Noam N. Levey
Wed, 15 May 2024 09:00:00 +0000

ROCHESTER, N.Y. — Jolynn Mungenast spends her days looking for ways to help people pay their hospital bills.

Working out of a warehouse-like building in a scruffy corner of this former industrial town, Mungenast gently walks patients through health insurance options, financial aid, and payment plans. Most want to pay, said Mungenast, a financial counselor at Rochester Regional Health. Very often, they simply can't.

“They're scared. They're nervous. They're upset,” said Mungenast, who on one recent call worked with an older patient to settle a $143 bill. “They do think ‘I don't want this to affect my credit rating. I don't want you to come take my house.'”

At Rochester Regional Health, that won't happen. The nonprofit system in upstate New York is one of only a few nationally that bar all aggressive collection activities. Patients who don't pay won't be taken to court. Their wages won't be garnished. They won't end up with liens on their homes or be denied care. And unpaid bills won't sink their credit scores.

American hospital officials often insist that lawsuits and other aggressive collections, though unsavory, are necessary to protect health systems' finances and deter freeloading.

But at Rochester Regional, ditching these collection tactics hasn't hurt the bottom line, said Jennifer Eslinger, chief operating officer. The system has even been able to move staff out of its collections department as it spends less to go after patients who haven't paid.

Eslinger said there's been another benefit to the change: rebuilding trust with patients.

“We think and talk a lot and strategize a lot about where is the distrust in health care,” she said. “We have to remove that as a barrier to meaningful health care. We have to get the trust with the populations that we serve so that they can get the care that they need.”

‘Folks Cannot Afford This'

Rochester Regional, a large health system serving a wide swath of communities along the south shore of Lake Ontario, is big, with more than $3 billion in annual revenue.

But in a place where once-mighty employers like Kodak and Xerox have withered, finances can be challenging. In 2022, Rochester Regional finished nearly $200 million in the red.

Patients have their own challenges. Unable to afford their bills, many ended up in collections, or even on the receiving end of lawsuits. “We would go to court,” acknowledged Lisa Poworoznek, head of financial counseling at Rochester Regional.

Then, before the pandemic, hospital leaders looked more closely at why patients weren't paying.

The barriers became clear, Poworoznek said: confusing insurance plans, high deductibles, and inadequate savings. “There are so many different situations that patients have,” she said. “It's really just not as simple as demanding payment and then filing legal action.”

Nationally, nearly half of adults are unable to cover a $500 medical bill without going into debt, a 2022 KFF poll found. At the same time, the average annual deductible for a single worker with job-based coverage now tops $1,500.

Instead of chasing people who didn't pay — a costly process that often yields meager returns  — Rochester Regional resolved to find ways to get patients to settle bills before collections started.

The health system undertook new efforts to enroll people in health insurance. New York has among the most robust safety-net systems in the country.

Rochester Regional also bolstered its financial assistance program, making it easier for low-income patients to access free or discounted care.

At many hospitals, applying for aid is complicated — long applications that demand extensive information about patients' income and assets, including cars, retirement accounts, and property, KFF Health News has found. Patients applying for aid at Rochester Regional are asked to disclose only their income.

Finally, the health system looked for ways to get more people on payment plans so they could pay off big bills over a year or two. Importantly, the payment plans are interest-free.

That was a change. Rochester Regional, like some other major health systems across the country such as Atrium Health, used to rely on financing companies that charged interest, which could add thousands of dollars to patients' debts.

“Folks cannot afford this,” Poworoznek said.

Ending ‘Extraordinary Collection Actions'

Working more closely with patients on their bills allowed Rochester Regional to stop taking them to court.

The health system also stopped reporting people to credit bureaus, a practice many medical providers use that can depress consumers' credit scores, making it harder to rent an apartment, get a car loan, or even get a job.

In 2020, Rochester Regional adopted a written policy barring all aggressive collections by the system or its contracted collection agencies.

That put Rochester Regional in select company. A 2022 KFF Health News investigation of billing practices at 528 hospitals around the country found just 19 that explicitly prohibit what are called extraordinary collection actions.

Among them are leading academic medical centers, including UCLA and Stanford University, but also community hospitals such as El Camino Hospital in California's Bay Area and St. Anthony Community Hospital outside New York City.

