The migraine tormenting the 32-year-old in April was even worse than usual. After a week of piercing head pain, she went to an urgent care center near her home in Champaign, Illinois, and received an , a non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drug that usually helps with her symptoms. The doctor at the clinic told her that if the pain didn’t improve, she should go to an emergency room the next day.

It didn’t improve. So the next morning, Daniels’ sister took her to a nearby ER, at Carle Foundation Hospital in Urbana. She said the ER didn’t seem very busy when she registered at the front desk and was taken briefly to an exam room, where a staffer checked her vital signs and asked whether she had migraines frequently. Then they told her to sit in the waiting room until she was called.

She and her sister waited. And waited. By then, Daniels said, she was vomiting every 10 minutes, a during one of her serious migraine attacks.

After four hours, with no indication that Daniels would be seen anytime soon, her sister took her to another hospital. There, after a wait of about an hour and a half, Daniels was seen and received treatment, including more Toradol and anti-nausea medication.

Having left Carle without getting treatment, Daniels didn’t expect to be charged.

Then the bill came.

The Medical Service

Daniels said a staffer checked her pulse, temperature, and blood pressure when she arrived at Carle. She said she received no other services, nor was she seen by a doctor.

At one point while they sat in the waiting room, Daniels said, her sister asked for an ice pack for her head, but the staff wouldn’t provide one.

“ER triage is driven by risk of death or serious harm, not by level of suffering,” said Jennifer Robblee, a neurologist at the Barrow Neurological Institute in Phoenix and a board member at the Association of Migraine Disorders. “Migraine patients without red flags are unlikely to be prioritized, as they are not at immediate risk of dying.”

The Bill

$410 for an “Emergency Room Level 1” visit. Daniels said she requested an itemized bill showing how the hospital arrived at that figure but never received one.

This is not the first time that a patient has complained to 51ÊÓƵ Health News’ “Bill of the Month” about receiving a bill after leaving a Carle Health emergency room without being treated. In 2023, Maggi Wettstein took her toddler to a different Carle Health hospital and was billed $445 for a nasal swab test for covid and influenza. They, too, left before getting treatment.

The Billing Problem: What Counts as Care?

Though Daniels left the emergency room after a four-hour wait without being treated, the hospital billed her anyway. Her health plan, provided through her job as a state employee, paid for her treatment at the second hospital but denied the Carle claim, leaving her on the hook for the charges.

“Under the terms of her health plan, claims associated with a patient leaving the facility against medical advice are not eligible for coverage,” Leslie Porras, a spokesperson for HealthLink, which administers Daniels’ plan, said in a statement.

When Daniels asked about her bill, a Carle representative responded in an email that said: “Effective March 1, 2026, Emergency Department visits may result in charges even if you are not seen directly by a provider. When you arrive at the Emergency Department, your visit begins as soon as care is initiated.”

The email said “care” could mean registration and nursing assessment, in addition to diagnostic testing and treatment. It said that even if patients leave without being seen by a provider, they may still be charged, because the hospital is using resources to maintain its staff, space, and equipment.

Carle Health declined to discuss Daniels’ bill or her care with 51ÊÓƵ Health News, even though Daniels signed a privacy waiver that authorized it to do so.

In a statement, Carle Health spokesperson Brittany Simon said, “Our Emergency Department has consistent billing practices for triage care,” referring to the process through which patients are evaluated to ensure the most critical cases are treated first.

“Carle Health takes patient concerns seriously and supports transparency in our billing processes,” she said.

Typically, an ER bill would include separate dollar amounts for physician charges and hospital charges, said Amber Padron, assistant director of case management at the Patient Advocate Foundation, a nonprofit that assists patients with chronic or life-threatening conditions.

Daniels’ bill listed a single charge, for $410. Under the description, it said “Emergency Room Level 1” and included the current procedural terminology code “99281.” CPT codes are used to bill for evaluation and management, or E/M, services provided by a medical professional. is the lowest level of emergency care.

But there’s a catch: According to the American Medical Association’s CPT guide, “Triage alone is not an E/M service; therefore, it cannot be reported with an E/M code.”

It gets murkier. According to Robert Mills, a spokesperson for the AMA, the physician charge for an emergency visit under that CPT code would generally be significantly less than $410.

“It is likely the hospital consolidated the provider-billed charge with a facility fee,” Mills said, referring to a fee that hospitals tack onto bills to cover their overhead costs, such as utilities.

Amid the billing uncertainty, Daniels is clear about one thing: The decision to charge ER patients who leave without getting treatment is recent.

In 2025, she went to the same emergency room with gastrointestinal problems. After waiting for several hours, she went elsewhere for care. She said that before leaving, her mother, who accompanied her that day, confirmed with the front desk that Daniels wouldn’t be charged if they left then. And she wasn’t.

“So when I went in for this visit in April, I had no idea I was going to be charged, because it was a very similar set of circumstances,” Daniels said.

The health system didn’t respond to a question about why it changed its policy.

The Resolution

Carle didn’t budge. According to the health system’s email to Daniels, “the charges have been determined to be accurate and fully supported by the medical record documentation.”

Daniels said she paid $25 of the $410 bill and has applied for financial assistance.

Meanwhile, according to HealthLink’s statement to 51ÊÓƵ Health News, Daniels can contest her health plan’s denial: “Ms. Daniels has the right to appeal the decision through the established appeals process.”

She’s considering it, but she remains outraged about what happened.

“How is it ethical or even legal for a hospital to essentially bill for occupying a waiting room?” she asked.

The Takeaway

Don’t assume you won’t be billed if you leave a hospital before receiving medical care. You can check with the front desk about the facility’s policy, as well as ask your insurer whether it provides coverage for such bills.

If the hospital billing department isn’t giving you information about what services you’re being billed for, request your medical records, said Padron, of the Patient Advocate Foundation.

Furthermore, when your health plan processes a claim, you should receive an explanation of benefits informing you of that and explaining what you may owe. Keep an eye on your mail and your insurance portal.

When a claim is denied, filing an appeal with your health plan is always a smart idea, Padron said.

“It’s always going to be a no if you don’t appeal,” she said.

Bill of the Month is a crowdsourced investigation by 51ÊÓƵ Health News and that dissects and explains medical bills. Since 2018, this series has helped many patients and readers get their medical bills reduced, and it has been cited in statehouses, at the U.S. Capitol, and at the White House. Do you have a confusing or outrageous medical bill you want to share? Tell us about it!

