Colorado officials say their plan to import cheaper medicines from Canada has been stymied by opposition from drugmakers and inaction by the Biden administration, according to a state report obtained by KFF Health News.

The Dec. 1 report, prepared for the state legislature by Colorado’s Department of Health Care Policy and Financing, says that state officials approached 23 drugmakers in the last year about an importation program. Only four agreed even to discuss the proposal; none expressed interest in participating.

“Generally, the challenges that remain are outside state authority and rely on action by FDA and/or drug manufacturers,” the report reads.

Lawmakers in both parties, at the state and national level, have sought for decades to legalize importing drugs from Canada. Since 2020, when President Donald Trump’s administration opened the door to Canadian drug imports with regulations issued just weeks before he lost reelection, only a few states have filed applications with the Food and Drug Administration to create importation programs.

The FDA hasn’t yet ruled on any of them. Colorado filed its application in December 2022. Florida, which applied in 2020, has been waiting nearly three years for a decision from the Biden administration on its importation plan, pushed by Gov. Ron DeSantis, now a Republican presidential candidate.

FDA spokesperson Cherie Duvall-Jones said the FDA has not acted on states’ importation applications because it has not determined whether they would save significant money for consumers without posing risks to public health.

U.S. consumers pay some of the highest prices in the world for brand-name pharmaceuticals. Drugs are generally less expensive in Canada, where the government controls prices.

Under Trump, the federal government declared that importing drugs from Canada could be done safely — satisfying for the first time a condition spelled out in a 2003 law.

But Colorado officials cited another catch: The rule didn’t take into account that states would have to negotiate directly with drug manufacturers, which oppose selling their brand-name drugs in the United States at Canadian prices.

“As the federal Final Rule did not contemplate the need for this negotiation step, we have urged FDA to release further guidance regarding how states can operationalize the program with this in mind, but to date, no guidance has been released,” the Colorado report said.

Unlike many other Trump administration health policies, Biden hasn’t revoked or revised the importation rule. But his administration hasn’t shown much support for the idea, either. Health and Human Services Secretary Xavier Becerra told KFF Health News last December that he wouldn’t commit to the FDA ruling on any state application in 2023.

The president has repeatedly suggested that under his watch Americans would be able to import drugs from Canada.

During his 2020 campaign, Biden said he’d allow for the importation of drugs the government certified as safe. In 2021, he ordered the FDA to work with states to import prescription drugs from Canada. In a 2022 speech about how he planned to reduce drug prices, he cited Colorado estimates of how much people in the state could save through importation.

FDA officials responded to Colorado’s application in March by asking for more information and a smaller list of drugs to target, to prove that importation could save money. Colorado’s initial application listed 112 high-cost drugs. The state estimates residents and employers could save an average of 65% on the costs of those medicines, including drugs for diabetes, asthma, and cancer.

Colorado said it plans to submit an updated application early next year. By then, it’s possible the FDA will have ruled on Florida’s application.

The Colorado and Florida importation proposals differ. Colorado’s program is intended to directly help consumers obtain cheaper medicines. Florida’s plan aims to cut spending on drugs in government programs such as Medicaid, the prison system, and facilities run by the state Department of Children and Families.

The drug industry has argued the Trump administration didn’t properly certify that drugs imported from Canada would be safe, jeopardizing Americans’ health. Canada’s government, too, has expressed concern that U.S. imports would lead to shortages and higher prices in its country.

Drug manufacturers “will do anything to protect their golden goose that is United States consumers and patients who pay the largest amount for drugs in the world,” said Colorado state Sen. Sonya Jaquez Lewis, a Democrat, pharmacist, and leading advocate for drug importation.

The White House and Congress, she said, should force drugmakers to negotiate with states to start importation programs.

In its initial response to Colorado’s application, the FDA listed several types of information it still needed, including plans on labeling and drug eligibility, according to a March letter from the FDA to the state. Another problem, the FDA said: The state planned to import medicines across the U.S. border in Buffalo, New York. The FDA said the only port of entry it allows for medicines is in Detroit.

Colorado officials told the FDA in March that without federal approval of its application, it was having difficulty securing commitments from drug manufacturers to obtain medicines.

“It has been made clear that potential partners will be more interested in committing to participate once our program has been approved by the FDA,” Kim Bimestefer, executive director of the Colorado Department of Health Care Policy & Financing, wrote to the FDA.

“While we understand the regulatory framework does not permit for a provisional approval, we know that showing progress towards an approved program will aid in our negotiations with drug manufacturers,” she added.

Another complication is that the FDA’s rule doesn’t allow states to buy drugs directly from secondary drug wholesalers. Instead, they must purchase medicines directly from manufacturers, said Marc Williams, a spokesperson for the Colorado agency.

That’s proven challenging because drug manufacturers have prohibited the export of products intended for sale in Canada to the U.S., Williams said.

“Without their permission and a supply agreement directly with a manufacturer, Colorado is unable to buy and import these lower-priced drugs that would save people money,” he said.

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Last year, a student fell unconscious after walking out of a bathroom at Central High School in Pueblo. When Jessica Foster, the school district’s lead nurse, heard the girl’s distraught friends mention drugs, she knew she had to act fast.

Emergency responders were just four minutes away. “But still four minutes — if they are completely not breathing, it’s four minutes too long,” Foster said.

Foster said she got a dose of naloxone, a medication that can rapidly reverse an opioid overdose, and gave it to the student. The girl revived.

Forty-five miles away in Colorado Springs, Mitchell High School officials didn’t have naloxone on hand when a 15-year-old student overdosed in class in December 2021 after snorting a fentanyl-laced pill in a school bathroom. That student died.

Colorado Springs’ school district has since joined Pueblo and dozens of other districts in the state in supplying middle and high schools with the lifesaving medication, often known by one of its brand names, Narcan. Since passage of a 2019 state law, Colorado has had a program that allows schools to obtain the medicine, typically in nasal spray form, for free or at a reduced cost.

Not all schools are on board with the idea, though.

Though more districts have signed on since last year, only about a third of Colorado districts had enrolled in the state’s giveaway program at the start of this school year. And within the dozen counties with the highest drug overdose death rates in the state, many school districts had not signed up in the face of ongoing stigma around the need for the overdose reversal medication.

The federal Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration recommends that schools, including elementary schools, keep naloxone on hand as fatal opioid overdoses rise, particularly from the potent drug fentanyl. And 33 states have laws that expressly allow schools or school employees to carry, store or administer naloxone, according to Jon Woodruff, managing attorney at the Legislative Analysis and Public Policy Association, which tracks naloxone policies across the country.

Among those, about nine states require at least some K-12 schools to store naloxone on-site, including Illinois, whose requirement goes into effect in January. Some states, such as Maine, also require that public schools offer training to students in how to administer naloxone in nasal spray form.

Rhode Island requires all K-12 schools, both public and private, to stock naloxone. Joseph Wendelken, a spokesperson for the Rhode Island Department of Health, said in the past four years, naloxone was administered nine times to people ages 10 to 18 in educational settings.

In early September, the medication also became available over the counter nationally, though the $45 price tag per two-dose package has some addiction specialists worried it will be out of reach for those who need it most.

But the medicine still isn’t as publicly widespread as automated external defibrillators or fire extinguishers. Kate King, president of the National Association of School Nurses, said reluctance to stock it in schools can stem from officials being afraid to provide a medical service or the ongoing cost of resupplying the naloxone and training people to use it.

But the main hang-up she’s heard is that schools are afraid they’ll be stigmatized as a “bad school” that has a drug problem or as a school that condones bad choices.

“School districts are very careful regarding their image,” said Yunuen Cisneros, community outreach and inclusion manager at the Public Education & Business Coalition, which serves most of Colorado’s school districts. “Many of them don’t want to accept this program, because to accept it is to accept a drug addiction problem.”

