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 ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ 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 ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ 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 ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ and is republished here under a .

“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 ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ, 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 ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ.)

“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 ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ and is republished here under a .

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

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³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ will update this database as more states respond to emails and public records requests for their documents.

Note: Data collected as of Aug. 18, 2026. ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ reporters searched state websites, requested documents, and filed public records requests. ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ continues to collect documents.

Sources: Documents publicly posted online or released in response to ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ requests; <a href=”; target=_”blank”>Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services</a>

This article first appeared on ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ and is republished here under a .

Her team tends to “cringe” anytime they hear about patients having to fill out lots of paperwork, like when applying for Social Security Disability payments, because it can be a difficult, burdensome process.

Thornton tries to support her patients, she said, but understands the limits of her training.

“A lot of times the forms are so complex that I don’t really know what’s the true definition of what this form is asking me,” she said. “We refer them to a disability provider.”

Doctors including Thornton worry they’ll see more of those kinds of requests because of coming changes to Medicaid, the government health insurance program for people with low incomes or disabilities. Starting Jan. 1 in most of the country, some enrollees — mainly adults without dependents — must prove they’re working or performing other qualifying activities 80 hours a month.

issued in June say people can obtain an exemption if they’re “medically frail,” or too sick or disabled to work, which may require them to submit documentation from a medical professional. That standard prompted a lawsuit at the end of June from dozens of mostly Democratic-led states and has Thornton worried it could force her and her staff to assess things like how much a patient can lift or how far they can walk.

“If I’m asked, ‘Is this person medically frail?’ What does that even mean?” Thornton said. “I don’t know, and I’ve been doing this for 25 years.”

Last year’s GOP tax-and-spending law known as the One Big Beautiful Bill Act established the work rule, which will affect an estimated when more states start enforcing it. The mandate is expected to cause a larger increase in the number of people without health insurance than any other part of the law, a health information nonprofit that includes ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ.

Doctors say they aren’t trained to accurately assess whether someone’s health keeps them from working. Many don’t have time to handle another administrative task that takes them away from patient care. And being involved in whether someone gains access to a public benefit undermines the doctor-patient relationship, several doctor groups and physicians said.

“When you introduce unnecessary, non-evidence-based, confusing, and bureaucratic policies like this into clinical care, it just raises the level of moral distress for providers,” said Christopher Chen, a senior healthcare adviser at the consulting firm Manatt.

The Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services declined to respond on the record about doctors’ concerns. But the agency confirmed that enrollees may need to get documentation from a clinician to prove they’re too sick to work and said states would make final determinations.

The Trump administration has previously said states should use available data sources — such as medical claims and payment data — before making patients submit proof of medical frailty from a provider.

“Documentation should be relatively easy to provide,” Mehmet Oz, the CMS administrator, said during a June 1 press call.

But deciding whether a patient is too sick to work is a subjective, high-stakes decision, said Chen, who also practices as a hospitalist at Valley Medical Center in Renton, Washington.

“We’re trained to take care of people,” he said. “We’re trained to learn about someone’s symptoms, make diagnoses, treat them. We’re not trained to make these kinds of work determinations.”

When they apply and every six months after, Medicaid enrollees subject to the rule will have to prove that they’re performing the minimum monthly hours of qualifying activities — or will likely have to prove as frequently that they qualify for an exemption.

If states can’t find sufficient evidence that someone is too sick to work, that person will be able to self-attest to it under penalty of perjury — but only for a short time. States may take someone’s word that they’re medically frail twice in 2027 and only once in 2028.

Last month, 25 mostly Democratic-led states over the final regulations, arguing the medical frailty standard would be too hard for enrollees to meet — and for states to assess.

The standard, they argue, requires state Medicaid agencies to “take on the role of occupational medicine experts” or adds that burden to physicians who are not necessarily trained in occupational medicine.

CMS declined to comment on the litigation.

The Trump administration has crusaded against fraud in government health programs including Medicaid. It recently — including medical professionals — over more than $6.5 billion in alleged fraud schemes.

CMS has said it will keep a close watch on how states administer the work requirements and may take corrective action if states step out of line.

That has doctors concerned about the potential repercussions if they incorrectly assess whether someone is too sick to work, as farfetched as those worries might be, said Rahul Vanjani, a primary care and addiction medicine physician and researcher at Brown University.

“We, using our imaginations, wonder if someone is auditing these forms in the background and if they’re going to reach out to the licensing board.”

The country is short of primary care providers, and it could be hard for people seeking an exemption to find a clinician to help them document that they’re too sick to work, doctors said.

It will be even more challenging for someone without insurance, said Jennifer Wagner, who researches Medicaid eligibility at the left-leaning Center on Budget and Policy Priorities.

“How could an applicant who doesn’t have health coverage get a doctor’s note?” she asked.

The American Medical Association, the nation’s largest professional association of doctors and medical students, lobbied federal officials to change the standard for documenting medical frailty in the days before the final regulations were made public.

In May, the AMA sent to Oz, the CMS administrator, arguing that forcing doctors to attest to their patients’ ability to work wouldn’t just be an administrative headache but would affect the way they interact with those in their care.

In a statement, the association’s president, Willie Underwood III, said the work rule “transforms the clinical encounter into an eligibility gatekeeping process.”

“Patients will likely sense that shift,” he said. “And if they begin to suspect that what they share with their physician could affect their coverage, the conditions for open and honest communication will start to break down.”

