said she’s relieved to have him back but still anxious that ICE could show up at their house.

Immigrants at Risk

During Trump’s first term, his administration was criticized for of children who had been released from custody. President Joe Biden was blamed for how his administration processed a surge of unaccompanied children that peaked in 2021 with about 22,000 in the resettlement office’s custody. Though most children were placed with legitimate sponsors, some were placed with people who hadn’t cleared , putting them at risk of .

The Trump administration says it is checking on those , and the Justice Department has prosecuted . On March 1, Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem, who is set to leave her role at the , touted a , including the resettlement office, that DHS said had tracked down 145,000 unaccompanied children who had been placed with caregivers during Biden’s term.

Yet internal HHS reports about that initiative obtained by ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News show that nearly 11,800 of those migrant children and nearly 500 of their caregivers were arrested as of Jan. 29. Only 125 of those migrant children and 55 of those caregivers were arrested for alleged criminal activity, suggesting the majority were for immigration violations.

HHS referred questions about the figures in the reports to DHS, which did not respond to requests for comment about the data. However, Michelle Brané, who was a DHS official in the Biden administration, said the figures show that most of the arrests were to detain and deport migrants. Previously, the administration targeted parents and caregivers who had paid for children to cross the border, trying to levy smuggling charges against them.

“They have really dropped that pretense in a lot of ways, and they are going for anyone openly,” Brané said. “These numbers clearly reflect that this is not about public safety or about safety of the children.”

Case on Hold

Carlos left Venezuela in 2022 because of death threats and, like thousands of others fleeing that country, was granted what’s called temporary protected status under the Biden administration. That protection for most Venezuelans by the Trump administration.

In January 2025, days before Trump was sworn in for his second term, Carlos’ children crossed the border from Mexico to the U.S., turned themselves over to border authorities, and were immediately placed in the resettlement agency’s custody. Carlos spent months submitting paperwork to reunite with them. He said he’s their only parent, because their mother left when they were toddlers.  

Officials visited his home twice and determined he was fit to care for them, according to court documents petitioning for his release from detention. He passed DNA testing, proving he’s the biological father, one of his attorneys said. His arrest documents show he has “no criminal history.” In July, Carlos was told his reunification case was complete and being sent for approval. But then, with little explanation, the case was put on hold.

Before his arrest by ICE, Carlos said, he drove 14 hours each way from his home to visit his children. Once there, he could see them for only one hour. When he was in detention, he said, he spoke to them about every two weeks in quick, monitored phone calls.

He’s trying to stay hopeful, but it’s hard.

According to documents completed by ICE officers during his arrest and submitted in his court case, Carlos was arrested under an initiative called Operation Guardian Trace, which requires immigration officers to detain potential caregivers if they are in the country without legal authorization and recommend that they be deported.

“This operation is designed to force parents to make an impossible choice between reuniting with their children and seeking safety,” said one of Carlos’ attorneys, Chiqui Sanchez Kennedy of the Galveston-Houston Immigrant Representation Project, a nonprofit that helps low-income immigrants.

‘I’m Going to Wait’

In March, a federal judge said officials had unlawfully detained Carlos and he was released on bond.

But his children still face an uncertain future for now. Government shelters often lack sufficient resources, , and social workers say lengthy stays in these facilities can result in additional trauma.

“Not only is it bad, full stop, but the longer you’re there, the worse it gets,” said Jonathan Beier, associate director of research and evaluation for the Acacia Center for Justice’s Unaccompanied Children Program, which coordinates legal services for unaccompanied minors.

Carlos’ children could also be sent back to the country they fled. Because of his detention, Carlos will have to redo much of the process to reunite with them, according to an attorney for the children, Alexa Sendukas, also with the Galveston-Houston Immigrant Representation Project.

In statements shared through Sendukas, Carlos’ daughter said she no longer wants to be around others and spends most of the time in her room. His son, now 15, described having panic attacks and feeling that he’s missing out on life, whether it’s the opportunities he longs for — to learn English, to study science — or watching basketball with his family.

“I remember when I first arrived at this shelter, I was so hopeful and had faith that I would be reunited with my dad soon,” he said.