That’s the wrong way to think about it, King said. “We really equate it to our stock albuterol for asthma attacks, our stock epinephrine for anaphylactic reactions,” she said.

Colorado health officials could not say how often naloxone had been used on school grounds in the state. So far this year, at least 15 children ages 10 to 18 have died of fentanyl overdoses but not necessarily in schools. And in 2022, 34 children in that age group died, according to the state Department of Public Health and Environment. That included 13-year-old José Hernández, who died in August 2022 from a fentanyl overdose at home just days after starting eighth grade at Aurora Hills Middle School. His grandmother found his body over the bathroom sink in the early morning.

With the arrival of this new school year, supplies of naloxone are on hand for kids in more Colorado schools. Last year, state lawmakers appropriated $19.7 million in federal aid to the Naloxone Bulk Purchase Fund, which is accessible to school districts, jails, first responders and community service organizations, among others.

“It’s the most we’ve ever had,” said Andrés Guerrero, manager of the state health department’s overdose prevention program.

According to data provided by Colorado’s health department, 65 school districts were enrolled in the state program to receive naloxone at low or no cost at the start of the school year. Another 16 had reached out to the state for information but hadn’t finalized orders as of mid-August. The remaining 97 school districts either didn’t stock naloxone at their schools or sourced it from elsewhere.

Guerrero said the districts decide whom to train to administer the medicine. “In some cases, it’s just the school nurses. In some cases, it’s school nurses and the teachers,” he said. “And in some cases, we have the students as well.”

In Durango, the 2021 death of a high schooler galvanized students to push for the right to carry naloxone with them to school with parental permission — and to administer it if need be — without fear of punishment.

It took picketing outside a school board meeting to get permission, said Hays Stritikus, who graduated this spring from Durango High School. He’s now involved in drafting legislation that would expressly allow students across the state to carry and distribute Narcan on school grounds.

“The ultimate goal is a world where Narcan is not necessary,” he said. “But that’s just not where we live.”

Some health experts disagree that all schools should stock naloxone. Lauren Cipriano, a health economist at Western University in Canada, has studied the cost-effectiveness of naloxone in secondary schools there. While opioid poisonings have occurred on school grounds, she said, high schools tend to be really low-risk settings.

More effective strategies for combating the opioid epidemic are needle exchange sites, supervised drug consumption sites and medication-assisted treatment that reduces cravings or mutes highs, Cipriano said. But those approaches can be expensive compared with naloxone distribution.

“When the state makes a big, free program like this, it looks like they’re doing something about the opioid epidemic,” she said. “It’s cheap and it looks like you’re doing something, and that’s, like, political gold.”

Denver Public Schools, the largest school district in Colorado, started stocking naloxone in 2022, said Jade Williamson, manager of the district’s healthy schools program.

“We know some of the students are on the forefront of these things before older generations,” Williamson said. “To know where to find it, and to access it when needed through these adults who’ve trained, whether that’s a school nurse or a school administrator, I think it brings them some sense of relief.”

The state’s seven largest districts, with more than 25,000 students each, all participate in the state program. By contrast, a KFF Health News analysis found, only 21% of districts with up to 1,200 students have signed up for it — even though many of those small districts are in areas with drug overdose death rates higher than the state average.

Some school districts figured out a path to getting naloxone outside of the state program. That includes Pueblo School District 60, where lead nurse Foster gave naloxone to a student last year.

The Pueblo school district gets naloxone at no cost from a local nonprofit called the Southern Colorado Harm Reduction Association. Foster said she tried signing up for the state program but encountered difficulties. So she decided to stick with what was already working.

Moffat County School District RE-1 in Craig  gets its naloxone from a local addiction treatment center, according to district nurse Myranda Lyons. She said she trains school staffers on how to administer it when she teaches them CPR.

Christopher deKay, superintendent of Ignacio School District 11Jt, said its school resource officers already carry naloxone but that the district enrolled in the state program, too, so that schools could stock the medication in the nursing office in case a resource officer isn’t around.

“It’s like everything — like training for fire safety. You don’t know what’s going to happen in your school,” said deKay. “If the unthinkable happens, we want to be able to respond in the best way possible.”

This story was produced with reporting assistance from El Comercio de Colorado.

KFF Health News is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues and is one of the core operating programs at KFF–an independent source of health policy research, polling, and journalism. Learn more about KFF.

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The way Sheldon Haleck’s parents see it, the 38-year-old’s only crime was jaywalking. But that March night in 2015, after Honolulu police found him behaving erratically, they pepper-sprayed him, shocked him with a Taser, and restrained him. Haleck became unresponsive and was taken to a hospital. Before his parents could get from their home in Utah to Hawaii, the former Hawaii Air National Guardsman was taken off life support.

“Nobody’s supposed to die from something like this,” said Haleck’s father, William.

An initial autopsy ruled Haleck’s death a homicide and his family filed a civil lawsuit in federal court against the three officers who tried to remove him from the street. The case should have been “one of the easiest wrongful death cases” to win, said Eric Seitz, an attorney who represented Haleck’s family.

But the officers’ attorneys seized on a largely discredited, four-decade-old diagnostic theory called “excited delirium,” which has been increasingly used over the past 15 years as a legal defense to explain how a person experiencing severe agitation can die suddenly through no fault of the police. “The entire use of that particular theory, I think, is what convinced the jury,” Seitz said.

Haleck’s case is just one legal battle in which the theory of excited delirium exonerated law enforcement despite mounting opposition to the term among most prominent medical groups. The theory has been cited as a defense in the 2020 deaths of George Floyd in Minneapolis; Daniel Prude in Rochester, New York; and Angelo Quinto in Antioch, California. It figures in a criminal trial against two police officers involved in the 2019 death of Elijah McClain in Aurora, Colorado, now underway. It has allowed defense attorneys to argue that individuals in police custody died not of restraint, not of a Taser shock, but of a medical condition that can lead to sudden death.

But now, the American College of Emergency Physicians will vote at an October meeting on whether to formally disavow its 2009 position paper supporting excited delirium as a diagnosis that helped undergird those court cases. The draft resolution also calls on ACEP to discourage physicians who serve as expert witnesses from promoting the theory in criminal and civil trials.

“It’s junk science,” said Martin Chenevert, an emergency medicine physician at UCLA Santa Monica Medical Center, who often testifies as an expert witness. The theory has been used to provide a cover for police misconduct, he said. “It had an agenda.”

Passing the resolution wouldn’t bring Haleck back, but his parents hope it would prevent other families from experiencing their agony. “May that excited delirium die here,” said his mother, Verdell.

Democratic California Gov. Gavin Newsom is considering signing into law a bill passed Sept. 12 that would do much of the same in his state.

“If we don’t fully denounce this now, it will be there for the grasping, again,” said Jennifer Brody, a physician with the Boston Health Care for the Homeless Program, who co-authored a 2021 editorial calling on organized medicine to denounce excited delirium. “Historically, we know what happens: The pendulum swings the other way.”

Most major medical societies, including the American Medical Association and the American Psychiatric Association, don’t recognize excited delirium as a medical condition. This year, the National Association of Medical Examiners rejected excited delirium as a cause of death. No blood test or other diagnostic test can confirm the syndrome. It’s not listed in the “Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders,” a reference book of mental health conditions, nor does it have its own diagnostic code, a system used by health professionals to identify diseases and disorders.

But the argument’s pervasiveness in excessive-use-of-force cases has persisted in large part because of the American College of Emergency Physicians’ 2009 white paper proposing that individuals in a mental health crisis, often under the influence of drugs or alcohol, can exhibit superhuman strength as police try to control them, and then die from the condition.

The ACEP white paper has been cited in cases across the U.S., and lawyers who file police misconduct cases said that courts and judges accept the science without sufficient scrutiny.

