Carter’s specialty is reeling in grants to support students in the Omaha Nation school district, where she is a finance manager. One paid for the garden that sits next to the district’s campus. Another allowed the school system, in one of Nebraska’s lowest-income counties, to pay students to maintain it.

“They’re out in the sun. They’re watering plants,” she said. “It’s the first time they get a paycheck in their life.”

Carter, 41, is paralyzed from the chest down, an injury she’s lived with since a fall in her early 20s. It didn’t slow her down as she built her accounting career and got a master’s degree in human resource management.

But in November 2023, Carter — who lives in Sioux City, Iowa — got a letter from Iowa’s Department of Health and Human Services. It said that her income was too high for her to stay on Medicaid and that she might lose her benefits in two weeks if she didn’t take action.

States are scrambling to get ready for a new federal requirement to double-check that many people on Medicaid qualify for the benefit, by showing they are working, volunteering, or studying at least 80 hours per month. Politicians’ focus on requiring work has angered many people with disabilities who have Medicaid and say current policies that apply to them have the opposite effect — making them choose between working or receiving benefits.

‘I Have No Options’

When Carter got the letter, she was making $110,000 a year, well above Iowa’s 2023 income limit for working people with disabilities: $36,450 for a household of one.

“I had no time at all to prepare,” she said. “I had a decision to make.”

At the time, Carter got her health coverage through Iowa’s , a buy-in program that allows working disabled Iowans to pay part of their income to the state to maintain access to Medicaid benefits. Forty-seven states offer , but eligibility through limits on income and assets.

For years, disability rights advocates have pushed state legislatures to change the limits, arguing they prevent people like Carter from accepting raises or building savings, for fear of losing crucial medical benefits. Massachusetts, Minnesota, New Jersey, and Rhode Island have eliminated such limits over the past five years.

To keep her Medicaid coverage, Carter would’ve had to find a job paying her far less than she was making. Or she could drop her Medicaid coverage and enroll in the school district’s health plan. But that plan didn’t cover many of the disability-related expenses that Medicaid did.

Carter decided to keep her job and leave the Medicaid buy-in program. In the end, the decision felt like a no-brainer, she said.

“I like getting up and going to work every day, and I really like what I do,” she said. “Why would I throw that away?”

But it’s been hard on her finances. Carter said she now spends about $35,000 a year out-of-pocket for expenses her old plan covered, such as the nurse who visits her three times a week, modifications to her car, and wheelchair repairs.

“I had the motors go out on my wheelchair,” she said. “So that was like $4,000 to fix.”

Over the next year, Carter picked up extra jobs and cashed in some of her retirement savings.

“I want to pay my own way. I don’t mind paying taxes,” she said. She doesn’t want to hide her income, either. “I just want an option,” she said. “I have no options right now.”

A Program Intended To Encourage Work

Congress to create Medicaid buy-in programs in the 1990s, intending to incentivize more people with disabilities to work. Iowa was one of the first states to adopt the program.

According to state data, 11,640 Iowans were participating in the buy-in program as of late January, or 1.7% of all Medicaid recipients in Iowa.

The income caps have inched up since Carter got her letter. , set at 250% of the federal poverty level, is $39,900 for a household of one this year.

The rules also restrict recipients from accumulating too much in assets. The is $12,000 for an individual or $24,000 for a married couple, excluding some assets, such as a primary home or vehicle.

Carlyn Crowe, the public policy manager at the , said the limits can prevent disabled Iowans from reaching their goals. “Work full-time and be able to buy a house, live in the community, buy a car,” she said. “Those limits placed on what they can earn and save are keeping them from doing that.”

Crowe’s organization, which has counterparts in every state, is and advocates for people with disabilities. In Iowa, such advocates have asked legislators to drop the hard limits on income and assets. Instead, they suggest that disabled Iowans pay 6% of their income to buy into the Medicaid program, an approach modeled after a 2024 that created a Medicaid buy-in program with no income and asset limits. (Tennessee is waiting on federal approval before starting its program.)

In recent years, these efforts have built bipartisan support and gained traction. An Iowa House committee unanimously in 2025 to remove the income and asset caps, but the bill died after failing to move forward during this spring’s legislative session.

State legislatures now in Medicaid spending estimated at more than $900 billion over 10 years, as part of the One Big Beautiful Bill Act.

, an associate director of KFF’s Program on Medicaid and the Uninsured, said the specific worry is that buy-in programs, though they’re a small part of the larger Medicaid system, could increase overall Medicaid spending if eligibility changes.

“The premiums charged in buy-in programs are nowhere near close to the expected costs of covering people,” Burns said. (KFF is a health policy research, polling, and news organization that includes Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News.)

Focusing on initial cost increases is myopic, said , the director of disability policy at at Iowa’s Drake University. More workers mean additional income tax revenue for states. It also enables some people with disabilities to earn enough to transition off other government assistance programs, such as the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program.

“Three, five, seven years from now, you may be recouping those expenses by having people be able to work their way off,” Van Sant said.

Falling Through the Cracks

Iowa lawmakers tried a more modest adjustment during this year’s legislative session. Instead of removing the income limit entirely, they introduced legislation that would raise the cap to 300% of the federal poverty level and exempt pension accounts and a spouse’s income, among other things, from the asset cap.

In the end, the provision was stripped from a wide-ranging public assistance bill. If it had passed, the new income limit would have been one of the for a buy-in program, according to KFF.

, a former City Council member in Sioux City who was paralyzed from the chest down after a diving accident, told state lawmakers during a hearing in February that the proposal was a step in the right direction, but not enough.

“I fear that we’re going to lose people to other states,” said Watters, who added that he was considering moving to Minnesota, which never had an income cap and eliminated asset caps for its in 2024.

Even if Iowa had raised its income limit, Carter would still have been ineligible.

Carter remains committed to her primary job at the school district. She plans to keep working there and taking on additional jobs, seven days a week, so she can pay for her medical needs and continue helping students.

This article is from a partnership that includes , , and .

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

The wristbands are part of a growing initiative first launched by North Carolina-based ECU Health as Congress sought to address the nation’s growing maternal mortality crisis during the covid pandemic. , and the state’s health department have begun distributing the wristbands, to give mothers and care providers a visual reminder of the life-threatening health risks after birth.

The Connecticut state health department; large health systems in Arkansas, Georgia, and Mississippi; and hospitals in at least 24 other states have also embraced the program. The wristbands are intended to make emergency workers aware of postpartum risks, ensure better treatment, and help lower maternal mortality rates in the U.S., where happen after the day of delivery — and nearly 40% happen after the six-week mark.

This year, North Carolina plans to expand the initiative with part of the through the Rural Health Transformation Program, a provision of President Donald Trump’s signature One Big Beautiful Bill Act, also known as HR 1.

Tamika Auguste, a physician and the board chair at the American College of Obstetricians & Gynecologists Foundation, praised the wristbands as a useful tool “to increase awareness and education around postpartum health.” But she and others who focus on maternal health said efforts like the wristband campaigns are only part of what’s needed to combat the broader maternal mortality crisis in the U.S.

And they noted the wristbands’ popularity is emerging as Trump’s 2025 law is expected to reduce Medicaid spending by over 10 years, according to a Congressional Budget Office analysis. Medicaid, the federal-state program that covers healthcare for low-income families, pays for .

Elisabeth Wright Burak, a policy researcher at Georgetown University’s Center for Children and Families, said Trump’s tax-and-spending law is stifling the momentum states had been gaining with maternal care since 2022. That’s when Congress allowed states to extend postpartum Medicaid coverage , which nearly every state did.

Now, those extensions could end up on the chopping block, Burak said, as states seek ways to manage Medicaid losses.

“There is no question that HR 1 risks setting the clock back for maternal health,” Burak said.

warned that postpartum patients have more to worry about with the new law than simply cuts to Medicaid. States are also setting up systems that may not adequately track pregnant and postpartum enrollees who should be exempt from the law’s new work requirements, erroneously dropping them from coverage, Burak’s report said.

Maternal Mortality

U.S. maternal mortality rates have risen and fallen over the past seven years, with 649 maternal deaths in 2024, according to the most recent . Tennessee had the worst maternal mortality rate in the nation from 2020 to 2024, around 42 deaths per 100,000 births, according an analysis of CDC data by the . North Carolina’s rate was about 29 in 100,000, with a national average of 23.

In its , North Carolina said the initiative creating the “I Gave Birth” wristbands reduced postpartum readmissions by nearly a third at ECU Health Medical Center in Greenville, without elaborating. In online promotions, some hospitals the can , though many have recently launched and their impact has yet to be studied.

