Yolibeth, a 38-year-old single mother who moved to South Louisiana from Honduras 15 years ago, watched them, smiling. The daughter is the youngest of five children living in this mixed-status household. Yolibeth and her two oldest kids don’t have legal immigration status, but the other three — ages 4, 9, and 13 — were born in the U.S. and are citizens.

All of her U.S.-born kids were enrolled in Medicaid at birth, which made it affordable for her to take them to the doctor for regular checkups when they were little. Her oldest two, ages 15 and 17, have never had health insurance, so Yolibeth relies on low-cost community clinics when she can afford it.

But now she worries that healthcare access for all of her children is slipping away. Yolibeth has been waiting for months to hear whether any of her children’s Medicaid renewal applications  has been approved. She fears they will be denied because of a new Louisiana law targeting noncitizen Medicaid enrollees, even though she isn’t applying for herself. She worries particularly about her 4-year-old’s access to routine care and required childhood vaccines.

“ I cannot access the same services, and so my child is not getting what she needs to grow healthy,” Yolibeth said in Spanish as her daughter giggled on the love seat.

Verite News and ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News agreed to not use Yolibeth’s full name, because she is worried about repercussions related to her immigration status.

Romero, who works for a local immigrant advocacy group, said that in a single week she received calls from eight immigrant families who had been denied after applying for Medicaid on behalf of children who are citizens.

“Because of the law that passed in Louisiana, children are losing their Medicaid every day,” Romero said in Spanish. “The more time that goes by, the more children are impacted by it.”

Romero said that all children from mixed-status families are likely to be denied Medicaid by the end of the year.

Missing Out on Care

Nationally, many immigrants said they skipped or delayed healthcare last year, citing issues including costs, struggles finding services, and fears about their or a family member’s immigration status, by KFF and The New York Times. Immigrants without legal status were the most likely to skip or delay care for themselves or their children. An increasing number of immigrants avoided applying for programs like Medicaid, too scared to risk drawing attention to their or a family member’s immigration status, even if they were eligible.

In Louisiana, where about a third of residents are enrolled in Medicaid, the has added to those fears. The law requires the Louisiana Department of Health to verify Medicaid applicants’ U.S. citizenship, terminate coverage for applicants with “unsatisfactory” proof of status, and report those applicants to U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. Since the measure passed in Louisiana, similar bills have passed in North Carolina, Wyoming, Indiana, and Tennessee. At least three other states were considering similar measures this year.

State Rep. Chance Keith Henry, a Republican who sponsored the Louisiana bill, did not return calls or emails from Verite News seeking comment on the effects of the law. He said in last year’s state House floor debate that he didn’t anticipate any chilling effect on immigrants seeking healthcare. He also said that children born in the U.S. to parents without legal status would still receive Medicaid.

“This is making sure that American citizens and our taxpayers are taken care of and not illegal immigrants,” he said in the May 2025 floor debate.

State health officials said Medicaid applicants can’t be reported to ICE under the law without a formal investigation request by “the appropriate authorities.” Otherwise, reporting applicants without their consent would violate federal Medicaid and privacy laws.

But immigrant rights advocates say the law has had a chilling effect on applications and has led to immigrant families losing healthcare and resources they qualify for.

They said cutting off that access compounds the fear created by immigration enforcement crackdowns in states including and Minnesota, and by federal policy changes such as between ICE and the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services and for Medicaid.

Advocates said it’s unclear whether the new law has led to any detainments or deportations of people applying for Medicaid or other public benefit programs. But Aaron Moseley-Saldívar, a legal and public policy adviser with the Louisiana Organization for Refugees and Immigrants, said the legislative and policy changes act as a deterrent to immigrant families, even if they qualify for Medicaid as a legal resident, refugee, or asylum seeker, or have another form of legal status.

“ People are not applying for things that they probably otherwise would be eligible for, because they are intimidated by these laws and they’re worried that they’re going to get caught up in the system,” Moseley-Saldívar said. “ You have a large amount of people in Louisiana that are not leaving their homes at all, because they’re afraid of policies like this.”

Moseley-Saldívar said he believes the Louisiana law and similar policies are primarily aimed at removing people from state services. The state legislature passed a on May 27 to build on the 2025 law. It seeks to further narrow which noncitizens are qualified for public benefits in Louisiana, even though such restrictions for Medicaid are typically governed at the federal level.

The Louisiana Department of Health’s on the new law does not contain any data on applicants reported to ICE since the law took effect last August. But by February of this year, the state had terminated the coverage of 87% of enrollees who had unverified immigration or citizenship status as of June 2025.

From July 1, 2024, to June 30, 2025, according to the report, 1% of the 1.6 million people in Louisiana enrolled in Medicaid weren’t citizens, and fewer than 4,000 had an unclear immigration status.

‘A Double-Edged Sword’

Late last year, more than 600 people lined up at 4 a.m. outside a Louisiana Organization for Refugees and Immigrants health fair, hoping to receive a free health checkup, said Sharon Njie, the nonprofit’s communications and strategic partners director. The fair was scheduled to begin at 9 a.m.

“ We had to start calling the doctors to see if they could come there at 7 a.m., because these people have been waiting for two hours in the cold,” Njie said. “We were so overwhelmed.”

Romero said some families in the New Orleans area have been waiting six months to vaccinate their children at one of the free events put on by healthcare providers. But she said fewer free health events for children have been scheduled, and even fewer for adults. For many of the residents she works with, Romero said, preventive care such as a Pap smear or prostate screening is out of reach.

“The challenge right now is a double-edged sword of people not going to the doctor out of fear but also ending up in an emergency that is too hard to treat,” Romero said. “It’s a life-or-death situation.”

For families with no other option, Njie and Romero try to connect people to doctors sympathetic to the immigrants’ plight and willing to absorb the cost of care or offer a discount, such as medical providers who are immigrants themselves.

But that does not address the systemic problems of immigrant access to healthcare created by the state law and federal immigration policies, or the lower quality of care for those who seek it. For example, one local New Orleans clinic, Luke’s House, caters to Spanish-speakers and immigrants, though it’s staffed largely by medical students, Romero said, so the level of care isn’t the same.

While she waits for word on three of her kids’ Medicaid applications, Yolibeth secured a free insurance plan for them on the Louisiana Affordable Care Act marketplace, she said. But she hasn’t found any doctors who will accept the coverage, she said, leaving them effectively uninsured.

When her 13-year-old son recently fell ill, she wanted to take him to a pediatrician. But she said she couldn’t afford the $200 the appointment would have cost, plus any tests and medication.

Without a doctor’s note to provide proof of his illness, she said, she had to send her sick son to school, potentially exposing other children to a virus. Earlier in the school year, she was called into the school’s office after he missed five days because of illness. In Louisiana, truancy can be punishable with parental fines, community service, or jail.

Romero said if enough school is missed because of sickness, a criminal case could lead to family separation.

“That is unthinkable,” she said. “All because a family could not afford to take a child to see the doctor as opposed to these things being guaranteed to begin with.”

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The Department of Health and Human Services is seeking data from little-known state systems that allow hospitals and clinics to exchange detailed, identifiable patient information, ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News has learned.

In private meetings, some public health leaders have objected to giving Kennedy’s team access to such data, raising doubts that it’s legal or that the information would even be useful.

They have also expressed concerns about allowing the federal government to peer into the minutiae of Americans’ medical records, which could mean viewing anything from doctors’ notes to prescription history. HHS has offered no insight into how it will protect or handle the personal health information it obtains.

But Kennedy told ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News that medical records are key to investigating the cause of autism, vaccine safety, and chronic diseases. And millions of dollars in grant money has poured into a Nebraska nonprofit that has assisted Kennedy’s effort, according to state records.

He and his advisers have been frustrated that federal access to Americans’ medical records has been limited.