ACEP’s position “has done a lot of harm” by justifying first responder tactics that contribute to a person’s death, said Joanna Naples-Mitchell, an attorney who worked on a Physicians for Human Rights review of excited delirium. The term has also been used in cases in Australia, the United Kingdom, Canada, and other countries, according to the group.

“This is a really important opportunity for ACEP to make things right,” she said of the upcoming vote.

ACEP officials declined KFF Health News requests for an interview.

Starting in the mid-1990s, the leading proponents of excited delirium produced research with funding from Taser International, a maker of stun guns used by police, which later changed its name to Axon. The research purported to show that the technique of prone restraint, in which suspects are lying face down on the ground with the police officer’s weight on top of them, and Taser shocks couldn’t kill someone. That research formed the basis of the white paper, providing an alternative cause of death that defense attorneys could argue in court. Many emergency physicians say the ACEP document never lived up to the group’s standard for clinical guidelines.

Axon officials did not respond to a call or email seeking comment on the white paper or the upcoming ACEP vote. In 2017, Taser officials used the American College of Emergency Physicians’ position on excited delirium as evidence that it is a “universally recognized condition,” according to Reuters.

A recent review published in the journal Forensic Science, Medicine, and Pathology concluded no scientific evidence exists for the diagnosis, and that the authors of the 2009 white paper engaged in circular reasoning and faulty logic.

“Excited delirium is a proxy for prone-related restraint when there is a death,” said Michael Freeman, an associate professor of forensic medicine at Maastricht University in the Netherlands, who co-authored the review. “You don’t find that people get ‘excited delirium’ if they haven’t also been restrained.”

Between 2009 and 2019, Florida medical examiners attributed 85 deaths to excited delirium, and at least 62% involved the use of force by law enforcement, according to a January 2020 report in Florida Today. Black and Hispanic people accounted for 56% of 166 deaths in police custody attributed to excited delirium from 2010 to 2020, according to a December 2021 Virginia Law Review article.

This year, ACEP issued a formal statement saying the group no longer recognizes the term “excited delirium” and new guidance to doctors on how to treat individuals presenting with delirium and agitation in what it now calls “hyperactive delirium syndrome.” But the group stopped short of retracting the 2009 white paper. For the past 14 years, ACEP took no steps to withdraw the document or to discourage defense attorneys from using it in court.

Even now, lawyers say, they must continually debunk the theory.

“Excited delirium has continued to come up in every single restraint asphyxia case that my partner and I have handled,” said Julia Sherwin, a California civil rights attorney. “Instead of acknowledging that the person died from the police tactics, they want to point to this alternate theory of deaths.”

Now, plaintiffs’ attorneys say, if ACEP passes the resolution it would be the most meaningful step yet toward keeping the theory out of the courtroom. The resolution calls on ACEP to “clarify its position in writing that the 2009 white paper is inaccurate and outdated,” and to withdraw approval for it.

Despite the theory’s lack of scientific underpinning, backers of the ACEP resolution expect heated debate before the vote scheduled for the weekend of Oct. 7-8. Emergency physicians often encounter patients with agitation and delirium, they say, and are sympathetic to other first responders who share the challenge of managing such patients. While they have tools like sedation to help them in the emergency room, law enforcement officials must often subdue potentially dangerous individuals without such help.

Most people won’t die as a result of police tactics such as prone restraint or Taser use, but a small fraction do.

“It’s a crappy, crappy situation, when you have someone who’s out of control, who can’t make decisions for himself, and is potentially a threat somewhere,” said Jared Strote, an emergency medicine professor at the University of Washington. “It’s not like they have a sticker on their head that says, ‘Hey, I’m at high risk. If you hold me down, then I could go into sudden cardiac arrest.’”

Nonetheless, sentiment is growing among emergency physicians that the 2009 ACEP white paper has resulted in real harm and injustices, and it’s time to set it aside.

“We’ll be able to close the chapter on it and move forward to recognize explicitly that this was in error,” said Brooks Walsh, an emergency physician from Bridgeport, Connecticut, and a key player in bringing the resolution up for a vote. “We definitely have an ethical responsibility to address mistakes or evolutions in medical thinking.”

Chris Vanderveen, KUSA-TV’s director of special projects, contributed to this report.

KFF Health News is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues and is one of the core operating programs at KFF–an independent source of health policy research, polling, and journalism. Learn more about KFF.

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The regulations, if enacted, would potentially help tens of millions of people who have medical debt on their credit reports, eliminating information that can depress consumers’ scores and make it harder for many to get a job, rent an apartment, or secure a car loan.

New rules would also represent one of the most significant federal actions to tackle medical debt, a problem that burdens about 100 million people and forces legions to take on extra work, give up their homes, and ration food and other essentials, a KFF Health News-NPR investigation found.

“No one in this country should have to go into debt to get the quality health care they need,” said Vice President Kamala Harris, who announced the new moves along with Rohit Chopra, head of the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, or CFPB. The agency will be charged with developing the new rules.

“These measures will improve the credit scores of millions of Americans so that they will better be able to invest in their future,” Harris said.

Enacting new regulations can be a lengthy process. Administration officials said Thursday that the new rules would be developed next year.

Such an aggressive step to restrict credit reporting and debt collection by hospitals and other medical providers will also almost certainly stir industry opposition.

At the same time, the Consumer Financial Protection Bureau, which was formed in response to the 2008 financial crisis, is under fire from Republicans, and its future may be jeopardized by a case before the Supreme Court, whose conservative majority has been chipping away at federal regulatory powers.

But the move by the Biden administration drew strong praise from patients’ and consumer groups, many of whom have been pushing for years for the federal government to strengthen protections against medical debt.

“This is an important milestone in our collective efforts and will provide immediate relief to people that have unfairly had their credit impacted simply because they got sick,” said Emily Stewart, executive director of Community Catalyst, a Boston nonprofit that has helped lead national medical debt efforts. 

Credit reporting, a threat designed to induce patients to pay their bills, is the most common collection tactic used by hospitals, a KFF Health News analysis has shown.

“Negative credit reporting is one of the biggest pain points for patients with medical debt,” said Chi Chi Wu, a senior attorney at the National Consumer Law Center. “When we hear from consumers about medical debt, they often talk about the devastating consequences that bad credit from medical debts has had on their financial lives.”

Although a single black mark on a credit score may not have a huge effect for some people, the impact can be devastating for those with large unpaid medical bills. There is growing evidence, for example, that credit scores depressed by medical debt can threaten people’s access to housing and fuel homelessness in many communities.

At the same time, CFPB researchers have found that medical debt — unlike other kinds of debt — does not accurately predict a consumer’s creditworthiness, calling into question how useful it is on a credit report.

The three largest credit agencies — Equifax, Experian, and TransUnion — said they would stop including some medical debt on credit reports as of last year. The excluded debts included paid-off bills and those less than $500.

But the agencies’ voluntary actions left out millions of patients with bigger medical bills on their credit reports. And many consumer and patient advocates called for more action. 

The National Consumer Law Center, Community Catalyst, and some 50 other groups in March sent letters to the CFPB and IRS urging stronger federal action to rein in hospital debt collection.

State leaders also have taken steps to expand consumer protections. In June, Colorado enacted a trailblazing bill that prohibits medical debt from being included on residents’ credit reports or factored into their credit scores.

Many groups have urged the federal government to bar tax-exempt hospitals from selling patient debt or denying medical care to people with past-due bills, practices that remain widespread across the U.S., KFF Health News found.

Hospital leaders and representatives of the debt collection industry have warned that such restrictions on the ability of medical providers to get their bills paid may have unintended consequences, such as prompting more hospitals and physicians to require upfront payment before delivering care.

Looser credit requirements could also make it easier for consumers who can’t handle more debt to get loans they might not be able to pay off, others have warned.