“Additional research is needed to conclusively confirm the outcomes of such initiatives,” said Hannah Jones, a spokesperson for the North Carolina health department.

Hospitals to patients who have given birth and instruct them to wear it for weeks or months, hoping they’ll be reminded to check in with a physician if they feel chest pain, have headaches, or start bleeding. The accessory resembles the yellow , part of a cancer awareness campaign launched by cyclist Lance Armstrong’s foundation. A nurse also talks through postpartum risks with the patients, and they’re sent home with pamphlets and guidebooks on how to care for their new child and themselves.

“The bracelet itself is simply a reminder of, ‘Hey, I got education,’” said Jessica Noble, a nurse with East Carolina University-connected ECU Health who pioneered the initiative.

It’s also intended to alert first responders and other healthcare providers that a woman has recently given birth and to check for postpartum complications, such as low blood pressure, bleeding, or infections. and sometimes don’t have adequate training to recognize postpartum complications, research shows, which can be dangerous when those patients end up in an emergency room.

Postpartum wristbands gained traction across the country through health awareness campaigns fueled by social media posts and evening news segments. New mothers appeared in promotional photos and videos wearing the wristband and raving about the accessory, saying it celebrated childbirth.

Some postpartum patients who faced traumatic births or mental health struggles saw it differently.

‘So Many Risks’

Alexandra Mellon gave birth last year. Her daughter was stillborn. Devastated, she sought out a therapist, donated her breast milk, and tried to find meaning in her circumstances. She spent a year feeling isolated, she said, often because people don’t know what to say.

Mellon said wearing one of the wristbands would have been a painful reminder of her loss.

Now she works as a doula in Asheville, North Carolina. Mellon said what she thinks new moms need most is community and emotional support. The wristband could help encourage that for some patients, she said, but isn’t for everyone.

“There are so many risks, and it’s just like you almost become invisible,” she said.

More than 80% of pregnancy-related deaths , according to the CDC. The Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services in March , developed during the Biden administration, that urged hospitals to create better emergency department protocols to catch postpartum complications and to measure their work against state and national maternal health data.

But those efforts faced a major threat last year when the Trump administration CDC funding for state-level maternal mortality data in its proposed 2026 budget. While Congress rejected that move, the administration did tracking postpartum patients’ health.

The Trump administration $113.5 million in CDC maternal health research in its proposed 2027 budget. Congress has instead proposed increasing funding to .

Without more research, it’s unclear how effective the wristbands are in encouraging postpartum patients to seek care when they need it. A of mass media campaigns to improve health outcomes, such as preventing risky substance use or encouraging exercise, found that the campaigns didn’t change behaviors. found that the U.S. “Back to Sleep” campaign, which educates parents on safe sleeping practices with babies, dramatically reduced rates of sudden infant death syndrome for several years after it launched in 1994, though rates .

In 2020, the CDC tried , “Hear Her,” aimed at helping women speak up when something felt wrong after delivery.

The CDC released years later that said it “had the unintended consequence of appearing to put the burden on the people who are pregnant or postpartum to speak up.”

ECU Health Medical Center created the wristband initiative in 2021 and . In it the authors noted the pregnancy-related readmission rate at the Greenville hospital fell 0.77%. It attributed the change to the “education provided to patients, family members, and medical personnel” in the initiative, without elaborating.

Campaigns like the “I Gave Birth” initiative are far from a final solution to maternal mortality, said Noble, the campaign’s architect and lead author on the ECU Health study. If she “had a magic wand,” she said, North Carolina would not just have better postpartum care but would also address the root causes of pregnancy complications. “But I don’t have one, and I can’t make system-level change immediately.”

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

Health secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. that AI nurses can provide “concierge care” to rural patients. Mehmet Oz, who leads the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services, “the best way to help some of these communities is going to be AI-based avatars” that connect rural patients to mental health services.

And many state health leaders agree. They are using some of their funding from the $50 billion federal Rural Health Transformation Program to expand AI among rural health organizations.

AI is computer technology that performs tasks that typically rely on human intelligence by finding patterns or generating words. It has the potential to improve the healthcare system by automating back-office work or identifying patients at risk, but several reports contend there’s little evidence AI can improve access to care and patient health in rural areas. It’s unclear how well states will track and share outcomes of the tech they invest in.

Meanwhile, some rural Americans are skeptical, according to interviews with people in Hot Springs, South Dakota, a city of about 3,400 residents at the southern end of the Black Hills.

“I get artificial intelligence for certain things, but for personal healthcare — no,” Tara Haffner said while standing outside the American Legion.

Haffner said she’s worried about AI making mistakes and wants healthcare to stay between her and her doctor.

But Phillip Mues, who oversees technology at Cherry County Hospital and Clinic in rural Valentine, Nebraska, said AI is already helping clinicians save time, reduce burnout, and focus more on patient care.

“I think it will help reduce burden on actual staffing,” he said. “It won’t replace people, but I think it will help in rural communities.”

Still, Mues said, AI can’t fix every challenge. Rural hospitals at risk of closing or ending certain services probably can’t use AI to save enough money to prevent those consequences, he said.

Congressional Republicans created the five-year Rural Health Transformation Program last summer as a last-minute sweetener to President Donald Trump’s signature One Big Beautiful Bill Act. The funding was intended to offset concerns about the anticipated in rural communities from the law, which is by more than $900 billion over a decade.

The Word on the Street

Hot Springs, which has a 25-bed independent hospital and a Department of Veterans Affairs hospital, is known for its sandstone buildings, veterans’ services, and, yes, hot springs. Residents must drive at least an hour for more advanced care.

Six people interviewed there by Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News said the biggest problem in rural healthcare is the cost or long wait times caused by staffing shortages.

Doug Nikkila, a heavy equipment operator, said AI and other technology come with benefits and risks.

“If it’s not utilized correctly, it becomes a burden,” he said.

Nikkila, who’s concerned about nursing home residents being neglected amid staffing shortages, said he thinks AI should send reminders to staff when their residents are due for diaper changes or other care. He also wondered whether AI-powered video monitors could send alerts when they detect falls or illness symptoms.

The healthcare industry is rapidly adopting AI despite the tools being “poorly evaluated,” according to a , a Stanford- and Harvard-led group that evaluates health-related AI. The report says that while some AI has been successful in controlled settings, there’s less evidence it can perform in the real world. It also said few studies track patient outcomes.

Evidence is especially lacking in rural areas. A found that only 26 peer-reviewed studies about AI in rural healthcare were published from 2010 through April 29, 2025. Few analyzed implementation or outcomes.

Despite the dearth of results, some states appear interested in bold experiments — such as using AI to suggest diagnoses or recommend treatments. Utah officials said in their application to the rural health program that they are interested in funding a in AI-powered prescription refill requests.

Even tools proven to work in urban settings may not work in rural ones, said Qian Huang, an assistant professor at the Center for Rural Health and Research at East Tennessee State University.

She said the technology is usually tested at large, academic hospitals and trained on data from urban patients, who may not have the same health issues and obstacles — such as a lack of transportation — as rural patients.

A Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News review of states’ plans for the Rural Health Transformation Program shows they’re interested in using AI to automate time-consuming, behind-the-scenes tasks, such as medical charting, coding, referrals, and prior authorization requests. Some states also mentioned ways AI can save money, such as Washington, which discussed tools that “identify and recover” money it’s owed.

Mues said the Valentine clinic has been using AI scribes that record appointments and generate notes describing the visit. He said surveys of clinicians before and after they started using the technology show the scribes have helped reduce burnout by letting providers focus on patient care with “eye contact on the patient, not the computer.”

States also mentioned funding AI that directly affects patient care, such as tools that recommend possible diagnoses and treatment options to clinicians. Mississippi wants to use predictive AI algorithms to “guide” emergency medics with “triage, routing, and treatment decisions.”

Several states want to use AI to analyze patients’ medical charts and remote monitoring devices to identify immediate or future health risks. North Dakota’s plans mention AI to “detect early signs of chronic disease and behavioral health conditions,” while New Hampshire’s discusses AI that identifies patients “at high risk of adverse drug events.”

Some states plan to give patients access to chatbots or wearable devices that transmit data to their clinicians. Utah is interested in funding AI-powered fetal-monitoring devices, while Kentucky will explore using AI chatbots to “deliver personalized nudges and education” through “health coaching, gamified incentives, and rewards.”

Whether the technology appeals to consumers is another matter. Hot Springs resident Stephanie Keller wears a smartwatch to track her fitness but has no interest in an AI chatbot using her data to encourage her to reach her health goals.