“We need a good health record system, and one of the things that really surprised me most when I came into office is that there is — that the systems are broken,” Kennedy said in a May interview. “We’ve had to go to the states and, luckily, we’ve got a lot of cooperation from the states, but we now have databases together that we can actually do the studies on. Those studies are in motion.”

HHS has not publicly announced any new projects involving medical records and autism or vaccine research. Kennedy faced blowback last year when he proposed compiling the medical records of people with autism to create a federal disease registry — which health department officials .

But Kennedy said in May, “We have a whole pipeline of studies that will be done over the next year.”

Though the White House has steered Kennedy away from further changes to U.S. vaccine policy ahead of November’s crucial midterm elections, President Donald Trump has regularly echoed Kennedy’s doubts about vaccine safety and last week signed an executive order calling for the U.S. to reduce the number of vaccines recommended for children.

Kennedy’s political appointees and allies — including William “Reyn” Archer III, a former Texas health official and whom Kennedy hired as a senior adviser — have led the initiative for the health department to collect and examine medical records.

Federal officials met with leaders of the state-run health information exchange systems several times over the past year and asked how the personal medical records they maintain could be used for vaccine research, according to seven people who participated in the discussions or were familiar with them.

Craig Behm, who runs the Maryland health information exchange, said Kennedy’s team asked about how the vast trove of medical records they store from hospitals and health systems could be used to study vaccines.

“If this administration wants to conduct research on the effectiveness of vaccines, are you saying you all can help us conduct that research?” Behm recalled being asked by a top official at HHS’ health information technology office.

Last June, Behm and leaders of other state exchanges met with Kennedy’s top advisers to discuss sharing more medical data with federal agencies. The state organizations followed up with a pitch in October for a new surveillance system that would give the federal health department “real-time, 24-hour data feeds on opioid and chronic disease trends” within a year, according to a presentation reviewed by ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News. Under the proposal, HHS would get data from 90% of the population’s medical records by 2028.

Administration officials regularly asked during the meetings how the records could be used to monitor vaccine safety. Kennedy has rejected the federal government’s current vaccine-monitoring systems; decades of research has shown immunizations are safe and effective for most people.

“Vaccine safety, or whatever words you want to use, has come up pretty consistently in those conversations,” said John Kansky, CEO of the Indiana Health Information Exchange.

Kansky sees the potential value of sharing information from the exchanges for public health but is worried about the focus on vaccines: “It’s like, oh man, I wish you would have picked something that pushed fewer buttons for people.”

A System To Monitor Chronic Disease

Nearly every state has at least one health information exchange — often regulated by state laws and run by private companies or nonprofits — that enables hospitals and health systems to immediately share patients’ medical records with one another. The systems allow doctors and nurses to quickly pull up nearly anyone’s medical history and records at emergency rooms or share after-visit summaries and notes with patients’ primary care providers, for example.

In certain circumstances — most often dealing with cases of infectious diseases such as measles or flu — the exchanges notify public health authorities, like the state health department or the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Using the exchanges for broader public health purposes is not an unusual idea in itself. But it can present privacy, legal, and ethical complications, health officials say.

In the end, Behm said his organization in Maryland declined to share more data with the federal government for vaccine research, noting that sharing medical records for that purpose would require a rash of approvals from hospitals, state political leaders, and research boards. Any new data-sharing agreement should also have a clear, detailed framework outlining what would be shared and with whom, he added.

“A number of us said, ‘We can’t do anything our agreements don’t allow us to do, so no,’” Behm said. Indeed, most health information exchanges have contractual restrictions on who can access clinical data.

Kansky said Indiana is still weighing whether to provide additional data for Kennedy’s project, and that nothing has yet been shared.

HHS spokesperson Emily Hilliard did not answer questions about how many states are participating in Kennedy’s project, what new data the agency is collecting, how much the federal government is spending on the initiative, how it is protecting patient privacy, or who has access to the data.

“HHS is strengthening public health surveillance and modernizing data systems to better understand and combat the childhood chronic disease epidemic as part of Secretary Kennedy’s Make America Healthy Again agenda,” Hilliard said in an emailed statement. “Americans deserve robust systems to monitor the drivers of chronic illness.”

Kennedy has asserted, without evidence, that vaccines can cause chronic illness.

A Kennedy Partner in Nebraska

At least one state has been cooperative.

The former leader of Nebraska’s state health information exchange has led the effort to share data from medical records with the federal government.

Jaime Bland, former CEO of CyncHealth — the Nebraska health information exchange used by in the state — said several states are looking to “open up channels” to provide more analysis to Kennedy’s team.

“They’re looking at the data differently and providing some insights back to the CDC,” Bland told ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News.

Bland was among a group who proposed that CyncHealth would help kick off the initiative, according to a 43-slide PowerPoint presented to federal officials during an October meeting.

CyncHealth and other state health information exchanges would “ingest data from hospitals, clinics, laboratories, pharmacies, payers, and social services agencies,” then “link claims and clinical records through a master patient index.”

Data from the exchanges “will be deidentified where appropriate,” according to one slide.

The federal government would pay the exchanges for furnishing the records, according to the proposal: $3 a person, annually.

Officials would “frame publicly that this is not a new database, but a federated trust model that delivers real-time data for all HHS missions,” the presentation reads.

After the meeting, Nebraska’s health department was awarded a large grant from the CDC, and CyncHealth in turn got millions of dollars from the state.

On Dec. 19, the CDC announced new funding under its , which sends money to state and local health departments for lab work, health information enhancements, and solutions for outbreaks.

Nebraska’s state health department was awarded $18.7 million — the most of any state last year, though Nebraska is the 38th most populous state. By comparison, Texas received $9.2 million, and California got $10.8 million.

CyncHealth was then awarded three contracts totaling $13.6 million from the state health department just weeks later, on Jan. 9 and Jan. 16, according to a publicly accessible database of state contracts.

Grace McNamara, a spokesperson for CyncHealth, said it retained $2.4 million of the funding for Kennedy’s project; the remaining money was distributed to “other participating states and various vendor organizations for implementation support.”

A former CDC official who was aware of the transaction, but not authorized to speak publicly about it, confirmed the money was intended for CyncHealth to supply data for Kennedy’s initiative to look at vaccines and autism. McNamara said that the “work is focused on improving outcomes related to acute and chronic illnesses.”

“The referenced project is not research, but rather a proof-of-concept project on how health information exchange and public health can work together to improve health outcomes and is not specific to autism,” she said in an emailed statement.

McNamara did not answer questions about what type of medical data is being provided to the federal health department or whether patients’ identifying information is removed.

Bland left her post at CyncHealth — where she was paid nearly — in December. She was named in April as the chief data strategist for the MAHA Institute — a think tank founded by allies of Kennedy and Trump to advance their Make America Healthy Again movement.

Bland agreed with Kennedy that data from state health information exchanges could provide more insight into autism’s causes or vaccine injuries.

“The data is so fragmented, so modeled when it comes to population health and public health, that we lose sight of the individual stories,” Bland said. She told a story she had heard about a woman who had a seizure after receiving the HPV vaccine.

“You know, the vaccine is safe — it absolutely is — but it wasn’t safe for her,” Bland said. “As public health officials, we say the vaccine is safe. But there are cases where it is not.”

Daniel Jernigan, a former top CDC official who left the agency last summer, said he tried to point Kennedy to data that would help the health secretary study vaccine safety and autism.

After 31 years at the CDC overseeing public health surveillance, emerging infectious diseases, and the influenza divisions, Jernigan thought the solution was simple. The secretary could work with researchers to obtain huge databases pulled from health systems nationwide and maintained by major electronic health records companies.

Those databases are deidentified, meaning they don’t include patient names or other information that can identify individuals. Jernigan said Kennedy didn’t seem interested.