“It is unfortunate that the CFPB and the White House are not considering the host of consequences that will result if medical providers are singled out in their billing, compared to other professions or industries,” said Scott Purcell, chief executive of ACA International, the collection industry’s leading trade association.

About This Project

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

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

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

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

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

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

But even with that early sign of success, the program’s financial future is shaky.

Over the past two years, the federal government has provided about $1 billion from the American Rescue Plan and Bipartisan Safer Communities acts to launch the number, designed as an alternative to 911 for those experiencing a mental health crisis. After that infusion runs out, it’s up to states to foot the bill for their call centers.

“We don’t know what Congress will allocate in the future,” said Danielle Bennett, a spokesperson for the federal Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration, which oversees 988. “But the hope is that there will be continued strong bipartisan support for funding 988 at the level it needs to be funded at and that states will also create funding mechanisms that make sense for their states.”

Only eight states have enacted legislation to sustain 988 through phone fees, according to the National Alliance on Mental Illness, which is tracking state funding for the system. Others have budgeted short-term funding. But many predominantly rural states, where mental health services are in short supply and suicide rates are often higher than in more urban states, have not made long-term plans to provide support.

According to a KFF analysis of Lifeline data, since last summer 988 has received almost 5 million contacts, including calls, texts, and chat messages. And state programs managed to answer a high percentage of 988 calls instead of routing them to call centers elsewhere.

Mental health advocates and state 988 operators say that to keep those in-state staffers answering phones, promises of long-term funding are critical.

In the earlier version of the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, “call centers, basically, were not paid,” said Chuck Ingoglia, president and CEO of the National Council for Mental Wellbeing, which advocates for sustained investment in 988. “There is a growing recognition that we’re making it easier for people to contact and, therefore, we need to build more infrastructure.”

In Ohio, where data from spring 2023 shows local operators responded to 88% of calls, lawmakers recently acknowledged the need for stable funding. In July, Republican Gov. Mike DeWine approved $46.5 million for 988 in the state’s biennial budget. But that support will last only two years.

“It is still not the most secure form of funding that we would hope for,” said Brian Stroh, CEO and medical director of Netcare Access, a call center that serves four rural counties on Ohio’s eastern border. “What if we turned the tables a little bit and said we’re only going to fund 911 a little bit at a time? That’s a really hard proposition to work under.”

SAMHSA, which distributes 988 grant funding, likens the number to 911 except that it is strictly for mental health crises. The law that mandated 988’s creation, the National Suicide Hotline Designation Act of 2020, allows states to install phone surcharges to support 988 indefinitely, similar to the funding structure for 911.

Stroh said that, while he is “pretty pleased” with how the first year of 988 went for Netcare Access, with short-term funding it’s hard to reassure prospective call operators of job security or compete with rising wages in other industries.

For Kristin McCloud, executive director of Pathways of Central Ohio, a call center that also responds to rural counties in the eastern part of the state, the $573,056 her center received in 988’s first year was exactly what it needed. She had money for training staffers to answer crisis calls and supplying them with computers for remote work.

During that time, operators answered 2,316 calls — almost double the previous year’s volume.

“I really feel like, for once, we were given adequate funding,” said McCloud, who has worked in social services more than 35 years.

According to SAMHSA, before 988 grants, most call centers received minimal federal funding to answer Lifeline calls, typically between $2,500 and $5,000 annually.

Like Stroh, McCloud views Ohio’s recent allocation as positive but hopes the state installs a permanent funding plan. A bill pending in the legislature would add a surcharge to phone bills to help fund 988, as a few other states have done.

All but one of the eastern counties that Pathways of Central Ohio and Netcare Access serve are designated by the state’s Department of Health Primary Care Office as mental health professional shortage areas.

In North Dakota, where almost every county is rural and has such a designation, a single call center manages the state’s 988 program.

That center, FirstLink, has seen a significant increase in mental health crisis calls since the transition to 988. Comparing the first six months of 2023 to the first of 2022 alone, calls have increased 55%, according to Jeremy Brown, outreach director.

The demand has “helped us with sparking conversations with our state legislature about funding and support,” he said.

In May, Republican Gov. Doug Burgum approved a one-time $1.86 million appropriation to 988 in the state’s biennial budget.

Brown said the funding will not only allow FirstLink to train staff members and keep phone lines updated, but it will also help human service centers support mobile crisis units that can be dispatched to callers if necessary.

Though mobile crisis unit dispatch is an option, FirstLink prefers to deescalate crises over the phone, said Dallas Tufty, one of FirstLink’s operators.

“The only time that we’ll really call for rescue or something is if that person is in immediate, imminent danger of their life,” they said.

Tufty works 40 hours a week at FirstLink, at least six of those spent answering calls and messages to 988. Operators like Tufty also answer FirstLink’s 211 line, another program that provides health and social service assistance information to callers. It’s not an emergency line, but on occasion people in crisis call there instead of 988.

No matter which line a call comes through, Tufty said, the hard part is not knowing what happens once the call is over.

“There’s times where you don’t really know if they’re going to call back because they need to again,” they said. “Even if you make a plan, there’s only so much we can do on the phone to hold people to those plans.”

While North Dakota and Ohio fund 988 through their state budgets, not all states do. In Montana, Republican Gov. Greg Gianforte recently dedicated $300 million to the behavioral health and developmental disabilities systems that, among other uses, can fund “ opportunities for Montanans to receive integrated physical and behavioral health care,” according to the bill authorizing the money. But the state has yet to address 988 funding specifically.

In 2021, Montana lawmakers declined to advance a bill that would have established a phone fee and corresponding revenue account to fund 988 ahead of its launch.

At this point, “if it is able to be funded in the budget, without new legislation, that’s just fine with us,” said Matt Kuntz, executive director of Montana’s chapter of the National Alliance on Mental Illness. “We just want to make sure that it’s sustainably funded, because it is an important service.”

(KFF Health News, formerly known as Kaiser Health News (KHN), is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues and is one of the core operating programs of KFF — the independent source for health policy research, polling and journalism.)

Kayce Atencio used to be haunted by a thought while working at a homeless shelter in downtown Denver. “It could have been me,” said Atencio, 30, who lives in a small apartment with his son and daughter not far from the shelter.

It nearly was. Atencio and his children for years slept on friends’ couches or stayed with family, unable to rent an apartment because of poor credit. A big reason, he said, was medical debt.

Atencio had a heart attack at 19, triggered by an undiagnosed congenital condition. The debts from his care devastated his credit score. “It always felt like I just couldn’t get a leg up,” he said, recalling a life of dead-end jobs and high-interest loans as he tried to stay ahead of debt collectors. By 25, he’d declared bankruptcy.

Across the country, medical debt forces legions of Americans to make painful sacrifices. Many cut back on food, take on extra work, or drain retirement savings. For millions like Atencio, the health care system is threatening their very homes.

That’s proven particularly devastating in communities like Denver, where skyrocketing prices have put housing out of reach for many residents and fueled a crisis that’s left thousands homeless and sleeping on the streets.

At the Community Economic Defense Project, or CEDP, a Denver nonprofit that helps people facing eviction or home foreclosure, about two-thirds of clients have medical debt, an informal survey by KFF Health News and the organization suggests. Close to half of the nearly 70 people surveyed said medical debt played a role in their housing issue, with about 1 in 6 saying it was a major factor.

“All day long I hear about medical debt,” said Kaylee Mazza, a tenant advocate who staffs a CEDP legal clinic at the Denver courthouse that offers aid to tenants going through eviction proceedings. “It’s everywhere.”

Nationwide, about 100 million people have some form of health care debt. Of those, about 1 in 5 said the debts have forced them to change their living situation, including moving in with friends or family, according to a 2022 KFF poll.

