After a few years, medical associations revise their guidelines, warning that the drug in question should be avoided or at least prescribed more selectively. It might be added to the Beers Criteria, an influential list of potentially inappropriate medications for older patients, published by the American Geriatrics Society.

If the drug’s role is preventive, the U.S. Preventive Services Task Force, an independent expert panel, may weigh in with cautions. The FDA may issue “black box” warnings about concerning side effects.

After a few more years, researchers look at broad national data to see whether use of this drug declined. Often, the answer is: Yes, but not enough. Sometimes, though, use didn’t decline much at all or actually increased.

“Medications are like barnacles,” said Michael Steinman, a geriatrician at the University of California-San Francisco and co-director of the . “They’re easy to start, but they can be hard to stop.”

This medical inertia partly reflects the time lag involved in disseminating findings. “Clinicians have a million things they need to know and attend to, and information may take a while to get to them,” Steinman said.

But it also reflects the way “clinicians and patients get used to treating conditions in certain ways,” he said. “They become ingrained habits.” Finding alternative approaches is challenging, so “it’s easy to go with what you know.”

Recent studies of three medications or classes of drugs widely used among older Americans illustrate the problem.

The Drawbacks of Benzodiazepines

Scientists began about benzodiazepines more than 20 years ago. Prescribed for insomnia and anxiety, “they offer prompt relief,” said Mark Olfson, a psychiatrist and epidemiologist at Columbia University.

? Benzodiazepines (including Valium, Xanax, and Ativan) and the related “Z” drugs (Ambien, Lunesta) “may impair balance, coordination, and cognition that can translate into falls and fractures and motor vehicle accidents,” Olfson said. In patients also taking opioids for pain, benzodiazepines can cause overdoses.

Moreover, “once you’ve taken them for a period of time, you develop a dependence,” Olfson added. “When you come off them, you may develop withdrawal symptoms.”

So what’s happened to , who are more sensitive to these effects? In a , published in the Annals of Internal Medicine, Olfson and his team reported progress. Among people 65 and older, the rate of patients filling prescriptions for benzos dropped to 11.5% in 2024, from about 14% in 2015.

But that decline has stalled since 2020, perhaps related to the covid-19 pandemic. Moreover, prescribed use actually rose among those over 75, from 12% in 2020 to about 13% four years later. Dispensing through pharmacies in long-term care facilities more than doubled. And about a third of users were taking the drug for longer than six months, increasing the likelihood of dependence. “It’s worrisome,” Olfson said.

But he cautioned that patients shouldn’t stop benzodiazepines suddenly or on their own, which can provoke withdrawal. “It requires supervised tapering” with a medical professional, he said. “It takes many weeks.”

Overprescribing Antibiotics

For years, the standard treatment for diverticulitis, the inflammation or infection of small pouches that form in the colon, was antibiotics, primarily fluoroquinolones (like Cipro and Levaquin) or amoxicillin-clavulanate (Augmentin).

“It was unquestioned,” said Jesse Sutton, a pharmacist and researcher at the Minneapolis Veterans Affairs healthcare system. “Antibiotics are safe and effective, great, lifesaving drugs, so the mindset was: When in doubt, use them.”

But in 2015, the against routinely prescribing antibiotics for “uncomplicated” diverticulitis, which represents a great majority of cases. Other .

Clinical trials had shown that, for this condition, antibiotics on mortality, the need for surgery, complications, or recurrences. “They hadn’t improved anything,” Sutton said.

And as with any drug, “, unintended consequences,” he said. “Side effects from antibiotics account for a ” for symptoms like nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea. Antibiotics heighten the risk of the virulent C. difficile infection, too.

Plus, “the more you use antibiotics, the less they work in the future,” Sutton said. The World Health Organization has “a major global health threat.”

So Sutton and his colleagues, studying treatment in 70,000 visits to 120 VA facilities, expected to see antibiotic use for uncomplicated diverticulitis decline over 10 years.

Instead, they in the Annals of Internal Medicine that antibiotic prescriptions remained nearly universal at 97% of visits, guidelines or no guidelines. The patients would most likely have done as well with a few days of Tylenol and a clear liquid diet.

for other conditions of later life, too, including the kind of that cause no troublesome symptoms and upper respiratory infections that are typically viral, not bacterial.

In such cases, when a doctor prescribes an antibiotic, “I’d encourage patients to say, ‘Please explain the rationale for doing this,’” Sutton said. “If they don’t, it’s OK to press pause.”

When Aspirin Isn’t the Answer

Aspirin is different. Because it’s cheap and sold over the counter, anybody can start taking it on their own — and , thinking it will help prevent cardiac problems.

For people who’ve already had a heart attack, stroke, or cardiac intervention like a stent or bypass surgery, daily low-dose aspirin for “secondary prevention” does lower the odds of another event, studies have demonstrated.

But for “primary prevention” in people who haven’t had one, the guidelines changed in 2019, when the American College of Cardiology and the American Heart Association for this purpose in those 70 or older. The , warning against aspirin for primary prevention starting at age 60.

Large clinical trials had shown scant benefit for aspirin as a primary prevention measure, but there were harms, notably gastrointestinal bleeding. “As we age, the risks of bleeding go up,” said Timothy Anderson, an internist at the University of Pittsburgh who co-directs its Prescribing Wisely Lab. More rarely, but more seriously, aspirin can cause bleeding in the brain.

In a published last year, Anderson and his co-author found the message was getting through: Aspirin use for primary prevention, as reported in the National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey, had dropped substantially from 2011 to 2023. But more than a third of those 70 or older were still taking it.

Some caveats: A subgroup of older adults with high risk factors for cardiovascular disease may benefit from aspirin for primary prevention. And, confusingly, some evidence suggests that older patients already taking aspirin face a higher risk of cardiovascular disease .

“Step 1 is a conversation with your primary care physician” about aspirin, Anderson said. “‘Is this still right for me as I get older?’”

Older patients taking aspirin, , “are interested in reducing their risk of heart attack and stroke,” he said. “They’re trying to be proactive and healthy.” But with blood pressure medications and statins for cholesterol, “we have better strategies than aspirin for that.”

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Then, last October, Wood took a fall, broke her neck, and spent three months in rehabilitation. When she returned to the house she shares with her niece, she couldn’t walk without assistance. “I still don’t dare go up and down stairs unless someone is with me,” said Wood, 93.

That has redefined their neighborly relationship. Straight, 53, a retired chef, now visits weekly, bringing lattes and cookies, and often leftovers from dinners she has made. Her husband installed a grab bar in Wood’s bathroom, put up shelves, and changed her light bulbs and smoke detector batteries. The texts fly back and forth.

Straight calls to say I’m going to the grocery store. Do you need anything? Wood, who no longer drives, provides a shopping list.