Instead, as The New York Times first reported, the health secretary dispatched two top advisers — Archer and Hannah Anderson, his former deputy chief of staff — to the CDC’s headquarters in Atlanta last July to download millions of identifiable patient records directly from the Vaccine Safety Datalink, the system the health agency uses to investigate complications from vaccines. The records, though, were decades old.

Jernigan said the federal government has limited legal authority to access medical records from state health information exchanges. In any case, examining those records may provide a view of a person’s medical history that will not necessarily produce answers to Kennedy’s questions about vaccines and autism.

“If they’re just using the electronic health record data, there are limits to that,” Jernigan said. “If they’re only looking at electronic health record data, all you’re going to get is what was captured in the encounter. It’s not going to be very satisfying.”

ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News data reporter Maia Rosenfeld contributed to this article.

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In the days that followed, the nurse failed a drug test and was fired, the order states. The nurse later admitted that for months he had pilfered and abused fentanyl left over after surgeries, sometimes daily, according to the order.

Under most circumstances, this would be a routine case of what is known as “drug diversion,” the unlawful taking of controlled substances from healthcare facilities — believed to be so widespread that it occurs at just about every U.S. hospital.

But the Erlanger case stands out because a high-tech watchdog was supposed to be on guard.

The hospital uses the newest line of defense against drug diversion: Sentri7, powered by artificial intelligence and designed to detect missing drugs faster than any human can. But for months at Erlanger, Sentri7 failed to raise alarms, overlooking missing drugs and other “inconsistencies” that “should have been flagged,” the nursing board’s order states.

The Erlanger case, which has not been previously reported, offers a rare glimpse at an apparent failure of AI drug diversion software used in hundreds of U.S. hospitals with little transparency or oversight. Healthcare facilities are not required to disclose their implementation of this kind of software or report malfunctions to anyone, so there is no full account of how widely these programs are used or how often they fail.

Erlanger Baroness, also referred to as Erlanger Medical Center, declined to comment on its use of Sentri7 or on the diverted drugs. André Rebelo, a spokesperson for the health division at Wolters Kluwer, the Dutch technology company behind Sentri7, declined to answer questions about what happened at Erlanger but said the company remained “confident in our software.”

Little Transparency

David Rastall, a Johns Hopkins Medicine neurologist and AI researcher, said that because AI technology is heavily proprietary and hospital officials often don’t understand how it works, this lack of transparency allows for errors to be buried rather than fixed. That means errors could be repeated at other hospitals, he said.

“The ideal for patients, caregivers, and hospital systems would be,” Rastall said, “when an AI is found to be making some type of error, that becomes very transparent and public.”

The Drug Enforcement Administration mandates that hospitals confidentially report lost or stolen drugs. Hospitals can also report stolen drugs to state health agencies, which license medical professionals and investigate wrongdoing.

But these reports are not required to include details about any AI software involved, according to interviews with three drug diversion prevention experts. In interviews, all said they had never seen an AI failure publicly documented like the apparent one at Erlanger.

“I’ve never myself seen these technologies be called out in that specific way,” Jacob Smith, a pharmacist in charge of drug security at Johns Hopkins Medicine, said of the apparent Sentri7 failure. “It doesn’t make sense to me how you could miss it.”

Smith and other experts said the Erlanger case also raises questions because the theft of leftover drugs is one of the most well-known methods of diversion. And fentanyl, a painkiller that can be 50 times as strong as heroin, is one of the most common targets.

Terri Vidals, the founder of , questioned whether the Erlanger case was the result of user error instead of malfunction.

“This is the most basics of basics for this software,” Vidals said. “I find it interesting that they’re saying it wasn’t flagged by the software. I think there’s maybe more to that story.”

The apparent Sentri7 failure at Erlanger was revealed by the Tennessee Department of Health in a routine release of in December. Among those records was the Board of Nursing order, which summarizes a state investigation into nurse anesthetist John Stevenson, who settled the case against him by signing the document in November.

Stevenson declined to comment through his attorney. He has not been charged with any crime related to the Erlanger case. The nursing board put his license on probation while he went to drug counseling.

Bill Christian, a spokesperson for the Department of Health and Board of Nursing, declined to comment on the Erlanger case or Sentri7. In response to public records requests, the Department of Health and the Tennessee Health Facilities Commission each said it possessed no other documents about the apparent Sentri7 failure at Erlanger.

Erlanger spokesperson Charlie Milburn said earlier this year that the hospital had prepared a written statement about its use of Sentri7 in response to questions from ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News.

That statement was never released.

“Our legal team is debating whether this is something we want to talk about at all,” Milburn said in a March email, before later declining to answer any questions.

Kristy Drollinger, a Wolters Kluwer executive who spoke generally about Sentri7 to ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News in March, said the software is in high demand because so many hospitals have struggled to secure their drugs.

Sentri7 monitors about 60 “attributions of risk” that identify red flags for further investigation by hospital employees, Drollinger said.

“It’s pretty scary,” Drollinger said of widespread drug theft. “Every health system, every health facility, has had diversion at some point — and probably has it now.”

‘The Way of the Future’

Drug diversion is a widespread challenge in U.S. medical facilities. It can lead to patients not receiving medication or getting drugs that are contaminated with blood-borne diseases. It’s estimated as many as 15% of all healthcare workers divert drugs at least once, according to the nonprofit .

Diversion has been linked to at least — causing more than 200 infections, mostly of hepatitis C — since 1985, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

To prevent this, hospitals attempt to track each pill or vial from the moment it is dispensed to the moment it is given to a patient, by comparing data from electronic medication cabinets and patients’ health records.

Hospital staff once performed this painstaking process manually, but in the past decade the task has become largely automated by anti-diversion software. After years of mergers and buyouts, two programs now dominate the industry: Wolters Kluwer’s Sentri7 and Bluesight’s ControlCheck. Both incorporate AI.

“It’s definitely the way of the future,” said Luke Overmire, owner of .

More than 1,500 hospitals use ControlCheck, according to Bluesight. An additional 700 use Sentri7 Clinical Surveillance programs, which can include its drug diversion software, according to Wolters Kluwer.

Neither company publishes the price of its software. Smith, the drug safety official from Johns Hopkins, said hospitals purchase these “expensive technologies” because a disastrous diversion case could result in a multimillion-dollar fine from the DEA.

“They don’t promise a return on investment,” Smith said. “They promise cost avoidance.”

In 2022, a funded by the National Institutes of Health found that Sentri7, then known as Flowlytics, could uncover drug diversion faster than existing methods. The study’s primary author worked for Invistics, the company that previously owned Sentri7.

According to that study, researchers tested the software by having it comb through medication data spanning two years and 10 hospitals in search of 22 nurses who were already known to have diverted drugs.

The program not only found them all, the study states, but found them faster than humans by as little as a week and as much as a year and a half.

At Erlanger, the humans spotted the signs of trouble first.

According to the Board of Nursing order, co-workers reported that Stevenson appeared impaired “while on duty in the surgery center” on or around June 30, 2025.

Stevenson “had slurred speech, appeared extremely tired, was seen standing with his eyes closed and swaying, exhibited head nodding while standing upright and appeared to have difficulty keeping his eyes open,” according to the order.

When questioned by state investigators, Stevenson admitted that he began diverting “unused fentanyl that would otherwise have been wasted after surgical procedures” in March 2025, according to the order. Stevenson said he used the fentanyl waste once or twice a week at first, then “increasing to daily use” by June of that year, the order states.

Erlanger audited Stevenson’s dispensing record over those four months. It found approximately five instances when Sentri7 didn’t flag missing drugs, according to the order.

It adds that the hospital found “additional inconsistencies between drug dispensing and waste documentation that should have been flagged by the automated monitoring system.”

One possible explanation is provided by the Board of Nursing, which said in the order that Sentri7 was in its “initial learning phase” at Erlanger, though the board provided no details.