A growing body of evidence shows that stable housing is critical to physical and mental well-being. Some major medical systems — including several in Colorado — have even begun investing in affordable housing in their communities, citing the need to address what are sometimes called social determinants of health.

But as hospitals and other medical providers leave millions in debt, they inadvertently undermine community health, said Brian Klausner, a physician at a clinic serving homeless patients in Raleigh, North Carolina.

“Many of the hospitals across the country that are now publicly vowing to address health inequities and break down barriers to health are simultaneously helping to create these very problems,” Klausner said. “Nobody likes the elephant in the room, but the reality is that there are thousands of sick Americans who are likely homeless — and sick — because of medical debt.”

A downward spiral

Medical debt can undermine housing security in several ways. For some, it depresses credit scores, making it difficult to get a lease or a mortgage. Last year, about 1 in 8 U.S. consumers with a credit report had a medical debt listed on it, according to the nonprofit Urban Institute.

Patients with chronic medical conditions may fall behind on rent or home payments as they scramble to keep medical debts in check to preserve access to health care. Many hospitals and other providers will turn away patients with outstanding bills, KFF Health News found.

Denise Beasley, who also assists clients at CEDP in Denver, said many older people, who typically depend most on physicians and medications, believe they must pay their medical and pharmacy bills before anything else. “The elderly are terrified,” she said.

For others, such debt can compound financial struggles brought on by an accident or unexpected illness that forces them to stop working, jeopardizing their health coverage or ability to pay for housing.

In Seattle, researchers found widespread medical debt among residents in homeless encampments. And those with such debt tended to experience homelessness two years longer than encampment residents without it.

More broadly, people with medical debt are more likely to say the debt has caused them to be turned down for a rental or a mortgage than people with student loans or credit card debt, according to a 2019 nationwide survey of renters, homebuyers, and property owners by real estate company Zillow.

For Atencio, who left home at 16, his struggles with medical debt began with the heart attack. He was working at a gas station and living in Trinidad, a small city in southern Colorado near the New Mexico border.

Rushed to a local hospital, he underwent surgery. The bills, which topped $50,000, weren’t covered by his health plan because he’d unknowingly gone to an out-of-network provider, he said. “I fought it as hard as I could, but I couldn’t afford a lawyer. I was stuck.”

Atencio, who is transgender, has close-cropped dark hair and a large tattoo on his right forearm memorializing two friends who died in a car accident. Sitting on an aging couch in an apartment with bars on the windows, he’s philosophical about his long journey from that medical crisis through years of debt and housing insecurity. “We’ve pulled ourselves out of this,” he said. “But it took a toll.”

When Atencio’s credit score dipped close to 300, the lowest rating, there were few places to turn for help. Atencio’s relationship with his parents, who divorced when he was 2, had been strained for years. Atencio got married at 18, but he and his husband rarely had enough to make ends meet. “I remember thinking, ‘What kind of a start to my adult life is this?’”

They were ultimately taken in by Atencio’s mother-in-law. “If it wasn’t for her, we would have been homeless,” he said. But getting out from the debt was agonizing.

“You end up in this cycle,” he said. “You get into debt. Then you take out loans to try to pay off some of the debt. But then there’s all this interest.” With poor credit, Atencio relied at times on payday lenders, whose high interest rates can dramatically increase what borrowers owe. Many employers also check credit scores, which made it difficult for Atencio to land anything but low-wage jobs.

The job at the shelter was a step up, and Atencio this year got the apartment, which is reserved for single-parent families at risk of being homeless. (Atencio separated from his husband last year.)

Colorado’s housing challenges

Atencio’s housing struggles are hardly unique. Jim and Cindy Powers, who live in Greeley, saw their own housing dreams collapse after Cindy was diagnosed with a life-threatening condition that required multiple surgeries and left the couple with more than $250,000 in medical debt.

When the Powers declared bankruptcy, the settlement protected their home. But their mortgage was sold, and the new lender rejected the payment plan. They lost the house.

Lindsey Vance, 40, who moved to Denver five years ago seeking more affordable housing than the Washington, D.C., area where she was from, still can’t buy a house because of medical debts. She and her husband have a six-figure income, but medical bills for even routine care that she’s struggled to pay since her 20s have depressed her credit score, making it difficult to get a loan. “We’re stuck in a holding pattern,” she said.

In and around Denver, elected officials, business leaders, and others have become increasingly concerned about medical debt as they look for ways to tackle what many see as a housing crisis.

“These things are deeply connected,” Denver City Council member Sarah Parady said. “As housing prices have gone up and up, I’ve seen more and more people, especially people with a medical issues and debts, lose housing security.” Parady, who ran for office last year to address housing affordability, is helping lead an effort to get the city to buy and retire medical debt for city residents.

Fueled by skyrocketing prices and rising interest rates, the cost of buying a home more than doubled in Denver from 2015 to 2022, according to one recent analysis. And with rents also surging, evictions are rocketing upward after slowing during the first two years of the pandemic.

Perhaps nowhere is Denver’s crisis more visible than on the streets. The city’s downtown is dotted with tents and encampments, including one that stretches over several blocks near the shelter and clinic where Atencio used to work. By one count, metro Denver’s homeless population increased nearly 50% from 2020 to 2023.

CEDP, which was founded to help residents with housing challenges sparked by the pandemic, this year joined other Colorado consumer and patient advocates to push the legislature for stronger protections for patients with medical debt.

And in June, Colorado enacted a trailblazing bill that prohibits medical debt from being included on residents’ credit reports or factored into their credit scores, a move that put the state at the forefront of efforts nationally to expand debt protections for patients.

A few other states are considering similar steps. And in Washington, D.C., consumer and patient advocates are pushing for federal action to limit medical bills on credit reports. In most states — including many with the highest rates of medical debt — patients still have no such protections.

For his part, Atencio is hoping the new apartment marks a turning point.

The home is modest — a small unit in an aging concrete tower. There’s a security guard by the front door and long, linoleum corridors painted institutional blue and brown.

Atencio’s family is settling in, along with four pet rats — Stitch, Cheese, Peach, and Bubbles — who live in a large cage in the living room. “This feels like freedom,” said Atencio.

He’s tried to give his children, who are 5 and 11, a sense of security: home-cooked meals and the space to play or hang out in their own bedrooms. Like parents everywhere, he frets over their screen time and rolls his eyes when they critique what’s for dinner. (They didn’t like the potatoes he put in a pot roast.)

They are all full-time students: Atencio, who left his job at the shelter, is working on a master’s in social work. His son just started kindergarten, and his daughter is in middle school. “I have big plans and big goals,” he said.

And with several thousand dollars of medical debt still to pay off, Atencio said he’s careful not to take his kids to an out-of-network hospital or physician. “I won’t make that mistake again,” he said.

KFF Health News is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues and is one of the core operating programs at KFF–an independent source of health policy research, polling, and journalism. Learn more about KFF.

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KP said it would acquire Danville, Pennsylvania-based Geisinger — which has 10 hospitals, 1,700 employed physicians, and a 600,000-member health plan in three states — as the first step in the creation of a new national health care organization called Risant Health. Oakland-based Kaiser Permanente said it expects to invest $5 billion in Risant over the next five years, and to add as many as six more nonprofit health systems during that period.

Industry experts believe KP’s aim is to build a big enough presence across the country to effectively compete with players like Amazon, Aetna CVS Health, Walmart Health, and UnitedHealth Group in providing health care for large corporate customers. Kaiser Permanente executives touted the potential for spreading the group’s vaunted brand of quality, lower-cost care around the country.

But it’s not clear how KP will be able to bring its model, in which facilities and doctors receive a monthly per-member fee for all care, to markets where it doesn’t own an integrated system of physicians, hospitals, and health plans, as it does in California. Critics note that KP’s efforts to expand failed in a number of states in the 1980s and 1990s.