Doctors have a fixed amount of time to spend with patients and would rather focus on treating medical conditions than filling out forms, especially ones that put them in a position to “represent the state,” said John Ayanian, an internal medicine physician and researcher at the University of Michigan.

“Their first obligation is to serve the best interest of their patients,” Ayanian said.

Lauren Davis, an attorney with Community Legal Services of Philadelphia, helps clients navigate other public benefit programs, such as the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, which has a similar work rule. Enrollees can get an exemption from it if they’re too sick to work.

She recalled a client with a cognitive condition that affected her memory. The client’s doctor wasn’t comfortable filling out an exemption form without seeing her in person, but she kept forgetting to make an appointment and eventually gave up, said Davis, who worries Medicaid enrollees could face similar barriers to getting exemptions.

“This person is eligible,” Davis said. “The reason that they’re not able to get what they need to show that they’re eligible is because of their medical condition.”

This article first appeared on ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ and is republished here under a .

Her earliest memory is of standing on the passenger seat of her dad’s car as a toddler, wearing a peach-colored blouse, while he drove from their Kentucky home to Florida to pick up drugs. On a stop for a burger, she met Ronald McDonald.

“I grew up with the impression that that’s how you paid your bills,” Madden said. “That’s how your kids got things.”

By 16, she was addicted to pain pills. By 30, methamphetamine. She lost custody of two children and gave up two more for adoption at birth. She served time in the county jail and state prison.

Pregnant again at 40, Madden resolved to stop using. It was then that she learned of The Hub in Whitesburg, a town of 1,575 residents, her hometown.

Over the past two years, the state of Kentucky has sent hundreds of thousands of opioid settlement dollars to the rural eastern region of the state to help minimize the ramifications of drug misuse. The Hub, a program that oversees a network of community centers offering a range of services from recovery peer support to canned food to sterile syringes, is part of that effort.

In April, Kentucky Attorney General Russell Coleman announced $320,000 would be awarded to the Kentucky River District Health Department’s . There are now Hubs in four rural eastern Kentucky counties — Knott, Lee, Letcher, and Owsley, all of which are among the nation’s — addressing substance use disorders, housing, hunger, employment, and other challenges. The program also operates The Hub on Wheels, which provides services throughout the district.

In 2025, The Hub received $545,000 from the same source, facilitating expansion from two to five counties. (The fifth Hub will be in Perry County.) The new $320,000 is a two-year grant to develop a program to help women who’ve been incarcerated reintegrate into society.

Both grants are from Kentucky’s approximately $1 billion share of the $57.8 billion for state and local governments from the to resolve litigation for their role in fueling the opioid overdose crisis.

Madden believes investment in harm reduction services is money well spent. She’s witnessed them work in her own life. She’s found solid footing for recovery at The Hub.

But the Trump administration is cutting federal funding for such efforts, disputing their benefits. A told programs across the country that they could no longer expect federal funding. The order stipulated that discretionary grants issued by the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration should not be spent on “so-called ‘harm reduction’” efforts, claiming they “only facilitate illegal drug use and its attendant harm.”

Advocates for these services in this rural region, which cast its ballots for President Donald Trump in all three elections, beg to differ.

Meeting Folks Where They Live

Whitesburg — home to a lively cultural scene, including — is a town residents are fiercely proud to call home. The Hub is housed in a storefront on Main Street, neighboring City Hall, Hazard Coffee Company, Cut-Away Barber & Beauty Shop, and the fire station. Like the other Hubs, it provides a range of services targeted to the needs of the community.

The inaugural Hub, launched in 2022 in Beattyville, the Lee County seat, two hours northwest of Whitesburg, offers breakfast and lunch, a food pantry, a clothing closet, a laundry room, and a computer lab. Also: , a medication that can quickly reverse an opioid overdose; drug test strips; hepatitis C treatment; sterile syringes; and wound care.

The program’s motto is “Meeting you where you are but not leaving you there!” It’s founded on the principles of . Harm reduction services are designed to minimize the effects of drug use, keep people safe, and treat them with respect, until they might be ready to enter recovery. The support includes housing, food, healthcare, and overdose prevention tools.

JoAnn Fraley is Kentucky River’s harm reduction program coordinator and its Hub initiative director. “In order for anybody to sustain recovery, they have to have financial stability, they have to have transportation, and they have to have a home,” she said. “We try to fill those gaps.”

While critics suggest that exchanging clean syringes for used ones abets drug use, research published in the Journal of Substance Use and Addiction Treatment indicates that people who participate in syringe services programs are more likely than those who don’t to or stop using drugs altogether, and that they are more likely to enter and remain in treatment. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, syringe services programs also by about half.

In 2025, Kentucky River’s Hub model was named one of 19 award winners by the National Association of County and City Health Officials.

“What jazzes me about it is it’s a community approach to harm reduction,” said Lauren Carr, who advises the Kentucky Association of Counties on how best to utilize opioid settlement funds. “Whether that’s feeding a hungry stomach, or putting clothes on somebody’s back, or giving them clean [syringes], you’re meeting that person’s needs.”

“It can be that lifeline,” Carr said.

Paying Back for Good

Becky Todd, who leads the Beattyville Hub’s team, is a community health worker and peer support specialist. In April 2024, she was released from jail, having served multiple sentences on drug-related charges. She walked 3 miles from jail to The Hub with nowhere else to go. She’s working toward her bachelor’s degree in social work at Eastern Kentucky University.

“I could not have done it without this place,” Todd said. “It’s my saving grace.”