“I don’t have the time to chat with AI every day. I mean, are you kidding me? I don’t want to spend my time on a cellphone,” she said.

Rural health facilities also face challenges in implementing AI.

Huang, who has AI in rural healthcare, said rural hospitals and clinics may not have the hardware or IT staff needed to support the technology. She said clinicians and staff may already be doing three jobs at once and not have time to go through AI training.

Rural health facilities may not have fast-enough internet to use AI, while patients may have slow connections at home — if they have internet at all — or may not feel comfortable using AI, Huang said.

“In rural communities, trust and a personal relationship is essential,” she said.

Roy Ehlers, a Hot Springs resident, said he doesn’t trust AI in healthcare, or anywhere else.

“I’m old-fashioned. I don’t believe in it. Technology is not my forte,” Ehlers said.

Mues said that while some rural patients are “scared of AI,” most have let their clinicians at the Valentine facility use the scribing technology to record patients’ visits.

Will States Share AI Results?

Despite questions about implementation, the boom is on. Jordan Everson, an assistant professor at the Georgetown University Department of Family Medicine, said both urban and rural health facilities are rushing to use AI.

“The risk of signing contracts that rural healthcare organizations come to regret is pretty high,” said Everson, who previously worked in the information technology office at the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services.

Several states are addressing that risk by using their rural health funding to create groups that will help rural health facilities vet, select, or monitor AI tools while offering training, ongoing assistance, or funding for upfront costs.

CMS spokesperson Timothy Foster said the agency doesn’t have any AI-specific reporting requirements but is working on a form for states to report their overall progress and outcomes.

Abraham Pritzker, who works at Julota, a company that helps health organizations track data, said states should measure more than how often AI programs are used.

For example, states can measure whether the tech reduces falls, 911 calls, or hospital admissions, said Pritzker, a former paramedic. Huang said it’s also important to ask clinicians and patients about their experiences using AI.

Yet many states’ applications to the rural health program mention tracking only AI adoption metrics, not what happens after facilities deploy the tech. Some of these states may add further reporting requirements down the road.

Vermont spokespeople did not respond when asked why their state’s requires organizations to report only how many clinicians and patients are served by the tech, not how much time they save.

States requiring recipients to report outcomes include , which will track how often AI-powered patient monitoring devices trigger accurate alerts. organizations to track cost savings, while Wisconsin lists “patient outcomes” and “productivity and efficiencies” as possible metrics.

Huang said that after collecting results, states need to share them so other states and healthcare organizations can learn from their experiences.

“We do not have a lot of resources to waste on tools that don’t work in rural areas,” she said.

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

While knee replacement procedures have become standard, however, the prices charged have not.

At Catawba Valley Medical Center in Hickory, North Carolina, for example, the cost of the procedure under a Blue Cross Blue Shield health plan this year was about $16,000, according to data from Serif Health, a San Francisco startup that collects recently released data from hospitals and insurers. Little more than an hour’s drive west, however, at Mission Hospital in Asheville, the cost of the procedure under the same health plan was around $40,000, or more than double, the data showed.

Formed by the merger of the two largest hospitals in the region, Mission has little competition and more power to demand the higher price.

This comparison between these two hospitals illuminates how large hospital systems created by a in recent decades can dominate the competition and push up healthcare costs.

While many factors affect the price of a medical procedure, hospitals with few competitors can charge more, health economists say.

The hospital price hikes mean patients and their insurers must pay more for an episode of healthcare. But there is an important side effect, too, even for people who don’t require medical care. When insurers face higher hospital prices, they pass the costs on and raise the prices they charge for everyone’s health insurance.

Using Serif Health’s pricing data, it is possible to see how mergers like the one that created Mission Hospital influence costs. For years, it was difficult to determine how much hospital monopolies boosted charges. But since 2021, the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services to disclose prices, making it possible to gather comprehensive data such as Serif Health’s.

The connection between market power and prices exists across the country. In Melbourne, Florida, Holmes Regional Medical Center is part of a health system, Health First, that dominates surrounding Brevard County. The center has charged Cigna two times what a hospital two hours north did for a knee replacement this year, the Serif Health data shows.

Banner North Colorado Medical Center, which ranks as the leading healthcare provider in Weld County, Colorado, charged a UnitedHealthcare patient $20,000 more for the surgery in Greeley than a health system an hour’s drive south in Denver, according to Serif’s figures.

The American Hospital Association that hospital mergers can improve quality and reduce healthcare costs by creating “a fiscally sustainable environment.” A Mission Hospital spokesperson said comparing hospitals’ prices was unfair or misleading because their practices and constraints vary so much.

For years, economists suspected that the run of mergers beginning in the late 1990s was a main driver of the rising costs of U.S. healthcare. From 2002 to 2020 alone, unfolded in the United States.

But until the recent federal disclosure rule, the effect of healthcare monopolies on pricing was often overlooked or harder to detect. Hospitals do not advertise their prices, and even when they are revealed on a bill, patients scarcely notice the bottom line because they don’t pay most of it — their insurers do.

“What the data shows pretty clearly is that when hospitals have bargaining leverage, they tend to have higher prices,” said Zack Cooper, an associate professor of public health and economics at Yale University who has spent more than a decade studying hospital monopolies.

Over the last quarter century, Cooper said, hospital prices have risen faster than those for any other economic sector, and “hospital consolidation is one of the primary drivers.”

Federal and state officials have wavered over when to intervene when hospitals are proposing to merge. Last summer, former President Joe Biden’s that urged federal agencies to challenge mergers that could harm consumers, reversing course from Biden’s more aggressive enforcement of antitrust law. In a , however, Federal Trade Commission Chairman Andrew Ferguson called for a task force on healthcare mergers that are leading to “higher prices” and “decreased quality” of care.

Several states have sought to curb healthcare monopolies. In 2023, Minnesota banning anticompetitive healthcare mergers and bolstering state oversight. In 2022, requiring healthcare businesses to give the state a 90-day notice of large mergers and to investigate their effects on competition. And in 2021 enabling the state health department to block acquisitions and mergers of hospitals.

Nothing has stopped the overall trend, however, as hospitals seek to grow and gain leverage over insurers and competitors. Last year alone, hospital and health systems announced 46 mergers and acquisitions, , a healthcare business consulting firm. Five ranked as “mega-mergers,” meaning they were valued at more than $1 billion. One across Connecticut and New York into a powerful interstate health system. Another linked , a deal that created a 56-hospital system across the Midwest — including Iowa, Michigan, Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Wyoming — with combined revenue of about $10 billion.

Other mergers have been proposed in , , and Minnesota.

Asheville’s Dominant Hospital

Few places in the United States better exemplify how hospital mergers reshape healthcare than Asheville.

In 1998, the state authorized a deal that joined the city’s two acute-care hospitals, St. Joseph’s Hospital and Memorial Mission Medical Center, . Ever since, its effects have been studied and its prices fiercely contested.

Marcelle Crago, a nurse and lactation consultant, is one of many patients who have accused Mission Health, which operates Mission Hospital, of gouging consumers. Last year, she tweaked her knee while cross-country skiing.

“My knee went ‘pop, pop, pop,’” she recalled. She had torn her meniscus, the rubbery cartilage around the knee that acts as a shock absorber. A doctor advised her to have a portion of it removed.

Two days before the surgery, Mission Health told her the total charge would be over $9,000, according to paperwork on her case filed with the state’s Consumer Protection Division.

“I was shocked at the number,” she said.

Crago’s insurance policy from UnitedHealth Group had a high deductible, so she would have had to pay most of the cost. She decided to postpone the surgery and shop around, eventually arranging to have it done at an outpatient center not affiliated with Mission. There, the bill came to less than a third of the price Mission Health charged, according to paperwork she kept.

“The way Mission Health handled the whole thing felt predatory,” Crago recalled, noting that when she balked at the $9,000 figure, the hospital offered a 20% discount if she paid up-front. “It makes you wonder how much they are playing with prices.”

In responding to Crago’s complaint with the state, an attorney for Mission and HCA Healthcare, which owns the hospital, wrote that hospital charges “represent the cost for supporting the entire episode of care” and must cover the hospital’s investments in advanced technology, training, staff, and other critical needs.

“Patients are certainly entitled to ‘shop around’ for surgical procedures,” wrote the attorney, Phillip Jackson.

It is not just patients who bear the burden of rising hospital prices.

Over time, anyone who pays for health insurance pays a price for hospital monopolies, as insurers boost premiums as medical costs rise. The full cost for an employer to pay for an average family health insurance plan rose to more than $27,000 in 2025, up from $21,000 just six years ago, according to .