“She is a gift from heaven,” said Wood, a retired insurance executive. “We talk and talk. Sometimes we shed a few tears, but mostly we laugh. I never thought I’d have a new best friend at this time of my life.”

Eldercare, typically considered a family obligation, is evolving to adapt to demographic shifts that make reliance on spouses and children less assured.

“The number of older adults who have never married or are divorced has been increasing, so we have more people aging alone,” said Deborah Carr, a sociologist at Boston University who has investigated these trends.

“The proportion who are childless, by choice or not, is also growing,” she added, and families with children have fewer of them than in past generations.

Geographic distances or also fuel the need for other kinds of caregivers — roles that friends or neighbors can fill.

How commonly do friends step into caregiving gaps? A recently published study in JAMA Network Open, led by researchers at the University of Michigan, looked into , usually in supplementary roles.

They used data from the National Health and Aging Trends Study, in which more than 2,600 older people with health limitations (average age: 79) identified friends and family members who provided help. Family members were most likely to care for aging relatives, but about 14% of participants identified friends (including neighbors) in that role. That represents 2.4 million caregiving friends nationally, the authors estimated.

Last year, a by AARP and the National Alliance for Caregiving put the proportion of caregivers supporting nonrelatives at 11%.

“Friends are among the auxiliary caregivers who have not been acknowledged,” said Karen Fingerman, a gerontologist at the University of Texas-Austin and co-author of a the study. “We neglect the sacrifices they make.”

The study, believed to be the first nationwide look at caregiving friends, found they functioned differently from relatives. They’re unlikely to live with the person they’re helping, for example, and rarely serve as the sole caregiver.

“They provide fewer care hours,” said Yee To Ng, a gerontologist and lead author of the study, which found that friends supplied 18 hours of help a month on average, compared with about 67 hours from family.

They assist in different ways, too. “Friends are more likely to provide transportation,” Ng said. Two-thirds of caregiving friends drive their friends around; shopping, helping people go outside, preparing meals, and accompanying patients to medical appointments round out the top five tasks.

Sometimes they do more. Czes Ferrino, 82, is widowed and lives alone in Westerly, Rhode Island. She has no disabling health problems, but when her car died recently, her next-door neighbor went with her to several Subaru dealers to find a used replacement. “He walked me through it like a son would for a mother or grandmother,” Ferrino said.

On the other hand, “there are some tasks friends might not be well equipped to provide or be comfortable with,” Ng said. Personal care, like bathing and dressing, remains largely the province of family members.

“Those can infringe on people’s self-esteem,” Ng said. “With family, we accept that when you’re really ill, they step up with intimate activities. It’s embarrassing to have your friends help you use the toilet.”

The researchers also found that respondents who named friends as caregivers were younger than those with only relatives in that role, and more apt to have college degrees. People with higher education levels have larger social networks, Fingerman said.

Those assisted by friends were also, unsurprisingly, less likely to be married and more apt to live alone — like Ann Greenwater, 84, who lives in a mobile home park in rural Humboldt County, California.

She managed independently until a few years ago, when severe back pain rendered her bedridden for nearly three months. Although she’s up and about now and can handle housekeeping, cooking, and personal care, “I’ve never really fully recovered,” Greenwater said.

She is single, with no family beyond a distant nephew she barely knows, and has stopped driving. But a cadre of friends she knows from a nearby Zen Buddhist center stepped in.

Milli Quam, 86, does her laundry and drops it off, sometimes picking up prescriptions en route. A 73-year-old helped Greenwater with her computer and, along with several others, takes her grocery shopping or shops for her. Members of a local volunteer organization drive her to medical appointments.

“I love Ann, and I’m happy there’s something concrete I can do,” Quam said. “I hope I can keep doing it for a long time.”

Friends have some advantages as caregivers. “Our friends are our own age and understand what we’re going through,” Carr said. “They may have more empathy and sometimes real knowledge they’ve acquired.” When family caregivers are on the job, friends’ efforts can reduce their burden.

But nonrelatives may also prove less stable as a source of help. Neighbors move. Strains can develop if the person needing care becomes too demanding or feels guilty about accepting help, challenging the egalitarian expectations for friendships. These in those with physical limitations, a study led by Carr found.

Nor is there much policy support for these caregiving relationships. The federal Family and Medical Leave Act, for instance, “with rare exceptions does not provide job-protected leave from work to care for a friend with a serious health condition,” Laura Lawless, a labor and employment lawyer with Squire Patton Boggs, said in an email.

“For family, ‘through thick and thin’ is the expectation,” Carr said. “There’s huge stigma to being estranged from your family, but it’s kind of normal for some friendships to just fall away.”

In Sausalito, Wood tells Straight that “she’s not allowed to move until I die.” She’s joking, sort of.

Greenwater’s friends in Humboldt County, to her gratitude, have not fallen away either. But they are aging along with her; at 86, Quam pointed out, she may stop driving before long, too.

“I’m wondering what will happen when these friends aren’t able to come to me,” Greenwater said. “I guess we’ll deal with it when it comes.”

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Perhaps she misjudged its speed, she said, because she’d walked only partway across the street when the car, a Toyota sedan, came bearing down on her.

“She should have seen me,” Melville said of the driver. “All of a sudden she was there, and I didn’t have any way to get out of her way. I flew I don’t know how many feet.”

Passersby came to help; the police and an ambulance arrived. Soon Melville, a retired teacher, was at a hospital being treated for multiple fractures. Surgeons replaced her right hip and repaired her broken right elbow. She would probably need a knee replacement soon, too, doctors advised.

After a week’s hospitalization and a month in rehabilitation, Melville, then 73, went home in a wheelchair. Physical therapists helped her gradually progress to a walker and then a cane, but “it was a long process,” she said.

She still contends with back and knee pain and hasn’t been able to resume the hiking and backpacking she loved.

Still, when people say she’s lucky, Melville agrees. “It could have been a lot worse,” she said.

It often is.

Older pedestrians, like Melville, aren’t injured by motor vehicles at a greater rate than younger ones, according to from the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration. But they’re more likely to die. The death rate for pedestrians over 65 is higher than the average for all ages. Nearly 8,200 pedestrians 65 or older were injured that year — likely an undercount because not all serious crashes and injuries show up in police reports. More than 1,500 died. And the picture is not improving.

Researchers point out that older pedestrians remain more vulnerable to collisions. “They move through intersections at a slower pace,” said Andrew Rundle, an epidemiologist at Columbia University. Impaired hearing or vision can make them less apt to notice approaching vehicles or respond to traffic signals. And because reaction time slows with age, they’re less able to evade a car that’s turning, speeding, or ignoring a signal.

Physically, they “have greater frailty, loss of muscle mass and fragile bones,” Rundle said.