In an interview, without discussing Erlanger specifically, Drollinger said Sentri7 has no “learning phase,” because it is trained on nine to 12 months of historical data when implemented at a new hospital.

Smith, of Johns Hopkins, had another theory.

In an interview, Smith said his experience with AI drug diversion software had led him to believe that it is effective at monitoring emergency rooms and intensive care units but less so in operating rooms, where drugs are dispensed and charted differently.

These areas can be harder for AI to track, Smith said, and therefore require humans to keep a closer watch.

“We’ve got people whose entire job is to work with this software,” Smith said. “The software is a piece of it, but if you rely on the software to give you all your signals, you’ll miss stuff. It’s just not 100%.”

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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.

Previous Next

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;">

The 31-year-old compliance consultant from Hendersonville, Tennessee, said she couldn’t stop vomiting.

“Sunday morning, it all hits,” McClain recalled, as she described what happened that weekend in January. “I can’t keep anything down.”

McClain said she thought the dosage the telehealth company had prescribed seemed too high. She tried to contact her doctor, but when she didn’t get an immediate response, she said she called the company and a “care team” representative confirmed the instructions — which said to inject 2.21 milligrams of the semaglutide medication once a week — were correct.

It turned out, however, that was nearly nine times the amount patients are typically told to take for their first dose.

Nearly a month after she was diagnosed with an overdose, McClain said she was “still dealing with the residual side effects,” including an elevated heart rate and vision problems she felt were tied to the medication.

Most patients who have taken a GLP-1 received their prescription through a primary care doctor or a specialist, shows. But as the uptake of telehealth has grown substantially since the start of the covid pandemic, McClain is one of millions of Americans who have used online companies to meet a variety of their medical needs.

Many of the companies have started offering GLP-1 medications for weight loss as demand for these drugs has exploded. But certain medication errors tied to GLP-1s have exploded too, according to a ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News review of Food and Drug Administration data, and physicians and telemedicine researchers worry that adverse experiences tied to telehealth companies are becoming more common.

Bad outcomes aren’t unique to telehealth providers or to the compounded weight loss drugs many of them offer. In fact, product liability lawsuits alleging patient injuries have been filed overwhelmingly against pharmaceutical giants Eli Lilly and Novo Nordisk, which manufacture name-brand weight loss drugs, court data shows. The drugmakers have defended their products.

However, some critics are also concerned that getting a weight loss prescription online is usually much easier than getting one through an in-person appointment. Not only do many telehealth companies write quick prescriptions for GLP-1s, but they often sell the medications, too, allowing patients to bypass in-person pharmacy visits. This one-stop shopping isn’t necessarily a good thing, according to critics who say some telehealth providers are writing prescriptions for people who should not be taking GLP-1s and then providing little or no follow-up care.

“It gives a black eye to telemedicine,” said Elizabeth Krupinski, an experimental psychologist at Emory University who has conducted research on the effectiveness of telehealth.

Telemedicine stands to benefit “so many people,” Krupinski said, particularly when the technology is integrated within a larger healthcare system. That way, patients benefit from the convenience of telehealth while maintaining a connection with their in-person providers.

But some telehealth companies are marketing GLP-1s as an easy way to lose weight — sometimes with the help of paid celebrity endorsements — without emphasizing the importance of healthy eating and exercise, she said.

They may be following the letter of the law, Krupinski said. But writing prescriptions while skimping on care “is not in the Hippocratic oath.”

The Perfect Storm

Starting around 2020, many states loosened restrictions on telehealth, which allowed online companies to proliferate. This helped accommodate patients who could not, or chose not to, be seen in person at the height of covid transmission.

Expanded telehealth access was also intended to lower barriers in rural communities, as well as mitigate doctor and nurse shortages. In many places, telehealth doctors and nurses are legally allowed to treat patients across state lines. But the way telemedicine is practiced , and state laws largely dictate rules that telehealth providers must follow.

Some companies, such as Mochi Health, require patients to meet virtually with a provider, such as a doctor, nurse practitioner, or physician assistant, before they can get a GLP-1 prescription.

But others, including Ro, sometimes require nothing more of patients than an “asynchronous” evaluation, which does not include a live conversation with a healthcare provider. During this type of evaluation, customers are typically asked to fill out an intake form and answer a medical history questionnaire before they are evaluated for a prescription. Ro requires a conversation in real time when required by state law, or when requested by a patient or clinician, said Nicholas Samonas, a spokesperson for the company.

“Every patient is counseled by their provider on the potential benefits and risks of treatment based on their individual medical history,” Samonas said. Ro’s clinicians can order lab work when necessary and, when appropriate, may recommend patients seek in-person care, he said.

But some medical experts are concerned that virtual care may be insufficient for prescribing weight loss drugs.

Patients with a history of pancreatitis, for example, should be counseled about potential complications, medical studies show. The same goes for people with a condition called gastroparesis, which affects stomach nerves and muscles, and those susceptible to medullary thyroid cancer.

Some patients may also benefit from blood work or muscle mass screening before starting a GLP-1.

But not all telehealth companies are adequately evaluating patients before writing prescriptions, said Marc-Andre Cornier, an endocrinologist at the Medical University of South Carolina and the immediate past president of The Obesity Society.

When it comes to parsing the good from the bad, “whose job is it to police that?” he asked. The problem, he said, is there aren’t criteria written by a government agency or a medical society to determine which providers are treating patients appropriately and which aren’t.

While the first GLP-1 was approved by the FDA more than 20 years ago, to treat Type 2 diabetes, the use of these drugs took off in 2021 when Novo Nordisk received approval for a semaglutide drug to treat obesity, with the brand name Wegovy. In a 2025 KFF poll, said they had taken a GLP-1.

In a in The New England Journal of Medicine, physician Amanda Banks noted that the proportion of GLP-1 prescriptions written for people who were not diabetic, obese, or overweight increased from 4.5% in 2018 to 17% in 2023.

In the paper, Banks called it “troubling” how easy it is to obtain a prescription for weight loss drugs and worried they might exacerbate existing eating disorders or cause new cases, including of anorexia.

Cornier, who has received compensation from Novo Nordisk for serving as a consultant, echoed some of Banks’ concerns. “It’s not just filling out a form online and then having some random healthcare provider sign off on it,” he said. “There are concerns with some of these online programs that there’s not a proper evaluation, there’s not a baseline, and there’s not proper supervision.”

The American Telemedicine Association, which advocates for the expansion of “digitally enabled care,” has not addressed how telehealth providers prescribe GLP-1s, spokesperson Gina Cella said.

“This is a bit out of our scope,” Cella said, when asked if the association had addressed the topic of telehealth providers and GLP-1 prescriptions.

The lack of clarity makes choosing a company potentially confusing for patients, and the medical profession is partly to blame, said Jamy Ard, an obesity doctor and researcher at Wake Forest University School of Medicine in Winston-Salem, North Carolina.

Doctors have historically done a bad job counseling patients about weight loss, and many people aren’t comfortable talking to their primary care doctor about it, Ard said. Patients think, “Why would I go to my doctor and have them say, ‘Eat less and move more,’ when I have heard that a million times and I don’t want to have that lecture again?” Ard said.

This problem, combined with past shortages of name-brand versions of GLP-1s, such as Ozempic, Mounjaro, and Trulicity, has created a “perfect storm” for telehealth companies to flourish, said Ard, who has received support from pharmaceutical and telehealth companies.

While some telehealth companies prescribe only name-brand weight loss drugs, many also offer cheaper, compounded versions. They act as intermediaries between customers and mail-order compounding pharmacies, which create GLP-1s by mixing active ingredients, such as semaglutide, with additives. The ingredients for compounded drugs are commonly sourced from overseas suppliers, and the formulations are not reviewed by the FDA for safety.