Amber McDaniel recalls the first time she entered The Hub, after more than a decade of addiction, having lost her home, her kids, and her family’s support. “I didn’t know where to turn, didn’t know what to do,” she said. “I mean, I was about to lose my mind.” She’s now a Hub staff member .

Hannah Stamper was placed in foster care and began using meth at 14. She was drawn to dealing drugs because “I loved for people to need me.” She’s now on staff as a member of , a program that trains AmeriCorps members to work in the recovery field. “People today need me in a good way, and I love that.”

Fraley has witnessed a transition in Lee County. A half-dozen years ago, conversations in public meetings about addiction and homelessness were strained “because nobody wanted to talk about it or acknowledge it.”

The community sees The Hub’s impact, she said, “and now they’re, like, ‘Whoa. We love you.’”

Scott Lockard, the district’s public health director, said a combination of data and anecdotal observations substantiates the initiative’s success, including an increase in the number of people entering treatment and a decline in reported communicable diseases.

“I’ve been in public health for 36 years, and it’s one of the most effective interventions I’ve seen,” Lockard said.

The Kentucky River team worked to educate the community about the potential outcomes of the Hub model, and Fraley said there was little resistance, just concern that the money be well spent. She said the planning has always included people who have lived with addiction.

“Their voice needs to be at every table,” she said.

Lockard agrees. To ensure the community is investing this money wisely, he said, “we’ll talk to those people who are experiencing the problem, find out what they think would help them best, and then look for those evidence-based interventions.”

Jannie Gatlin and Mandy Parker, who both are in recovery, attended a recent crafting class at the Whitesburg Hub. Gatlin, who started taking fentanyl in Colorado after her first son died at 2 months old of a digestive disorder, comes almost every day with her toddler, Hunter.

Parker was prescribed opioids for pain from a kidney disorder. When those pills became less available, she turned to street drugs. “That’s just the nature of the beast,” she said.

She believes The Hub is helping break the stigma of substance use disorder in her community. When people see “real change happening,” she said, there’s a ripple effect. “It makes a difference.”

She appreciates that The Hub is here on Main Street — right, she firmly believes, where it should be.

This article first appeared on ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ and is republished here under a .

If you or someone you know may be experiencing a mental health crisis, contact the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline by dialing or texting “988.”

Nearly every Tuesday for a decade, Steve Siple attended a bar trivia night with friends in Birmingham, Alabama. After moving to North Carolina, he developed a new ritual — on Saturdays to pick up trash along the city’s light rail.

These are more than fun outings to Siple. They help keep him alive.

Siple has battled suicidal thoughts in the past. He lost his father to suicide, and one of his sons has struggled with thoughts of hurting himself.

That’s made Siple vigilant about protecting himself and his family. In addition to seeing a counselor regularly and speaking openly about mental health, he prioritizes social connection.

“Loneliness was, over my lifetime, one of the greatest risk factors” for suicide, said Siple, a for the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.

To some, this concept may seem obvious. Yet in the overall approach to suicide prevention, it’s often overlooked. Treatment of a serious mental illness that can lead to suicide, such as major depressive disorder, often centers on medication and talk therapy with little or no consideration of factors such as social isolation or financial duress. Now, there’s a growing movement to address loneliness not just through personal choices but also through public policy.

The research is clear: Among the various complex issues that contribute to suicide, is a . It’s a for older adults, who have and for youths, for whom .

Suicide Rates Are Highest Among People 75 and Older

Deaths per 100,000 people in 2024, the year of the most recent available data.

Note: Suicide deaths were identified using ICD-10 113 Cause List, Intentional self-harm (U03, X60-X84, Y87.0). It is possible that some suicides may be classified under other categories. <br> Source: <a href="; style="color:#0071ce">CDC WONDER</a> <br> Credit: Aneri Pattani/³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ

Humans are social animals. When we feel cut off from one another, our , our , and ultimately we’re (by suicide or ). An concluded that being socially disconnected is as harmful to one’s health as smoking up to 15 cigarettes a day.

And it’s getting worse.

Mental health researchers and clinicians say a variety of factors are in America, including the , such as smartphones and ; increased ; the since the covid pandemic; and .

With suicide rates remaining stubbornly high — often ranking among the in America — some advocates and people who have lost loved ones to suicide say increasing pathways to social connection could be a new frontier.

In this ongoing series, ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ is examining new approaches to suicide prevention that shift the focus from stopping harm in moments of crisis to efforts that give people reasons to live well before they make fateful choices.

“If we want to reduce suicide rates in our country, which is absolutely essential, then a key part of that has to be fostering social connection,” said who served as surgeon general under Presidents Barack Obama and Joe Biden. “We have more than enough data to support this as being an important area of focus.”

In 2023, Murthy released the first on loneliness as a public health issue, with more than 300 supporting citations. He’s also on the topic and is touring the country discussing the value of social connection.

“To help someone else feel less alone, to help them feel seen and understood and valued,” he told ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ, “that can be one of the most powerful interventions that we make.”

A Role for Elected Officials

Curing loneliness may seem like the responsibility of families and neighbors, people making one-to-one connections. But Murthy says elected officials have work to do, too.

They can use their bully pulpits to turn this into a mainstream issue, he said. They can create microgrants to support grassroots ideas from community entrepreneurs and invest in “social infrastructure,” he added.

That term refers to things in the community that support the development of social connection, from physical spaces, such as libraries and parks, to policies and programs, such as building public transportation and fostering volunteer groups.

“These all matter and impact whether people gather,” Murthy said.