In addition, the physician-led Permanente Medical Groups, which lead KP’s patient care, were not involved in the Risant deal, raising questions about how their expertise would be shared.

“I don’t know how Kaiser will bring its knowledge and best practices to improve health care delivery without the involvement of the medical group, which does all the care delivery,” said Robert Pearl, a former CEO of the Permanente Medical Group who’s now a lecturer at the Stanford Graduate School of Business.

There are also questions about how the expansion will benefit current KP customers. The tax-exempt, nonprofit organization has 39 hospitals, 24,000 physicians, and 12.7 million health plan members in eight states and Washington, D.C., though about three-quarters of its members are in California, where it controls nearly half of the private insurance market. KP reported $95 billion in revenue last year.

“We’ve asked Kaiser Permanente management questions about the deal’s advantages to employees and customers, but we haven’t heard back,” said Caroline Lucas, the executive director of the Coalition of Kaiser Permanente Unions, several of which are in contentious contract talks with the company. “Where is the money coming from? Are the citizens of California and other states subsidizing this expansion? How are they benefiting?”

Kaiser Permanente CEO Greg Adams declined to comment. A KP spokesperson, Steve Shivinsky, said the group’s physicians would be involved in developing a “platform” to offer other health systems its value-based care expertise, including in design of care models, pharmacy practices, consumer digital engagement, development of health insurance products, and best practices for supply chains. Shivinsky said work on the platform was just beginning.

“Risant Health’s success will firmly establish value-based care as a better model for health care in this country,” said Shivinsky, KP’s director of national media relations.

“If there is a commitment to truly delivering higher-quality and lower-cost care, it will take time and hard work,” said John Toussaint, chair of Catalysis, a nonprofit that trains executives in health care and other industries in quality improvement. “But frankly I’m skeptical that’s the reason for these types of mergers. Bigger may be better for increasing prices, but not necessarily for improving care.”

The deal may be a sign that KP, founded in 1945, is hearing the alluring call of lucrative fee-for-service medicine. “This gets Kaiser into the much bigger part of the market — commercial insurance — and expands beyond their traditional model of owning all the pieces and selling their own insurance,” said Glenn Melnick, a health economics professor at the University of Southern California.

The Geisinger acquisition is being reviewed by the Pennsylvania Insurance Department, with a 30-day public comment period ending Aug. 7, 2023. The Federal Trade Commission and the California attorney general’s office declined to say whether they were reviewing the deal. KP expects the deal to close sometime in 2024. There was no purchase price, but KP said Risant would make a minimum of $2 billion available to Geisinger through 2028, including income that Geisinger generates itself.

Federal and state antitrust regulators have expressed growing concern about consolidation of hospitals and physician groups into ever-larger organizations with the power to drive up prices. But antitrust experts say it’s unlikely regulators will challenge the deal since KP does not currently have a presence in Pennsylvania, Delaware, or Maine, where Geisinger operates.

Indeed, the deal could boost competition if KP’s investment enables Geisinger to expand beyond central and eastern Pennsylvania and take on the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center and Highmark, the state’s two dominant integrated health systems.

Around the country, Risant could be appealing to businesses that offer health plans to their employees. “If Kaiser can become an effective player in more markets through Risant and that leads to greater price competition, that will be very attractive to large employers,” said Bill Kramer, senior adviser for health policy at the Purchaser Business Group on Health, which represents large employer health plans.

Smaller health systems and physician groups that are struggling financially may also see joining Risant as a more palatable option than being acquired by more profit-hungry entities, such as private equity firms, Melnick noted.

Through tight coordination between its physicians, hospitals, and health plans, KP has a strong track record of producing good health outcomes, particularly for plan members with chronic conditions such as high blood pressure and diabetes. KP hospitals and doctors are paid a monthly per-member fee for all care — called capitated payment. That gives KP a powerful financial incentive to keep members healthy and prevent costly hospital admissions and emergency room visits.

In contrast, Geisinger and most other health systems across the country generally are paid for each separate procedure — known as fee-for-service payment — giving them less incentive to keep patients healthy and reduce overall costs. Because of that, it’s not clear how KP’s value-based care model will work at Geisinger and other health systems acquired through Risant.

Adams has said Risant won’t try to fully replicate Kaiser Permanente’s model. Instead, Risant will help other health systems achieve the same kind of outcomes and cost savings while working with multiple insurers and providers.

KP also could potentially learn lessons from Geisinger and other health systems about producing better health outcomes at lower cost for members. Geisinger has won acclaim for its ProvenCare model, in which it accepts a fixed fee for providing an entire episode of care, such as heart bypass surgery, with no extra charge if the outcome isn’t satisfactory and the patient needs additional care.

But Kramer, a former KP executive, is skeptical. “It’s hard if not impossible to transform a medical group that’s reliant on fee-for-service payment into something like the Kaiser Permanente Medical Group,” he said.

Critics of the deal, citing KP’s failed expansion moves in the 1980s and 1990s, also worry that building Risant Health could distract KP executives from cost-control and quality improvement efforts in their home state and draw down the organization’s financial reserves, potentially leading to premium hikes.

In 1999, for example, KP sold a money-losing medical group it had established in North Carolina in the mid-’80s. It faced opposition from the local medical community and challenges with employer health plans, among other factors. Kramer also pointed to its withdrawal from other markets including Connecticut, Missouri, Ohio, and Texas.

Still, KP did succeed in establishing a significant presence in the mid-Atlantic states, Washington, D.C., and Georgia, though it doesn’t own hospitals in those markets. It also has long-standing operations in Hawaii, Colorado, and Oregon.

With Risant, KP will be up against very large, sophisticated managed care competitors including UnitedHealth’s Optum, which employs about 70,000 physicians across the country.

“Hopefully Kaiser’s senior leadership will be smarter this time around and avoid the kinds of problems they had when they expanded in the past,” Kramer said.

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

Every weekday at 5280 High School in Denver starts the same way.

Students in recovery from drug and alcohol addiction gather on the steps of the school’s indoor auditorium to discuss a topic chosen by staff members. One recent morning, they talked about mental health and sobriety. A teenage boy dressed in tan corduroys, a black hoodie, and sneakers went first.

“I didn’t want to have, like, any emotion,” he said. “So I thought, like, the best way to, like, put it down would be to do more and more and more drugs.”

A classmate said she started doing drugs for fun and then got hooked. Another student said his addiction negatively impacts his mental health. A third announced an upcoming milestone.

“In, like, two days, I’ll be six months sober,” she said, as her classmates cheered.

The students attend Colorado’s only recovery high school — one of 43 nationwide. These secondary schools are designed for students who are recovering from substance use disorder and might also be dealing with related mental health disorders. The Denver school opened in 2018 as a public charter school that today enrolls more than 100 students annually.

One of those cheering classmates was sophomore Alexis Castillo, 16, who listened supportively during that recent morning meeting. She is in recovery for alcohol and fentanyl addictions. Several of her friends attended the school when she enrolled during her freshman year and initially loved it. But after a while some of Castillo’s friends left and she grew disillusioned. She stopped going to class and wasn’t motivated to work her recovery steps.

“They give you a lot of accountability,” she said. “That was not something I wanted.”

Castillo relapsed and school staffers helped her get into rehab. Three months later she was back at the school, sober and ready to do the work.

The school’s mission is to help kids learn to live a substance-free life while receiving an education.

“They can go on to college or a career and really handle anything that life throws at them,” said 5280’s founder and executive director, Dr. Melissa Mouton.

In 2022, nearly a third of 12th graders and 1 in 5 10th graders reported using an illicit drug in the previous year, according to a national survey from the Monitoring the Future project conducted by the University of Michigan Survey Research Center. Those numbers have steadily decreased over the past 25 years. However, data from UCLA shows overdose deaths among teens doubled in the first year of the pandemic, mainly attributed to the increased prevalence of fentanyl-laced drugs.