Carlos’ daughter spent the day crying in bed when the siblings learned their father had been detained. For days, they didn’t know where he was. Now, they fear the only way out is through adoption or foster care.

“I am afraid,” she said. “I’m going to wait for my dad forever.”

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“Every little ache, like my knee hurts,” she said, made her worry that “this is the end of the road for me.”

So Zapp, a 40-year-old communications director in New York, became one of millions of Americans to start taking an anxiety medication in recent years. For her, it was the serotonin-boosting drug Lexapro.

“I love it. It’s been great,” she said. “It’s really helped me manage.”

The proportion of American adults who took anxiety medications jumped from 11.7% in 2019 to 14.3% in 2024, with most of the increase occurring during the covid pandemic, according to from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. That’s 8 million more people, bringing the total to roughly 38 million, with sharp increases among young adults, people with a college degree, and adults who identify as LGBTQ+.

Even as psychiatric medications gain public acceptance and become easier to access through telehealth appointments, the rise of a class of antidepressants called selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors, known as SSRIs, has triggered a backlash from supporters of the “Make America Healthy Again” movement who argue they are harmful. Doctors and researchers say medications such as Prozac, Zoloft, and Lexapro are front-line treatments for many anxiety disorders, including generalized anxiety disorder and panic disorder, and are being misrepresented as addictive and broadly harmful even though they’ve been proved safe for extended use.

Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. has decried broadening SSRI use. During his Jan. 29 confirmation hearing, he said he knows people, including family members, who had a than people have quitting heroin. More recently, he a possible link between the use of SSRIs and other psychiatric medications and violent behavior like school shootings.

Food and Drug Administration Commissioner Marty Makary that SSRI use among pregnant women could lead to poor birth outcomes.

SSRIs’ common side effects include . Some SSRIs also and cause other sexual side effects.

For many people, however, the side effects are mild and tolerable and the benefits of treating chronic anxiety are worth it, said , president of the Southern California Psychiatric Society. “The statements about SSRIs were just not grounded in any sort of evidence or fact,” Kelly said of Kennedy’s comments.

A showed that over half of people with generalized anxiety disorder taking an SSRI saw their anxiety symptoms reduced by at least 50%. Side effects prompted about 1 in 12 to stop taking an SSRI.

“When it’s being done right and when you’re also using appropriate therapy techniques, SSRIs can be really, really helpful,” said , a psychiatrist who practices in Los Angeles.

MAHA Blames Anxiety on Poor Diet, Lack of Exercise

Supporters of MAHA have partly blamed poor dietary choices and the increase of a sedentary lifestyle for the rise of a number of health problems, including anxiety, depression, and other mental health disorders. As a remedy, they have called for measures such as reducing consumption of ultraprocessed foods, which to depression and anxiety, and cutting back on screen time in favor of exercise.

Psychiatrists often encourage a and exercise as an for . Wood said those who can manage anxiety without medication should also consider talk therapy. The proportion of American adults using mental health counseling boomed from 2019 to 2024 as teletherapy grew in popularity, federal data shows. “Anxiety disorders are amongst our psychiatric disorders that really respond well to cognitive behavioral therapy,” she said.

But medication can help.

Studies show the risks of taking SSRIs during pregnancy for mother and child. By contrast, “depression increases your risk for every complication for a mother and a baby,” Wood said, adding that recent statements by government officials about SSRI use during pregnancy are “potentially leading to real harm for these women.”

Some people who stop taking antidepressant medication , especially if they quit suddenly. But “the concept of addiction simply does not apply to these chemicals,” Kelly said, a statement .

Addiction, though, is a possibility with benzodiazepines such as Xanax that are often a second line of treatment for anxiety. These controlled substances can also in patients taking both types of drugs. During congressional hearings last year, Kennedy also decried benzodiazepine overuse as a problem.

While benzodiazepines are effective for short-term use, they require monitoring and care, Wood said.

“Those are really great meds for acute anxiety and not great as long-term anxiety medications, because they are habit-forming over time,” Wood said. “If you’re taking them on a daily basis, you’ll need more and more to get the same effect, and then you have to come down from them in a tapered way.”