As a result, “the consequences of injuries are stratospherically different the older you get,” said Charles DiMaggio, an injury epidemiologist at the New York University Grossman School of Medicine. “A hip fracture in a 45-year-old is unfortunate. In a 75-year-old, it’s tragic.”

Moreover, after a marked decline in pedestrian deaths among all age groups from 1975 to the mid-2000s, progress for the older population has stalled for nearly 20 years.

shows that from about 2008 through 2024 the fatality rate for pedestrians 70 and older was not only higher than the average for all ages but “has stayed stubbornly flat,” Rundle said.

One factor could be exposure: Older adults appear increasingly likely to be outdoors on foot. The National Health and Aging Trends Study shows that the proportion who report walking for exercise climbed to 65% in 2023, from 60% in 2011. “And we encourage them to, because quality of life includes daily physical activity,” said Stephen Mooney, an injury epidemiologist at the University of Washington.

Further, the increasing popularity of large SUVs and trucks means “the vehicles on the road have become more dangerous” compared to traditional sedans, Rundle said. In June, a documented the way their taller hoods and larger blind zones contributed to rising fatalities.

The latest threat: explosive growth in the use of e-bikes. That’s a generic term often used to refer not only to motor-assisted bicycles that, with pedaling, can reach 28 mph but also to heavier, faster, and, therefore, more dangerous bikes akin to motorcycles. The industry has dubbed those e-motos.

“E-motos need to be regulated like motor vehicles,” said Noah Miterko of the trade association PeopleforBikes, noting that states and cities are . From 2019 to 2022, the rate of by nearly 300%, according to an analysis of emergency room data published in the American Journal of Public Health.

The “micromobility” phenomenon, or the uptick in the use of motorized two-wheeled vehicles, is so recent that researchers lack national data on its risks to pedestrians. In New York City, for instance, pedestrians remain far more likely to be hurt or die in encounters with cars, trucks, or vans. Last year, the of which 105 involved motor vehicles.

But “my clinical colleagues are sounding the alarm,” DiMaggio said. “Emergency departments and trauma teams are saying we need to pay more attention” to e-bike injuries.

One often overlooked . Among adult pedestrians killed in nighttime crashes, about a third had blood alcohol levels indicating intoxication; so did about 20% of those killed during the day. Public health officials have cautioned for years that , and more often.

“It’s almost a blind spot,” Rundle said. “We talk about drunk drivers a lot” but less about inebriated pedestrians.

Nevertheless, crashes that cause injury and death are preventable, said Laura Sandt, co-director of the Highway Safety Research Center at the University of North Carolina. Federal and local government policies have evolved since the era when pedestrian fatalities “seemed just part of the business of driving,” she said.

More than 200 municipalities have adopted the , for instance, a public health focus on programs and environments that increase traffic safety for all ages. Changes that can save lives involve improved street design (pedestrian islands, crosswalks, lighting, and bumped-out curbs making street-crossers more visible), safer signal timing (giving pedestrians a head start over turning cars), and lowered speed limits.

A recent found that the risk was substantially greater in places with a high density of walkable senior destinations, like hospitals and health facilities, pharmacies, and senior and community centers. That suggests the possibility of traffic strategies targeting such neighborhoods, analogous to child and their surroundings.

Traffic safety “shouldn’t rely on a pedestrian’s noticing a car coming and jumping out of the way,” said Mooney, one of the authors of the study. “Our job is to make the system safer for all ages and capacities.”

Melville, who was unable to leap out of danger, is “out and about now,” she said. “I’m not where I was, and I don’t know if I ever will be, but I can function. I’m leading a normal life.”

She still mourns her hikes in Reinhardt Redwood Regional Park and the Point Reyes National Seashore preserve, she said, but “I’m going to get there.”

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Tompkins returned to her home in San Diego, but she was still taking antibiotics, along with a host of other drugs for diabetes, pain, and blood clots. The deaths of her husband the previous year and her closest friend more recently had sapped her spirits.

In early July, a new symptom appeared: violent vomiting three times within about 24 hours. “I was so depleted,” she said. “I got weaker and weaker.” A friend who was visiting her called an ambulance.

“It’s the last place you think you want to go, the ER,” said Tompkins, 75, a retired teacher and family program director. She anticipated spending hours on an uncomfortable stretcher in a chilly hallway. Arriving at the emergency department at UC San Diego Health in La Jolla early in the morning, “I was in a knot,” she said.

But the place upended Tompkins’ expectations. Since 2022, this and every other adult ER in San Diego has been accredited as a geriatric emergency department, redesigned to address the specific risks and needs of older patients. It’s an approach, recent studies show, that can among older adults and lower costs.

“They took me right to a room,” Tompkins said. She was transferred to a gurney with a thicker mattress to prevent bedsores and given blankets. “I got an IV right away because I needed fluids,” she said.

She was pleased that the small, curtained room, with sound-absorbing walls to lower the cacophony of emergency care, had a cushioned chair for her friend, who would stay with her, and a window looking out on trees.

The window served a medical purpose, too. Patients “can see whether it’s day or night,” said Denise Valenzuela, the geriatric emergency nurse assigned to Tompkins. “It prevents delirium,” the sudden change in mental status that can arise in hospitalized older patients and increase dementia risk.

Before long, “I just felt a calmness,” Tompkins said. “I felt, I’m where I need to be right now.”

Since 2017, the American College of Emergency Physicians has accredited 624 such geriatric emergency departments across the United States, including 73 in Department of Veterans Affairs medical centers. “A fairly exponential rate of growth,” said Kevin Biese, the emergency doctor who directs the Geriatric Emergency Department Collaborative.

Few of these units are restricted to older patients. Instead, like the ER in La Jolla, they serve all ages but incorporate senior-friendly practices and protocols in an environment aimed at staving off disorientation, falls, and other elder hazards. They’re classified from Level 1, for those fulfilling the highest number of criteria, to Level 3.

Adults 75 and older visit the emergency room at a except infants: 76 visits per 100 people in 2022. Yet standard emergency care “wasn’t correctly designed for the needs of older adults,” Biese said.

The mission of a traditional ER is to speedily identify the central problem and either fix it or admit the patient to the hospital for ongoing care. “We ask, ‘What’s your chief complaint?’” Biese said. “You fell down the stairs and broke your leg.”

Older patients rarely arrive with a single ailment, however. Like Tompkins, most contend with several chronic conditions, take multiple prescriptions, and need a variety of tests and assessments. Trained geriatric emergency teams focus not only on the broken leg but on determining what caused the fall, and how to prevent another one.

“An emergency department doesn’t routinely screen for delirium” and cognitive impairment, said Ula Hwang, an emergency doctor and researcher at NYU Langone Health. “But it’s one of the first things geriatric emergency departments will do,” along with a careful review of all the patient’s medications.