However, investing in public institutions and infrastructure is a costly endeavor that can seem unreasonable when local officials are struggling to balance budgets without increasing tax burdens.

That’s where creativity can kick in.

A health system and a museum in Charlotte have teamed up to for people to attend art classes or live performances together. In Tennessee, the city of Chattanooga is funding community ideas to increase connection and time in nature, where people can speak with volunteer listeners. And across the country, have popped up as places where men can work on projects side by side and discuss their mental health.

Meal Deliveries and Valentines

Marcie O’Neal knew she wouldn’t have much money at her disposal. She was hired in 2024 to lead suicide prevention efforts in the rural of western Kentucky after local leaders saw a rise in suicides among the elderly. Her grant was about $280,000 — less than .

But she knew the nine-county area had other strengths, such as dedicated meal delivery programs and high school clubs.

Drivers who drop off prepared meals to homebound residents “can be the only person that an older adult sees in the week,” O’Neal said.

The state had already been training some of those drivers to recognize warning signs of suicide among older people and alert county agencies to follow up with them. O’Neal thought there could be another component.

She reached out to high school , which focus on fostering leadership skills and volunteerism, across the nine counties and asked them to write cards that could be distributed to older residents along with meals. The response was swift, O’Neal said.

About 1,200 cards were delivered last May. They repeated the gesture in February for Valentine’s Day and again this May.

O’Neal said one of the older residents told her, “I don’t remember the last time I got a Valentine’s card.”

The students also enjoyed feeling as if they made a difference, O’Neal said. She’s helping one school set up an ongoing pen pal program with a nearby retirement community.

Locals affectionately call O’Neal “the suicide lady” — a term she considers “a badge of honor.”

Suicide prevention “doesn’t have to be sweeping huge things,” she said. “It’s a little thing you can do that can kind of snowball into more things.”

‘The Secret Sauce’

Siple, who has prioritized social connection through the trivia nights and volunteer clean-ups, felt most alone when he transitioned from a job at a commercial bank to working at home.

He spent most of his day analyzing Excel sheets, drafting grant proposals, and compiling recommendations for clients. The work felt important, but it was isolating, Siple said.

“If my wife or kids were around during the evening, I was safe,” he said. Holding meetings at coffee shops helped, too.

But when it was just him at his desk, “that’s where I got the darkest lonely feelings,” he said, including thoughts of suicide.

Breaking out of that required seeking new connections.

Siple said church was a great anchor for him and his wife — not just on Sundays but throughout the week at Bible studies and potlucks. They also go to see a variety of live music, including bluegrass and alternative rock.

“Being with folks that are into the same type of music that we’re into for a concert feels like connection,” he said.

Research suggests sports can play a similar role in some instances. At least two studies have found are associated with . The authors posit it’s because people coming together to support their team or to enjoy the event creates a sense of belonging, which is protective.

That concept resonates with , who has worked on suicide prevention efforts at the state and and helps run Sources of Strength, an upstream prevention program. Fostering that sense of belonging has played a central role in each of those initiatives, she said.

“We can’t eliminate hard stuff in our lives,” said Brummett, who lost five friends to suicide, starting in middle school.

“Belonging is really the secret sauce,” she said, “for how we, as humans, can navigate really hard things.”

This article first appeared on ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ and is republished here under a .

LISTEN: After a guilty verdict for negligent homicide, a former nurse has found receptive audiences on the speaking circuit. She says she hopes her story can help shed light on problems in the healthcare industry.

When RaDonda Vaught got her first speaking request, it had been a year since that day in a Nashville courtroom, when she listened as a jury read her guilty verdict for negligent homicide and neglect of an impaired adult.

That was in 2022. Vaught was sentenced to three years of probation for administering the wrong medication and killing a patient at Vanderbilt University Medical Center in 2017.

She also lost her nursing license. So Vaught became a full-time farmer. She and her husband live on a in Bethpage, Tennessee, tucked in the rolling hills north of Nashville. They sell eggs at farmers markets on Saturdays and supply meat to local butchers and restaurants.

The controversial trial had been national news, and now the healthcare industry wanted to hear from her. So Vaught started giving speeches across the country about what happened that day in the hospital. She says her hope is that others in an industry increasingly turning toward automation and artificial intelligence can understand the multiple factors that contributed to the deadly medication mix-up.

She says she’s painfully aware that it could appear she is profiting from a tragedy of her making.

“It wasn’t something that I wanted to happen. It wasn’t even something that was on my radar to think about,” Vaught said of the speaking requests. “The opportunities just kept presenting themselves.”

The speaking engagements provide her with an income that replaces what she made as a nurse, a career she can never return to. Last year, she told her story more than 20 times, and she is paid $5,000 to $10,000 per event.

But her speaking engagements also provoke criticism. After she told her story at length on Nashville Public Radio’s in March, a retired nurse, Gary Wood, fired off an email to the station. Such medical mistakes could never be justified, he wrote: “It put a stain on a proud and dedicated profession.” Yet, Vaught often finds a receptive audience, eager to hear her perspective.

“I’ve seen her a few times now in person, and I’ve never seen RaDonda tell the story and not be upset,” said Charlene Verga, who invited Vaught to be the closing speaker at the ’s clinical nursing conference last year.

“RaDonda speaking the way she is, she literally is transforming her mistake into a teaching moment,” Verga said.

Vaught expected the speaking gigs would be short-lived. But the reviews were good. And she realized she was comfortable in front of a crowd.