The environment is “very much uncontrolled and poorly, if at all, regulated,” Ard said. “There is just no standard of care.”

Emily Hilliard, a spokesperson for the Department of Health and Human Services, told ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News that compounded drugs “should only be used in patients whose medical needs cannot be met by an FDA-approved drug.”

Hilliard said the agency urges “consumers to be vigilant and know the source of their medicine.”

Understanding the Risks

While weight loss drugs have helped millions of people lose weight, they’re not without risk, the data shows.

A ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News data analysis of the FDA’s Adverse Event Monitoring System found that medication errors made by providers or patients with popular weight loss drugs exploded from just over 2,000 reports in 2020 to over 25,000 in 2025. Those self-reported events involved semaglutide, tirzepatide, dulaglutide, and liraglutide, the generic names for leading GLP-1s.

Among frequent issues cited in the adverse event reports were administration of an extra or incorrect dose, issues with communication about a product, and prescribing errors.

Since 2019, the National Poison Data System has fielded a related to overdoses or side effects from injectable weight loss drugs. The data does not distinguish between overdoses tied to a telehealth prescription and those stemming from an in-person medical appointment, but it is a reflection of how prevalent these drugs have become.

Yet data on potential medication errors and adverse reactions to GLP-1 medications is incomplete, because many issues are never reported to federal officials.

For example, in a , the FDA accused drugmaker Novo Nordisk, the maker of Wegovy and Ozempic, of failing to report some adverse events to the federal government, including suicidal ideation and death.

Nobody knows how often adverse events occur, said Kristen Nixon, a Johns Hopkins University researcher who has studied posts about weight loss drugs on Reddit, a popular online forum.

Her team analyzed hundreds of Reddit posts from 2020 through last August and identified frequent mentions of drug reactions and user errors, such as patients’ not knowing how to correctly dose and inject the medication.

But another finding also stood out to her.

“Wow, there are a lot of people talking about telehealth,” Nixon recalled thinking. Reddit commenters said they got GLP-1 prescriptions from scores of telehealth platforms, Nixon found. Commenters also mentioned several dozen compounding pharmacies — often in the same posts about telehealth.

Pharmacies are typically required to counsel patients on medications they receive. But Nixon’s research found that telehealth companies often mail the medications directly, meaning patients do not need to go to a pharmacy.

“Anecdotally, it seems like the telehealth companies are really facilitating access to compounded medications,” Nixon said.

Leslie Gammon, 54, an office manager from Wendell, North Carolina, said she turned to a telehealth company called Amble Health for a weight loss drug prescription. She was given a GLP-1 after filling out an online form, she said.

Like McClain, when she received her mail-order compounded medication in late October, she thought the dosage that accompanied it seemed too high. She’d received a box of semaglutide earlier in the month with a much lower dose. But the refill she received was a stronger formulation, and the instructions told Gammon to inject three times the volume she had been taking in previous weeks.

Even though she injected slightly less than that recommended amount before bed on a Sunday evening, she woke up in the middle of the night “throwing up every 20 to 25 minutes,” she said. And it didn’t stop until Tuesday. She was eventually admitted to a hospital in Raleigh and now owes the hospital over $9,000, a medical bill shows.

Amble Health did not respond to questions for this article.

The delivery system for injectable versions of weight loss drugs is more complicated than for a pill. In its National Poison Data System alert, America’s Poison Centers noted that some people reported “accidentally taking 10-times the recommended dose due to confusing measurement units while using a syringe.”

And people who are eager to lose extra weight — before a wedding or a vacation, for example — may choose to self-administer a higher-than-recommended dose, said Arthur Caplan, a bioethics professor at New York University’s Grossman School of Medicine.

Some telehealth companies aren’t doing enough, he said, to make sure patients understand the risks or the complex delivery system associated with the injectable drugs.

“The consent is not adequate,” Caplan said. “There’s no probing to see if you understood anything.”

Cella, with the American Telemedicine Association, said the group has not addressed the difficulty of educating patients about the risks of injecting weight loss drugs. But she pointed to the association’s “,” which states that telehealth business models “must put the patient first.”

Proceed With Caution

Pharmaceutical companies must list potentially harmful side effects when they advertise the name-brand versions of their FDA-approved medications. Potential include nausea, vomiting, changes in vision, low blood sugar, and, in rare cases, thyroid cancer. Meanwhile, telehealth companies have not historically followed the same rules that drugmakers have in disclosing medication risks in advertisements. But the FDA has started cracking down on misleading drug ads.

A national shortage of weight loss medications in 2022 opened the door for compounding pharmacies to manufacture these drugs. But since the FDA declared the shortage over last year, companies that offer compounded drugs are increasingly facing legal and regulatory challenges related to their marketing tactics.

Mounjaro manufacturer Eli Lilly and other drugmakers are suing multiple telehealth companies for promoting compounded versions of their drugs. In one legal complaint, Eli Lilly alleged Mochi Health had engaged in “deceptive” business tactics. In a motion to dismiss the lawsuit last year, lawyers for Mochi Health called the complaint part of a “nationwide campaign to bolster Lilly’s profits by dictating patient care through the elimination of compounded drugs as a treatment option for weight management.” The lawsuit is ongoing.

Eli Lilly spokesperson Michael Jamison said in a written comment that telehealth companies sued by the drug manufacturer threaten “patient safety by falsely promoting supposedly ‘personalized’ compounded tirzepatide” and mislead “consumers about the safety, clinical testing, and effectiveness of their compounded knockoffs.”

Meanwhile, Novo Nordisk has filed 130 lawsuits against “entities engaged in unlawful marketing and sale of knockoff semaglutide drugs,” said Liz Skrbkova, a spokesperson for the drugmaker.

She said the company is committed to “protecting patients from unapproved knockoff drugs made with foreign, inauthentic active pharmaceutical ingredients that pose significant safety and efficacy risks.”

The Trump administration sent a in September and February to online companies such as , , , and . The FDA said these and other companies had made false or misleading claims related to compounded versions of weight loss drugs.

“Your claims imply that your products are the same as an FDA-approved product when they are not,” the agency’s Center for Drug Evaluation and Research on Sept. 9. HHS later referred the company to the Department of Justice after it announced the launch of a $49 version of Novo Nordisk’s Wegovy pill.

When asked about the FDA warning, Abby Reisinger-Moley, a spokesperson for Hims & Hers, pointed to a announcing a shift away from compounded weight loss drugs. The company said in the press release that it had entered into an agreement with Novo Nordisk to sell name-brand versions.

Alex Smith, CEO of Join Josie, an online platform that helps women in menopause lose weight by prescribing GLP-1s, said his company also made changes in response to an FDA letter, to include removing Join Josie’s name from medication vials. “Which I agree with,” Smith said, “because you don’t want patients thinking you’re the compounding pharmacy.”

SkinnyRx and Genesis Health International did not respond to requests for comment.

But these warnings aren’t the first time the federal government has stepped in to ensure that telemedicine is being used appropriately, said Mei Wa Kwong, executive director of the Center for Connected Health Policy.

Prior cases involved attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder medications and other controlled substances prescribed by telehealth providers, she said. While those drugs pose more risk to patients than GLP-1s, the companies were also accused of improperly screening potential customers.

The onus still falls on consumers to research companies before signing up for their services, Kwong said.

“Always approach anything on the internet with a hint of skepticism,” Kwong said.

‘Keeps Getting Worse’

McClain, the Tennessee woman hospitalized this year after a GLP-1 overdose, said she lost 50 pounds a few years ago by taking a name-brand GLP-1 prescribed by her doctor.

At the time, the medication was covered by her health insurance. This year, when she was ready to take a GLP-1 again following a pregnancy, the drug was no longer covered for weight loss.

To save money by obtaining a cheaper, compounded GLP-1, McClain signed up for Mochi Health after doing her own research. “That was just the most affordable option,” she said.