Also barring extraordinary collection actions: the University of Vermont Medical Center; Ochsner Health, a large New Orleans-based nonprofit; and UPMC, a mammoth system based in Pittsburgh. Like Rochester Regional, UPMC officials said they were able to scrap aggressive collections by developing better systems that allow patients to pay off their bills.

Elisabeth Benjamin, a vice president at the Community Service Society of New York, a nonprofit that has led efforts to restrict aggressive hospital collections, said there's no reason more hospitals shouldn't follow suit, particularly nonprofits that are expected to serve their communities in exchange for their tax-exempt status.

“The value is to promote health, to care about a population, to promote health equity,” Benjamin said. “Suing people for medical debt or engaging in extraordinary collection actions is really anathema to all those values,” she said. “Forget about your ‘cancer-mobile' or your child vaccination clinic.”

Rochester Regional's approach doesn't eliminate medical debt, which burdens an estimated 100 million people in the U.S. And payment plans like those the system encourages can still mean big sacrifices for some families.

But Benjamin applauded Rochester Regional's ban on aggressive collections. “I give them big props,” she said. “It never should have been allowed.”

New laws in New York now prohibit all medical bills from being reported to credit bureaus and restrict other collection tactics, such as wage garnishments.

Many hospital finance officials nevertheless say they need the option to pursue patients who have the means to pay.

“Maybe it's on a very specific case where there is an issue with someone just not paying their bill,” said Richard Gundling, a senior vice president at the Healthcare Financial Management Association, a trade group.

But at Rochester Regional's finance offices, officials say they almost never find patients who just refuse to pay. More often, the problem is the bills are simply too big.

“People just don't have $5,000 to pay off that bill,” Poworoznek said.

On her calls with patients, Mungenast tries to reassure the patients on the other end of the line. “Put yourself in their shoes,” she said. “How would it be if that was you receiving that?”

About This Project

“Diagnosis: Debt” is a reporting partnership between KFF Health News and NPR exploring the scale, impact, and causes of medical debt in America.

The series draws on original polling by KFF, court records, federal data on hospital finances, contracts obtained through public records requests, data on international health systems, and a yearlong investigation into the financial assistance and collection policies of more than 500 hospitals across the country. 

Additional research was conducted by the Urban Institute, which analyzed credit bureau and other demographic data on poverty, race, and health status for KFF Health News to explore where medical debt is concentrated in the U.S. and what factors are associated with high debt levels.

The JPMorgan Chase Institute analyzed records from a sampling of Chase credit card holders to look at how customers' balances may be affected by major medical expenses. And the CED Project, a Denver nonprofit, worked with KFF Health News on a survey of its clients to explore links between medical debt and housing instability. 

KFF Health News journalists worked with KFF public opinion researchers to design and analyze the “KFF Health Care Debt Survey.” The survey was conducted Feb. 25 through March 20, 2022, online and via telephone, in English and Spanish, among a nationally representative sample of 2,375 U.S. adults, including 1,292 adults with current health care debt and 382 adults who had health care debt in the past five years. The margin of sampling error is plus or minus 3 percentage points for the full sample and 3 percentage points for those with current debt. For results based on subgroups, the margin of sampling error may be higher.

Reporters from KFF Health News and NPR also conducted hundreds of interviews with patients across the country; spoke with physicians, health industry leaders, consumer advocates, debt lawyers, and researchers; and reviewed scores of studies and surveys about medical debt.

——————————
By: Noam N. Levey
Title: Why One New York Health System Stopped Suing Its Patients
Sourced From: kffhealthnews.org/news/article/diagnosis-debt-rochester-new-york-health-system-stopped-suing-patients-over-medical-bills/
Published Date: Wed, 15 May 2024 09:00:00 +0000

Did you miss our previous article…
https://www.biloxinewsevents.com/tribal-nations-invest-opioid-settlement-funds-in-traditional-healing-to-treat-addiction/

Aneri Pattani and Jazmin Orozco Rodriguez
Wed, 15 May 2024 09:00:00 +0000

PRESQUE ISLE, Maine — Outside the Mi'kmaq Nation's health department sits a dome-shaped tent, built by hand from saplings and covered in black canvas. It's one of several sweat lodges on the tribe's land, but this one is dedicated to helping people recover from addiction.