Around Asheville, employers and employees complain that their insurance premiums are higher because Mission’s prices are so high.

As the chef and co-founder of Cúrate restaurant in Asheville, a business with about 100 employees, Katie Button provides employee health coverage and believes she has been paying for Mission Hospital’s excessive prices, according to a pending class-action lawsuit she filed in 2021 with five residents who say the monopoly has harmed them.

Any insurance plan in Asheville must include Mission Hospital, she said, because it is the only one around. This makes the burden of its prices unavoidable.

“We are where we are because we don’t have a choice of hospitals,” Button said. “There is no other option.”

The steady creep of healthcare costs is top of mind not just in Asheville but for most U.S. voters, according to . Nearly two-thirds of U.S. adults were worried about being able to afford healthcare, the poll found.

Yet while federal law allows regulators to step in and block mergers deemed to create monopolies, the FTC intervened in only from 2002 to 2020 to stop a hospital merger, according to a Yale University study. The FTC has since announced challenges to five other hospital mergers.

Birth of a Monopoly

When Mission Health was formed by a merger in 1998, state officials recognized that Asheville’s new dominant hospital system would have the power to raise prices and required Mission to sign an agreement to limit spending and profit margins.

Even with these restrictions, the hospital , according to economic research cited by the FTC. But Mission’s prices were about to go up even more. In 2015, Mission Health lobbied the state legislature to drop the state restrictions, abandoning the profit limits.

“After 20 years of the hospital behaving itself, the state decided to terminate its oversight,” said Mark Hall, a professor emeritus at Wake Forest University who of the hospital’s merger history. Then, three years later, HCA, the largest hospital corporation in the country, bought Mission Health. (The Dogwood Health Trust, a nonprofit established as part of HCA’s purchase of Mission Health, helps fund Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News’ coverage.)

“This put a prepackaged monopoly into the hands of the world’s largest for-profit hospital corporation,” Hall said.

Across a range of services, Mission Hospital charges more than other North Carolina hospitals, according to figures from Serif Health.

Consider the prices that Mission negotiated with UnitedHealthcare compared with those the insurer pays at Catawba Valley Medical Center. For a breast biopsy, UnitedHealth pays $7,500 at Mission and $1,700 at Catawba, according to Serif. For a hernia repair, it pays $17,700 at Mission and $9,600 at Catawba.

“The prices hospitals charge are one of the leading drivers of rising healthcare costs,” according to a UnitedHealthcare statement sent by spokesperson Cole Manbeck.

Mission spokesperson Katie Czerwinski, in a statement, said that it can be misleading to compare one hospital with another.

Mission Hospital is almost three times as large as Catawba Valley Health and is a Level 1 trauma center serving a different population, Czerwinski said. She also said that pulling individual rates for comparison paints an incomplete picture.

But other figures indicate that prices at Mission Hospital are relatively high, even when viewed collectively.

A team at the think tank Rand, led by Christopher Whaley, now a Brown University health economist, uses commercial insurance records to compare average hospital prices across the U.S. relative to those paid by Medicare. , Mission Hospital in 2024 charged prices that were 334% of prices set by Medicare. Catawba Valley Medical Center charged 237%. The state benchmark for prices is 280% of Medicare, Rand figures showed.

“The prices we pay for healthcare vary tremendously and are uncorrelated to the value we receive,” according to the Rand website.

For many in Asheville, the primary complaints about Mission Hospital focus on the quality of patient care. This is consistent with showing that the quality of care declines when hospitals have little competition.

Amid rising complaints about hospital services, North Carolina state Sen. Julie Mayfield, a Democrat, helped launch a nonprofit organization two years ago called Reclaim Healthcare WNC to hold Mission “accountable for its harmful practices.”

“Within a year of the HCA sale, I started hearing stories from physicians and other friends about all the terrible things that were happening there,” Mayfield said, most of them caused by severe staff cuts and physicians leaving.

Three times since 2024, state health inspectors working on behalf of CMS have issued “immediate jeopardy” findings to Mission Hospital, indicating problems so severe that they posed an imminent risk of serious injury or death to patients.

In the most , an 88-year-old woman recovering from a fall and hip surgery at Mission Hospital died after going a night without receiving a blood transfusion.

Czerwinski, the Mission Hospital spokesperson, said a proposed plan of correction “allows Mission to address the findings from the survey and complete a comprehensive review of operations.”

As more hospitals across the United States plan to merge, Mayfield said, the experience in Asheville represents a cautionary tale.

“Unregulated monopolies have never gone well for the public.”

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“They called me a ‘liability to the job site,’” Pugh said, recalling the words of his manager when a seizure cost him his last job at a fast-food restaurant in this western Montana city.

When the 46-year-old lost work in the past, his wife of 10 years covered their rent and he tended to their home until he found another job. But his wife died last year. Soon after, Pugh became homeless. His problem with alcohol became worse, which made managing his seizures more difficult.

“When she died, my whole base was depleted,” Pugh said.

Medicaid pays for the prescriptions that keep Pugh’s seizures at bay. The government-subsidized health coverage would also pay for an addiction treatment program that Pugh said he has tried to get into, but he was told there’s a waitlist.

Pugh’s goal has been to get healthy enough to work again. But he’s worried about being able to keep the Medicaid coverage he needs to get to that point.

Early Embrace of New Rules

In the spring, the federal government finalized regulations requiring millions of people who receive Medicaid benefits to prove they’re working, volunteering, or going to school to keep their coverage. States have until January to begin those checks. Montana, Arkansas, and Nebraska have already started implementing them.

The Trump administration’s federal work requirements exempt certain groups of people: those with disabilities, those older than 64, pregnant people and Native Americans, among others. To receive an exemption, anyone without a clear-cut qualification — such as through their age or disability status — will have to prove they’re too sick to work.

But the administration decided that being homeless isn’t a medical condition and can’t count as an automatic out from having to meet the new requirements. Many conservative policymakers support work requirements, and some states have attempted to implement such rules for years. At least four states — Montana, Arizona, Kentucky, and Utah — previously proposed policies that included homelessness as an exemption.

But federal officials have said that’s not allowed. In an email to Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News, the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services declined to provide a comment on the record. But the agency confirmed that states must stick to the federal government’s list of exemptions. Homelessness in the U.S. increased by 27% from 2013 to 2025, from the Department of Housing and Urban Development. Last year, about 746,000 people .

Many, like Pugh, qualified for Medicaid, though the number of enrollees who are homeless is difficult to measure. In 2023, who received medical or behavioral health services through one of the nation’s roughly 300 programs were enrolled in Medicaid.

Jennifer Tolbert, deputy director of KFF’s Program on Medicaid and the Uninsured, said the federal regulations are a lot stricter than many states had expected, even those on board with work requirements. (KFF is a health information nonprofit that includes Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News.)

“It took everyone by surprise,” Tolbert said.

Mehmet Oz, who leads CMS, touted the regulations as a “path to prosperity” during a press conference in June.

“We need to get people to try to work,” Oz said. In June, 25 mostly Democratic-led states over the regulations, arguing the medical frailty standard would be too hard for enrollees to meet — and for states to assess. The work requirements are projected to increase the number of uninsured people nationwide by by 2034, according to the Congressional Budget Office.

Most states will begin to implement the Medicaid work requirements in January. 

Montana plans to begin booting Medicaid enrollees from coverage this October if they can’t prove they’re in compliance with the work requirement.

“My Medicaid is still active, but when are they gonna cut that off from me?” Pugh said. “I can’t get employed. How am I supposed to survive?”

The differences between the states’ and federal government’s exemption lists don’t end with people who are homeless. In Montana, lawmakers also planned to excuse people fleeing domestic violence and caregivers of hospitalized family members — two other groups left off the federal exemption list.

“These are simply parties that, due to a number of conditions, cannot meet those requirements,” Republican state Rep. Ed Buttrey said in 2019 when the Montana Legislature passed its first Medicaid work requirement bill. Buttrey did not comment for this article.

Federal officials have said many people who are homeless could fall under another exemption, such as being too sick to work. But, like many states, Montana’s system to automatically conduct those checks through existing medical records isn’t ready, though health department spokesperson Jon Ebelt said it should be in place by October. Anyone not automatically exempted by the state would have 30 days to prove their case.

A Possible Exemption for Health

Pugh might qualify for a pass due to his seizures. But getting to doctor appointments the past year has been hard for him.

The anniversary of his wife’s death just passed. Typically, Pugh has to find a new place to sleep outside each night. One night while camping, Pugh lost his wallet and important documents. And with the addiction treatment centers that accept Medicaid patients overbooked, Pugh has had to rely on willpower to avoid drinking.