And an are also occasionally taking beta-blockers such as propranolol for anxiety. Some people use beta-blockers to prevent a racing heart before a public speech or other big moments, even though they are not FDA-approved for treating anxiety and are prescribed “off-label.”

Beta-blockers , but they are “nonaddictive, really helpful for bringing down the autonomic nervous system, going from fight or flight to something more neutral, and really safe,” Wood said.

Social Shifts Drive Increased Use of Anxiety Meds

A number of could explain why so many more people are taking anxiety medication, increased social media use, more isolation, and heightened economic uncertainty, physicians and researchers say.

Plus, the medicines are relatively easy to get. Many people obtain SSRI and benzodiazepine prescriptions from their primary care physician. Others obtain the medications .

Many social media influencers , easing some stigma among young people and encouraging them to get help. About a third of teens said they get mental health information via social media.

Still, increased access to anxiety medication can be a problem when combined with a trend of self-diagnosis based on social media trends. A Google search for “” leads to sponsored promises of same-day treatment, though fine-print disclaimers clarify that a prescription is not guaranteed.

“I think increased access is good, but that’s not the same thing as, you know, ordering Xanax online,” Kelly said.

Young adults are largely driving an increase in anxiety medication use. The proportion of Americans ages 18 to 34 taking anxiety medication rose from 8.8% in 2019 — the first year such survey data became available — to 14.6% in 2024. By contrast, the rate didn’t change much among adults 65 and older, CDC data shows.

The pandemic and covid lockdowns greatly increased stress among many American adults, .

And data shows more women than men take anxiety medication. , a department chair and professor of sociology at the University of Pennsylvania, said that’s because they’re more likely to need them. They are also likelier than men to report when they feel anxious, and doctors are “inclined or see anxiety more readily in their female patients than their male patients,” Schnittker added.

Broader trends could also be at work. Schnittker said studies have shown anxiety growing more prevalent among ensuing generations for much of the 20th and 21st centuries. Schnittker, author of , said growing income inequality could be partly to blame, with people feeling stress over improving their economic status. Social and religious activities have been replaced by more isolation. And people have become more suspicious of others, creating a sense of unease around strangers.

For Zapp, the cancer survivor, it took a few months on Lexapro before she started seeing clear results. When she did, she said, it felt like her mind was less noisy, making it easier to focus. She also underwent talk therapy, but now her chronic anxiety is stabilized on medication alone.

“It definitely helped me get back to my day-to-day in a way that was productive and not just riddled with my anxieties throughout the day,” she said.

ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News’ Holly Hacker, Maia Rosenfeld, and Lydia Zuraw contributed to this report.

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After a routine doctor visit revealed Josie had lead poisoning, Hess quickly traced the source to the crumbling paint in her family’s century-old home in the Bayou St. John neighborhood. While it underwent lead remediation, the family stayed in a newer, lead-free house near Markey.

“Everyone was telling us the safest place to play was outside at playgrounds, so that’s where we went,” Hess said. Josie became a Markey regular, playing on the swings and slides.

Josie’s next blood test was a shock. “It skyrocketed,” Hess said. Josie’s lead levels had leaped to nearly five times the national health standard. The likely culprit, according to scientists at the time, was Josie’s favorite park. Soil testing found it had dangerously high levels of lead.

City officials took no action to inform Markey’s users or make the park safe. But parents started posting warning signs at the park and flooded City Hall with calls and emails. With Josie on her hip, Hess made an impassioned speech at a City Council meeting.

In short order, the city hired a company to test Markey and other parks and pledged to fix the lead problem wherever it was found.

“My impression was they were going to make them all lead-free parks,” Hess said.

But a Verite News investigation conducted over four months in 2025 found that lead pollution in New Orleans parks not only persists — it is more widespread than previously known. Dozens of city parks with playgrounds remain unsafe, including Markey and other parks that underwent a city-sponsored lead remediation in 2011.

The findings indicate that city officials fell short in their cleanup efforts then, and that a very large number of New Orleans children are exposed to excessive amounts of lead, said Howard Mielke, a retired Tulane University toxicologist and one of the nation’s top experts on lead contamination.