“It was emotionally overwhelming and a little cathartic, but I’m going to tell you, you could have heard a pin drop,” Vaught said of her first talk in 2023 to hundreds of industrial professionals at a meeting organized by , a Knoxville, Tennessee-based company that specializes in root cause analysis.

Vaught has turned her story into a cautionary tale that she hopes will make hospitals safer. She says that humans are going to make mistakes and that systems in healthcare need to be designed so people can fail without killing someone.

“This whole mockery of our healthcare system — people feeling afraid to talk about mistakes and come forward when they happen — it doesn’t save people. It kills them,” she said in a presentation to the .

Onstage, Vaught confronts the painful and embarrassing details directly, often choking back tears when talking about the patient who died — Charlene Murphey.

It wasn’t just one mistake that led to the death.

A doctor had ordered a sedative called Versed to settle Murphey’s claustrophobia before an imaging procedure. Vaught typed “VE” into the search function to retrieve Versed from the electronic medicine cabinet. When it did not dispense, she overrode the system.

In Vaught’s trial, fellow nurses testified that during a time when the hospital was upgrading some of its technology, they could use overrides to bypass delays.

When Vaught took that step, one of the drug options available was vecuronium, a powerful paralytic. Vaught overlooked multiple warnings about the danger of vecuronium, including on the bottle’s cap, which said “Warning: Paralyzing Agent,” according to court records.

Vaught administered the vecuronium and also left the patient alone.

While not disputing most of the facts, Vaught pleaded not guilty to all charges, claiming there were other factors, such as a new electronic health record system that was causing widespread problems in the hospital. A lead investigator for the prosecution testified in the criminal case that Vanderbilt also shared some responsibility.

As previously reported by ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ, Vanderbilt did not initially report the error to regulators as required and told the medical examiner that the patient died of natural causes. The medical center fired Vaught and negotiated a settlement with the Murpheys that keeps the family from talking publicly about her death.

Once the case became a criminal matter, though, the details entered the public record. Vaught is not bound by the hospital’s settlement, allowing her to share whatever she feels comfortable sharing with whomever she wants.

Vanderbilt spokesperson Craig Boerner declined to comment about Vaught’s public speaking or what the medical center learned from the incident.

The two largest companies that make drug-dispensing cabinets, Omnicell and BD, have updated their machines with recommendations from the . One update requires the user to type in more than the first two letters of a medication to pull up a list of options.

Many hospitals also tweaked their drug administration protocols, such as by requiring wristband barcode checks anywhere a patient gets medication in a hospital.

Reacting to Vaught’s case, the state legislature in Kentucky that became law in 2024 providing immunity for on-the-job healthcare mistakes. Support wasn’t just bipartisan. It was unanimous.

Nursing consultant went to nursing school with Vaught and has worked directly with her as a nurse. Vaught’s criminal case inspired him to go to law school, he said. He now plans to help other nurses defend themselves in similar cases, even though he sees the need for accountability.

If it had been up to him, he also would have fired Vaught, Garvey said. He also thinks that the Tennessee Board of Nursing should have taken action immediately. Only after the patient’s death escalated to a criminal matter did the board revisit the case and revoke Vaught’s license.

But the defendants’ side of the story is rarely ever told, Garvey said, because they are advised by their lawyers not to talk.

Now that she has a platform, Garvey said, it’s therapeutic for Vaught. Her talks resonate with anxious nurses across the nation, he said, and promote a much-needed discussion about collective responsibility.

“We can’t change what happened. We can only change what we do moving forward,” Garvey said. “Having the individual who can tell you the play-by-play — that was there when it actually happened — is incredibly valuable.”

This article is from a partnership that includes ,Ìý, and ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ.

This article first appeared on ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ and is republished here under a .

The plan was to begin handing out boxes of groceries at 11, but the truck delivering the food blew a tire en route. No one complained.

Perry Hall was among those waiting. His wife, Lilly Hall, volunteers with the distribution team. Perry has been dealing with a form of cancer called multiple myeloma. The Halls get by on around $1,500 a month from his Social Security benefits, plus assistance from the federal , or SNAP. But because of her age, Lilly, 59, recently became subject to new SNAP work requirements and at risk of losing her benefits.

As part of the federal One Big Beautiful Bill Act, all “able-bodied adults” 64 or younger who don’t have dependents and don’t work, volunteer, or participate in job training at least 80 hours a month are now restricted to three months of benefits every three years from SNAP, formerly known as food stamps. Previously, the federal requirement applied to those 54 or younger. The new rule, which went into effect in November, also applies to parents of children 14 or older. And it removed exemptions for veterans, people experiencing homelessness, and young adults who’ve aged out of foster care.

Proponents of work requirements argue that they incentivize people who are “work-ready” to seek and keep jobs, reducing dependence on government assistance and upholding the “.”

Rhonda Rogombé serves as health and safety net policy analyst for the . She and her colleagues have studied the effects of SNAP work rules and found that requiring recipients to work does not lower an area’s unemployment rate.

Previous work requirements were suspended nationwide during the covid pandemic and reinstated in fall 2023. The researchers found that the average number of people employed in Mingo County each month actually went down after the requirement was reimposed.

A 2018 federal research project that examined several data sources, including SNAP data from nine states, found that work requirements “have no impact on labor force participation and the number of hours worked.”

There are a number of possible explanations, Rogombé said, “but when people are hungry, they’re not able to support themselves. When people are hungry, it’s harder to focus at work. It’s harder to engage in work activity, and we think that that’s part of it.”