“I’m taking it one day at a time,” he said.

A little over two hours north, in Kalispell, Dustin Goss, a case manager at a homeless shelter called Samaritan House, said Pugh’s experience reflects why he’s worried that people who qualify for an exemption will get tangled in bureaucratic tape.

“You can’t really worry about getting paperwork done when you don’t know where you’re eating today,” Goss said.

Cassidy Kipp, who heads Samaritan House, said once people find shelter and start to stabilize, they typically find work. But even then, meeting the new requirements can be challenging. Clients often start with temporary and informal jobs — such as cleaning out a storage unit — that don’t come with a pay stub, Kipp said. 

Kaitlyn Bosshardt, a social worker at Partnership Health Center, a health clinic in Missoula, has seen more people priced out of longtime rentals as housing costs outpace people’s paychecks. Meanwhile, affordable housing and rental aid are limited.

Partnership Health is one of roughly 1,400 health centers nationwide that receive federal funding to serve patients based on what they can afford — meaning even those who lose Medicaid can receive care. But organizations representing health centers have said if too many patients lose the coverage, some clinics won’t be able to fill the financial hole.

The other problem is that these clinics generally don’t provide specialty care.

One day in June, as temperatures hovered around 90,  Pugh visited Watershed Navigation Center, a refuge run by Partnership for people without steady housing to have a meal or see a doctor. His doctor, Atarah Sidey, told Pugh that the neurology clinic that managed his seizures had dismissed him from their care after he missed three appointments.

She referred Pugh to the other neurologist in town and talked about trying to find treatment for his addiction.

“It’s just that if I don’t make the effort at changing, it ain’t gonna happen and I’m gonna end up found on the side of the road somewhere,” Pugh told Sidey.

“You got this, though, Tywon,” she responded as Pugh nodded his head. “You can do this.”

Pugh has connected with a social worker for help keeping his Medicaid. By late July, he was waiting for space to open at a Missoula addiction treatment center and waiting on responses from two job applications.

In the hard moments, Pugh imagines his wife telling him to stay calm, that things will get better.

“I just don’t wanna lose hope in the meantime,” he said.

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

Afterward, though, use of Sturgis Hospital’s emergency department fell, according to data collected at the state level. In June, three years after taking the federal lifeline, the hospital closed, leaving residents of Sturgis, a town of about 11,000 people, without critical healthcare. Its leaders had tried “every reasonable option” to remain open, including seeking a buyer, according to a

The closure “could be kind of a canary in the coal mine” for rural healthcare, said Lauren LaPine-Ray, the vice president of policy and rural health at the Michigan Health & Hospital Association.

Federal leaders have spent decades trying to prop up rural hospitals, which face persistent staffing shortages, low federal payment rates, and declining patient numbers.

About 1,700 hospitals nationwide are eligible to convert to the stripped-down Rural Emergency Hospital model. So far, more than 50 rural hospitals in over 20 states have signed on, but LaPine-Ray and other hospital leaders nationwide fear Sturgis’ failure is a sign the new model won’t be enough to keep doors open when the anticipated federal funding losses arrive from President Donald Trump’s signature One Big Beautiful Bill Act.

Last year, the survival of rural hospitals became as Congress debated the massive tax and spending law, which is expected to reduce Medicaid funding by more than $900 billion over 10 years. The reductions are expected to have a substantial impact in rural areas that often have high Medicaid enrollment. Republicans added the new $50 billion Rural Health Transformation Program to win votes from a few holdouts in their ranks.

Sturgis’ facility is the only rural U.S. hospital to in 2026. The day before it shuttered, four senators — including Maine Republican Susan Collins, an architect of the rural health fund — sent a letter to Mehmet Oz, administrator of the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services. said the way his agency structured the fund “may unintentionally disadvantage many of the rural hospitals and clinics the program was intended to support.”

Congress created the emergency hospital model, which took effect in 2023, as “a whole new way of providing care,” said George Pink, a senior research fellow at the Cecil G. Sheps Center for Health Services Research at the University of North Carolina-Chapel Hill. The Sheps Center tracks rural hospital closures and conversions, and Pink recently released early research showing converted hospitals reporting improved finances, though some are not yet in the black.

Hospitals that convert to the emergency model get a 5% boost in Medicare payments plus an extra monthly facility payment, totaling about $3.6 million a year, according to the Rural Health Redesign Center. In return, the hospitals must offer emergency services and give up their inpatient beds. They can continue offering outpatient services.

Janice Walters, CEO of the Rural Health Redesign Center, which has received federal funding to help hospitals change to the new model, said dozens of hospitals had reached out about converting during the first five months of 2026. It’s reasonable, she said, to presume that 10 or 11 might convert this year.

‘No Easy Answers’

More than 40% of all rural hospitals lose money, and hundreds have eliminated obstetrics, general surgery, and chemotherapy services, the healthcare consulting group Chartis.

Sen. Chuck Grassley (R-Iowa) sponsored the legislation that created the emergency hospital model. He touted the program last fall, pointing to hospitals such as Landmann-Jungman Memorial Hospital Avera in South Dakota, which he said would be able to use the model to enhance local health services.

Melissa Gale, the chief executive of the Scotland, South Dakota, hospital, said the facility averaged less than one inpatient a day and was “a little above or below break-even year-over-year for decades.”

Today, with additional federal funding from the emergency model, Gale said, the hospital could try to draw in more patients for mammograms and may add a wound care program. In the past year, the hospital has improved employee benefits and reinvested in the building, upgrading plumbing and the heating and air conditioning, she said.

“No one wants to see rural health fail,” Gale said, adding, “There’s no easy answers.”

Federal lawmakers have tried, and thus far failed, to update the emergency hospital model. One proposal, which is expected to be reintroduced, would allow converted hospitals to offer new services, such as beds for patients who need short-term recovery and in-house obstetric labor and delivery units. Another, which is in committee, would allow hospitals to use a federal drug discount program that many facilities use to generate revenue.

The current law is a “critical start, but it must evolve,” said Carrie Cochran-McClain, the chief policy officer for the National Rural Health Association, whose members include hospitals and clinics.

Residents of the southeastern Iowa town of Keokuk continue to hope their shuttered hospital will reopen under the program. The effort has been plagued by delays.

The Keokuk hospital went out of business in 2022 and was later purchased by a Michigan company that pledged to reopen it.

“It’s been a slower process than we envisioned,” said Insight Health Systems Vice President Dayne Walling. Many of the delays have been related to improvements needed to the aging building, he said. Without the emergency hospital model, Walling said, his company would not see a realistic path to reviving the hospital.

Walling said the emergency model would be even better if Congress approved the bill that would allow hospitals to make extra income from prescription medications.

Dierdra Sorrell, the CEO of Clifton-Fine Hospital in Star Lake, New York, said converting to an emergency hospital was not a “silver-bullet, magic pill.” But it “put us in a much better place.”

The 20-bed hospital lost more than $2.5 million annually before 2024, when it became New York’s first emergency hospital, Sorrell said. While converting, the hospital shut down inpatient beds and cut 20 employees.

The first year, Clifton-Fine lost only $600,000, and its emergency patient visits were “rock solid,” Sorrell said. The hospital also won state grant money to update its two-bed emergency room and pay for additions that could house visiting specialty doctors or new lines of services, such as a dental hygienist.

If Clifton-Fine had not converted, Sorrell said, anticipated Medicaid losses could have “put us under.”

‘One Important Tool’

Timothy Foster, a spokesperson for the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services, said the emergency model is “one important tool” for rural hospitals, “but each facility must determine whether this care model is appropriate.” Foster also said that the new five-year, $50 billion rural health fund was created to support “innovative, system-wide reforms” that strengthen the rural healthcare delivery system.

Of the 56 hospitals that have converted to the rural emergency model, two have closed, and three remain open but have changed what services they offer, according to Sheps.

In Holly Springs, Mississippi, Alliance HealthCare System was one of the first to convert to the emergency hospital designation, laying off staff and shutting down inpatient beds.

Then, federal officials said they and required the hospital to recertify as a new hospital, a delay that cost an estimated $1.5 million in federal reimbursement, CEO Kenneth Williams said.

The hospital is “a shell of what it once was,” Williams said. The ER remains closed.

“We have survived, but survival has come at a tremendous cost,” he said.

Williams said he is closely watching the impact of upcoming Medicaid changes because cuts in insurance coverage or payments “ultimately affect patient access,” he said.