This article first appeared on 51ÊÓƵ Health News and is republished here under a .

Source: <a href=”; target=_”blank”>Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services</a>

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51ÊÓƵ Health News will update this database as more states respond to emails and public records requests for their documents.

Note: Data collected as of Sept. 11, 2026. 51ÊÓƵ Health News reporters searched state websites, requested documents, and filed public records requests. 51ÊÓƵ Health News continues to collect documents.

Sources: Documents publicly posted online or released in response to 51ÊÓƵ Health News requests; <a href=”; target=_”blank”>Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services</a>

This article first appeared on 51ÊÓƵ Health News and is republished here under a .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Controlling Costs or Harming Patients?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Consumers Stuck in the Middle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

States Step Up While Federal Oversight Stalls

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

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

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

Half of States Restrict Insurers From Pocketing Copay Assistance

Some health insurers use copay accumulator programs to keep funds that are meant to defray patients’ out-of-pocket costs for expensive specialty drugs, such as those that treat chronic conditions. These programs are restricted for individual and small-group health plans in 26 states and Washington, D.C.

Sources: <a href=”; target=”_blank”>The AIDS Institute</a>; <a href=”; target=”_blank”>America’s Health Rankings</a>; <a href=”; target=”_blank”>51ÊÓƵ</a>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Are you struggling to afford your health insurance? Have you decided to forgo coverage? Click here to contact 51ÊÓƵ Health News and share your story.

This article first appeared on 51ÊÓƵ Health News and is republished here under a .

“REMOVE ME FROM YOUR LIST!!!! DO NOT EMAIL OR MAIL ME ANY MORE!

“It is because of your animal based pre-term artificial baby food crap that you peddle to hospital NICU’s that my son is dead from NEC.”

The mother was referring to neonatal intensive care units and necrotizing enterocolitis, an often fatal condition in which intestinal tissue can die and allow infection to spread through the body of an infant born prematurely.

In an internal memo, Mead Johnson cited its “extensive quality and safety checks” and concluded there was “not a reasonable possibility” that the 51ÊÓƵ caused the baby’s death. “No further investigation is needed. This file can be closed,” the memo said.

And with that decision, the company narrowed the chance that the mother’s anguish could draw attention to any danger the 51ÊÓƵ might pose to other infants.

The mother’s email and the company’s memo assessing it were used as evidence in the court cases and .

When doctors, hospitals, parents, or others alert manufacturers that babies got sick or died while receiving infant 51ÊÓƵ, what happens next is left largely to manufacturers such as Abbott Laboratories and Mead Johnson Nutrition, giants of the industry.

Mead Johnson’s handling of the mother’s email showed how that can play out.

Under , if a complaint about an infant 51ÊÓƵ — such as a report of an adverse event — shows a possible health hazard, the company must investigate.

But it doesn’t always have to inform the government agency that oversees the safety of infant 51ÊÓƵ.

A company must complete an investigation and notify the Food and Drug Administration within only if it finds “a reasonable possibility of a causal relationship between the consumption of an infant 51ÊÓƵ and an infant’s death.”

If that happened even once over more than a quarter century, the FDA could find no record of it, according to information obtained through public records requests.

‘Never Reported’

Under the Freedom of Information Act, 51ÊÓƵ Health News asked the FDA for all notifications that manufacturers of infant 51ÊÓƵ sent the agency per the regulatory requirement since Jan. 1, 2020. The agency’s Human Foods Program “did not receive any,” Kimberly Jones, a government information specialist at the FDA, responded in March.

51ÊÓƵ Health News then asked the FDA to go back decades further — to Jan. 1, 2000. “After a diligent search of our files, we did not locate any responsive records,” Jones wrote on May 5.

The FDA’s search results were consistent with court testimony.

John Wallingford, a paid expert witness for Abbott, testified in a Missouri court in October 2024 that Abbott had under any regulation for preterm infant 51ÊÓƵ.

that he was not referring to adverse events in clinical trials, which are studies used for research and development and are subject to different procedures. Abbott informed the FDA about adverse events that occurred during a clinical trial, .

Christina Valentine testified in a 2024 deposition that she never sent the FDA a report of death from NEC during her seven years as Mead Johnson’s medical director for North America. In the deposition, used in the Whitfield case, she said she never concluded there was a reasonable possibility that an infant’s death from NEC might have been related to a Mead Johnson product.

As medical director for North America, she was responsible for signing off on those determinations, she testified in the Watson trial.

In the deposition, Valentine said she wasn’t sure whether anyone else at the company sent a death report to the FDA.

In late May and mid-June, Mead Johnson spokesperson Jen O’Neill added to the picture.

“Where there is a physician report that includes an opinion that one of our products caused NEC in a preterm infant, we have treated that as a ‘reasonable possibility of a causal relationship,’ and we submitted an adverse event report to the FDA,” she wrote.

“These physician reports were generally made by plaintiffs’ paid experts, with which we disagree,” she wrote.

O’Neill left unclear whether events Mead Johnson reported to the FDA were raised in lawsuits and, if so, whether the company reported them to the FDA before they surfaced in litigation.

Asked repeatedly when Mead Johnson filed the reports, O’Neill didn’t say.

It’s unclear why the FDA found no record of them.

Nor would O’Neill say whether the company submitted one related to the distraught mother’s September 2016 complaint.

That mother’s name wasn’t publicly disclosed in the court record containing her complaint.

“[P]rior to the current litigation, we received very few reports relating to our products and NEC and even fewer for which our investigation uncovered any evidence supporting a reasonable possibility of a causal relationship,” O’Neill wrote.

Industry personnel have reacted to some complaints with circular reasoning, as shown by court records from the Watson, Whitfield, and cases. Company personnel didn’t think their products caused harm, and they didn’t view new cases as evidence of harm, records show.

‘Reprehensible’ Conduct

About 2,300 newborns died of necrotizing enterocolitis in the United States from 2017 through 2023, the equivalent of almost , according to a 51ÊÓƵ Health News analysis of a for those years. The database doesn’t attempt to explain what caused those babies to develop NEC, and it doesn’t count babies who survived NEC.