Geriatric ERs also try to counter sensory impairment, another contributor to delirium, by distributing reading glasses and sound-amplifying devices. They dim glaring lights and offer eye masks and earplugs to promote sleep. If Tompkins had forgotten her walker, the unit would have lent her one.

These ERs also aim to address a rising concern in emergency departments: hours or even days spent “boarding,” when admitted patients wait for open beds before they can leave the ER.

“Prolonged boarding has increased among older adults,” said Cameron Gettel, an emergency doctor and researcher at the Yale School of Medicine, referring to waits that last over three hours. He is a co-author of a .

Spending more time boarding isn’t merely uncomfortable or inconvenient. Researchers studied patients 75 and older in emergency departments across France. They found that those kept there overnight before moving to an inpatient ward had a (15.7%) than those admitted to a ward before midnight (11.1%). Overnight boarding was associated with more falls and infections, too.

What geriatric emergency staffers prefer, however, is to help patients avoid hospitalization altogether. “Admission may not be the best thing for an older adult,” Hwang said. “It might be the worst.”

Hospital patients, she said, are exposed to infections, staff errors, and the rapid deconditioning that accompanies days spent in bed. All pose a greater threat to older patients.

Previous from geriatric emergency departments, but most of those studies involved one or two hospitals. Now, Hwang and her team have used nationwide data from the federal “Health and Retirement Study” and Medicare claims for nearly 4,600 adults age 65 or up, comparing those treated in geriatric emergency departments with a matched group seen in standard ERs.

The differences were stark: Patients in the geriatric units had a 39% and a 38% reduction in mortality over 30 days. The geriatric ERs also up to about $3,000 a visit, according to an earlier study Hwang led.

So having more than geriatric emergency departments nationwide represents both great strides and — in a country with — missed opportunities, Biese said.

“I’d encourage people to ask why their hospitals don’t have an accredited GED,” he added, referring to a geriatric emergency department. “We should demand that.”

In La Jolla, Tompkins began feeling stronger. The intravenous fluids supplied anti-nausea medication and corrected the electrolyte abnormalities that her lab work revealed. She was able to sip water and juice and eat a few graham crackers.

A battery of other screens and scans found no serious concerns. After completing a geriatric assessment, Valenzuela, the nurse, suspected Tompkins hadn’t been eating well and was taking medications on a mostly empty stomach.

By about 6 p.m., Tompkins and her doctor agreed she could return home. She left the hospital with numbers to call for further help, and several staff members checked in by phone to see how she was doing.

Better, was her answer. “They took care of the whole me and put me on the right track,” Tompkins said. “I’m progressing. It’s slow, but I’m OK.”

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As a registered nurse at the University of Cincinnati Medical Center and a former Air Force medic, he knew this was a bad idea. “I made a couple of attempts to quit and they failed miserably,” said Schmidt, now 75.

Not until 2007 was he able to stop, using a newly approved prescription drug that reduced cigarette cravings. “I put them down and never went back,” he said.

Despite his years as a healthcare professional, Schmidt was unaware that lung cancer screening had become available for current and past smokers. The influential U.S. Preventive Services Task Force, an independent expert panel, recommended it in 2013.

Besides, he said, “I thought I was in the clear after all these years of not smoking.”

But in 2021, his primary care doctor, running down a list of questions at his annual Medicare wellness visit, asked whether he’d be willing to undergo a CT scan to detect lung cancer, and he agreed. A few days later, the results popped up on his patient portal: adenocarcinoma.

“It was stunning to read those words,” Schmidt recalled. “I knew what that was: cancer.”

Even with sharp declines in smoking, lung cancer remains the leading cause of cancer deaths in the United States, with  for this year, far exceeding fatal cases of colon, breast, or prostate cancer.

Yet in 2024, of the patients eligible for lung cancer screening,  — or , depending on which data researchers analyzed — were up to date on the recommended annual scans.

“Abysmally low, especially because of how deadly lung cancer is,” said Chi-Fu Jeffrey Yang, a thoracic surgeon at Mass General Brigham and the senior author of  about the screening rates.

Patients over 65 were more likely than younger people to be up to date. Still, only about a third were screened regularly, a  than received other cancer screenings. Schmidt, for instance, had dutifully undergone colonoscopies and prostate cancer tests for years.

Data from national registries shows that older adults face . “Age is a risk factor for cancer generally,” said Priti Bandi, an epidemiologist at the American Cancer Society. But seniors may also accumulate more years as smokers. About a fifth of lung cancer cases arise in people who never smoked, but smoking remains the most common cause, “even if the exposure happened much earlier in your life,” Bandi said.

Screening has been shown to save lives. In 2011,  demonstrated that annual screening with low-dose CT scans reduced lung cancer deaths by 20% compared with the chest X-rays used previously. That prompted the initial task force recommendation.

More recent European trials have found far greater reductions. In 2019, Italian researchers reported that after 10 years, patients with six years of screening had a 39% decrease in lung cancer deaths compared with those who weren’t screened.

Why, then, does screening remain so underused? “Lung cancer screening is so easy, a two-minute scan,” Yang said. “You don’t even have to put on a gown.”

One explanation: Determining eligibility gets complicated. The task force, in , recommended screening for those a) 50 to 80 years old with b) a “20 pack-year” smoking history who c) currently smoke or stopped within the past 15 years.

Both patients and doctors struggle with these criteria. Pack-year? It refers to how heavily someone smoked over time. Smoking a pack a day for 20 years creates a 20 pack-year history; so does smoking half a pack daily for 40 years.

Calculating that number is time-consuming and “challenging,” said Teva Brender, a hospitalist at the San Francisco VA Medical Center and a co-author of an  about lung cancer screening. “You might smoke a pack a day, then cut back to half a pack for two years, then stop. Then start again.”

The  probably also plays a role, sometimes making patients reluctant to disclose tobacco use. “Some people blame patients with lung cancer: ‘You did this to yourself because you smoked,’” Yang said. Screening rates also vary by state and insurance status.

Yet advances in treating lung cancer, including minimally invasive and robotic surgical procedures and increasingly effective drug therapies, mean that a diagnosis is “no longer a death sentence,” Bandi said. “The survival rate has improved dramatically.”

More than 80% of patients diagnosed in the earliest stages of the disease or more, although survival drops sharply for more advanced cancers. And screening increases the odds of finding cancer early.

Frustrated that a potentially lifesaving tool remains so underused, some doctors and organizations are calling for changes in the Preventive Services Task Force recommendations, which lead to coverage by Medicare (Medicaid coverage varies by state) and many private insurers. “The screening guidelines are too restrictive,” Yang said.

The American Cancer Society and the National Comprehensive Cancer Network have both  from their guidelines, which would make patients eligible for screening no matter how long ago they stopped smoking.