Sen. Josh Hawley (R-Mo.), who voted for the One Big Beautiful Bill Act — which included both the rural health fund and the Medicaid spending reductions — has asked for more support for rural hospitals. Ten full-service rural hospitals in Missouri have closed in the past 12 years, according to the Sheps Center.

Last year, Hawley introduced legislation to . This June, he to announce that he wanted to pay rural hospitals $1 million annually, or more if needed, to keep emergency rooms operating. A spokesperson said the bill would apply to all rural hospitals, including those using the emergency model.

Michigan’s Sturgis Hospital faced “some significant challenges” in 2023 when it converted to the emergency hospital model, said LaPine-Ray, of the state hospital association. In the news release, hospital officials said the closure was due to declining reimbursement rates, rising costs, and declining patient numbers. Bobby Morin, a former chief operating and financial officer at the hospital, declined to comment.

The hospital’s ER patient volume dropped 13% in the two years after it converted, LaPine-Ray said. Five rural hospitals have closed in the past 20 years in Michigan, and LaPine-Ray said she doubts the rural health fund Congress approved last year will stop the closures. The association, which worked with the governor’s office on the funding, expects less than 10% of Michigan’s $173 million in first-year rural health funding to trickle down to rural hospitals.

That money will pay for “very specific programs where rural hospitals have to create basically a new program and implement it with no funding on the front end,” LaPine-Ray said.

At the same time, she said, the association expects Michigan hospitals to lose $6 billion in Medicaid payments over the next decade because of the One Big Beautiful Bill Act.

“What’s it going to look like in the coming years?” LaPine-Ray said.

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But behind the house, the 44-year-old’s backyard garden showcases her goals for the future, one that involves a long, healthy life with her kids: collard greens, bell peppers, onions, tomatoes, red and white potatoes, kale.

Like Lowery, many in the small towns of Lumberton and nearby Pembroke are citizens of the Lumbee Tribe who have dealt with heart conditions. The mother of four struggled with obesity and had to take insulin pills and shots daily. By when her first grandchild was born, in 2024, Lowery imagined her own life ending the way her biological father’s did: Daily insulin shots for diabetes. Kidney dialysis treatments at home. Dead of a heart attack at 63. She wanted her grandkids to remember her.

“If I don’t get this weight off me, if I don’t change my eating habits, it’s going to take me over,” she recalled thinking.

So, she expanded her garden. She cut fatty foods and sugary drinks out of her diet, stopped eating fried and fast food, and started moving more. She lost 120 pounds in two years and weaned herself off the daily insulin pills.

The Lumbee Tribe of North Carolina late last year became the 575th tribe to secure federal recognition as a sovereign nation, a milestone that leaders and citizens celebrated in tears. The designation provides federal funding for an array of services, including for healthcare. , chairman of the tribe and a state representative, “the biggest benefit” would be access to the Indian Health Service — its clinics and hospitals, as well as funding that it could provide for the tribe to .

But Lumbee researchers and healthcare providers say that money won’t be enough. For decades, IHS has been , with the agency’s budget workgroup estimating that of what it needs this year. And that was before the Trump administration’s cuts to other federal agencies further pinched IHS. Slashes to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention last year initially included laying off nearly , and President Donald Trump’s proposed 2027 budget cuts more than $150 million for a in Native American tribes.

The nearest IHS facility is more than a two-hour drive to another state for most of the 55,000 Lumbee citizens in Robeson County. The county is one of the and has some of the .

The Congressional Budget Office in 2022 estimated that the tribe could increase IHS spending by .

The tribe will have to rely on other revenue sources that are now allowed through recognition, such as a casino, to reverse the health disparities their people have faced for decades, Lumbee researchers said.

“None of us can depend on IHS alone, because we just don’t have the resources within that system,” said , a physician, a researcher at the Johns Hopkins Center for Indigenous Health, and a member of the Oglala Lakota tribe. “But it’s a great starting point.”

The IHS did not respond to questions about plans for the tribe’s health system. John Lowery did not respond to requests for an interview or a list of questions, but he said on a June podcast that he expected healthcare to be the .

‘Not Just Statistics’

Eighteen years ago, , a doctor in Lumberton and a citizen of the tribe, was working at a nearby medical center. There, she said, she was taught that patients with certain last names “are often referred directly to cardiac catheterization,” a procedure to diagnose heart conditions.

Blackburn said she realized that common Lumbee surnames carried an expectation of disease.

“Nearly two decades later, I can tell you that reality has not changed,” she told assembled tribal leadership and citizens at a public hearing.

Robeson County’s rates of heart disease, diabetes, and continue to rank among the highest in the state, Blackburn noted. In 2025, were Medicaid enrollees, the highest percentage of all counties in the state.

“But these are not just statistics to me,” she said. “These are my patients. These are our families.”

For Angie Lowery, breaking free from those statistics meant taking her health into her own hands.

She hopes a healthy diet is the answer to breaking her family’s cycle and living long enough to form relationships with her grandkids. And she brought the rest of the family with her. Her teenage daughter lost about 35 pounds. Two of her other children are now “health fanatics,” Lowery said.

Her granddaughter will be 2 in November. One Sunday morning in March, Lowery served up macaroni, cauliflower, and chickpeas for her as they spent the day together.

Lowery had supported building a casino, believing it would provide better education, infrastructure, and healthcare for her family.

“That vote, I’m thinking of my children’s future,” she said.

Casino Dreams in Limbo

Tribal citizens are deeply divided over how to reverse decades of economic decline that have led to poor living conditions, unaffordable health services, and chronic disease.

Four months after Trump signed the Lumbee Fairness Act — “I love the Lumbee Tribe” — tribal leaders gathered at a business meeting to take the first steps toward building a casino and establishing gaming as a new revenue source. Hundreds of federally recognized tribes across 29 states have used gaming as a source of revenue, in fiscal 2024, according to the latest report from the National Indian Gaming Commission.

The approach has been popular among tribal nations looking for more dollars to build up healthcare. The Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma in 1999 to build its own hospital, using roughly $25 million in gaming money, and the Eastern Band of Cherokee Indians in western North Carolina funded its own hospital in 2015 mostly with $82 million in gaming funds.

But the Lumbee Tribe’s effort to establish a casino collapsed in June.

rejected a Lumbee constitutional amendment that would have allowed tribal leaders to create infrastructure needed for a gaming business. John Lowery said that he doesn’t plan on bringing back the initiative now that it was rejected “by the majority of Lumbee voters.” His term as chairman ends in two years.

Other funding sources to provide health services for the tribe could include gas stations or hotels, he said in a call with citizens before the vote.

Lumbee and other Native health researchers said they believe a twofold system — using IHS money and additional revenue — is necessary. Funds from gaming could compensate for what IHS can’t support.

Casinos’ impact on tribal health has been debated in research for decades. that the money from gaming helps tribes build more facilities, hire more doctors, and improve social services, but unhealthy substance use and smoking increase.

“There’s going to be negative impacts,” , a social work professor at the University of North Carolina and citizen of the Lumbee Tribe, said at a June panel discussion on gaming.

, 62, a Lumbee citizen and a researcher studying Native health at UNC, said the community has felt ripple effects from systemic racism, having not been acknowledged as a tribal nation for so long, and the economic downturn following the loss of Robeson County’s manufacturing and tobacco jobs.

That history plays a part in the health statistics in Robeson today, Bell said. But with federal recognition, he said, the Lumbee people have achieved a victory they’ve fought for since 1888.

“I think about the resilience of the Lumbee people and how they’ve gone through this 100-plus-year fight for federal recognition,” Bell said. “I sort of see that as a continuation of this resilience, and how now we have this opportunity with federal recognition to bring in resources to help address those issues.”

Resolution and Uncertainty

Jada Brooks, a Lumbee citizen and UNC researcher who studies Indigenous health and lives in Robeson County, is conducting a study about heart health among Lumbee women. The initiative includes classes in which Lumbee women ages 18 to 50 signed up to discuss their health. That’s where she met Angie Lowery, who talked about her lifestyle changes with the group.

“I was just floored by, like, just the extent to which she went,” Brooks said.

She and other Lumbee researchers said federal recognition allows Lumbee citizens to be set apart in census data, paving a way to get clear information on heart health, cancer rates, diabetes diagnoses, and mental health risks.

“There’s challenges in even understanding the nuances of these complex health disparities, because a lot of data isn’t out there,” said Ryan Dial, a public health researcher at UNC and a member of the Lumbee Tribe.

But access and confidence may be the biggest barriers Lumbee people will have to overcome, Brooks said.

“I think what really matters is people feeling like they can trust the healthcare system.”

Brooks said she worried that a casino would encourage bad health habits, such as smoking and drinking.