“It’s a failed program,” he said. “They didn’t do what they needed to do to bring the lead levels down in a single park.”

Verite News reporters tested hundreds of soil samples from 84 city parks with playgrounds in fall 2025. Adrienne Katner, a lead-contamination researcher with Louisiana State University, verified the results. The testing found that about half the parks had lead concentrations that exceeded the established in 2024 for soil in urban areas.

“If there’s evidence of kids playing in soils that are as high as you described, that’s kind of horrifying,” Gabriel Filippelli, an Indiana University biochemist who studies lead exposure, told Verite News.

Public health researchers and doctors say that children under 6 absorb lead-laden dust more easily than adults, contaminating their blood and harming the long-term development of their brains and nervous systems. There is no known safe exposure level for children, and even trace amounts can result in behavioral problems and lower cognitive abilities.

Larry Barabino is the CEO of the New Orleans Recreation Development Commission, which oversees most of the city’s parks. He said the city doesn’t routinely test for lead in parks, and he confirmed that the last significant effort to do so was in 2011.

He called Verite’s results “definitely concerning” and pledged to work with city officials, local experts, and a city environmental consultant, Materials Management Group, to potentially remediate unsafe parks.

“It’s definitely concerning if it’s at the level that’s considered a true risk or threat, and we would get it to Capital Projects immediately to get MMG out there,” Barabino said, referring to the . “If there’s anything that’s a true environmental concern or risk, that’s something that we believe in definitely making sure we take action.”

But New Orleans is in financial straits, with a of about $220 million, and it’s unclear what resources new mayor Helena Moreno would be able to devote to restart lead remediation efforts. In response to the financial crisis, Moreno has already eliminated dozens of positions and plans to furlough 700 employees one day per pay period to save money. Moreno’s administration did not respond to requests for comment.

Andrea Young heard pledges similar to Barabino’s 15 years ago. Like Hess, Young had a child who frequented Markey and had high lead levels in her blood. Alongside other mothers, she helped push the city to take action. Young thought they had succeeded but said she now realizes that the city didn’t do enough.

“It makes me question the value” of the work the city did, Young said, “and the safety we felt in letting our kids play there again.”

Testing New Orleans Parks

Lead is typically found in very small amounts in natural soil. The average lead abundance in U.S. soils is , equivalent to less than an ounce of lead per ton of soil.

But New Orleans, like many other cities, has a long history of lead contamination in its soil, from sources including lead-based paint, leaded gasoline, and emissions from waste incinerators and other industrial facilities. Lead particles spread easily by wind, eventually settling in the topsoil.

The federal hazard level for lead in soil was 400 ppm , when the Environmental Protection Agency lowered it to 200 ppm for most residential areas and 100 ppm in urban areas like New Orleans with multiple sources of lead exposure. Last fall, the Trump administration , arguing it was confusing to have two thresholds. It didn’t argue that the 100-ppm level was safe.

More of a guide than a mandate, the EPA screening levels can steer federal cleanup actions and are often adopted by state and city governments to inform local responses to lead contamination. California has long had a much of 80 ppm.

Mielke said the Trump administration’s change doesn’t align with the science, which has long shown that children are harmed when exposed to soil with levels below 100 ppm. He was one of several scientists who had pushed for lower thresholds after the EPA established its first screening levels more than 30 years ago.

He said the 100-ppm level should still be applied in urban areas, especially New Orleans.

Verite conducted soil tests on the 84 city parks that property inventories and maps list as having play structures. Samples were taken from surface soil, which is most likely to come into contact with children’s hands and toys or be inhaled when kicked up during play or blown by the wind.

The average soil sample collected by Verite contained lead levels of about 121 ppm. Elevated lead levels tended to follow the age of the neighborhood. The city’s older neighborhoods, including the Irish Channel and Algiers Point, had some of the highest lead levels, while places like Gentilly and New Orleans East, developed mostly after the 1950s, tended to have lower levels, according to Verite’s findings.