“We were disqualifying people from screening at a time when their risk was still rising,” said Robert Smith, a screening expert at the society. He and his colleagues have urged the task force to also drop the 15-year stipulation,  to back their claim.

°Õ³ó±ðÌý, dropping both the 15-year and pack-year stipulations and advocating screening for anyone who smoked for 20 years.

The task force,  from Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr., hasn’t responded to the American Cancer Society’s analysis. Nor did it respond to a reporter’s emails asking whether it planned to revise its lung cancer screening recommendations.

Expanding eligibility so that more people can undergo screening , too. Some scans will reveal abnormalities that don’t turn out to be lung cancer, but require additional scans (or, rarely, biopsies) and cause considerable anxiety. Even with low-dose scans, repeated screenings also involve some radiation exposure.

Moreover, a recent study showed that among older adults diagnosed with metastatic lung cancer, . “If the public health goal is to reduce deaths from lung cancer through screening, it only works if you treat the people it identifies,” said Steven Woloshin, a researcher at the Dartmouth Institute for Health Policy and Clinical Practice.

For Schmidt, though, screening and treatment worked as intended. The mass found by his 2021 screening, diagnosed as stage 1 lung cancer, led to robotic surgery at the University of Cincinnati Cancer Center to remove the upper lobe of his right lung.

Surveillance scans followed every six months, then annually — until a 2025 scan revealed a small nodule in his lower lobe, another stage 1 cancer. Surgery removed that nodule, too. Schmidt now takes a targeted anticancer drug daily, a three-year regimen, while continuing regular scans.

“It did what it was supposed to do,” Schmidt said of his screening. “I feel blessed.” He tends his extensive gardens in Bright, Indiana, flies kites, and goes camping with his grandchildren. He still works several shifts a month as a fire department paramedic.

Experts cautioned, however, that lung cancer screening and treatment cannot substitute for the benefits of stopping smoking — or never having started. “The risk is lower the longer you are away from cigarettes,” Woloshin said. “But it doesn’t go to zero.”

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“I want to stay here,” she vowed. “And die here.”

She might pull that off. In relatively good health, Jennett still drives to lunch with friends, does her own housekeeping and grocery shopping, and plows through a book a day, usually a mystery. But her children worry about her living alone at 89, especially after she has had a couple of falls.

Enter her new housemate, Susan Beese. Despite working four days a week in retail, Beese could no longer afford her nearby one-bedroom apartment as the rent topped $1,500 a month. She moved out, first staying with friends and then in what she delicately called “a senior women’s facility.”

Now Beese, who is 79, pays Jennett $800 monthly for a bright two-bedroom space, with a bath and a kitchen, on the lower level of her house. As part of the agreement the housemates worked out, she helps plant and water Jennett’s garden, takes out the trash, and cooks occasional meals.

“It’s been a lifesaver,” Beese said. Jennett even welcomed her dog.

Meet the real-life Golden Girls. In the  1980s sitcom, still in perpetual reruns, the four wisecracking women who share a house in Miami met through an ad on a supermarket bulletin board.

In Denver, the housing matchmaker was Sunshine Home Share Colorado, a local nonprofit that Alison Joucovsky, a senior services administrator, founded in 2016 when the problem became urgent. “My phone was ringing off the hook,” she said, recalling anxious pleas from older residents spending most of their Social Security checks on rising rent or facing years-long waiting lists for subsidized senior housing.

Home sharing “is a really efficient way to create affordable housing and to support older people ,” Joucovsky said. Carefully vetting both “home providers,” who may be rattling around in family houses now too big and too empty, and “home sharers” seeking reasonable rents, Sunshine facilitated 31 shares last year, a record for the nonprofit.

“The cost of developing and building new housing is astronomical, and so is the length of time it takes,” said Laura Fanucchi, president of the National Shared Housing Resource Center and an administrator with HIP Housing, a home-share organization in San Mateo County, California. “Why not make use of existing housing stock?”

About  offer these services — and demand is growing, driven by housing shortages, rising rents, and sales prices that affect both the old and the young. Legislators in several states are working to promote home sharing as an option. (Personal care is not part of these arrangements.)

The need is acute. About a third of households headed by someone 65 or older were “cost-burdened” in 2024, according to  by the Harvard Joint Center for Housing Studies. That means they spent more than 30% of their income on housing.

Although nearly 80% of those people were homeowners, the center found, an increasing proportion are still paying off mortgages or home equity loans, and most contend with higher taxes, utility and maintenance costs, and insurance premiums.

“A lot of the people calling me to complain about property taxes and inflation are senior citizens on fixed incomes whose children have left, and maybe their spouse has died,” said Pennsylvania state Rep. Abby Major, a Republican co-sponsor of a bill that would facilitate home sharing. “They’re a single older adult living in a four-bedroom house.”

Yet most don’t want to relocate. Even if they do, many older adults will find that downsizing has also  as home prices rise and very low interest rates become a memory.

Younger people are similarly cost-burdened, including 37% of those age 25 to 34 and 31% of those 35 to 44, the Joint Center has reported.  both older homeowners who need income and people of any age in search of lower-cost housing.

To help increase their reach, some home-share programs now supplement or replace the traditionally labor-intensive matching process with online platforms. (For-profit companies like Nesterly or roommates.com also facilitate shared housing.)

“It’s like online dating, except that people who have rooms can meet people who need rooms,” said Candice Smith, executive director of HomeShare Oregon. “And it’s a lot more secure.” HomeShare’s online platform has drawn close to 7,000 providers and seekers over five years.

Further support has come from the city of Portland, which this year announced  to pay $1,000 to homeowners who make a spare room available (or $1,500 for two rooms) through qualified home-share programs.

In addition, legislators in several states have introduced or passed bills that prohibit municipalities from unduly restricting homeowners who want to rent spare rooms to nonfamily members. Sponsors in Pennsylvania and Connecticut actually call them Golden Girls bills, and they’ve drawn bipartisan support.

“So many young people have basically given up on buying a home,” said Colorado state Rep. Manny Rutinel. The Democrat helped pass  prohibiting cities and counties from limiting the number of unrelated people who could live together in a single dwelling.

In Pennsylvania, state Rep. Tarik Khan steered  through the House in June; it awaits a Senate vote. “It doesn’t make sense that your cousin can move in but someone unrelated to you can’t,” said Khan, a Democrat.

The Pennsylvania bill caps the number of nonfamily occupants in a home at five; Connecticut’s limit would be three.  passed the Senate in April and then died without a vote in the House. But the bill sponsors plan to reintroduce it next session.

Home sharing can’t solve the housing crisis, its fans acknowledge. But it could make a dent, potentially unlocking thousands of spare bedrooms across the country without requiring new construction that would change the character of neighborhoods.