“Let’s not create more problems for ourselves than we already have,” she said. She voted against the casino.

Like others in the tribe, Angie Lowery believes in her people’s power to help themselves, regardless of whether government steps in to help.

“Just because we’re federally recognized don’t mean that the doors are going to open up and money’s going to fall through the door like dirt,” she said.

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

In a , the small Department of Health and Human Services agency known as AHRQ told researchers it was halting , many aimed at improving patient safety. Although Congress appropriated $345 million for AHRQ for this fiscal year, the agency has spent less than $15 million on grants and hasn’t issued a new one in over a year, according to a review of federal records. About 75% of agency staffers have been fired or quit since President Donald Trump took office last year, according to HHS.

Trump and HHS Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. have sought to slash the federal government’s investment in biomedical research, terminating grants and forcing scientists out of agencies across the health department. The gutting of AHRQ strikes some of the administration’s critics as particularly shortsighted, though, because of the agency’s noncontroversial focus on patient safety and its overall alignment with Trump and Kennedy’s “Make American Healthy Again” campaign against chronic illness.

“When you think about everything Americans hate about our healthcare system — that it costs too much, that you can’t get in to see a physician, that the treatment isn’t right, that the records contain wrong information — all that is what AHRQ studies,” said Aaron Carroll, chief executive of AcademyHealth, a health services research group that supports AHRQ’s work.

The Trump and Kennedy changes to AHRQ appear intended to be permanent. All of AHRQ’s grant managers have been fired, so there would be no way for AHRQ to directly oversee future grants, said Brent Sandmeyer, a former AHRQ program officer. “You wonder about this administration’s commitment to fighting fraud,” he said.

HHS spokesperson Emily Hilliard said AHRQ intended to establish a new “framework” for grants. She did not reply to requests for further details.

Researchers who received the letter from AHRQ Director Roger Klein expressed bewilderment because much of their work has the same objectives that Klein highlighted as the agency’s current priorities.

“AHRQ is the only federal agency that’s focused on safety and quality,” said Hardeep Singh, director of the Houston Methodist Safety, Quality and Well-Being Institute. His research, funded until recently by AHRQ, has aimed to reduce medical errors introduced by inadequate software design.

Klein stated that AHRQ’s research interests include patient safety, preventing antibiotic resistance, countering overmedication of children, promotion of digital health tools, and research “focused on scientifically valid, measurable health outcomes and solution-oriented approaches in health disparities research.”

Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News examined about 20 of the canceled grants and found that nearly all had objectives that overlapped with the priorities Klein outlined.

“If there’s an ideology, lay it out clearly. But there’s no clarity whatsoever,” said Goutham Rao, chairman of the Department of Family Medicine and Community Health at Case Western Reserve University in Cleveland. AHRQ has funded Rao’s work for 16 years and ended three of his department’s current grants.

As an AHRQ-funded researcher since 2010, Rao has produced work that led to new approaches for common problems seen in doctors’ offices, such as how to respond to weight loss in aged and frail patients. His work has helped reduce diagnostic tests in the elderly and improve hypertension screening of children.

“The priorities they lay out in that letter make me think they didn’t even look at what we were doing,” said Andrea Shields, a University of Connecticut OB-GYN whose AHRQ grant was also eliminated.

Shields developed and implemented training of nonspecialist doctors, nurses, and emergency medical technicians to deal with high-risk pregnancies. Women in rural areas are two to three times as likely to die during pregnancy as those elsewhere in the U.S.

A Long Legacy

AHRQ-funded research has been key to improving patient safety, structuring medical information technology, and introducing the concept of patient-centered care into the health system.

The agency is perhaps best known for its work on curbing hospital infections. Practices introduced because of AHRQ-funded studies prevented an estimated 20,500 deaths and saved $7.7 billion in healthcare costs from 2014 to 2017 alone, according to an analysis the agency conducted.

Teams at Harvard, Yale, and Rand in Santa Monica, California, developed a national standardized patient survey that HHS and healthcare systems use to refine healthcare practices with patient perspectives in mind, said Susan Edgman-Levitan, who has worked on that project since 1995 but recently lost her funding. She and her colleagues developed a definition of patient- and family-centered care that became a pillar of healthcare evaluation. The Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services bases some of its payments on hospital surveys her group designed.

AHRQ researchers working on five-year grants typically get letters confirming their award in the summer or fall each year. Last year, Edgman-Levitan said, they got no word and no money. They wrote a letter to Klein but heard “not a peep” in response. Then, around 5 p.m. on July 15, an emailed termination notice arrived. The $1 million annual grant was for developing hospital surveys regarding childbirth and behavioral health services.

“My salary is gone. The salaries of all my research assistants, survey scientists, all lost. It’s terrible,” she said. “But I’m near the end of my career. The salary piece is not as devastating as the loss of what I view as really critical work and support for improving childbirth care and patient care in general.”

Klein, a molecular pathologist and Federalist Society-affiliated lawyer who took over the agency last July, has told staff that artificial intelligence can replace much of the evidence review and analytics done by AHRQ scientists, according to one current and one recently departed AHRQ official, whom Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News agreed not to name to protect their jobs.

Such comments align with a report issued July 22 by White House science adviser Michael Kratsios, which said the government should “refocus support on individual scientists rather than legacy institutions, diversify funding mechanisms beyond slow consensus peer review,” and build the future with AI.

Klein did not respond to requests for comment. HHS spokesperson Hilliard also did not respond to specific questions about AHRQ’s plans or objectives.

Of the July 15 letter, Hilliard said: “Under statute, the AHRQ director must determine whether continuation funding is in the best interest of the federal government. AHRQ determined that certain non-competing continuation grants and jointly funded grants would not receive continuation awards.”

Hilliard said the grants were not terminated but rather were “not awarded continued funding.” This subtlety may have legal relevance for grantees planning to sue the administration, said Lauren Adams, a spokesperson for AcademyHealth.

‘None of It Makes Any Sense’

The Society for General Internal Medicine sued Klein and health secretary Kennedy last August over AHRQ’s failure to issue new grants. The lawsuit, , argues that failure to use most of AHRQ’s $369 million fiscal 2025 appropriation is illegal under a 1974 law intended to protect Congress’ power of the purse.

“None of it makes any sense,” said Nora Becker, an internist at Michigan Medicine who lost the last two years of a five-year training and research grant on the relationship between financial difficulty and health outcomes. “The MAHA agenda could fit nicely with AHRQ priorities — we focus on chronic conditions, the quality of care, deprescribing, identifying harms of overmedication.”

She added: “To be honest, it doesn’t feel like any of this is being done in good faith. Part of me just wonders whether the goal was to destroy AHRQ. But I don’t know why AHRQ was such a target.”

Hilliard said that “the Trump Administration remains committed to the responsible stewardship of taxpayer dollars.”

In March 2025, Kennedy announced plans to fold AHRQ and parts of other HHS agencies into a new Office of Strategy. But Congress has shown no interest in the reorganization plan.

Klein hasn’t publicly commented about AHRQ’s overall objectives or plans since attacking previous AHRQ activities in a Newsweek opinion piece he co-wrote with an assistant that was published in January.

The article argued that under previous administrations, “scientific neutrality” had given way to “moral signaling” on diversity and equity. But now, Klein wrote, the Trump administration had righted AHRQ’s focus to “generate evidence that improves how health care is delivered.”

Klein has held no agency-wide meetings, has declined to meet with AHRQ supporters and grantees, and never announced a blueprint for the agency, according to current and former AHRQ employees. They said he is infrequently seen at the agency’s Rockville, Maryland, offices.

Staff members currently number 74, Hilliard said, down from about 300 in early 2025. The agency has halted about $100 million in this year’s commitments to grantees, a substantial chunk of its congressionally approved budget, according to a tabulation by AcademyHealth.

“These claims about Dr. Klein are pointedly false,” Hilliard said. “AHRQ is strengthening its grants process, reviewing agency work for quality, aligning with its statutory mission, and focusing on research to improve patient outcomes.”

She did not respond to a request for specific information on grant funding.

AHRQ continues to conduct some data collection and has kept up its , which measures how Americans use and pay for medical care, insurance, and out-of-pocket costs. However, publication has slowed to a trickle because Klein reviews every piece of data or report issued by the agency, said Elisabeth Kato, who worked at AHRQ for 16 years before resigning from a senior position in April.

AHRQ also runs the U.S. Preventive Services Task Force, a panel whose assessments on the value of drugs and procedures determine whether insurers are required to cover them.