A wave of lawsuits has alleged that infant 51ÊÓƵ made by Abbott or Mead Johnson harmed or killed preterm babies by causing or contributing to cases of NEC. As of late January, 1,760 NEC lawsuits were pending against Abbott, company spokesperson Scott Stoffel said, clarifying a disclosure in a .

This article is based largely on transcripts, deposition videos, and exhibits from three court cases that went to trial in 2024. The lawsuits were filed by parents of babies who suffered or died from NEC.

Abbott and Mead Johnson have denied fault. They, along with various medical authorities including and the , have said that, when nutritional needs can’t be met with human milk, 51ÊÓƵ is vital.

One of the cases, , led to a against Mead Johnson. , Gill v. Abbott, led to a against Abbott. , Whitfield v. St. Louis Children’s Hospital, et al., led to a jury verdict in favor of Abbott and Mead Johnson, but the judge found errors and misconduct on the part of defense counsel, faulted his own performance, and .

The judge’s ruling in the Whitfield case is on appeal.

On May 5, a Missouri appeals court against Abbott, saying “we find Abbott’s conduct significantly reprehensible.”

“Throughout the trial, the jury heard evidence that Abbott knew its 51ÊÓƵ posed significant risks to preterm infants weighing under 1500g yet made little effort to mitigate that risk,” the court wrote.

On June 12, an Illinois appeals court against Mead Johnson and sent the case back for a new trial. The trial court risked prejudicing the jury by improperly admitting evidence about Mead Johnson’s finances, including its revenues, profits, and executive compensation, the appeals court said.

In addition, the trial judge gave the jury erroneous instructions, the appeals court ruled. Any negligence on Mead Johnson’s part hinged on a failure to warn, and the company’s duty was not to warn the mother in that case of any danger, as she had claimed, but rather to warn doctors, the appeals court ruled.

In April, after another trial, a jury in Chicago ordered Abbott to pay four plaintiffs a total of $70 million. Abbott is contesting that verdict and the Missouri appeals court’s decision.

In at least four cases, judges have in favor of Abbott — ruling for the company before the lawsuits reached trial.

‘Branding NICU Babies’

Abbott makes Similac products, and Mead Johnson makes the Enfamil line.

The two companies have vied to place their products in neonatal intensive care units, which serve as entry points to hospital contracts and the retail market, 51ÊÓƵ Health News reported in a March article based largely on records from court cases.

For instance, a Mead Johnson slide deck for a 2020 national sales meeting — later used in the Whitfield trial — outlined a plan for “Branding NICU Babies.”

The litigation opened a wider window into the business and regulation of infant 51ÊÓƵ, including adverse event reports.

“Abbott complies with all applicable FDA regulations on adverse event reporting, including by keeping detailed records of every single complaint/adverse event report Abbott receives and investigating NEC complaints,” Stoffel said in November. “FDA routinely conducts audits that include Abbott’s adverse event investigations and reporting as part of its active regulation of infant nutrition.”

Mead Johnson’s O’Neill echoed that.

“Our adverse event reporting complies with all applicable regulatory requirements,” O’Neill said in a November statement to 51ÊÓƵ Health News. “The FDA audits Mead Johnson on an annual basis and has never identified any issue about our approach to reporting.”

The reports the company filed with the FDA were submitted through the agency’s regional office in Detroit, she said.

It’s unclear whether the FDA looked in Detroit.

FDA rules require manufacturers to send written confirmations in the Washington area that oversees infant 51ÊÓƵ and other foods.

Asked if the company sent them to that office, O’Neill did not answer.

51ÊÓƵ Health News requested an interview with Mead Johnson to clarify its statements about how it handled adverse event reports. The company did not grant one.

Plaintiffs have used internal documents from the companies to allege that, in house, people have long recognized a correlation between NEC and the use of preterm 51ÊÓƵs made from cow’s milk.

For example, in a 2010 research proposal shown in a deposition used in the Gill case, Abbott scientists wrote that NEC “is the most severe GI complication of prematurity and the use of bovine milk-based fortifiers and 51ÊÓƵs are believed to be the primary risk factor.”

A Mead Johnson document used in the Whitfield lawsuit cited “80% necrotizing enterocolitis (NEC) risk reduction when human milk is used in place of 51ÊÓƵ.”

Abbott that correlation does not equal causation.

“Numerous studies and NEC authorities have made clear that preterm infant 51ÊÓƵ does not cause NEC; it’s the absence of human milk that increases NEC risk rather than anything harmful in 51ÊÓƵ,” Abbott spokesperson Stoffel said.

The FDA, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, and the National Institutes of Health weighed in with a in October 2024, saying, “There is no conclusive evidence that preterm infant 51ÊÓƵ causes NEC” and “there is strong evidence that human milk is protective against NEC.”

Mead Johnson’s O’Neill said the scientific consensus is that there is no established causal link between the use of specialized preterm hospital nutrition products and NEC.

O’Neill cited a statement by the saying the causes of NEC “are multifaceted and not completely understood.”

In a legal brief filed with an Illinois appeals court in the Watson case, the company said “the NEC related risks” of a 51ÊÓƵ for preterm infants “are the subject of medical debate.”

Managing Potential Warnings

Court records from lawsuits shed light on how the manufacturers have managed potential warnings from the field.

Fabrizis Suarez, who was director of medical safety and surveillance at Abbott from 2006 to 2023, said in a January 2024 deposition used in the Gill and Whitfield cases that he knew of no instance in which Abbott notified the FDA that a baby had died of NEC that could have been caused by Abbott’s 51ÊÓƵ for preterm infants.

There were numerous cases in which healthcare providers told Abbott they believed the 51ÊÓƵ caused the NEC, but Abbott disagreed every time, Suarez testified.

Abbott tracks and reviews every NEC report it receives and looks for patterns, Suarez testified.

Courtney Colombo, who identified herself in a March 2024 deposition used in the Gill and Whitfield cases as director of postmarketing medical safety and surveillance at Abbott, likewise testified that she knew of no instance in which Abbott reported to any regulatory authority anywhere in the world that one of its preterm infant 51ÊÓƵs was possibly related to a death caused by NEC.

Abbott from the FDA, according to testimony from Wallingford, a paid expert witness on regulatory matters who spent 10 years at the FDA. The complaints were in company files FDA inspectors reviewed during annual inspections, he said in the Whitfield case.