Jobs are scarce in this southern West Virginia county. Lilly Hall found work at a Delbarton restaurant. But it’s unpaid until a waitress position opens — enough to preserve her benefits, but far from ideal.

On that mild Wednesday in late March, House of Hope provided chicken, eggs, bread, potatoes, fresh fruit and vegetables, and milk.

Among those in line were older residents and “some young people that have lost their way and they can’t get work and they just need help,” said Timothy Treleven, who operates the pantry with his wife, Christine, and Gail Lendearo.

House of Hope’s scheduled distribution day is the last Saturday of each month — supplemented by occasional weekday Facing Hunger visits — as money from monthly checks begins to run out and cupboards go bare.

On a typical Saturday, pantry staff and volunteers hand out up to 400 boxes of food.

“It’s an honor to do this,” Lendearo said. “It’s a blessing.”

Perry Hall’s cancer is now in remission, but for a while his treatment required that he and Lilly travel back and forth, 4½ hours each way, to Morgantown. The couple’s van couldn’t make the trip, so they paid a friend for rides.

Mingo’s population is just under 22,000, down from around 27,000 in 2010. It once flourished, fueled by coal. Williamson, the county seat, was home to an opera house and businesses operated by immigrants from Italy, Russia, and Syria. The region is still referred to as “the coalfields,” but little is mined here these days. .

Rogombé and her colleagues found that Mingo County residents face significant barriers to securing what few jobs are available. These include unreported physical and mental impairments, housing insecurity, and a lack of high school diplomas and identification documents.

Filing the paperwork to receive benefits or to confirm compliance is difficult for many residents. The West Virginia Center on Budget and Policy’s research found that about 1 in 4 lack reliable internet access.

Additional changes lie ahead for the SNAP program. Currently, the federal government and the states share administrative costs equally, but in October states will assume 75% of those costs. And beginning in October 2027, they’ll be required to pay additional costs based on .

Kentucky, like West Virginia, is among the poorer states that will be most affected by the new requirements and costs. The Kentucky Center for Economic Policy estimates that with the expanded work requirements.

Jessica Klein, a researcher with the center, worries about the consequences. “We know SNAP has an impact on health, and not just because it decreases food insecurity,” she said. It worsens blood pressure rates, obesity, medication adherence, and more.

With the additional financial burden placed on states, “I think what we’ll see is some states changing rules that impact participation in order to have a smaller, more affordable program,” Klein said. “My fear is that some states will choose not to operate SNAP at all.”

In Mingo County, folks are stepping up. At least eight food pantries offer groceries to those in need.

Janet Gibson runs the Blessing Barn pantry in the Ben Creek community. “I can go from one end of the creek to the other” and tell you everyone’s name and a little something about them, she said. She takes pride in feeding her people.

Gibson said it can be hard to find even volunteer opportunities in the county, largely because of transportation challenges. A look at a local map can be misleading: A couple of dozen miles into a holler or up a ridge could take an hour or more.

“Whether you’re working full-time or not, you’re still spinning out gas to get to work,” Gibson said, “and gas ain’t cheap now.”

A single mother of three, Trista Shankle of Paducah, Kentucky, isn’t subject to the new SNAP requirements, but she worries about the fragility of the social safety net. She overcame challenges, is earning a master’s degree in social work, and works for an organization that connects community college students with benefits. Her family receives SNAP, Medicaid, housing support, and assistance from the USDA’s . If any one of those is cut, she said, she may have to drop out of school.

Shankle is certain she wouldn’t have advanced to where she is today without the benefits she and her family have received: “They bring a sense of calm and comfort. I know that my kids aren’t going to go hungry.”

The first week in April, Lilly Hall reported for work at Black Bear Trails Restaurant. She’s grateful for the opportunity. And when a waitress slot opens, “I’ll snag that position so quick it’ll make your head flip.”

This article first appeared on ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ and is republished here under a .

But Republican lawmakers in some states think the new rules — part of the GOP’s One Big Beautiful Bill Act, signed last July by President Donald Trump — don’t go far enough.

Indiana is leading that charge, with a new law that requires applicants to prove they’ve been working or participating in a similar activity for three consecutive months to get benefits.

Meanwhile, residents in many other states will have to show they’ve been working just one month, the least cumbersome option under Trump’s signature tax-and-domestic-spending law. It instructs states to decide whether to require one, two, or three months of work history.

As in Indiana, Republican Idaho lawmakers approved a three-month requirement, and the state’s governor signed the bill into law on April 10.

The efforts, along with similar moves in Arizona, Missouri, and Kentucky, are aimed at restricting flexibility to implement the federal law at the state level.

“Normally, you would not see state legislators weighing in on these decisions,” said Lucy Dagneau, a senior official with the American Cancer Society’s advocacy arm.

The nonpartisan Congressional Budget Office estimated 18.5 million adults will be subject to the new rules, which will be enforced across 42 states and the District of Columbia. In Indiana, work rules will target about 33% of the state’s Medicaid population. The rules generally wouldn’t apply to children, people 65 or older, or people with disabilities or serious health issues.

Typically, state administrators — not lawmakers — detail how they plan to comply with new federal standards, and they often look to federal regulators for guidance. But officials at the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services have yet to tell states how to comply with many aspects of the sweeping budget law, leaving state lawmakers to intervene.

Gov. Mike Braun, a Republican, signed the Indiana bill into law on March 4, making his state the first to set the Medicaid work requirement at three months — the longest period allowed under the federal law.