But within hours of her first dose, she said, she found herself on the phone with poison control.

After her overdose, McClain said, she spoke to a clinical director at Mochi Health, once by phone but mostly via email, about her lingering symptoms before communication paused.

David Pilip, a spokesperson for Mochi Health, said in a statement that the company would not discuss individual patients due to privacy obligations. But he said adverse events are “immediately flagged” and “investigated with extreme precision.”

“Mochi Health takes patient safety extremely seriously,” Pilip wrote in an email. “We promptly initiated a review and have been in direct and ongoing communication with the patient to reach a resolution. We remain committed to doing so.”

McClain anticipates her healthcare bills related to the hospital stay will total at least $900. She said that to get the $159 refund for her three-month membership and reimbursement for the hospital expenses, she has been asked to sign a document saying she won’t take legal action against the company. Her experience, she said, “just keeps getting worse.”

NBC News producer Jessica Herzberg and ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News senior correspondent Fred Schulte contributed to this report.

Do you have an experience using an online company for healthcare services or medicinal products that you think others should know about? Click here to contact our reporting team.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I Thought It Was a Joke’

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

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

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

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

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

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

Supercharging Health Concerns

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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LISTEN: After a guilty verdict for negligent homicide, a former nurse has found receptive audiences on the speaking circuit. She says she hopes her story can help shed light on problems in the healthcare industry.

When RaDonda Vaught got her first speaking request, it had been a year since that day in a Nashville courtroom, when she listened as a jury read her guilty verdict for negligent homicide and neglect of an impaired adult.

That was in 2022. Vaught was sentenced to three years of probation for administering the wrong medication and killing a patient at Vanderbilt University Medical Center in 2017.

She also lost her nursing license. So Vaught became a full-time farmer. She and her husband live on a in Bethpage, Tennessee, tucked in the rolling hills north of Nashville. They sell eggs at farmers markets on Saturdays and supply meat to local butchers and restaurants.

The controversial trial had been national news, and now the healthcare industry wanted to hear from her. So Vaught started giving speeches across the country about what happened that day in the hospital. She says her hope is that others in an industry increasingly turning toward automation and artificial intelligence can understand the multiple factors that contributed to the deadly medication mix-up.

She says she’s painfully aware that it could appear she is profiting from a tragedy of her making.

“It wasn’t something that I wanted to happen. It wasn’t even something that was on my radar to think about,” Vaught said of the speaking requests. “The opportunities just kept presenting themselves.”

The speaking engagements provide her with an income that replaces what she made as a nurse, a career she can never return to. Last year, she told her story more than 20 times, and she is paid $5,000 to $10,000 per event.

But her speaking engagements also provoke criticism. After she told her story at length on Nashville Public Radio’s in March, a retired nurse, Gary Wood, fired off an email to the station. Such medical mistakes could never be justified, he wrote: “It put a stain on a proud and dedicated profession.” Yet, Vaught often finds a receptive audience, eager to hear her perspective.

“I’ve seen her a few times now in person, and I’ve never seen RaDonda tell the story and not be upset,” said Charlene Verga, who invited Vaught to be the closing speaker at the ’s clinical nursing conference last year.

“RaDonda speaking the way she is, she literally is transforming her mistake into a teaching moment,” Verga said.

Vaught expected the speaking gigs would be short-lived. But the reviews were good. And she realized she was comfortable in front of a crowd.

“It was emotionally overwhelming and a little cathartic, but I’m going to tell you, you could have heard a pin drop,” Vaught said of her first talk in 2023 to hundreds of industrial professionals at a meeting organized by , a Knoxville, Tennessee-based company that specializes in root cause analysis.

Vaught has turned her story into a cautionary tale that she hopes will make hospitals safer. She says that humans are going to make mistakes and that systems in healthcare need to be designed so people can fail without killing someone.

“This whole mockery of our healthcare system — people feeling afraid to talk about mistakes and come forward when they happen — it doesn’t save people. It kills them,” she said in a presentation to the .

Onstage, Vaught confronts the painful and embarrassing details directly, often choking back tears when talking about the patient who died — Charlene Murphey.

It wasn’t just one mistake that led to the death.

A doctor had ordered a sedative called Versed to settle Murphey’s claustrophobia before an imaging procedure. Vaught typed “VE” into the search function to retrieve Versed from the electronic medicine cabinet. When it did not dispense, she overrode the system.

In Vaught’s trial, fellow nurses testified that during a time when the hospital was upgrading some of its technology, they could use overrides to bypass delays.

When Vaught took that step, one of the drug options available was vecuronium, a powerful paralytic. Vaught overlooked multiple warnings about the danger of vecuronium, including on the bottle’s cap, which said “Warning: Paralyzing Agent,” according to court records.

Vaught administered the vecuronium and also left the patient alone.

While not disputing most of the facts, Vaught pleaded not guilty to all charges, claiming there were other factors, such as a new electronic health record system that was causing widespread problems in the hospital. A lead investigator for the prosecution testified in the criminal case that Vanderbilt also shared some responsibility.

As previously reported by ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News, Vanderbilt did not initially report the error to regulators as required and told the medical examiner that the patient died of natural causes. The medical center fired Vaught and negotiated a settlement with the Murpheys that keeps the family from talking publicly about her death.

Once the case became a criminal matter, though, the details entered the public record. Vaught is not bound by the hospital’s settlement, allowing her to share whatever she feels comfortable sharing with whomever she wants.

Vanderbilt spokesperson Craig Boerner declined to comment about Vaught’s public speaking or what the medical center learned from the incident.

The two largest companies that make drug-dispensing cabinets, Omnicell and BD, have updated their machines with recommendations from the . One update requires the user to type in more than the first two letters of a medication to pull up a list of options.

Many hospitals also tweaked their drug administration protocols, such as by requiring wristband barcode checks anywhere a patient gets medication in a hospital.

Reacting to Vaught’s case, the state legislature in Kentucky that became law in 2024 providing immunity for on-the-job healthcare mistakes. Support wasn’t just bipartisan. It was unanimous.

Nursing consultant went to nursing school with Vaught and has worked directly with her as a nurse. Vaught’s criminal case inspired him to go to law school, he said. He now plans to help other nurses defend themselves in similar cases, even though he sees the need for accountability.

If it had been up to him, he also would have fired Vaught, Garvey said. He also thinks that the Tennessee Board of Nursing should have taken action immediately. Only after the patient’s death escalated to a criminal matter did the board revisit the case and revoke Vaught’s license.

But the defendants’ side of the story is rarely ever told, Garvey said, because they are advised by their lawyers not to talk.

Now that she has a platform, Garvey said, it’s therapeutic for Vaught. Her talks resonate with anxious nurses across the nation, he said, and promote a much-needed discussion about collective responsibility.

“We can’t change what happened. We can only change what we do moving forward,” Garvey said. “Having the individual who can tell you the play-by-play — that was there when it actually happened — is incredibly valuable.”

This article is from a partnership that includes ,Ìý, and ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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WILLIAMSTON, N.C. — Two years after her brother’s death, Debra Pierce still wonders whether the 50-year-old would have survived his heart attack if her local hospital hadn’t closed.

“The sad thing is we’ll never know if he could have been saved that night or not, because we don’t have a higher level of care in this county,” Pierce said as she stood outside the mobile home where she last hugged her brother.

Emergency crews from a neighboring town worked on Stanley Sears for a half hour but couldn’t revive him for the long drive to the closest hospital, records show.

In the tall grass — which would be mowed if Sears were still alive — Pierce swiped through the photos on her phone. She stopped at a picture that showed Sears smiling. Pierce chuckled and then sighed: “Bless him.”

The local hospital had closed a year before Sears’ death, leaving behind a gutted healthcare system. Martin County does not have paramedics on its ambulances, and it can be 20 miles or more to the closest — and often overcrowded — emergency rooms.