Wallingford also testified that inspections are for reporting infant deaths.

Questioning Wallingford in court, plaintiff’s lawyer Kevin Carnie Jr. invoked the cliché about the .

Wallingford declined to comment for this article. Valentine and Colombo did not respond to messages sent via LinkedIn. Valentine and Suarez did not respond to letters mailed to addresses that appeared to be associated with them. A letter to Colombo with signature required, sent to an address apparently associated with her, was returned unopened.

Not Publicly Reported

Adverse event reports can prompt the FDA to take action to protect the public.

For example, in 2011, the parents, caregivers, and healthcare providers not to feed SimplyThick, a thickening gel, to premature infants fitting a particular profile. The product, used to manage swallowing difficulties, might cause NEC, the FDA said.

The FDA first learned about possible problems with SimplyThick from physicians, according to an FDA document that an attorney for Abbott, Sierra Elizabeth, read from during the Whitfield trial.

The stakes for companies and consumers are high.

A finding under the “reasonable possibility” standard could trigger a product recall, said Martin Hahn, a regulatory attorney for Mead Johnson.

The FDA’s handling of adverse event reports for infant 51ÊÓƵs — and fortifiers, which are used to nutritionally supplement a mother’s milk when babies are born prematurely — contrasts with its handling of reports about drugs and medical devices.

The FDA posts manufacturers’ adverse event reports on and online in databases available to the public.

But the notifications manufacturers are required to submit about 51ÊÓƵs and fortifiers are not publicly reported, said Emily Hilliard, a spokesperson for the Department of Health and Human Services, which includes the FDA.

In addition, the FDA’s reporting requirements for drugs and medical devices are, in key ways, more demanding than those for infant 51ÊÓƵ.

Device makers not just deaths but also “serious injuries” that the product “may have caused or contributed to.”

Drugmakers are required to report any “” adverse event, “.” That fatal or life-threatening events.

The FDA also maintains a about dietary supplements, foods, and infant 51ÊÓƵs, among other products, that includes from consumers and healthcare practitioners.

51ÊÓƵ Health News searched that database and found one death report that mentioned NEC and a 51ÊÓƵ made for premature or low-birth-weight babies.

The search turned up seven other reports of infant deaths that mentioned NEC and fortifiers designed for premature or low-birth-weight babies. One of those reports, obtained by 51ÊÓƵ Health News through the Freedom of Information Act, said three preterm babies at the same hospital had NEC and died within a month of one another in 2024.

The FDA cautions that reports are not verified and do not prove causation.

A former attorney for Abbott now leads the FDA.

Before becoming the FDA’s last year and being named acting head of the agency in May, Kyle Diamantas in the and lawsuits, court records show.

Diamantas “complies with all applicable ethics laws and regulations,” said Hilliard, the HHS spokesperson. “That included a specific recusal related to Abbott Laboratories, which concluded in January 2026.”

“During that period, Mr. Diamantas voluntarily recused himself from all matters involving infant 51ÊÓƵ to avoid any appearance of partiality,” Hilliard said.

‘No Health Hazard’

51ÊÓƵ Health News asked the FDA a series of questions for this article. The agency left many unanswered.

“Infant 51ÊÓƵ safety is a top priority of the FDA given the vulnerability of the intended population,” Hilliard said.

51ÊÓƵ Health News asked Abbott and Mead Johnson for data on all infant death reports the companies received and those they forwarded to the FDA. Neither company provided that information.

Court records provide fragmentary data.

Abbott lawyer Elizabeth said in court that, before Wallingford took the stand as an expert witness, the company gave him from 2005 through 2022 that contained the search term “NEC.”

When Wallingford went through the files, he found that mentioned death and NEC, he testified.

If Similac Special Care products for preterm infants were a problem, and if only 1% of adverse events led to a report, “you would expect to see of complaints,” Wallingford testified.

In 2010, a registered dietitian at a Cincinnati hospital notified Abbott that three babies had died of NEC shortly after starting on an Abbott 51ÊÓƵ. The dietitian thought there might be a correlation, according to an internal Abbott summary of the complaint shown during Colombo’s deposition. The babies, who were about 17 days old, had no complications other than prematurity, the summary said.

After reviewing the complaint, Abbott’s Colombo wrote, as shown in a deposition video, that she found “NO OTHER REPORTS OF DEATH AND NO TRENDS FOR NEC REPORTED BY OTHER FACILITIES ASSOCIATED WITH THIS STOCK CODE.”

“PREVIOUS COMPLAINT HISTORY INDICATES NO HEALTH HAZARD,” she concluded.

As for Mead Johnson, Valentine “testified that NEC was not one of the top adverse event complaints for Enfamil premature 51ÊÓƵs of the 68 received between 2015-2019,” O’Neill, the company spokesperson, told 51ÊÓƵ Health News.

Valentine — who was Mead Johnson Nutrition’s medical director for North America from 2014 to 2021 and parent company Reckitt’s chief medical officer from 2022 to 2023, according to a LinkedIn profile — signed off on the decision to close the 2016 file on the distraught mother’s complaint, according to an exhibit and her deposition testimony played in the Whitfield trial.

When she signed off, Mead Johnson didn’t know which of its products the complaint involved, Valentine said in the deposition.

Asked about it during the Watson trial in February 2024, Valentine testified that, in light of the mother’s request never to contact her again, it wouldn’t have been appropriate to call her back for more information.

Valentine “testified that she believes that the Mead Johnson complaint team appropriately investigated reports of death from NEC based on the information provided,” Mead Johnson’s O’Neill said.

Valentine also testified that the FDA encourages infant 51ÊÓƵ companies to send in all adverse event reports and that nothing prevented Mead Johnson from doing so.

As reflected in an email thread used in the Watson case, Valentine reacted skeptically in 2019 when a colleague told her a particular hospital wanted to exit its contract with Mead Johnson.

“They had 3 cases of NEC since they started using our 51ÊÓƵs. They had 0 cases when they were with Abbott,” the colleague reported.

Valentine agreed to follow up but added: “Sad but please reassure them we are not seeing this with our 51ÊÓƵ … so no science basis for sure.”

Share your story with us: Do you have experience with necrotizing enterocolitis (NEC) or infant 51ÊÓƵ that you’d like to share? We’d like to hear from you. Click here to contact the 51ÊÓƵ Health News reporting team.