Republican state Sen. Chris Garten introduced a bill in January, saying it was needed to “align” state law with the new federal Medicaid rules. He also pitched the bill as a way to crack down on “waste, fraud, and abuse” in public programs.

When ineligible people get enrolled, it robs “the truly vulnerable Hoosier who actually needs the help,” Garten said during a January committee hearing.

Democratic state Sen. Fady Qaddoura expressed skepticism during the hearing and questioned the necessity of the legislation. Qaddoura asked Indiana Family and Social Services Administration Secretary Mitch Roob to provide an estimate of the number of ineligible people who enrolled in Medicaid in the state.

“I think very few,” Roob replied. “It’ll never be none.”

After hearing Roob’s answer, Qaddoura said there is no evidence of a widespread problem in Indiana. He accused Republicans of using waste, fraud, and abuse as justification to deny health benefits and food aid to vulnerable Hoosiers.

Garten later called Qaddoura’s accusation a “fundamental mischaracterization” of the bill.

Republicans have said imposing these limits protects the Medicaid program’s longevity.

“We believe in a safety net for our most vulnerable, not a hammock for able-bodied adults that choose not to work,” Garten said. “By tightening these screws, we ensure that our safety net remains sustainable.”

Indiana’s Medicaid enrollment is expected to decrease because of Garten’s legislation, according to an analysis from Indiana’s nonpartisan Legislative Services Agency.

Medicaid helps keep people healthy, so they can continue to work, said Adam Mueller, executive director of the Indiana Justice Project, a nonpartisan legal advocacy organization focusing on health, housing, and food insecurity.

Mueller worries that people will struggle to prove their work history, especially those with nontraditional jobs.

“If the point is to get people engaged, the one month would do it,” Mueller said.

Ultimately, he fears the law will harm Hoosiers with the greatest need for assistance. “They’re going to get tripped up by the bureaucratic hurdles.”

An analysis by the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities predicted that work rules will and that how states choose to implement the rules will “significantly affect the number of people who lose coverage.” State policy decisions will determine just “how intense the burden is,” the left-leaning think tank found, and opting for a shorter look-back period “will enable more people to enroll.”

Lawmakers in multiple states considered limits. And the same right-leaning lobbying group, the Foundation for Government Accountability, testified in favor of these measures in Arizona, Indiana, and Missouri.

In Missouri, FGA lobbyist James Harris said the measure intends to “move people from dependency and give them back that dignity and pride of work.”

Missouri state Rep. Darin Chappell proposed requiring a three-month look-back period like the measure in Indiana. But the latest version of the bill he sponsored would require applicants to show they were working for only one month before enrolling.

Chappell, a Republican, said his initiative would encourage a “working mindset.”

Anna Meyer, owner of a small bakery in Columbia, Missouri, said the implication is that she and others on Medicaid are lazy. “I have been working since I was 15 years old,” she said. “I’m 43 now.”

Meyer, who voiced her opposition, said she previously had problems submitting information to the state Medicaid agency. She fears new reporting requirements will put her and others at risk of losing coverage, even if they meet the work rule.

She has fibromyalgia, a chronic condition that increases overall sensitivity to pain. She also has food allergies. Medicaid helps pay for medications and doctor visits that keep her healthy and allow her to keep working.

“I work very hard,” Meyer said.

In St. Louis, Jessica Norton, an OB-GYN, treats many Medicaid patients at an Affinia Healthcare clinic. She said they struggle to remain insured even though Missouri extends a full year of Medicaid coverage to eligible women after they give birth. Some of her patients are inexplicably kicked off that coverage by the time of their checkups six weeks after birth. She fears red tape from the new work requirements will make it harder to hang on to insurance, even though pregnant women and new mothers are supposed to be exempt.

Norton criticized lawmakers for the message this policy sends to vulnerable patients. They are saying, “Oh, actually, health care is a privilege, and you have to earn it,” she said.

of adults ages 19 to 64 on Medicaid already work, according to KFF. The reason many of the remaining adults on Medicaid are not working is that they are retired, serving as a caregiver, or too sick, KFF has found.

Some states are not only setting the strictest requirements but also blocking out the optional leniency built into the federal rules.

For example, states may adopt additional exemptions from work rules, such as allowing people to claim a “short-term hardship,” designed to provide continued Medicaid coverage to people with medical conditions that prevent them from working.

Missouri lawmakers are seeking a constitutional amendment to bar their state from offering such optional exemptions. But patient advocates warn these limits would harm the state’s vulnerable residents when they need coverage the most, particularly Missouri’s rural cancer patients.

Often, rural Missouri patients must travel to Kansas City or St. Louis for treatment, disrupting their ability to work, Emily Kalmer, a lobbyist for the American Cancer Society’s advocacy arm, testified at the January hearing. Recognizing this, the federal law provides certain exemptions for this kind of scenario.

But this short-term hardship exemption would be off the table in Missouri.

Time is “very important in the life of a cancer patient or a cancer survivor,” Kalmer said.

This article first appeared on ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ and is republished here under a .

Six months after a West Virginia man died following a protracted battle with his health insurer over doctor-recommended cancer care, the state’s Republican governor signed a bill intended to curb the harm of insurance denials.

West Virginia’s Public Employees Insurance Agency enrolls nearly 215,000 people — state workers, as well as their spouses and dependents. The new law, which will take effect June 10, will allow plan members who have been approved for a course of treatment to pursue an alternative, medically appropriate treatment of equal or lesser value without the need for another approval from the state-based health plan.