The healthcare gaps in Martin County illustrate the finite reach of a $50 billion rural health fund that Republicans crafted to strengthen support for President Donald Trump’s signature tax and spending measure, the One Big Beautiful Bill Act, last year. Though the cash has not been doled out, Republican candidates in competitive midterm elections — including the closely watched battle for the congressional district that encompasses Martin County — are casting the fund as a lifeline that will shore up critical rural health services across America.

The money has been highly anticipated in North Carolina, where most residents live in rural counties. Pierce, a Republican who blames county officials for the hospital closure, said she has faith Trump will help them. “Old man’s doing his job up in there,” she said.

On paper, Martin County — home to about 22,000 people — looks like a top contender to receive at least some of the $213 million that’s been earmarked for North Carolina.

Yet County Manager Drew Batts said it won’t be the answer for his residents.

“The $50 billion is not something that is specifically going to help our situation,” Batts said as he walked into the shuttered hospital in April. “It’s not going to help us get this place reopened.”

Martin County won’t get direct relief from Trump’s rural health fund — because its hospital isn’t open. North Carolina is distributing the money among existing health and social service organizations. Plus, federal regulators on how much can be spent on construction and building renovations.

‘We Can Only Pray’

Martin General Hospital closed abruptly in 2023, surprising employees and shocking patients, who had to be wheeled out on stretchers and transported elsewhere to finish treatment. The closure even stunned local elected leaders, who say the company operating the county-owned hospital, Quorum Health, did not notify them it intended to shut down operations and file for bankruptcy. Quorum spokesperson Lisa Anderson said the company had told county commissioners of the hospital’s ongoing financial challenges.

Politicians have spent the years since trying to reopen the hospital, with county taxpayers pouring an estimated $2.9 million into maintenance, utilities, and other costs in the hopes of resuming operations, Batts said.

The county is now considering spending at least $1.5 million, he said, to create two higher-level paramedic units with quick-response vehicles, specially equipped with electrocardiogram equipment or other “advanced lifesaving support.”

Pierce said she is praying the county can add paramedics and reopen the hospital.

“There’s some answered prayers happening every day,” she said. “So, we can only pray and hope, you know?”

‘They Just Want To Not Die’

With its nine hospitals, the region’s largest health system is ECU Health, connected to East Carolina University. The system has become a de facto safety net for 29 counties. Batts and Brian Floyd, the Greenville-based system’s chief operating officer, have lobbied state and federal lawmakers, walking them through the shuttered hospital and asking for help.

“It’s a real healthcare crisis that has already proven itself to have lost lives that perhaps didn’t have to be lost,” Floyd said. “They just want to not die because there’s nowhere to go when you have an emergency.”

Eleisa Ann Evans drove 2½ hours from a small town near the Outer Banks on a recent evening so her aunt could get care at an ECU Health ER in Greenville. Once there, Evans said, staff told her to leave her 79-year-old aunt in the waiting room and wait outside because of capacity issues.

Evans said she was outraged at the way the staff treated her. She said she had been standing behind her aunt’s wheelchair while inside and “wasn’t using nobody’s chair.”

With Martin General gone, all the surrounding counties are “also in jeopardy,” Floyd said. “No one knows what to do” with that large of a healthcare “desert,” he said.

What healthcare is left in the county includes one urgent care center, run by a private company, and a nonprofit health clinic, operated by Agape Health Services, which accepts patients from five counties and plans to build another primary care clinic to meet demand.

ECU Health signed a letter of intent to reopen Martin General as a rural emergency hospital that would provide outpatient care as well as an ER. Under the terms of the deal, Martin County would pay to refurbish the hospital, and the North Carolina General Assembly would have to give ECU Health $210 million, of which $150 million would pay for the construction of a new inpatient tower at ECU’s Beaufort Hospital.

The health system, through its affiliate , won a portion of North Carolina’s $213 million first-year payout from the rural fund. But the federal money can’t be used to reopen Martin General, Floyd said.

The five-year Rural Health Transformation Program is slated to be delivered in $10 billion annual increments to states, which applied and competed for the money.

North Carolina’s plan creates a that allots money to six large regional leads, including nonprofits such as Access East. Those hubs will distribute money to local entities and coordinate broad initiatives such as improving primary care and fortifying the healthcare workforce, as well as developing “digital solutions,” according to the state’s .

An Election Issue

The lack of emergency care in the region has emerged as a top talking point in a close U.S. House race between Rep. Don Davis, a Democrat who represented the district when Martin General closed and is seeking his third term, and Republican Laurie Buckhout.

The rural health fund was added at the last minute in 2025 to win votes for the One Big Beautiful Bill Act, which is expected to reduce federal Medicaid spending by more than $900 billion over a decade — cuts that are projected to hit rural hospitals and clinics especially hard. Rural health executives say the fund won’t come close to offsetting those losses.

Matt Mercer, a spokesperson for the North Carolina Republican Party, called the rural fund a “once in-a-generation opportunity” for the state.

But U.S. Sen. Thom Tillis, who was one of three Republican senators to vote against the bill — and who announced shortly before the final vote that he planned to retire from Congress — warned of devastating consequences ahead for healthcare in his state.

Buckhout, who declined an interview, plans to attack Davis — a vulnerable incumbent whose district was recently redrawn to favor GOP candidates — for voting against the bill.

“Martin County lost its hospital on his watch, and he still opposed the funding meant to help communities like it,” Buckhout campaign spokesperson Stephen Gallagher said in a statement to ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News. The campaign did not respond to additional queries about her plans for healthcare access, if elected.

Davis, who signed from lawmakers in support of North Carolina’s rural health fund application, said the money “is essentially putting a band-aid on a much, much broader situation that needs dire help.” He has that would increase Medicaid reimbursements for rural hospitals, though it has not moved forward.

During recent testimony on Capitol Hill in Washington, ECU Health CEO Michael Waldrum said his system expects to lose a billion dollars over the next 10 years from the looming Medicaid cuts.

Overnight Waits for Emergency Care

The region’s emergency rooms offer a stark glimpse of a healthcare system in crisis.

Martin General’s ER treated annually before it closed, according to state data. A sign still hangs in the staff break room showing that 23 patients were seen in the ER the day it closed.

ECU Health, which owns all but one of the rural hospitals around Martin General, reported a 132% increase in its daily ER visits since the hospital’s closure. The company’s nearly 1,000-bed hospital in Greenville, about 40 minutes from Williamston, is the state’s only Level 1 trauma center east of Raleigh.

The Greenville hospital’s median patient ER wait and treatment time was nearly 4½ hours, according to the most . That’s longer than 96% of thousands of hospitals reporting nationwide. The wait times “don’t reflect poor care,” ECU Health spokesperson Brian Wudkwych said in an emailed statement. He said the system’s ERs treat nearly 300,000 patients annually.

While the system has seen an increase in Martin County patients, the wait times primarily stem from shortages of inpatient and behavioral health beds, Wudkwych said.

Floyd, the ECU Health chief operating officer, said many rural patients who arrive at the system’s ERs have multiple chronic conditions that require longer visits. Often doctors start treating one problem and then find the patient’s “blood sugar is out of control, your hypertension is far out of control,” he said.

ECU staff encourage people who are not too sick to skip Greenville and, instead, seek care at one of the system’s community hospitals, which aren’t as busy, Floyd said.

A security officer guarded the Greenville emergency department’s doors on two nights in April. The “capacity notice” sign near the entrance meant family members of patients had to wait in cars or on benches outside.

“We’ve only been here six hours,” Tonya Miles said after bringing her mother for a potential blood clot in her leg. The family had left the day before after waiting for two hours, because her mom “wasn’t prepared” for such a delay in treatment, Miles said.

On another evening, Olivia Lewis said she had brought her mother two nights previously and left without care after their wait stretched from 10:30 p.m. to 7 a.m.