The highest lead levels were found at Evans Park in the Freret neighborhood. Beside a low-hanging oak branch, on ground worn bare by children’s play, Verite recorded lead at 5,998 ppm, nearly 60 times the 100-ppm urban soils threshold.

Verite spoke to more than a dozen parents at playgrounds throughout the city, and most were surprised at the levels of lead in the parks.

In the Irish Channel, Meg Potts watched her son run around the dusty Brignac playground. All of Verite’s samples at that park surpassed the threshold the EPA deemed safe for urban areas, reaching nearly 600 ppm.

Potts knew high lead levels existed in the city but said she didn’t realize her neighborhood park could be a source of exposure for her son.

“ I’m just, like, thinking about all of this now because he’s had to go in and have his lead tested,” she said. “He’s like right on the cusp of having too-high lead.”

Katner, the LSU researcher, said Verite’s results can serve as a starting point for city officials to conduct more comprehensive testing in parks, noting that even a single lead hot spot in a park is concerning.

“The kid playing in that part of the park is going to get the highest dose,” she said.

A Legacy of Lead

Before the 1970s, lead was ubiquitous. A that most of the U.S. population born before the 1980s was poisoned by dangerously high levels of lead in early childhood, resulting in an average loss of at least one IQ point.

Lead pollution from cars spread into areas near roads, especially major thoroughfares, until leaded gasoline was phased out by 1996. Similarly, emissions from trash incinerators and industrial sites contaminated the surrounding soil in some New Orleans neighborhoods until they were closed in the 1970s and ’80s.

Today, the most pervasive source of lead in soil is degraded paint. Lead-based paint was used extensively for homes and buildings until it was banned in 1978. In New Orleans, most of the houses were built before 1980, according to the . As the paint deteriorates, Tulane University epidemiologist Felicia Rabito said, it can chip or turn into toxic dust.

“ The leaded paint goes straight into the dust and it goes straight into the soils, which is a major source of exposure for young children in the city,” said Rabito, who studies lead poisoning and other health conditions.

Children under 6 are especially vulnerable, in part because they like to stick their hands in their mouths. A child eating a dropped Cheerio or putting their thumb in their mouth after playing on a seesaw can be enough to cause harm. Rabito recommended that parents avoid contaminated playgrounds.

The only way to know whether a child has lead poisoning is a medical test. By , Louisiana health care providers to ensure every child between 6 months and 6 years of age receives at least two blood tests, recommended at age 1 and age 2.

But the law does not include a way to enforce those testing requirements, so many health care providers don’t test, according to a from the Louisiana Department of Health. In 2022, fewer than 1 in 10 children under 6 were screened for lead poisoning in the city, according to data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

“ There’s not anything that we can say about lead poisoning or lead levels in children in Orleans Parish with any scientific certainty,” Rabito said. “ Parents really need to get their children tested.”

Limited Soil Testing, Patchy Fixes

In 2011, the last time there was outcry over lead pollution in parks, the New Orleans health commissioner at the time, Karen DeSalvo, said the city should do “everything we can to understand what the risk might be and to remediate it.” But she also called it “not the greatest challenge, honestly,” .

Then-Mayor Mitch Landrieu promised a comprehensive response.

“The city will take all necessary measures to investigate possible lead contamination in other parks and playgrounds and remediate them as soon as possible,” he said .

Two months later, testing and remediation were completed at several parks. Parents brought their children back to the reopened playgrounds.

Despite city leaders’ assurances of a broad response, only 16 parks were tested in 2011 and the city’s piecemeal cleanup covered only patches of contaminated soil rather than entire parks, according to documents obtained through public records requests.

That stunned the vocal group of parents who had pushed for cleaning up the Markey playground. Young, one of the mothers, said the scope of the 2011 testing and remediation was much more limited than she thought.

“If the majority of the parks they tested were high, what would make them think all the others are fine?” she said.

Verite’s testing found high levels of lead at several playgrounds that were remediated in 2011, including Markey.

The results disturbed Mielke, the Tulane toxicologist.