The first recovery high school opened in Silver Spring, Maryland, in 1979 and similar programs now operate in 21 states. Compared with their peers at regular schools who have gone through treatment, recovery high school students have better attendance and are more likely to stay sober, and their graduation rate is at least 21% higher, according to one study.

“For this particular group of young people who have these disorders, this can be a lifesaver,” said John Kelly, director of the Recovery Research Institute at Massachusetts General Hospital. “It can help them create a social norm of recovery.”

There are three components to effective drug and alcohol treatment, according to Dr. Sharon Levy, a pediatrician and addiction medicine specialist at Boston Children’s Hospital. The first part is medical, which includes seeing a doctor, drug testing, and using medications like buprenorphine to treat opioid addiction. The second is emotional support from counseling to address co-occurring mental health disorders. And there is a behavioral health component that, for kids, can include recovery schools.

“Recovery schools offer an opportunity really for peer support and mutual aid in a kind of a supervised and structured way,” Levy said.

Recovery high schools often weave components of treatment into the school day — activities like 5280’s daily recovery program meeting. In the afternoon, the school offers wellness electives such as basketball and journaling.

Recovery schools do face challenges. Most are publicly funded charter or alternative schools that carry a higher cost of educating students than traditional schools do. This is due to a smaller enrollment, the need for mental health and recovery personnel, higher faculty-to-student ratios, and other factors.

The Denver school enrolls about 100 students annually, making it one of the biggest recovery high schools in the nation. This year, the per-pupil cost is about $25,000 per student but the school receives only about $15,000 from federal, state, and local funding, according to Mouton. The remaining money comes from donors.

Given the complex needs of the students, “recovery schools will always be small,” she said.

Pooling such students together may also raise a concern that students will trigger one another to use drugs and alcohol and relapse, but, Levy said, that’s a risk with any social interaction.

“So, if you’re in an environment where the recovery is kind of front and center and people are watching and monitoring and supervising,” she said, “I think that’s helpful for a lot of kids.”

The school in Denver purposely keeps enrollment under capacity so additional teens can enroll anytime during the school year. A student won’t get kicked out if they relapse, but there are two requirements: They must want to be sober and attend an outside recovery program.

“The No. 1 step is just letting them know out of the gate, no matter what’s going on, that we love them,” said Brittany Kitchens, the school’s recovery coach. “We are here for them.”

Kitchens teaches students how to navigate recovery and regulate their emotions. She likens herself to a hall monitor, constantly checking in with students and looking for changes in behavior.

“I tend to be the first kind of line that the kids will come to when they’re experiencing something that is just a little bit too big for them to process,” she said.

Some of these difficulties stem from traumas students have experienced, including sex and drug trafficking, and abandonment. Students also deal with traumas they have caused, Kitchens said, actions that landed them in jail or on probation. Kitchens, who is in recovery herself, shares coping mechanisms with the students.

“A lot of times it just starts with, ‘Hey, take a breath, breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth,’” she said.

Alexis has been sober for nearly a year, she said. The morning meetings where she and her classmates talk about mental health, sobriety, and other topics are an opportunity to build a community of friends who support one another, something she said she didn’t have when she was using drugs.

“It’s really hard to get sober young,” she said.

This story is part of a partnership that includes KUNC, NPR and Kaiser Health News.

Kaiser Health News is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at the Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

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They upheld a state law that allows for $10,000 bounties to be placed on anyone who helps a woman get an abortion; ruled that someone opposed to abortion based on religious beliefs can block a federal program from providing birth control to teens; and determined that emergency room doctors must equally weigh the life of a pregnant woman and her embryo or fetus.

Now abortion rights advocates — galvanized by the reversal of Roe v. Wade — are girding for another decision from a Texas courtroom that could force the FDA to remove a widely used abortion pill from pharmacies and physicians’ offices nationwide.

The wide-ranging lawsuit, brought by a conservative Christian legal group, argues that the FDA’s approval process more than two decades ago was flawed when it authorized the use of mifepristone, which stops the development of a pregnancy and is part of a two-drug regimen used in medication abortions.

“The FDA has one job, which is just to protect Americans from dangerous drugs,” said Denise Harle, senior counsel with the Alliance Defending Freedom, part of a conservative coalition that brought the suit in federal district court in Amarillo, Texas. “And we’re asking the court to remove that chemical drug regimen until and unless the FDA actually goes through the proper testing that it’s required to do.”

A decision in the case was expected as soon as Friday. If successful, the lawsuit would force federal officials to rescind mifepristone’s approval, and manufacturers would be unable to ship the drug anywhere in the United States, including to states like California, Massachusetts, Illinois, and New York where abortion remains legal.

Abortion rights supporters and medical groups have pushed back on the lawsuit’s claims. Twelve leading medical organizations, including the American Medical Association and the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists, say medication abortion is effective and safe.

Indeed, decades of research show the risk of major complications from taking abortion pills is less than 0.4% — safer than such commonly used drugs as Tylenol or Viagra.

“We’ve got 23 years of data domestically that shows how safe medication abortion is, and it’s been used internationally for decades,” said Amy Hagstrom Miller, chief executive of Whole Woman’s Health, a medical organization with clinics in several states. “It’s much safer than somebody being forced to carry a pregnancy against their will.”

About 5 million women in the United States, federal data shows — and millions more across the world — have safely used abortion pills. They can be taken up to 10 weeks into a pregnancy and are also used by OB-GYNs to manage early miscarriages. All told, more than half of all abortions in the U.S. are a result of medication rather than a medical procedure, according Guttmacher Institute research.

Medication abortion involves taking two pills: mifepristone, which blocks the pregnancy hormone, progesterone; and misoprostol, which induces a miscarriage. Both drugs have long and safe track records: Misoprostol was approved in 1988 to treat gastric ulcers, with mifepristone earning approval in 2000 to end early pregnancy.

By filing its lawsuit in Amarillo, the Alliance Defending Freedom was almost guaranteed to draw U.S. District Judge Matthew Kacsmaryk, a President Donald Trump appointee who worked as deputy general counsel at First Liberty Institute, a conservative nonprofit advocating for religious liberty, before being confirmed to the federal judiciary in 2019.

Civil rights groups universally opposed Kacsmaryk’s nomination to the Northern District of Texas. U.S. Sen. Susan Collins, a Republican from Maine, said during the confirmation process that Kacsmaryk showed “alarming bias against LGBTQ Americans and disregard for Supreme Court precedents.”

“He’s made statements in opposition to reproductive rights, linking up reproduction to the feminist movement and making anti-feminist statements,” said Elizabeth Sepper, a law professor at the University of Texas-Austin, adding that the Supreme Court’s decision last summer in Dobbs v. Jackson Women’s Health Organization, which overturned Roe, allowed the suit against the FDA to proceed. “Prior to Dobbs, the right to abortion would have stood in the way of this lawsuit. But now the conservative legal movement feels empowered.”

The lawsuit is the latest effort by opponents of abortion rights to stymie the use of abortion pills, which many people seeking abortion prefer because it allows them to control their own health care and affords privacy for a process that involves cramping and bleeding, similar to a miscarriage.

“When you have medication abortion, part of the process happens at home. And a lot of people like that,” said Hagstrom Miller, of Whole Woman’s Health. “People can be at home with their loved ones and can sort of schedule the passing of the pregnancy around their work schedule or their child care schedule.”

Harle, however, said that the FDA used a provision to approve the drug that should be used only for medications that treat illness, and that pregnancy is not an illness, but a condition.

“They didn’t meet the standards of federal law,” she said.

Mifepristone’s approval was investigated in 2008 — during the Republican administration of George W. Bush — by the Government Accountability Office, a congressional watchdog, which found that the process was consistent with FDA regulations.