Up to 10 people enter the lodge at once. Fire-heated stones — called grandmothers and grandfathers, for the spirits they represent — are brought inside. Water is splashed on the stones, and the lodge fills with steam. It feels like a sauna, but hotter. The air is thicker, and it's dark. People pray and sing songs. When they leave the lodge, it is said, they reemerge from the mother's womb. Cleansed. Reborn.

The experience can be “a vital tool” in healing, said Katie Espling, health director for the roughly 2,000-member tribe.

She said patients in recovery have requested sweat lodges for years as a cultural element to complement the counseling and medications the tribe's health department already provides. But insurance doesn't cover sweat ceremonies, so, until now, the department couldn't afford to provide them.

In the past year, the Mi'kmaq Nation received more than $150,000 from settlements with companies that made or sold prescription painkillers and were accused of exacerbating the overdose crisis. A third of that money was spent on the sweat lodge.

Health care companies are paying out more than $1.5 billion to hundreds of tribes over 15 years. This windfall is similar to settlements that many of the same companies are paying to state governments, which total about $50 billion.

To some people, the lower payout for tribes corresponds to their smaller population. But some tribal citizens point out that the overdose crisis has had a disproportionate effect on their communities. Native Americans had the highest overdose death rates of any racial group each year from 2020 to 2022. And federal officials say those statistics were likely undercounted by about 34% because Native Americans' race is often misclassified on death certificates.

Still, many tribal leaders are grateful for the settlements and the unique way the money can be spent: Unlike the state payments, money sent to tribes can be used for traditional and cultural healing practices — anything from sweat lodges and smudging ceremonies to basketmaking and programs that teach tribal languages.

“To have these dollars to do that, it's really been a gift,” said Espling of the Mi'kmaq tribe. “This is going to absolutely be fundamental to our patients' well-being” because connecting with their culture is “where they'll really find the deepest healing.”

Public health experts say the underlying cause of addiction in many tribal communities is intergenerational trauma, resulting from centuries of brutal treatment, including broken treaties, land theft, and a government-funded boarding school system that sought to erase the tribes' languages and cultures. Along with a long-running lack of investment in the Indian Health Service, these factors have led to lower life expectancy and higher rates of addiction, suicide, and chronic diseases.

Using settlement money to connect tribal citizens with their traditions and reinvigorate pride in their culture can be a powerful healing tool, said Andrea Medley, a researcher with the Johns Hopkins Center for Indigenous Health and a member of the Haida Nation. She helped create principles for how tribes can consider spending settlement money.

Medley said that having respect for those traditional elements outlined explicitly in the settlements is “really groundbreaking.”

‘A Drop in the Bucket'

Of the 574 federally recognized tribes, more than 300 have received payments so far, totaling more than $371 million, according to Kevin Washburn, one of three court-appointed directors overseeing the tribal settlements.

Although that sounds like a large sum, it pales in comparison with what the addiction crisis has cost tribes. There are also hundreds of tribes that are excluded from the payments because they aren't federally recognized.

“These abatement funds are like a drop in the bucket compared to what they've spent, compared to what they anticipate spending,” said Corey Hinton, a lawyer who represented several tribes in the opioid litigation and a citizen of the Passamaquoddy Tribe. “Abatement is a cheap term when we're talking about a crisis that is still engulfing and devastating communities.”

Even leaders of the Navajo Nation — the largest federally recognized tribe in the United States, which has received $63 million so far — said the settlements can't match the magnitude of the crisis.

“It'll do a little dent, but it will only go so far,” said Kim Russell, executive director of the Navajo Department of Health.

The Navajo Nation is trying to stretch the money by using it to improve its overall health system. Officials plan to use the payouts to hire more coding and billing employees for tribe-operated hospitals and clinics. Those workers would help ensure reimbursements keep flowing to the health systems and would help sustain and expand services, including addiction treatment and prevention, Russell said.

Navajo leaders also want to hire more clinicians specializing in substance use treatment, as well as primary care doctors, nurses, and epidemiologists.

“Building buildings is not what we want” from the opioid settlement funds, Russell said. “We're nation-building.”

High Stakes for Small Tribes

Smaller nations like the Poarch Band of Creek Indians in southern Alabama are also strategizing to make settlement money go further.

For the tribe of roughly 2,900 members, that has meant investing $500,000 — most of what it has received so far — into a statistical modeling platform that its creators say will simulate the opioid crisis, predict which programs will save the most lives, and help local officials decide the most effective use of future settlement cash.