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Cara Anthony tries to convince her HealthQ co-host Blake Farmer that there are benefits to embracing the caregiver identity when helping an aging parent.

When his father was diagnosed with gallbladder cancer in 2025, William Morrison immediately went into caregiving mode.

“We were in the hospital every day,” he said. “I was really playing the intermediary between the medical staff and our family and kind of helping have those conversations and push for those answers.”

One in 10 Americans say they are a caregiver for a parent 65 or older, . And many people in the sandwich generation — those who have both children and aging parents — start their caregiving journeys like Morrison: stepping up during a medical crisis and becoming a family caregiver essentially overnight.

For other people, taking on the role and identity of a caregiver happens more slowly.

Researchers and experts say the spectrum of caregiving is broader than many people realize and that embracing the caregiver title before there’s a crisis can make a significant difference in this phase of life.

Worry Comes First

Being a caregiver can start long before you go to a doctor appointment with a loved one or move your parents into your house. “Oftentimes what we see out in the world is a very limited definition of who a family caregiver is,” said Denise Brown, a caregiving coach and the founder of Caregiving Years Training Academy in Illinois. Being a caregiver is “not necessarily around defining caregiving by tasks and chores, but about that emotional impact.”

Brown created a framework that defines caregiving as a . She said the first stage — the “expectant caregiver” — begins the moment you start to feel concerned about a loved one.

“ You look into the future and you think, ‘Oh, I think someone’s going to need help in the family,’” Brown said.

When you start to get actively involved in a loved one’s care, that triggers the second stage, what Brown calls the “freshman caregiver”: “You’re learning the lay of the land. You’re learning the language of all the systems that you now manage. The best thing to do in this stage is to get comfortable experimenting.”

Caring for Parents Brings Different Stressors

The kind of care that Morrison provided — responding to an immediate medical crisis — catapulted him into the third stage of caregiving, the “entrenched caregiver.” By the time you hit this point, Brown said, “you can feel completely overwhelmed and swallowed up by the experience.”

that the stress is especially acute for people taking care of parents. The role reversal stresses the relationship: Caregivers who focus solely on children don’t deal with the tension linked to shifting power dynamics and other changes that happen when an adult child starts to care for a parent.

Burnout, defined by physical and psychological fatigue, was higher among caregivers of aging parents than among caregivers caring only for children. And for caregivers in the “sandwich generation,” who were taking care of both children and aging parents, personal burnout scores were even higher.

The Title Makes a Difference

Many people who perform care tasks don’t consider themselves caregivers, , but those who do are more likely to access support services and feel a sense of community with other caregivers.

“Anyone in a caregiving situation deserves support and help,” Brown said.

Embracing the role of caregiver early also allows you to have “really good conversations with people in your life” about their desires — and yours — as you enter this phase, Brown said.

Morrison, whose father died earlier this year, is about to enter his own sandwich generation era: He and his wife are expecting a baby boy in August, and he’s been stepping in to help his mom with housework and administrative tasks.

Morrison and his wife have already had conversations about making time for themselves and each other after their son is born. Morrison also wants to be more intentional with his own health, even if that means just going for walks.

People and Policy

Beyond the emotional strain, caregiving comes with substantial costs. On average, caregivers spend more than $7,000 a year on medical and other expenses to support a loved one, according to in 2021.

Some efforts aim to mitigate the financial burden. In most states, family members can get paid to take care of relatives who qualify for Medicaid. But state Medicaid programs face new pressure from federal cuts, and some states have pulled back funding for home-care programs designed to help residents with disabilities.

Meanwhile, a handful of states for unpaid caregivers. For example, starting in 2027, Connecticut will allow family caregivers who make less than $50,000, or couples who make under $100,000, to apply for a tax credit up to $2,000.

This installment is part of HealthQ’s reporting on caregiving among the sandwich generation. For more, check out the series archive.

This article first appeared on 51ÊÓƵ Health News and is republished here under a .

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

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

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

“My energy is really limited,” she said.

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

‘A Breakthrough Moment’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You Need A, B, and C’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hotly Debated, Seldom Used

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The New Old Age is produced through a partnership with .

This article first appeared on 51ÊÓƵ Health News and is republished here under a .

He had rolled his wheelchair to the oven to keep himself warm as he tried to regulate his temperature, she recalled, and was drenched in sweat from an apparent infection.

In that moment, Quette knew that she and her son’s grandmother could no longer meet his medical needs on their own at their Illinois home just outside St. Louis. He had become paralyzed when he was shot in 2023, and, despite their efforts, they struggled to take care of him. But she never imagined that her quick call for help that day would turn into a months-long hospital stay for her son — even after he was well enough to be discharged.

She said their family had been begging hospitals for a home health aide to help care for his wounds, only to be accused of neglect. “They were like, ‘Well, y’all almost killed him,’” she recalled officials telling her. 51ÊÓƵ Health News agreed to use only her nickname to protect the safety of her son.

“I had to give up. I just couldn’t take care of him anymore,” Quette said. “It was just a lot on me. It was something that I was not ready for.”

Once his immediate medical needs were addressed, her son didn’t leave the hospital. His grandmother, who was his legal guardian, had died and the teen ultimately became a ward of the state. He continued living inside a St. Louis children’s hospital for what’s commonly called a “social stay.” Also referred to as hospital boarding or delayed discharge, the practice of keeping children in hospitals “beyond medical necessity” has become a persistent problem — flummoxing officials in Missouri, Illinois, Minnesota, Georgia, and beyond — when there’s no safe place to care for the child.

Finding homes for foster kids is difficult across the country. They have spent nights in casino hotels in Nevada and offices in Georgia . This problem even has a name: “hoteling.” But add medical needs to the mix, and hospitals become the holding station for some kids.

Many children stuck in this limbo have mental health or behavioral issues, while some have chronic physical conditions or disabilities for which they need technology, equipment, or other assistance.

“It’s definitely a national problem,” said , a pediatrician at Boston Children’s Hospital and the chair of the American Academy of Pediatrics’ . “Every state has different options in terms of where kids can go post-acute care. But in general, there’s many of our kids with medical complexity who just don’t have access to the appropriate home nursing to bring them home safely.”

It’s gotten so bad that Missouri lawmakers have repeatedly to try to significantly reduce the number of hospital boarding days each year and eventually end the practice altogether.