Admittedly, matching homeowners with those who want to rent a room becomes a delicate process. Home-share staff members typically interview the individual parties, run background checks, verify incomes, coordinate initial phone calls and meetings, and mediate if problems later arise.

They also help applicants sift through the myriad lifestyle preferences that can torpedo a match. “Living together isn’t easy,” Fanucchi said. Will the home provider accept smokers, pets, visitors? Does the sharer work from home? Or need to park a car? Who sets the thermostat?

Sometimes the agreement includes a “service exchange,” in which the newcomer does a few hours of chores like snow shoveling, shopping, or some meal preparation in return for reduced rent.

Jenlyn and Larry Boyer, for instance, have lived in their ranch house in suburban Broomfield, Colorado, for 31 years and never want to leave. But Jenlyn, who is 80, has “gotten unsteady” and uses a walker. Her husband, 70, suffers chronic fibromyalgia pain and needs a wheelchair.

Because they now pay for tasks that they used to undertake themselves, and because inflation has undermined their finances, “I had an epiphany,” Jenlyn said. “We need more help and we need more money.”

Six months ago, through Sunshine Home Share, they met a 46-year-old graduate student whose monthly rent had doubled to an unmanageable $2,000.

The student moved into their furnished downstairs bedroom/family room with a bathroom, a small refrigerator, and a microwave. In exchange for about 10 hours of dishwashing a month, she pays a reduced rent of $600.

The additional income has helped the Boyers cover expenses like van repairs and wheelchair batteries. But they also enjoy chatting with their new housemate.

“She turns out to be just a gem,” Jenlyn said. “We laugh together a lot.”

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“On a scale of 1 to 10 of my annoyance with taxes in general, this one is about a 2,” she said. “I see the benefits.”

The small surcharge on wages provides the funding for Washington Cares, the nation’s . It was set to begin distributing benefits July 1.

If Haggett, 67, a systems administrator who lives in Auburn, Washington, needs help with daily activities as she ages — bathing, dressing, grocery shopping, managing medications — she’ll be able to use the benefit she has accrued through WA Cares, as the program is known.

About 3.7 million workers participated last year, paying an additional 0.58% in payroll taxes. Those who contribute for 10 years will qualify for a lifetime benefit of $36,500. The amount will rise with inflation: A 36-year-old now earning about $50,000 a year who contributes $291 a year for a decade will have if she needs assistance at age 75.

Both the WA Cares mandatory premiums and eventual benefits are modest. But for older adults and people with disabilities, they can help pay for a variety of services: home care, transportation, adult day programs, home modifications like ramps and grab bars, compensation for family members who assist them, or assisted living facilities and nursing homes.

Haggett had looked into private long-term care insurance to cover those needs, but she balked. “It’s crazy expensive,” she said. And since premiums can rise, and frequently have, “you’re basically saying, I’ll pay whatever, whenever.”

Haggett knows that WA Cares can’t cover all her long-term care costs. In fact, because she was already in her 60s when payroll deductions began in 2023, and because she is planning to retire in two years, she’ll receive only half the lifetime benefit.

But “if I required care and it would protect my wife from having to spend our savings, $18,250 is not meaningless,” she said.

Washington has been working toward implementing WA Cares for a decade; the program has survived two statewide votes aimed at overturning or weakening it. Now, other states will be paying attention.

‘Most People Have Nothing’

An estimated 70% of Americans will need long-term care at some point in their lives, but “they haven’t planned for it or saved for it,” said Cathleen MacCaul, advocacy director for AARP Washington State, which supported the legislation that created WA Cares.

“People are under the misconception that Medicare will pay for this,” MacCaul said. In fact, while Medicare pays for healthcare, it rarely covers long-term care, either at home or in facilities.

Medicaid does cover long-term care, but it involves such strict limits on income and assets that “most middle-class people are left out, or they have to impoverish themselves” by spending nearly all their assets to qualify, said Richard Frank, director of the Center on Health Policy at the Brookings Institution. Those who are eligible often face lengthy waiting lists for care at home.

“Long-term care is the largest area of unprotected health risk in the United States,” Frank said. “Most people have nothing.”

Previous efforts to establish public long-term care protections have foundered. In 2010, the Affordable Care Act included , a legacy of Sen. Ted Kennedy that would have created a voluntary long-term care insurance program. The Obama administration eventually deemed it unworkable, and “it never saw the light of day,” Frank said.

The private market has also contracted. Most of the largest companies selling long-term care insurance — Genworth, John Hancock, MetLife — have exited the market. The return on their investments plummeted when interest rates fell after the Great Recession, and the number of insured people who abandoned their policies — a profitable development for insurers — was far below projections.

“The psychology of the industry was: Holy smokes, we’re losing money! We’re getting out,” said Claude Thau, who directs the annual Milliman Long-Term Care Insurance Survey. As the losses mounted and premiums spiked, consumers such as Haggett stopped buying policies. Moreover, Thau estimated, 1 in 6 applicants are unable to get coverage for health reasons.

Thus, fewer than 35,000 Americans bought stand-alone policies in 2024, compared with about 235,000 in 2010, according to a , a trade association. The average 60-year-old purchaser would, at age 80, receive a projected maximum benefit of $369 a day, Milliman reported. But the average annual premium on new stand-alone policies in 2024 — $3,265 — can seem daunting to someone close to retirement.

As the purchase of stand-alone policies has dropped, insurance companies have turned to policies bundling some long-term care benefits with life insurance or annuities. Those sales figures are climbing. Still, the association notes, only 3% of Americans age 50 or older have any long-term care insurance.

‘A Five-Alarm Fire’

That has prompted a recent spate of proposals to find public ways to protect Americans from ruinous costs that can continue for years. “This is a five-alarm fire,” said sent in May by U.S. Sen. Ron Wyden of Oregon and 16 fellow Senate Democrats to their colleagues.

The letter, more a statement of purpose than a specific legislative plan, proposed a “home care guarantee” for Medicare beneficiaries, among other efforts. Proponents expect to issue a more detailed report in the fall and to introduce a bill early next year.

A also proposed providing subsidized long-term care at home through Medicare, with beneficiaries making contributions according to their ability to pay. Like most of these programs, it would kick in when people need help with activities related to daily living or require supervision because of cognitive decline. The authors estimate that 8.2 million Americans will be eligible, far more than those who qualify for home-based care under Medicaid.

In the House, Rep. Tom Suozzi, a Democrat from New York, and Rep. John Moolenaar, a Republican from Michigan, have to create a catastrophic-insurance program for older people with disabilities. It would require them to pay for care out-of-pocket or with private insurance for the first several years before they would receive a monthly federal benefit.

Enacting federal initiatives in the current political climate seems unlikely, proponents acknowledge. The Trump administration’s plan to cut billions of dollars from Medicaid “has moved the needle backward on the accessibility of long-term care,” said Taylor Harvey, a spokesperson for the Senate Finance Committee.