Some recovery advocates have questioned the model's value, but the tribe's vice chairman, Robert McGhee, said it would provide the data and evidence needed to choose among efforts competing for resources, such as recovery housing or peer support specialists. The tribe wants to do both, but realistically, it will have to prioritize.

“If we can have this model and we put the necessary funds to it and have the support, it'll work for us,” McGhee said. “I just feel it in my gut.”

The stakes are high. In smaller communities, each death affects the whole tribe, McGhee said. The loss of one leader marks decades of lost knowledge. The passing of a speaker means further erosion of the Native language.

For Keesha Frye, who oversees the Poarch Band of Creek Indians' tribal court and the sober living facility, using settlement money effectively is personal. “It means a lot to me to get this community well because this is where I live and this is where my family lives,” she said.

Erik Lamoreau in Maine also brings personal ties to this work. More than a decade ago, he sold drugs on Mi'kmaq lands to support his own addiction.

“I did harm in this community and it was really important for me to come back and try to right some of those wrongs,” Lamoreau said.

Today, he works for the tribe as a peer recovery coordinator, a new role created with the opioid settlement funds. He uses his experience to connect with others and help them with recovery — whether that means giving someone a ride to court, working on their résumé, exercising together at the gym, or hosting a cribbage club, where people play the card game and socialize without alcohol or drugs.

Beginning this month, Lamoreau's work will also involve connecting clients who seek cultural elements of recovery to the new sweat lodge service — an effort he finds promising.

“The more in tune you are with your culture — no matter what culture that is — it connects you to something bigger,” Lamoreau said. “And that's really what we look at when we're in recovery, when we talk about spiritual connection. It's something bigger than you.”

——————————
By: Aneri Pattani and Jazmin Orozco Rodriguez
Title: Tribal Nations Invest Opioid Settlement Funds in Traditional Healing to Treat Addiction
Sourced From: kffhealthnews.org/news/article/tribal-nations-opioid-settlement-funds-cultural-traditional-healing/
Published Date: Wed, 15 May 2024 09:00:00 +0000

Did you miss our previous article…
https://www.biloxinewsevents.com/after-a-childs-death-california-weighs-rules-for-phys-ed-during-extreme-weather/

Samantha Young
Wed, 15 May 2024 09:00:00 +0000

LAKE ELSINORE, Calif. — Yahushua Robinson was an energetic boy who jumped and danced his way through life. Then, a physical education teacher instructed the 12-year-old to run outside on a day when the temperature climbed to 107 degrees.

“We lose loved ones all the time, but he was taken in a horrific way,” his mother, Janee Robinson, said from the family's Inland Empire home, about 80 miles southeast of Los Angeles. “I would never want nobody to go through what I'm going through.”

The day her son died, Robinson, who teaches phys ed, kept her elementary school students inside, and she had hoped her children's teachers would do the same.

The Riverside County Coroner's Bureau ruled that Yahushua died on Aug. 29 of a heart defect, with heat and physical exertion as contributing factors. His death at Canyon Lake Middle School came on the second day of an excessive heat warning, when people were advised to avoid strenuous activities and limit their time outdoors.

Yahushua's family is supporting a bill in California that would require the state Department of Education to create guidelines that govern physical activity at public schools during extreme weather, including setting threshold temperatures for when it's too hot or too cold for students to exercise or play sports outside. If the measure becomes law, the guidelines will have to be in place by Jan. 1, 2026.

Many states have adopted protocols to protect student athletes from extreme heat during practices. But the California bill is broader and would require educators to consider all students throughout the school day and in any extreme weather, whether they're doing jumping jacks in fourth period or playing tag during recess. It's unclear if the bill will clear a critical committee vote scheduled for May 16.

“Yahushua's story, it's very touching. It's very moving. I think it could have been prevented had we had the right safeguards in place,” said state Sen. Melissa Hurtado (D-Bakersfield), one of the bill's authors. “Climate change is impacting everyone, but it's especially impacting vulnerable communities, especially our children.”