Quette said her son was housed in a private hospital room while he waited for the state to find a place for him elsewhere. Other children spend weeks, months, and, in extreme cases, years in acute care hospitals while grown-ups scramble to find them safe places to go, according to Lynn Rasnick, a nurse and vice president at the Missouri Hospital Association. She said some children sleep on emergency room stretchers. They sit in windowless rooms. They miss school. And they’re exposed to all the trauma that comes through the hospital on any given day.

To keep young boarders safe, some hospitals hire “sitters” for kids with no place to go, while other institutions have passed along chaperoning duties to hospital workers.

But all that comes at a cost beyond the toll it takes on kids and families. When a child no longer needs hospital-level care, insurers don’t have to pay for their stay. Some hospitals eat the cost. Others ask the state for reimbursement if the child who is waiting for placement is in state custody.

According to the Missouri Hospital Association, the state’s Department of Social Services reimbursed $16.3 million to 19 hospitals for 9,943 boarding days last year — more than $1,600 a night. But association spokesperson Dave Dillon said that’s a substantial undercount of the problem and that hospitals often aren’t reimbursed for housing children.

One study found that boarding a child with a complex medical condition in Minnesota a day in 2017. And a 2023 Minnesota Hospital Association survey of about 100 hospitals of “unnecessary” patient stays for adults and kids at $487 million for 195,000 days of care.

Lin, the Boston-based pediatrician, said a shortage of home healthcare workers forces some families to keep their children in the hospital, even though they’re well enough to go home.

State Medicaid programs face new pressure from federal cuts in congressional Republicans’ One Big Beautiful Bill Act. Medicaid, which provides healthcare coverage for those with low incomes or disabilities, is expected to lose nearly $1 trillion in federal funding by 2034, so some states are already threatening to scale back optional home-care programs.

Quette, a single mom who once worked as a paid caregiver and now works as a custodian, said her family repeatedly asked hospitals for a home health aide but was told her son’s insurance wouldn’t cover it. Her son’s paternal grandmother, who had helped raise him, was in a wheelchair herself at that point. Quette’s son needed his bandages changed regularly, and she had to turn him around in his bed every four hours.

“I had to wake up out of my sleep to rotate him,” Quette said. “And I couldn’t do it. I was oversleeping.”

Parents across the country face similar challenges. Last year, Georgia officials said 500 children had been and turned over to the state’s Division of Family & Children Services due to complex behavioral or psychiatric needs.

In Colorado, a hospital worker emailed a state representative for help after an autistic 13-year-old boy at UCHealth Longs Peak Hospital in Longmont. After his father left him there, officials told hospital workers that it would take months to find a safe place for the boy to go.

Last fiscal year, the Illinois Department of Children and Family Services logged 304 cases of youth in psychiatric hospitals beyond medical necessity, according to an released by the state. About 43% of those cases were among patients ages 13 to 16.

This year, Missouri state Sen. , a Republican, introduced a bill that would require his state to move faster and pay for care when a child is stuck in a hospital. Similar bills died in committee and . This year, Burger’s bill remained stuck in committee when the legislative session ended May 15.

According to a attached to the bill, paying for hospital boarding could cost more than $148 million a year in a state that already to fund its upcoming $50.7 billion budget.

Over 18 months, the Mercy hospital system, one of the largest in Missouri, logged 2,687 boarding days, testified Patty Morrow, a Mercy vice president, in a March hearing on the bill. That included adults who also were stuck without a safe place to go.

“That was never really ever the intended purpose of a hospital,” Morrow told 51ÊÓƵ Health News. “The current state cannot be the ongoing solution.”

The bill requires the juvenile court system to ensure that children are placed in “an appropriate setting,” which would entail involvement of social workers and other public servants.

Rasnick, with the Missouri Hospital Association, also spelled out the issue during the hearing. “You can’t just discharge a 9-year-old into the street,” she told lawmakers.

Quette’s son is still in state custody but no longer hospitalized. Illinois officials declined to let the teen share his story with 51ÊÓƵ Health News.

His mother said she is still holding on to his brace, bandages, ointment, and other medical supplies in her home. “That’s all I have,” Quette said. “That’s the stuff I will never give away.”

This piece was supported by a grant from the Association of Health Care Journalists, with funding from The Joyce Foundation.

This article first appeared on 51ÊÓƵ Health News and is republished here under a .

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

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

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

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

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

CentraCare earmarks a tiny fraction of its budget for helping patients with medical bills they can’t pay, but it’s not alone, a Minnesota Star Tribune-51ÊÓƵ Health News investigation found.

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

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

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

Charity care remains minimal at most Minnesota hospitals

Charity care makes up a sliver of operating expenses for Minnesota hospitals, some of which have higher income limits and require patients to submit detailed applications.

51ÊÓƵ Health News/Star Tribune analysis of Minnesota Department of Health data

Some spend considerably less. Of Minnesota’s 123 general hospitals, 62 devoted less than 0.5% of their operating budgets to charity care from 2020 through 2024, the Star Tribune-51ÊÓƵ Health News investigation found.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Minnesota patients also face significant barriers accessing financial aid at many hospitals, including inconsistent eligibility standards and extensive applications, the Star Tribune-51ÊÓƵ Health News investigation found.

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

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

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

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

‘We Have To Defend Being Paid’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Medical Debt’s High Toll

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Optimized To Get Payment’

Complying with a 2023 , Minnesota hospitals now post their financial aid policies online, although several, including CCM Health in Montevideo and Northfield Hospital, did so only after being contacted by the Star Tribune or 51ÊÓƵ Health News.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Maze of Standards

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

The result is a dizzying array of policies, including 11 income thresholds used by Minnesota hospitals to determine whether patients qualify for free care, the Minnesota Star-Tribune-51ÊÓƵ Health News review found.

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

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

Most hospitals limit charity care to those in poverty

Minnesota hospitals use a patient’s income in relation to the federal poverty line to determine whether to grant discounted or free care, but where they set the limit is wildly variable.

*Hospitals in the other category use fixed household income amounts rather than poverty levels to determine eligibility for discounted care, or base decisions on the size of medical bills.

51ÊÓƵ Health News/Star Tribune analysis of Minnesota Department of Health data

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fixing the System

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This article first appeared on 51ÊÓƵ Health News and is republished here under a .