“It’s hard to think of a drug that’s been under more scrutiny than mifepristone,” said I. Glenn Cohen, a Harvard Law School professor and one of 19 FDA scholars who filed an amicus brief opposing the lawsuit. “We don’t think there’s a problem here statutorily or medically. It’d be very dangerous to allow a single judge sitting in Amarillo to essentially order a drug that’s used by many women in America off the market.”

But Harle said that no amount of scientific data would be enough to convince her that mifepristone should be on the market.

“I think chemical abortion does great harms to women and their unborn children,” she said. “And that’s what this lawsuit is really about.”

Abortion care providers like Hagstrom Miller are bracing for the ruling. “I think people know that what happens in Texas doesn’t stay in Texas,” she said. “Some of the most progressive states in the country will face restrictions if this lawsuit is successful.”

If that’s the case, her clinics and OB-GYNs across the country will be forced to use only misoprostol for miscarriage and early abortion care, something that will reduce the efficacy of the method: While taking the two pills together is 99.6% effective in terminating early pregnancy, misoprostol alone — although still extremely safe — is about 80% effective.

Hagstrom Miller also notes that side effects from misoprostol can be more intense, including nausea, diarrhea, and severe cramping and bleeding.

“And that matters, right?” she said. “People should have access to the highest level of medical care.”

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

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GRAND JUNCTION — During her 12-hour overnight shift, Brianna Shelton helps residents at BeeHive Homes Assisted Living go to the bathroom. Many of them have dementia, and some can’t get out of bed on their own. Only a few can remember her name, but that doesn’t matter to her.

“They’re somebody’s mom, somebody’s grandma, somebody’s great-grandmother,” Shelton said. “I want to take care of them like I would take care of my family.”

Shelton trained to be a personal care aide through an apprenticeship program designed to meet the increasing need for health care workers in rural western Colorado. Here, far from Denver’s bustling urban corridor, worker shortages mount as baby boomers retire, young people move away from these older communities, and demand for health care in homes and facilities rises.

Rural areas often have larger shares of residents who are 65 or older than urban areas do. And the most rural regions have relatively fewer direct care workers, like personal care aides, to help people with disabilities than less-rural regions do, according to a recent study in the journal Health Affairs.

Besides increasing the number of direct care workers, the Colorado apprenticeship program offers opportunities for improving earning power to residents who live at or below the poverty line, who lost their jobs during the COVID-19 pandemic, or who are unemployed or underemployed. They train to become personal care aides, who help patients with daily tasks such as bathing or housekeeping, or certified nursing assistants, who can provide some direct health care, like checking blood pressure.

Apprentices take training classes at Western Colorado Area Health Education Center in Grand Junction, and the center pays for students who live in more rural areas to attend classes at Technical College of the Rockies in Delta County. The apprentices receive on-the-job training with one of 58 local employers — an assisted living facility, for example — and they are required to work there for one year. Each apprentice has an employer mentor. Staff members at Western Colorado AHEC also provide mentorship, plus the center has a life coach on hand.

“We really just want students to get into health care, get jobs, and retain those jobs,” said Georgia Hoaglund, executive director of Western Colorado AHEC, which has 210 active apprentices and was bolstered by a $2 million grant from the U.S. Labor Department in 2021.

Some apprentices are recent high school graduates. Others are single mothers or veterans. They often have educational or economic barriers to employment. Hoaglund and her staff of 10 buy the apprentices scrubs so they can start new jobs with the right uniforms; otherwise, they might not be able to afford them. Staff members pay for apprentices’ gas if they can’t afford to fill up their tanks to drive to work. They talk to apprentices on the phone monthly, sometimes weekly.

Even though the apprenticeship program gives these workers a solid start, the jobs can be stressful, and burnout and low pay are the norm. Career advancement is another obstacle, said Hoaglund, because of the logistics or cost of higher education. Hoaglund, who calls her staff family and some of the apprentices her kids, dreams of offering more advanced training — in nursing, for example — with scholarship money.

Apprenticeships are perhaps better known as a workforce training tool among electricians, plumbers, carpenters, and other tradespeople. But they are also viewed as a way of building a needed pipeline of direct care health workers, said Robyn Stone, senior vice president for research at LeadingAge, an association of nonprofit providers of aging services.

“Traditionally, health care employers have hired people after they finish a training program,” said Susan Chapman, a registered nurse and a professor in the school of nursing at the University of California-San Francisco. “Now, we’re asking the employer to take part in that training and pay the person while they’re training.”

The pandemic exacerbated shortages of direct care workers, which could encourage employers to invest in apprenticeships programs, both Chapman and Stone said. Federal investment could help, too, and a Biden administration initiative to improve the quality of nursing homes includes $35 million in grants to address workforce shortages in rural areas.

Shelton had never worked in health care before moving to Fruita, a small town that is about 12 miles northwest of Grand Junction and is surrounded by red sandstone towers. She left Fresno, California, a year ago to take care of an uncle who has multiple sclerosis. She and her 16-year-old daughter live in a trailer home on her uncle’s property, where Blackie, her rescue Labrador retriever, roams with the chickens and cats.

Blackie also sometimes accompanies Shelton to BeeHive to visit with the residents. Shelton said that it is more than a job to her and that she is grateful to the apprenticeship program for helping her get there. “It opened a door for me,” Shelton said.

Shelton works three 12-hour shifts a week, in addition to taking care of her uncle and daughter. Yet, she said, she struggles to have enough money for gas, bills, and food and has taken out small loans to make ends meet.

She is not alone. Personal care aides are often underpaid and undervalued, said Chapman, who has found significantly higher poverty rates among these workers than among the general population.

Direct care workers nationwide, on average, make $13.56 an hour, according to a study by nonprofit policy group PHI, and these low wages make recruiting and retaining workers difficult, leading to further shortages and instability.

In an effort to keep workers in the state, Colorado raised the minimum wage for personal care aides and certified nursing assistants to $15 an hour this year with money from the American Rescue Plan Act. And the Colorado Department of Health Care Policy and Financing’s 2023-24 budget request includes a bump to $15.75. Similar efforts to raise wages are underway in 18 other states, including New York, Florida, and Texas, according to a recent paper from the National Governors Association.

Another way to keep apprentices in jobs, and encourage career and salary growth, is to provide opportunities for specialized training in dementia care, medication management, or behavioral health. “What apprenticeships offer are career mobility and advancement,” Stone said.

To practice in Colorado, new certified nursing assistants complete in-class training, do clinical rotations, and pass a certification exam made up of a written test and a skills test. Hoaglund said the testing requirements can be stressful for students. Shelton, 43, has passed the written exam but must retake the skills test to become licensed as a certified nursing assistant.

Hoaglund’s program started in 2019, but it really took off with the 2021 federal grant. Since then, 16 people have completed the program and have received pay increases or promotions. Twice as many people have left without finishing. The largest hospital in Grand Junction, Intermountain Healthcare-St. Mary’s Medical Center, recruits workers from the program.

Hoaglund said each person who enters the health care field is a win.

Brandon Henry, 23, was a student at Colorado Mesa University in Grand Junction and working at PetSmart before he joined the apprenticeship program in 2019. After enrolling, he trained and worked as a certified nursing assistant through the worst of the pandemic. As an apprentice, he said, he learned the importance of having grace while caring for patients.

He went back for more training at Western Colorado AHEC to earn a license that allows him to dispense medicine in accredited facilities, such as assisted living centers. He now works at Intermountain Healthcare-St. Mary’s Medical Center, where he took training classes in wound care and physical therapy hosted at the hospital. This winter, he’ll graduate from Colorado Mesa with a Bachelor of Science in nursing.

“At the hospital, I’ve found more opportunities for pay raises and job growth,” Henry said.

Kaiser Health News is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at the Kaiser Family Foundation. KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

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