The task force hasn’t met since March 2025. Trump fired two of the group’s senior leaders and currently has only six of the 16 members it had when he took office. “The longer they don’t meet, the longer we’re losing connection between evidence and coverage,” said Sandmeyer, one of the former AHRQ officials.

A meeting of the task force is set for the end of August, Hilliard said.

Pediatrician Courtney Mangus lost her grant in the middle of a five-year project aimed at reducing cancers by using a software tool to help reduce the number of CT scans done on children who come to emergency rooms with abdominal pain. In rural and community emergency rooms, children are much more likely to be scanned for appendicitis than they are in better-equipped children’s pediatric hospitals. Each scan contributes to cancer risk.

Mangus wonders how AHRQ’s disappearance as a funding source will affect her career. “I need some funding to finish what I’ve started,” she said, “so then I could apply for bigger awards that can move the needle on this issue.”

She has applied to smaller foundations and may seek support from the National Institutes of Health, but her work was “really best suited for AHRQ.”

As the NIH, AHRQ, and other federal funders have cut grants over the past two years, new applications have flooded private biomedical foundations.

“It’s baffling to me why AHRQ refuses to fund research that has legally been appropriated by Congress and signed by the president,” Carroll said. “I don’t understand why everyone else in government isn’t going out of their mind about this.”

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

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

On that rainy Friday afternoon, hundreds of such mourners gathered to honor the man who went to the police department for help and didn’t come back.

“Stay woke. Stay guarded,” his daughter Lania Gilmore told the church full of mourners in this city of fewer than 16,000 with a long, troubled history of racial violence. “Be there for your family and love on one another.”

Her father, a 44-year-old Sikeston resident, died in police custody on June 10. During a quick, physical altercation involving seven Sikeston police officers, he was shocked with a Taser and put into hobble restraints, which allow officers to hogtie a person’s feet and hands, according to a through a public records request. Two autopsies were performed, but they — and Gilmore’s cause of death — had not been released as of mid-July while the result of a toxicology report remained pending.

Gilmore had approached an officer in the parking lot of the police station, according to the report, speaking words the officer said he could not understand. Lania Gilmore said that her dad, who had mental health issues, had asked her to call the police department and that he ran there seeking help.

“I kind of trusted the fact that he was OK because he was at the police station,” she told Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News.

At his funeral, hardly anyone spoke of the police — and, at the family’s request, the funeral home declined to ask police to provide traffic assistance as they usually would. A preacher did his best to comfort Gilmore’s family. “Sometimes we need not talk,” the Rev. Tommy Robinson Jr. told the crowd. “We just need to listen.”

But after years of expressing concerns of racial bias within the city’s police department, some Black Sikeston residents wonder if anyone is listening at all anymore. They want justice even as the national reckoning over police brutality has faded from public view.

“We need the police. We just need them to do their jobs correctly and leave Black people alone,” said Mark Wiggins, president of Sikeston’s NAACP branch. “They know it. We know it. The truth of the matter is there’s a lot of unwarranted cop killings of Black men in America.”

But despite worldwide protests in 2020 in the wake of high-profile police-involved killings of Black people, the public paid little attention when a prestigious group released a report last year about deaths in custody, said Roger Mitchell Jr., a forensic pathologist finishing his term as president of the , which represents African American physicians. The urged Congress to require states to collect and report data on all in-custody deaths, a problem that Mitchell said disproportionately affects Black men.

“We are in an anti-diversity environment,” Mitchell said. “We’re in a war.”

Upon returning to the White House last year, President Donald Trump that targeted diversity, equity, and inclusion programs. As a result of that and other measures, funding for racial equity has dwindled, researchers who once studied violence as a public health issue have redirected their work to less politically charged topics, and a growing fear of professional and political retaliation has made it increasingly difficult to sustain the momentum.

Kevin Myles, a civil rights leader based in Georgia who has trained tens of thousands of activists around the country, said he saw a shift in priorities around racial equity before Trump was reelected. Since then, it has escalated, he said, and he has lost at least half his funding for his work on equity, child welfare, and mass incarceration.

“I don’t think we really were prepared. It’s not that we didn’t take it seriously. I don’t think we were psychologically prepared for what this means,” Myles said. “Everything we have done before now was practice. The game has just started.”

Sikeston, located in the rural area of southeastern Missouri known as the Bootheel, has a history of racial violence, including the brutal lynching of a Black man named Cleo Wright in 1942. Another Black man, Undraus Nabors, was found dead in a grain silo months after heading out to pick up his white girlfriend in 1999. In April 2020, less than a month before George Floyd’s murder in Minneapolis, an unarmed Black man, Denzel Taylor, was shot at least 18 times by Sikeston police officers. The city was the subject of the 2024 “Silence in Sikeston” documentary film and podcast by Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News, Retro Report, and WORLD.

Silence in Sikeston

Watch: New Documentary Film Explores a Lynching and a Police Killing 78 Years Apart

The “Silence in Sikeston” documentary film explores how the nation’s first federally investigated lynching and a police killing 78 years apart haunt the same rural Missouri community. The film from Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News and Retro Report explores the lasting impact of such trauma — and what it means to speak out about it.

Larry McClellon, a longtime Sikeston resident who founded a civil rights group called And Justice for All, has expressed concerns about the integrity of his city’s police department for decades. He’s also convinced that being vocal about racism in Sikeston comes with a price.

“It’s a dark side of Sikeston that a lot of people do not know and don’t prefer to know,” McClellon told Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News in 2021 after police fatally shot Denzel Taylor. “But I’ve walked the streets.”

He believes someone burned down the headquarters of And Justice for All in 2019. A said the fire was “suspicious in nature.” The electricity in his building wasn’t on when flames erupted, he said, so he wasn’t satisfied when an investigator called it an electrical fire. He asked the department to take another look. No one was charged.

James McMillen, the city’s police chief, told Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News in 2021 that he had plans to improve policing before Taylor died. At the time, McMillen, who is white, said he and his department had “a poor relationship” with Black residents in the city. He started some community meetings after Taylor’s death, but he said in 2024 that people had stopped showing up.

“We have tried,” the chief said during a this month. “But, as my daddy would say, a relationship is a two-way street. And so I don’t know what else I can do.”

During the meeting, Lania Gilmore pleaded with the city to release more information about her father’s case. Other residents wanted to know why the officers involved were not placed on administrative leave immediately after Gilmore died.

“It depends on the circumstances. It does,” McMillen told them. “You’re assuming a certain set of details that you don’t know.”

Another resident asked the city about training for officers. McMillen said his officers are trained. Nationwide, many communities have to assist people in crisis.

“Chief does not want anybody to be mistreated at all. Period,” Sikeston Mayor Greg Turnbow, who is white, said at the meeting. “And I guarantee you, I put my life in his hands. I’d do it today.”

McMillen declined to comment on Ñî¹óåú´«Ã½Ò•îl Health News’ questions about Gilmore’s case and the community’s concerns about the department. The Missouri State Highway Patrol investigated the death and planned to refer the results to the Cape Girardeau County prosecuting attorney, Sgt. Bradley Germann said.

The day Gilmore died, his daughter said, he had been anxious and was looking for a “safe space.” So, she said, he had spent much of the day watching her braid hair at the salon where she works, then he went with her to her eyelash extension appointment. Lania Gilmore said he was still feeling undone, but she needed some space, so he asked her to call the police instead. She said she did, then she watched him run toward the police station.

The rest unfolded within 30 minutes, according to the police report and . The police report said that, amid an ensuing scuffle, Gilmore bit one officer’s hand — “but did not break the skin.”

After the police stunned and restrained Gilmore, a paramedic gave him a sedative, and the emergency medical services took him to a hospital, according to the police report. The report listed five victims — all police — and accused Gilmore of third-degree assault and resisting arrest.

Lania Gilmore said police told her that her father overdosed. But she said she doesn’t understand how that would have been possible, given the short time between when he left her and an ambulance was called.

The city’s police force knew Gilmore had mental health issues, his daughter said. Police officers in a neighboring community “excessively tased” and beat him in 2020, . He received a $65,000 settlement five years later, and she said that experience left a mark.

After Gilmore died, Louis Houston, a longtime Sikeston resident, said he decided to move 30 minutes outside the city to a neighboring community, where he feels safer. He said hearing about other Black Sikeston residents being harassed by the police department had started to affect his mental health.

“I got on away from here,” said Houston, who returned to Sikeston for the funeral.

Houston’s already thinking about the conversations he will have with his young children about how to respond if they ever interact with a police officer. He has a script in mind.

“Be careful,” Houston plans to tell them. “They can help you, but they also can kill you.”

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By Cara Anthony Sept. 13, 2024

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