In 2010, Mielke led an effort to reduce lead exposure at 10 private child care center playgrounds in New Orleans. He and his team covered the entire footprint of each playground with water-pervious plastic fabric and then 6 inches of Mississippi River sediment from the Bonnet Carré Spillway, a source of clean, cheap, and easily accessible soil. Lead levels fell, with most playgrounds testing below 10 ppm.

In contrast, the city’s remediation was mostly limited to areas with lead levels above 400 ppm, leaving many hazardous areas exposed. Testing and remediation reports obtained by Verite typically showed MMG focused on two or three spots in each park, with the rest going untreated.

At Easton Park in Bayou St. John, for instance, the 2011 remediation covered four areas totaling about 4,700 square feet, but the park’s playground was left untouched. Verite measured four samples around the playground that exceeded the 100-ppm threshold, including 1,060-ppm and 603-ppm readings near Easton’s swing set.

One park, Evans in the Freret neighborhood, wasn’t remediated despite lead levels as high as 610 ppm in 2011. The reason wasn’t clear in progress reports submitted by MMG. In Verite’s 2025 tests, Evans recorded the highest level, with 5,998 ppm in one location.

MMG did not respond to requests for comment.

Landrieu did not respond to a request for comment. DeSalvo, who retired last summer as Google’s chief health officer, said “extremely limited resources” forced the city to weigh its response to lead contamination in parks with the many other health threats residents faced.

“We worked to address the range of exposures whenever possible with the resources we could muster,” she said.

A Road Map for Cleanup?

Filippelli, of Indiana University, said the city should conduct comprehensive testing of every park and do regular checkups.

But because lead contamination in New Orleans parks is extensive and city leaders are struggling to close a large budget deficit, Filippelli recommends that the city remediate the worst parks first.

He and Mielke don’t believe the city must go the expensive route of full remediation, which involves digging up lead-tainted soil and trucking it to a hazardous waste landfill. It’s usually unnecessary if a park is properly capped with clean soil, Filippelli said.

Verite obtained cost estimates for 10 of the 13 parks targeted for remediation in 2011. The total cost was $83,000 in 2011, or about $120,000 today. The work covered just more than 1.3 acres across the 10 properties. Filippelli estimated that similar work could be done today for about $20,000 per acre — about a fifth of what was spent to remediate just over an acre at New Orleans parks.

Remediation should be coupled with efforts to reduce contamination from nearby sources, primarily old houses shedding lead-based paint, Rabito said.

“When you clean up soil, you’re not going to do it much good if you haven’t identified what’s contaminating the soil,” she said.

Cleaning up New Orleans parks is also likely to require sustained public pressure, said the parents involved with the lead issue in 2011.

“I was not intending to kick butts or make anybody look bad,” Claudia Copeland said of her efforts to alert parents about the dangers at Markey. “But nothing would have happened unless all these parents were calling in to the city.”

Methodology

Verite News reporters Tristan Baurick and Halle Parker were trained to use , or XRF, a handheld device that can detect the unique traits of lead at trace levels, down to 10 parts per million. The analyzer is widely used by government and university scientists.

The reporters tested 531 soil samples over a month in late 2025, following protocols developed by retired Tulane University toxicologist Howard Mielke and vetted by three other lead-contamination researchers. The reporters tested surface soil in and around play structures and other areas of parks that children use. Of the more than 110 parks in New Orleans, Verite concentrated on the 84 that city property inventories and maps list as having play structures. The reporters took between three and 11 samples at each park, depending on the size, site accessibility, and levels of contamination. A GPS device was used to record each sample’s location.

Verite’s results were reviewed by Adrienne Katner, a lead-contamination researcher at Louisiana State University. She verified the accuracy of the testing by comparing it with a smaller set of park soil samples collected by her team last summer.

While valid, the method did have limitations. The results can’t be used to determine the state of a whole park. But even one elevated soil sample can provide a starting point for city officials to conduct more comprehensive testing.

This article was produced in collaboration with . The four-month investigation was supported by a Kozik Environmental Justice Reporting grant funded by the National Press Foundation and the National Press Club Journalism Institute. It was also produced as a project for the USC Annenberg Center for Health Journalism’s National Fellowship fund and Dennis A. Hunt Fund for Health Journalism.

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