The 152-bed hospital, which sits on a sprawling medical campus close to the predominantly Latino and Black neighborhood of Watts, is struggling for financial stability. Its patients are poorer and sicker than average, many of them are uninsured, and three-quarters of MLK’s patient care revenue comes from Medi-Cal, the state’s version of the Medicaid program, which pays low rates. For hospitals statewide, by comparison, less than one-third of patient revenue comes from Medi-Cal.

And MLK Community Healthcare, which comprises the hospital and two nearby clinics, is independent, so it cannot fall back on a larger chain to absorb some of the financial pressure.  

Similar problems plague hospitals around the country, in rural and urban areas. And their financial woes are about to get worse.

The Republican budget measure known as the One Big Beautiful Bill Act, signed into law by President Donald Trump last July, is expected to cut federal Medicaid spending by $911 billion over 10 years. And it could contribute to an increase of in the number of uninsured people, many of whom will go to already crowded emergency rooms to get care they can’t pay for.

The law does include a special fund to boost rural healthcare, totaling $50 billion over five years. But that’s far less than it is expected to cut from rural health spending over the next decade. And the rural health fund does little or nothing to help the numerous that also face serious financial troubles.

MLK, like many other hospitals, is scrambling to secure outside financing to avert serious disruptions of medical services when the brunt of the policies contained in the federal law begins to hit early next year. The hospital’s leadership team projects a revenue hole of $80 million to $100 million annually for the foreseeable future. It would be MLK’s largest budget gap since it opened in 2015.

“Even if we cut services that our community needs — maternity care, behavioral healthcare, diabetes management — it wouldn’t make a significant dent in the gap we’re facing,” said Elaine Batchlor, the CEO of MLK Community Healthcare. ”Many of those same people would still come to us through our emergency department, only they’d be in worse shape and might need more expensive care.”

Across the U.S., hospitals and patient advocates are looking to state lawmakers and local officials to help shore up shaky finances. In California, Assembly member Esmeralda Soria, a Democrat representing Fresno, is to expand a 2023 “distressed hospital loan fund” that allocated nearly $300 million in zero-interest loans to in the state, including $14 million to MLK. The state would pony up another $300 million under Soria’s bill.

At least two other states are weighing similar programs. A would create a $100 million “distressed hospital grant” program. And a funding bill for the Illinois Department of Healthcare and Family Services contains a provision to create for troubled hospitals.

Carmela Coyle, the CEO of the California Hospital Association, said the original $300 million disbursed by the state legislature helped but was not enough.

“This program is focused on those who are standing on the edge of that financial cliff, and it’s intended to give them a little space, brush them a little bit back from the edge,” Coyle said. “But we’ve got many more hospitals that are taking giant leaps toward the edge of that cliff every day.”

Despite the association’s influence, an expansion of the loan program is far from certain, given fiscal constraints that have already induced state leaders to roll back California’s ambitious healthcare agenda, with restrictions on coverage for immigrants and funding cuts for community clinics. Democratic Gov. Gavin Newsom recently warned lawmakers to expect more cuts in his revised May budget — and that’s before the main federal spending reductions kick in.

“This is a very difficult budget environment,” said Kristof Stremikis, director of market analysis and insight at the California Health Care Foundation, a nonprofit that advocates for healthcare improvement. “It is hard to come up with funding for new programs and even existing programs right now.”

Some lawmakers noted skeptically that the initial loans are now on their way to at which is allowed under existing law. Soria’s bill spells out a clearer path to loan forgiveness.

“Are these loans or are these grants? Because they seem to be turning, really, into grants,” Assembly member Pilar Schiavo, a Democrat in Santa Clarita, said during an April 21 hearing on the bill.

Ultimately, it might not be desirable to save struggling institutions by pouring dollars into them, because care is increasingly offered outside of hospitals, Stremikis said.

In the short term, though, the financial health of hospitals that received loans appears to have improved, according to a 51ÊÓƵ Health News analysis of state data. The average operating margin of the 15 loan recipients for which comparable data is available shifted from a loss of 15.4% the year before the program to a gain of 2.3% after the money was disbursed.

It is unclear how much of the improvement can be attributed to the loans. Hospitals also secured other sources of funding, and they adopted efficiencies as a condition for the interest-free money.

MLK reduced the use of high-cost temporary labor by hiring more permanent staff, cut the average length of patient hospital stays to decrease staffing hours, streamlined billing, and negotiated more-favorable contracts with insurers, said Atul Nakhasi, a practicing physician who is also MLK’s vice president of government affairs and community relations. Batchlor said that the loan helped MLK get through a cash flow crunch and that a second loan, if it became available, would be used for the same purpose.

This summer, MLK expects to open a psychiatric assessment unit, where patients in mental distress can be stabilized in an environment replete with plush reclining chairs and “calming” rooms. Hospital executives hope the new unit will provide a significant new source of revenue, while taking pressure off the emergency department.

in Visalia, California, suspended some services, temporarily stopped contributing to employees’ retirement, and briefly froze wages in exchange for a loan of just under $21 million, said the organization’s CEO, Marc Mertz.

Madera Community Hospital got a $57 million loan — the largest disbursement from the state fund — to reopen after being shuttered for more than two years. The hospital reopened early last year, but it has not yet stabilized financially, said Matthew Beehler, the chief strategy officer at American Advanced Management, a privately held company that bought Madera out of bankruptcy.

“You can definitely say the hospital would not have been opened without the distressed hospital loan,” though the company has also invested more than $50 million, Beehler said. He said Madera would hope for another loan if the program were extended.

This article first appeared on 51ÊÓƵ Health News and is republished here under a .

More than 80 of his customers who were enrolled in the same Medicare supplemental plan from the insurer Chubb got hit last August with a 45% increase.

“In my 49 years of doing biz as a broker, I’ve never seen a premium increase be effective immediately on everyone, instead of on their policy anniversary,” said Jaggi, whose brokerage scrambled to find more affordable options for clients. The policies pick up deductibles and other costs not covered in traditional Medicare, and without one there is no upper limit on how much a consumer might owe each year.

While 45% was an unusually big jump, Jaggi and other brokers say double-digit premium increases for Medicare supplemental, or Medigap, policies are becoming the norm.

A Chubb spokesperson did not respond to requests for comment on the increase.