Last year marked the planet's warmest on record, and extreme weather is becoming more frequent and severe, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. Even though most heat deaths and illnesses are preventable, about 1,220 people in the United States are killed by extreme heat every year, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

Young children are especially susceptible to heat illness because their bodies have more trouble regulating temperature, and they rely on adults to protect them from overheating. A person can go from feeling dizzy or experiencing a headache to passing out, having a seizure, or going into a coma, said Chad Vercio, a physician and the division chief of general pediatrics at Loma Linda University Health.

“It can be a really dangerous thing,” Vercio said of heat illness. “It is something that we should take seriously and figure out what we can do to avoid that.”

It's unclear how many children have died at school from heat exposure. Eric Robinson, 15, had been sitting in his sports medicine class learning about heatstroke when his sister arrived at his high school unexpectedly the day their brother died.

“They said, ‘OK, go home, Eric. Go home early.' I walked to the car and my sister's crying. I couldn't believe it,” he said. “I can't believe that my little brother's gone. That I won't be able to see him again. And he'd always bugged me, and I would say, ‘Leave me alone.'”

That morning, Eric had done Yahushua's hair and loaned him his hat and chain necklace to wear to school.

As temperatures climbed into the 90s that morning, a physical education teacher instructed Yahushua to run on the blacktop. His friends told the family that the sixth grader had repeatedly asked the teacher for water but was denied, his parents said.

The school district has refused to release video footage to the family showing the moment Yahushua collapsed on the blacktop. He died later that day at the hospital.

Melissa Valdez, a Lake Elsinore Unified School District spokesperson, did not respond to calls seeking comment.

Schoolyards can reach dangerously high temperatures on hot days, with asphalt sizzling up to 145 degrees, according to findings by researchers at the UCLA Luskin Center for Innovation. Some school districts, such as San Diego Unified and Santa Ana Unified, have hot weather plans or guidelines that call for limiting physical activity and providing water to kids. But there are no statewide standards that K-12 schools must implement to protect students from heat illness.

Under the bill, the California Department of Education must set temperature thresholds requiring schools to modify students' physical activities during extreme weather, such as heat waves, wildfires, excessive rain, and flooding. Schools would also be required to come up with plans for alternative indoor activities, and staff must be trained to recognize and respond to weather-related distress.

California has had heat rules on the books for outdoor workers since 2005, but it was a latecomer to protecting student athletes, according to the Korey Stringer Institute at the University of Connecticut, which is named after a Minnesota Vikings football player who died from heatstroke in 2001. By comparison, Florida, where Gov. Ron DeSantis, a Republican, this spring signed a law preventing cities and counties from creating their own heat protections for outdoor workers, has the best protections for student athletes, according to the institute.

Douglas Casa, a professor of kinesiology and the chief executive officer of the institute, said state regulations can establish consistency about how to respond to heat distress and save lives.

“The problem is that each high school doesn't have a cardiologist and doesn't have a thermal physiologist and doesn't have a sickling expert,” Casa said of the medical specialties for heat illness.

In 2022, California released an Extreme Action Heat Plan that recommended state agencies “explore implementation of indoor and outdoor heat exposure rules for schools,” but neither the administration of Gov. Gavin Newsom, a Democrat, nor lawmakers have adopted standards.

Lawmakers last year failed to pass legislation that would have required schools to implement a heat plan and replace hot surfaces, such as cement and rubber, with lower-heat surfaces, such as grass and cool pavement. That bill, which drew opposition from school administrators, stalled in committee, in part over cost concerns.

Naj Alikhan, a spokesperson for the Association of California School Administrators, said the new bill takes a different approach and would not require structural and physical changes to schools. The association has not taken a position on the measure, and no other organization has registered opposition.

The Robinson family said children's lives ought to outweigh any costs that might come with preparing schools to deal with the growing threat of extreme weather. Yahushua‘s death, they say, could save others.

“I really miss him. I cry every day,” said Yahushua's father, Eric Robinson. “There's no one day that go by that I don't cry about my boy.”

This article was produced by KFF Health News, which publishes California Healthline, an editorially independent service of the California Health Care Foundation. 

——————————
By: Samantha Young
Title: After a Child's Death, California Weighs Rules for Phys Ed During Extreme Weather
Sourced From: kffhealthnews.org/news/article/california-weighs-heat-climate-school-rules-physical-education-child-death/
Published Date: Wed, 15 May 2024 09:00:00 +0000

Did you miss our previous article…
https://www.biloxinewsevents.com/medicaid-unwinding-decried-as-biased-against-disabled-people/