“She tore off her hospital bracelet and said: ‘I’m out. I’m done,’” she said. Now, they were back.

On a recent Friday in Martin County, Vannessa Little was sitting at a McDonald’s with her kids just down the street from the closed hospital. Little pointed to one of her girls and wondered how her care would have been different if the hospital had been open.

Her daughter, then 6, suffered severe burns over 30% of her body in 2024, and the journey to treatment was “just crazy,” Little said. An ambulance arrived at her Williamston home from neighboring Bertie County to transport them to ECU’s Greenville ER.

“That was a long time,” Little said of the 30-mile drive. The girl was ultimately airlifted more than 100 miles to Chapel Hill. Little said she hadn’t heard of Trump’s rural health investment. “The only changes that people are making is they’re taking away everything.”

She voted against Trump in 2024 and said she didn’t think she would vote this year.

“It’s a waste of my time.”

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Sign-ups were already down in January by about from last year’s . For this year, enrollees then faced premiums that increased, on average, . On top of that, subsidies that help people purchase coverage shrank or vanished.

Now experts are watching how many of the approximately 23 million people who enrolled will fail to pay their share of premiums.

While available data on premium payments is mainly from January, a few states that run their own ACA markets have released information for later months. The sharpest drop in people paying premiums, based on limited data, is , which saw a 28% drop in April compared with the same period a year ago, according to an analysis by Charles Gaba, a healthcare policy analyst and blogger who specializes in the ACA.

The news website NOTUS that it had internal Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services data showing that roughly 21% of people using the federal ACA marketplace — — failed to pay their share of January premiums, which, if correct, is far higher than at the same time last year.

CMS did not answer questions from ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News about the enrollment data.

In looking at the early numbers analysts released, “we can’t yet quantify how much worse it will be than in previous years, but it will absolutely be worse because of the sticker shock,” said Ellen Montz, a managing director with the Manatt Health consultancy, who helped oversee the ACA during her tenure with the Biden administration.

The initial results come amid rising public concern about affordability, that are often .

A KFF analysis , for instance, found that the average ACA plan deductible saw the steepest increase in history — growing by 37%, or over $1,000, from $2,759 in 2025 to $3,786 in 2026 as enhanced premium tax credits expired.

Those rising costs pose a political challenge for President Donald Trump and the broader GOP, which has opposed enhanced subsidies to help people purchase Obamacare coverage. Republican lawmakers also passed a spending package last year — enacted as the One Big Beautiful Bill Act — that included provisions expected to reduce ACA enrollment and fueling higher premiums this year.

The enrollment reductions “are real people with real consequences,” Montz said. “The Affordable Care Act is a political lightning rod, but it’s a critical component of the coverage landscape.”

Following the Numbers

Right now, the drop-off rate aligns with what some policy experts predicted, partly because Congress did not extend generous benefits that expired at the end of last year. Those enhanced subsidies had been in place since 2021.

“Overall, the individual market does appear to be trending toward a significant contraction in 2026, and may well resemble” drops projected by the , said a , an analysis arm of the HMA Co.

Based on its analysis, drawn from data provided by 75 insurers, Wakely estimates that average ACA enrollment will end up being 17% to 26% lower this year than last.

So far, the Wakely report says, an average 86% of enrollees made their first payment in January.

Failure to pay premiums varied by state. Those with the lowest drop-off rates had enacted additional help — such as backfilling part or all of the reduced subsidy amounts with state money — or experienced lower premium increases. States that run their own exchanges had higher payment rates (92%) than those served by the federal marketplace (82% to 84%).

Gaba’s initial analysis of data includes more recent numbers from nine of the 20 states that run their own Obamacare marketplaces.

“Georgia could be fairly representative” of other states that did not enact additional protections, Gaba said. For example, payment failure rates, year over year, were 11.6% as of April in New Jersey, and, as of February, 15.7% in Washington state and 8.5% in California.

Only one state in his sample — New Mexico — saw an increase in the percentage of people making premium payments, according to the latest available monthly data. Unlike most, it to fully make up for the lower federal subsidy amounts.

Enrollment figures for the ACA are never static. Traditionally, more people sign up — either through auto reenrollment or by taking initiative to shop — than actually pay premiums, so the numbers tend to be higher at the start of the year.

People drop out over the course of a year for many reasons, such as finding other coverage through a job or by marrying someone with insurance.

Cost, of course, is a factor. This year, because premiums went up and subsidies went down, many people faced what they previously paid toward their coverage.

And the Trump administration ended a special enrollment program that let low-income people enroll year-round.

drops should not be seen solely in the context of rising costs. Paragon Health Institute, a free-market think tank that has become influential among conservatives on Capitol Hill, has long argued that record enrollment numbers in recent years were fueled by fraudulent sign-ups, perhaps in the millions.

, , and policy experts took issue with the methodology Paragon used to estimate improper enrollments, saying they likely were vastly overestimated.

In a , the organization’s president, Brian Blase, doubled down on the fraud findings. Using data that detailed how many people failed to make premium payments each year, on average, from 2014 to 2019 — the year before covid emerged and two years before enhanced subsidies kicked in — he offered this prediction for 2026: About 19 million people would be enrolled by year’s end. Even at that, the note says, the “market would be 90% higher than the pre-COVID average.”

For other experts, however, the biggest explanation for falling enrollment is cost.

Some people had never experienced the ACA before the enhanced tax credits kicked in, so they faced extra sticker shock.

“In economic theory, no matter whether one is left, right, or center, it’s a simple fact that when you raise prices of something, fewer people will buy it,” said Sabrina Corlette, co-director of the Center on Health Insurance Reforms at Georgetown University.

The Long View

The expectation of a lower enrollment trend holding up is one of the key factors likely to translate into higher cost estimates as insurers draw up 2027 rates.

For one thing, though it is still unclear how many people will stay enrolled, it is also unknown whether those enrollees will submit more medical claims than insurers projected. It’s generally thought that younger or healthier people are more likely to drop coverage when faced with growing premiums.

Secondly, there has been a sharp shift by consumers to purchase bronze-level plans, which have smaller monthly premiums but higher deductibles — the amount people must pay out-of-pocket for most treatment, except preventive care, before insurers pitch in. The found that sign-ups for bronze plans jumped from 30% to 40% of total plan selections — growing from 7.3 million in 2025 to 9.2 million people this year. Will they pay? Or will hospitals and doctors be on the hook for uncollected copays or deductibles, and then raise prices to compensate?

Insurers base their premiums, in part, on such analyses.

Another troubling factor for actuaries is the late posting of a key regulation that sets the next year’s rules for ACA health plans. The initial 2027 proposal from the Trump administration came out in mid-February and included aggressive new ideas — such as sharply increasing deductibles for certain types of ACA plans or allowing insurers to offer plans with no set networks of medical providers. It was , well into the time when insurers are calculating premiums for the following year. Many of the proposed changes, with some modifications, were approved, such as allowing for higher annual deductibles in some types of coverage.

“This is definitely a challenging year to be an actuary,” said Louise Norris, a health policy analyst for healthinsurance.org, a consumer information and referral website affiliated with Trove Group, an insurance agency.

“We know for sure that the individual market has gotten smaller and almost certainly sicker, as the people dropping coverage are more likely to be healthy.”

While they “aren’t waving huge red flags” yet, insurers are closely watching trends, said Michelle Anderson, a director at Wakely and co-author of the recent report.

Anderson does not expect an average 26% premium increase like the one seen this year.

Still, Anderson expects the ongoing uncertainty and predicted decline in enrollment, which will vary by state and insurer, to play a role in setting next year’s premium rates.

“It would not surprise me if there were some double-digit increases,” Anderson said.

ºÚÁϳԹÏÍø News reporter Rachel Spears contributed to this article.

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