More than 12 million people — of those in traditional Medicare — buy a Medigap policy. Others rely on some sort of retiree employer coverage or a different backup. About 13% of people in traditional Medicare don’t have supplemental coverage, according to 51ÊÓƵ, meaning they could be vulnerable to large costs if they have a serious illness.

In the supplemental market, following big increases last year, rates appear to be rising again. In early 2026 filings with state insurance commissioners from Aetna, Blue Cross Blue Shield, Cigna, Humana, Mutual of Omaha, and UnitedHealthcare, rate increases for Plan G policies — the most commonly purchased supplement type — ranged from just in the first quarter, according to Nebraska-based consulting firm Telos Actuarial.

“While this is a small dataset across a select number of states, it’s an indication that carriers are looking to correct their premium rates in light of upward pressure on their claims experience,” said Brett Mushett, a consulting actuary with Telos.

Climbing Numbers

Premium rates vary based on the type of coverage chosen, where a beneficiary lives, and their age. For Plan G coverage, beneficiaries paid an in 2023, according to 51ÊÓƵ. That amount has likely risen since.

“In some states, like Ohio, Medicare supplements for years would have a 3% to 5% year-over-year increase. Now it’s 10% to 15%,” said Amanda Brewton, owner of Medicare Answers Now, a marketing organization whose clients are sales agents.

In Alaska, Premera Blue Cross raised the premiums on its Plan G policies by nearly 12% for this year, according to rate sheets provided to 51ÊÓƵ Health News by insurance agent Patricia Mack, who said another insurer raised rates by nearly 13%.

For example, a 65-year-old woman who last year would have been charged $172 a month for a Plan G policy would now face a monthly rate of $192, said Mack, who owns Alaska Insurance Benefits in Wasilla.

Premera spokesperson Courtney Wallace said in an email that Medicare makes changes to deductible and copayment rates each year, which affects supplemental plans that cover those increasing amounts.

Wallace also noted that the insurer saw higher medical service use among its members, “which further drove claims costs and ultimately impacted premiums.”

Agents and policy experts blame a range of factors for rising premiums: an increase in the use of medical services by beneficiaries; the aging of the population; increases in labor and medical costs; rules in some states governing Medigap plans; and people’s enrolling in — or getting out of — private Medicare Advantage plans.

“Five years ago, it was exceedingly uncommon to have a carrier with a rate increase of more than 10%. Now it’s very uncommon to see a rate increase below 10%, and it’s not uncommon to see it over 20%,” said Chalen Jackson, vice president for government affairs at Integrity, a Dallas-based company that sells life and health insurance.

Jaggi, who co-owns Jaggi Petry Insurance & Investments in Forsyth, Illinois, along with his daughter, said he eventually found other options for many of those 80-plus clients with the large increase, which came from an insurer that had previously been the lowest-cost option. But it wasn’t easy — and continuing increases are expected.

“These are unbelievable increases,” said Jaggi, who said he is seeing premium hikes exceeding 15% this year across a range of insurers.

Policy experts have outlined possible solutions, including for Congress to cap out-of-pocket costs for Medicare beneficiaries or subsidize the purchase of Medigap coverage.

“Traditional Medicare is the only federal health insurance program without an out-of-pocket cap,” Sen. Ron Wyden (D-Ore.) wrote in an email, adding that the program “needs to be updated and strengthened to protect the Medicare guarantee for American seniors.”

But making changes to Medicare that require congressional approval is unlikely in the current legislative environment, especially because adding an out-of-pocket cap would add costs to the federal budget.

How This Plays Out

People generally qualify for Medicare when they turn 65. Beneficiaries after they initially enroll in the traditional fee-for-service program to purchase a Medigap plan at standard rates without having to answer health-related questions.

Strict rules then kick in around when beneficiaries can enroll in or switch Medigap coverage and options become much more limited, with each one generally involving trade-offs or tough choices.

have what’s known as a “birthday rule,” which requires insurers once a year to allow people enrolled in a Medigap plan to change to different supplemental coverage — usually around their birthdays — without being medically underwritten. Those rules can help consumers, including those with health conditions, to switch.

An additional — Connecticut, Massachusetts, Maine, and New York — require insurers to offer at least one Medigap policy to all applicants either year-round or during an annual enrollment period, depending on the state. Changes are allowed no matter the person’s health.

Another option for those facing high Medigap costs is to leave traditional Medicare and enroll in a private-sector Medicare Advantage plan, which have out-of-pocket caps. But joining one means beneficiaries must generally rely on a set of in-network doctors and hospitals. And if they change their mind and want to go back to traditional Medicare, they have only a 12-month window in which to purchase a Medigap plan without passing health questions. After that, it can be more difficult.

“A lot of people don’t know that if they are in Medicare Advantage for a year, they can get turned down by a Medigap plan or charged really high premiums because of a preexisting condition, which for many people effectively traps them in MA plans,” said , a research associate at the liberal Center for American Progress and co-author of a on the issue.

There are some exceptions. For example, if a Medicare Advantage plan withdraws from a market or leaves the Medicare program, its enrollees can qualify for a supplemental plan without being asked health questions or charged more for having preexisting conditions.

For this year alone, about 2.6 million people when their insurer pulled out of their markets, according to 51ÊÓƵ, and more than a million lost coverage for 2025. Many switched to other MA plans, but “somewhere around 440,000 of those people did go to a Medicare supplement policy,” sometimes because there was no other MA plan in their area, said George Dippel, president of Deft Research, a Minneapolis-based market research organization focused on insurance for older people. Deft is part of Integrity, the Dallas company.

Some Medicare experts note that anytime insurers enroll people whose health status they can’t consider — whether because of birthday rules or because their Medicare Advantage plan left the market and thus qualified them for an exemption from medical underwriting — it potentially exposes them to more health care utilization and higher costs, making them more likely to increase premiums across the board to offset the possible financial hit.

Another option mentioned by brokers for people looking to lower their costs is to consider one of the two types of Medigap plans that come with a deductible, which is currently just under $3,000 for a year. Those plans charge far lower monthly premiums than Medigap plans that pick up a much larger portion of annual amounts people must pay toward their Medicare services.

Still, “a lot of people are not comfortable with a $3,000 deductible,” Mack said.

This article first appeared on 51ÊÓƵ Health News and is republished here under a .