So “are looking at what Washington is doing with a lot of interest,” said Norma Coe, who is an economist at the University of Pennsylvania and is tracking long-term care programs. Legislators have introduced bills in Illinois, Hawai‘i, and West Virginia; other states have task forces studying the issue.

“Long-term care is one of those conversations around every dinner table,” said Bea Rector, assistant secretary for the Department of Social and Health Services’ Home and Community Living Administration.

“Families step in,” she explained. Sometimes they can continue providing care, “but sometimes more formal care has to be put in place. That’s when people see the value of programs like this.”

Steven Russakoff knows the challenges of elder care, having provided years of support for his father, who died two years ago, and for his mother, who is now living in a nursing facility. “It’s brutal, it’s exhausting, and it’s extraordinarily expensive,” he said. The family has liquidated virtually all his parents’ assets to pay for their care.

Russakoff, who is 56 and lives in Shoreline, Washington, initially disliked WA Cares. He could handle the additional deductions (about $250 a year) from his paycheck as a director of university dining services, but he felt forced into a program he couldn’t use if he left the state to retire.

But WA Cares has already been amended several times and for many participants who move away, making him a convert. “It’s a good idea,” Russakoff concluded. “A necessary evil.”

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

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

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

“My energy is really limited,” she said.

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

‘A Breakthrough Moment’

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You Need A, B, and C’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hotly Debated, Seldom Used

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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She was in “reasonably good health,” and the risks of the procedure — bleeding, reaction to anesthesia, perforation of her colon — were fairly low. But she was 85. And she would need to briefly discontinue the blood thinners she took because of the cardiac stents keeping her arteries open; doing so could increase the risks.

Had Itzkowitz and his patient faced this decision five years ago, he might have scheduled the screening “without even thinking about it,” he said. But recent research has shown again that the benefits of a repeat colonoscopy .

Now, he said, “I’m saying to myself, ‘What are we accomplishing here?’”

He’s not the only doctor — or patient — having second thoughts. The risks and benefits of common screenings, procedures, and drugs add up differently at advanced ages, and research continues to point out fresh examples of some that may become unnecessary.

Recently, investigators have taken on questions about common skin lesions that probably don’t need to be removed, a widely used thyroid medication that many older patients can safely discontinue, and colonoscopies that reduce colon cancer mortality so slightly that the risks may outweigh the benefits.

Ugly but Probably Harmless

The reddened or rough patches on the skin are called, in doctor-speak, actinic keratoses. Because they result from long-term sun exposure, they usually appear on faces, scalps, forearms, and the backs of hands.

Such lesions appear most commonly on older patients. One large study of traditional Medicare beneficiaries found that over a five-year period, with an actinic keratosis. Then what?

“The vast majority of the time, they’re removed,” said Allison Billi, a dermatologist at the University of Michigan and an author of on the topic in JAMA Internal Medicine. That typically involves cryosurgery (freezing with liquid nitrogen), topical creams, or laser therapy.

The rationale: The patches could become cancerous. But “for the average patient with no history of skin cancer, there is less than a 1-in-1,000 chance of it progressing to skin cancer,” Billi said, citing . The lesions are far more likely to disappear on their own.

“The treatment may be more burdensome than the condition itself,” she added. Removal “is actually extremely painful, both during and after.” It can cause swelling, irritation, and lasting discoloration.

Besides, an actinic keratosis , or new ones will emerge. “This is a chronic condition,” Billi said.

She has proposed active surveillance, instead: Primary care doctors could observe the lesions annually for warning signs like bleeding, pain, or rapid growth, which might warrant removal. But “in many cases, it’s not necessary,” she said. “We don’t always need to do everything we can do.”

She does recommend using sunscreen, however.

Questionable Treatment

Patients take levothyroxine, one of the world’s most frequently prescribed drugs, when their thyroid glands can’t produce sufficient thyroid hormone.

With this condition, called hypothyroidism, “people gain weight. They have less energy. Their hair and skin are dry,” explained Jacobijn Gussekloo, a primary care doctor and researcher at Leiden University Medical Center in the Netherlands. “Everything slows down.”

Doctors also increasingly prescribe it for a borderline condition called subclinical hypothyroidism, which usually causes no symptoms but can progress to hypothyroidism.

Most patients take the drug for life — but do they have to? Gussekloo’s team has found that in many older adults with subclinical hypothyroidism, on their own.

The researchers have also reported that among older people with the condition, and “no apparent benefit.”

Like any drug, it can also cause harm. It may interact with other medications that older patients typically take. Moreover, “it requires frequent lab tests and follow-ups, more visits and expense,” said Maria Papaleontiou, an endocrinologist at the University of Michigan and an author of in JAMA accompanying the latest Dutch study.

“In high doses, it can cause hyperthyroidism, which can lead to cardiac arrhythmias and bone loss,” she added. Patients taking it also have to adjust their diets and meal schedules.

To determine whether some patients could stop taking levothyroxine, the Dutch researchers devised a protocol that gradually reduced doses over 30 weeks, with ongoing lab testing and consultations with doctors.

After a year, a quarter of the 370 participants, all over 60, while maintaining healthy thyroid function. Most had been on lower doses to begin with.

Patients shouldn’t stop levothyroxine on their own, Papaleontiou cautioned. Discontinuation requires tapering off gradually, with testing and monitoring. Some patients will always need the drug.

But it appears that “a select group of adults over 60 may not require this treatment lifelong,” Papaleontiou said.

A Screening With Risks

The question of when older patients can safely stop screening for colon cancer has prompted years of debate. The influential U.S. Preventive Services Task Force gives the screening a lukewarm , calling the benefit “small.”

Yet almost 60% of older patients who have had previous colonoscopies and face limited life expectancies (less than five years) are advised to undergo another screening, found.

As a gastroenterologist at the University of California-San Diego, Samir Gupta regularly encounters this issue with older patients. “I know they really have a low risk of colon cancer, and I’m putting them through more risk,” he said.

The risk of complications following a colonoscopy rise with age. One study found that nearly 7% of patients over 75 had within a month of the procedure.

Is it worth it? Gupta is the lead author of of almost 92,000 Veterans Affairs patients over 75 who had previous colonoscopies. In about 28%, the procedure had found an adenoma, a type of polyp that can become cancerous. Though only a small fraction do, gastroenterologists generally remove them.

The researchers found that after 10 years, veterans with a previous adenoma were more likely to develop colon cancer than those without one, though the rate was extremely low in both groups.

But just 0.5% — yes, one-half of 1% — of those with a previous adenoma died of colon cancer, compared with 0.4% of those without one. “A tiny difference,” Gupta said.

Both groups were dwarfed by the number of veterans — almost half — who died within the decade of other causes.