“This legislation is rooted in a simple principle: if a treatment has already been approved, patients should be able to pursue a medically appropriate alternative without being forced to start the process over again — especially when it does not cost more,” Gov. Patrick Morrisey said in a statement after signing the bill into law on March 31.

“This is about common sense, compassion, and trusting patients and their doctors to make the best decisions for their care,” he said.

Delegate Laura Kimble, the Republican from Harrison County who introduced the legislation, told ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ the measure offers “a rational solution” for patients facing “the most irrational and chaotic time of their lives.”

From Arizona to Rhode Island, at least half of all state legislatures have taken up bills this year related to prior authorization, a process that requires patients or their medical team to seek approval from an insurer before proceeding with care. These state efforts come as patients across the country await relief from prior authorization hurdles, as promised by dozens of major health insurers in a pledge announced by the Trump administration last year.

The West Virginia law was inspired by Eric Tennant, a coal-mining safety instructor from Bridgeport who died on Sept. 17 at age 58. In early 2025, the Public Employees Insurance Agency of a $50,000 noninvasive cancer treatment, called histotripsy, that would have used ultrasound waves to target, and potentially shrink, the largest tumor in his liver. His family didn’t expect the procedure to eradicate the cancer, but they hoped it would buy him more time and improve his quality of life. The insurer said the procedure wasn’t medically necessary and that it was considered “experimental and investigational.”

Becky Tennant, Eric’s widow, told members of a West Virginia House committee in late February that she submitted medical records, expert opinions, and data as part of several attempts to appeal the denial. She also reached out to “almost every one of our state representatives,” asking for help.

Nothing worked, she told lawmakers, until ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ and NBC News got involved and posed questions to the Public Employees Insurance Agency about Eric’s case. Only then did the insurer reverse its decision and approve histotripsy, Tennant said.

“But by then, the delay had already done its damage,” she said.

Within one week of the reversal in late May, Eric Tennant was hospitalized. His health continued to decline, and by midsummer he was no longer considered a suitable candidate for the procedure. “The insurance company’s decision did not simply delay care. It closed doors,” his wife said.

Had the new law been in effect, Kimble said, Tennant could have undergone histotripsy without preapproval, because it was a less expensive alternative to chemotherapy, which his insurer had already authorized. The bill was passed unanimously by the state legislature in March.

U.S. health insurers argue that most prior authorization requests are quickly, if not instantly, approved. AHIP, the health insurance industry trade group, says prior authorization in preventing potential harm to patients and reducing unnecessary health care costs. But denials and delays tend to affect patients who need expensive, time-sensitive care, .

The practice has come under intense scrutiny in recent years, particularly after the in New York City in late 2024. Americans rank prior authorization as their biggest burden when it comes to getting health care, according to a by KFF, a health information nonprofit that includes ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ.

Samantha Knapp, a spokesperson for the West Virginia Department of Administration, would not answer questions about the law’s financial impact on the state. “We prefer to avoid any speculation at this time regarding potential impact or actions,” Knapp said.

In a fiscal note attached to the bill, Jason Haught, the Public Employees Insurance Agency’s chief financial officer, said the law would cost the agency an estimated $13 million annually and “cause member disruption.”

West Virginia isn’t an outlier in targeting prior authorization. By late 2025, 48 other states, in addition to the District of Columbia and Puerto Rico, already had some form of a prior authorization law — or laws — on the books, according to a by the National Association of Insurance Commissioners.

Many states have set up “gold carding” programs, which allow physicians with a track record of approvals to bypass prior authorization requirements. Some states establish a maximum number of days insurance companies are allowed to respond to requests, while others prohibit insurance companies from issuing retrospective denials after a service has already been preauthorized. There are also a crop of new state laws seeking to regulate the use of artificial intelligence in prior authorization decision-making.

Meanwhile, prior authorization bills introduced this year across the country, including in Kentucky, Missouri, and New Jersey, have been supported by politicians from both parties.

“Republicans in conservative states see health care as a vulnerability for the midterm elections, and so, unsurprisingly, you’ll see some action on this,” said Robert Hartwig, a clinical associate professor of risk management, insurance, and finance at the University of South Carolina. “They realize that they’re not really going to get much action at the federal level given the degree of gridlock we’ve already seen.”

Last summer, the Trump administration announced a pledge signed by dozens of health insurers vowing to reform prior authorization. The insurers promised to reduce the scope of claims that require preapproval, decrease wait times, and communicate with patients in clear language when denying a request.

Consumers, patient advocates, and medical providers that companies will follow through on their promises.

Becky Tennant is skeptical, too. That’s why she advocated for the West Virginia bill.

“Families should not have to beg, appeal, or go public just to access time-sensitive care,” she told lawmakers. Tennant, who sees the bill’s passage as bittersweet, said she thought her husband would have been proud.

During Eric’s final hospital stay, Tennant recalled, right before he was discharged to home hospice care, she asked him whether he wanted her to keep fighting to change the state agency’s prior authorization process.

“‘Well, you need to at least try to change it,’” she recalled her husband saying. “‘Because it’s not fair.’”

“I told him I would keep trying,” she said, “at least for a while. And so I am keeping that promise to him.”

NBC News health and medical unit producer Jason Kane and correspondent Erin McLaughlin contributed to this report.

Do you have an experience with prior authorization you’d like to share? to tell ³Ô¹Ï²»´òìÈ your story.

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