“Even if the procedure goes well, you’ll either find nothing or you’ll find something that’s not going to have real impact on your longevity,” said Itzkowitz, an author of published alongside the study.

Yet he has found that many patients who have had polyps removed want to continue colonoscopies.

It is hard to shift established medical norms. can meet with opposition from both patients and health care professionals.

Many older women past the point of documented benefit, and older men often beyond the recommended age.

Colonoscopies are less pleasant, so perhaps older patients will be glad to forgo them. “Even with polyps, the chance of dying from colon cancer is so low compared to everything else that can get you,” Itzkowitz said.

So he told his 85-year-old patient that she could skip another colonoscopy. She seemed pleased.

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The patient lived alone, and “really struggles with social isolation,” Guzman said. After a serious fall and subsequent surgery, the woman was using a wheelchair. She confided that she would like to attend services at a church down the road but had no way to get there and did not want to seem “a bother.”

“We called the pastor to see if there was someone who could pick her up” on Sundays, Guzman said. And there was.

The next day, Guzman visited a woman with heart failure who required constant oxygen. She lives in “less than ideal housing,” with no kitchen and only a plug-in heater for warmth.

“We were trying to figure out if she qualifies for HUD housing or assisted living,” Guzman said, referring to the federal Department of Housing and Urban Development. “We spent a lot of time talking about the options and came up with a game plan.”

Wednesday’s schedule included a 20-mile drive to Hood River to see an 81-year-old woman whose partner of nearly 40 years was contending with a serious cancer. Guzman, who speaks to her in Spanish, found her distraught at the possibility of losing him.

Guzman had arranged for the woman to begin seeing a therapist to help her through the crisis — no minor achievement. But on this visit, “I just handed her tissues and tried to give words of comfort,” she said. “Honestly, sometimes just sitting and listening” is the best response.

A community healthcare worker, the , is a “trusted member” of a local community or someone who has “an unusually close understanding” of it, enabling the worker to serve as intermediary between patients and the healthcare system.

These workers have been on the job since the 1960s, particularly in rural and low-income areas. Today, their numbers are growing. The Bureau of Labor Statistics , which the National Association of Community Health Workers says is probably an underestimate.

That partly reflects the difficulty of counting workers who go by a variety of names — community health educators, outreach specialists, promotores de salud — and operate under different state regulations, sometimes with no licensure or certification required.

What they have in common is that “they talk like the people they work with,” said Sam Cotton, who directs the curriculum for several such programs at the University of Louisville in Kentucky.

With shortages of healthcare professionals and an aging population, “there’s a lot of momentum for this,” she said.

In Oregon, for example, five rural clinics employ community health workers, who become state-certified after completing 90 hours of online training, through a program called Connected Care for Older Adults. A sixth clinic employing a community health worker operates in neighboring Washington.

Their frail patients are struggling. “They can’t drive, so they can’t get to a grocery store and shop,” said Elizabeth Eckstrom, chief of geriatrics at Oregon Health & Science University, who helped oversee the program’s start in 2022. “They’re not taking their medications, either for cognitive reasons or because they can’t get to a pharmacy.”

Few have completed an advance directive, specifying the care they want — or don’t want — if they suffer a health crisis.

Connected Care’s community health workers tackle many of those not-exactly-medical problems — from installing wheelchair ramps to helping patients apply for food and housing benefits. They are allotted 90 days to work with each patient, usually during home visits.

They help coordinate follow-up appointments. They administer cognitive and mental health screenings and watch for the use of too many medications, entering their observations into the patients’ electronic health records.

“It’s like being the eyes and ears for the doctors, to see what’s happening outside the 20 minutes they get to spend with patients,” said Guzman, whose work has ranged from ordering a bath mat to reporting suspected financial abuse.

In a  (average age: 77), a subsample found substantial decreases in emergency department visits and hospitalizations among those served by community health workers.

More extensive research, not yet published, supports that finding, Eckstrom said.

“ED visits cost thousands, and hospitalizations are tens of thousands,” she pointed out. The cost per patient for the 90-day program is $1,500. Its workers earn $25 an hour, a fairly typical wage, and receive full employee benefits.

Manali Patel, an oncologist at Stanford University, found for older patients with advanced cancer in a clinical trial at the Department of Veterans Affairs’ Palo Alto Health Care System.

“Lots of people were passing away” in the intensive care unit, she recalled. “If we’d asked, they probably would have wanted to be at home.” Oncologists, she added, are “notoriously bad at engaging in and documenting those conversations.”

But when a lay health worker made regular phone calls to help patients understand their options, discuss their preferences with their care team, and file advance directives, the results — published in JAMA Oncology in 2018 — were “very dramatic,” Patel said.

More than 90% of the participating veterans had their goals documented in their records compared with fewer than 20% of the control group. The lay worker’s patients had significantly fewer emergency room visits and hospitalizations and were more likely to enroll in hospice care.

Patel and her co-authors have gone on to document the benefits of lay health workers, the term they used, in undertaking other tasks in other settings.

In oncology clinics in Arizona and California, for instance, two bilingual lay health workers to cancer patients over age 75 to assess symptoms like pain, nausea, breathlessness, and depression.

Alerting healthcare teams to these patients’ problems substantially reduced their emergency department use and hospitalizations, and the cost savings averaged $12,000 a patient.

“This low-tech, human-administered intervention reaped huge dividends,” said an  in JAMA.

“Community health workers should be part of every healthcare team,” Eckstrom said. “They support the patient in ways the medical system just can’t, no matter how hard we try.”

One obstacle to expanding their use, however, is unstable funding.

In 2024, Medicare began covering some community health worker services, but not all. (The costs of driving 30 miles to remote homes, for example, are not reimbursed.) Medicaid coverage is piecemeal, reimbursing for some services in some states and not others.

“A lot of community health worker roles rely on short-term grants,” said Neena Schultz, a director of the National Association of Community Health Workers. “Sustainability is something we talk about every day.”

The organization and other supporters are pressing for more state and federal funding. The new federal , which is distributing $10 billion a year, will include funding for community health worker programs, but cuts to state Medicaid budgets could more than offset those gains.

The grants funding Connected Care for Older Adults continue, though. Guzman, employed by the nonprofit clinic One Community Health, keeps making her rounds.

One recent victory: A newly widowed patient in his 60s, struggling financially without his wife’s income, lost his housing and was sleeping in his truck. Through another patient, Guzman learned of an unused recreational vehicle whose owner was willing to donate it.

The widower now lives comfortably in a mobile home park.

When you’re in a patient’s home, “there’s a sense of ease,” Guzman said. “They feel safer talking about things. They don’t feel rushed. You develop a relationship, and they feel they have someone to advocate for them.”

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This article first appeared on Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and is republished here under a .