“Honestamente, no quería pasar 10 días solo en una habitación, lo llaman el agujero”, dijo Ramírez-Cecena, quien espera que decidan si es deportado a México o puede permanecer en los Estados Unidos, en donde ha vivido por más de dos décadas.

Poco antes de que Ramírez-Cecena se enfermara, los funcionarios del Servicio de Inmigración y Control de Aduanas (ICE) de la instalación le negaron su solicitud de alta médica. Es VIH positivo, que según la lista de los Centros para el Control y la Prevención de Enfermedades es una afección que puede aumentar el riesgo de enfermar gravemente por covid.

Ahora, frente al tercer invierno pandémico, reza para no contraer covid mientras está detenido. “Todavía da miedo”, dijo.

En todo el país, la posibilidad de desarrollar una enfermedad grave o morir por covid ha bajado, por las vacunas de refuerzo actualizadas, las pruebas en el hogar y las terapias. La mayoría de las personas pueden sopesar los riesgos de asistir a reuniones o viajar.

Pero para las aproximadamente 30,000 personas que viven en espacios cerrados en la red de instalaciones de inmigración del país, covid sigue siendo una amenaza constante.

El ICE actualizó su guía de pandemia en noviembre. Pero las instalaciones han ignorado las recomendaciones anteriores de usar máscaras y equipo de protección, tener pruebas y vacunas disponibles, y evitar el uso del confinamiento solitario como cuarentena, según detenidos, grupos de defensa e informes internos del gobierno federal.

Según los protocolos de ICE, el aislamiento por covid, utilizado para evitar que otros detenidos se enfermen, debe estar separado de la segregación disciplinaria.

La agencia no abordó este punto, pero dijo en un comunicado a KHN que a los detenidos se los coloca en una “sala de alojamiento médico individual” o en un “una habitación de aislamiento médico de infecciones transmitidas por el aire”, cuando esté disponible.

La atención médica en los centros de detención de inmigrantes ya era deficiente antes de la pandemia. Y en septiembre, las personas médicamente vulnerables en los centros de detención de ICE perdieron una protección, con la expiración de una orden judicial que requería que los funcionarios federales de inmigración consideraran la liberación de los detenidos con riesgo de covid.

La agencia “ha renunciado por completo a proteger a las personas detenidas de covid”, dijo Zoe Bowman, abogada supervisora ​​de Las Américas Immigrant Advocacy Center en El Paso, Texas.

El uso de la detención de inmigrantes en el país se disparó a fines de la década de 1990 y creció después de la creación de ICE en 2003. Los centros de detención —unos 200 complejos privados, instalaciones administradas por ICE, cárceles locales y prisiones repartidas por todo el país— retienen a adultos que no son ciudadanos estadounidenses mientras disputan o esperan la deportación.

La duración promedio de la estadía en el año fiscal federal 2022 fue de aproximadamente 22 días, según la agencia. Los defensores de los inmigrantes han argumentado durante mucho tiempo que las personas no deberían ser detenidas y, en cambio, se les debería permitir vivir en comunidades.

El Centro de Detención de Stewart, un vasto complejo rodeado de cercas con alambre de púas en los bosques de Lumpkin, tiene una de las poblaciones de detenidos más grande del país. Cuatro personas bajo la custodia del centro han muerto por covid desde el comienzo de la pandemia, el mayor número de muertes por covid registradas en estos centros.

Cuando funcionarios de inmigración transfirieron a Cipriano Álvarez-Chávez al centro de Stewart en agosto de 2020, todavía confiaba en la máscara que tenía después de ser liberado de la prisión federal en julio, según su hija, Martha Chavez.

Diez días después, el sobreviviente de linfoma de 63 años fue llevado a un hospital en Columbus, a 40 millas de distancia donde dio positivo para covid, según su informe de defunción. Murió después de pasar más de un mes conectado a un ventilador.

“Fue pura negligencia”, dijo su hija.

Dos años después de la muerte de Álvarez-Chávez, grupos de defensa y detenidos dijeron que el ICE no ha hecho lo suficiente para proteger de covid a los detenidos, una situación consistente con el historial de atención médica deficiente y falta de higiene de las instalaciones.

“Es desalentador ver que no importa cuánto empeoran las cosas, nada cambia”, dijo la doctora Amy Zeidan, profesora asistente en la Facultad de Medicina de la Universidad de Emory, quien revisa los registros de salud de los detenidos y realiza evaluaciones médicas para las personas que buscan asilo.

Una investigación bipartidista del Senado reveló en noviembre que las mujeres en el Centro de Detención del Condado de Irwin en Georgia “parecen haber sido sometidas a procedimientos ginecológicos excesivos, invasivos y, a menudo, innecesarios”.

En el Centro de Procesamiento de Folkston, también en Georgia, el ICE no respondió a las solicitudes médicas de manera oportuna, tuvo una atención de salud mental inadecuada y no cumplió con los estándares básicos de higiene, incluidos baños funcionales, según un informe de junio de la Oficina del Inspector General de Seguridad del Departamento de Asuntos Internos. Y una denuncia presentada en julio por un grupo de organizaciones de defensa alegó que una enfermera del centro Stewart agredió sexualmente a cuatro mujeres.

El ICE defendió su atención médica en un comunicado enviado por correo electrónico, diciendo que gasta más de $315 millones anualmente en atención médica, y que garantiza la prestación de los servicios médicos necesarios e integrales.

Aún así, muchas instalaciones carecen de personal y están mal equipadas para manejar las necesidades médicas a largo plazo de la gran población de detenidos, dijo Zeidan. La atención tardía es común, la atención especializada es casi inexistente y el acceso a la terapia es limitado, dijo. El cuidado de covid no es diferente.

En sus protocolos para covid, el ICE recomienda el uso de anticuerpos monoclonales, que ayudan al sistema inmunológico a responder de manera más efectiva a covid, para el tratamiento. Pero no reconoce ninguno de los otros tratamientos recomendados por los CDC, incluidos los antivirales como Paxlovid, que pueden reducir las hospitalizaciones y las muertes entre los pacientes con covid.

“Durante décadas, el ICE ha demostrado ser incapaz y no estar dispuesto a garantizar la salud y la seguridad de las personas bajo su custodia”, dijo Sofia Casini, directora de monitoreo y defensa comunitaria de Freedom for Immigrants, un grupo de defensa. “Covid-19 solo ha empeorado esta horrible realidad”.

Once personas han muerto por covid bajo custodia de ICE. Pero ese número puede ser una subestimación; defensores de los detenidos han acusado a la agencia de liberar a las personas o deportarlas cuando están gravemente enfermas como una forma de evadir las estadísticas de muertes.

Antes de la pandemia, Johana Medina León fue liberada de la custodia de ICE cuatro días antes de su muerte, según un artículo de mayo en Los Angeles Times. Vio a un médico unas seis semanas después de su primera solicitud, decía el artículo, pero ICE aceleró su liberación solo unas horas después de que su condición empeorara.

Este otoño, los detenidos recluidos en instalaciones de todo el país llamaron a la línea directa de detención de Freedom for Immigrants para quejarse de las condiciones de covid, que varían de una instalación a otra, dijo Casini. “Incluso en la misma instalación, puede cambiar de semana a semana”, dijo.

Según Casini, muchas personas que habían dado positivo para covid estaban recluidas en las mismas celdas que las personas que habían dado negativo, incluidas las personas médicamente vulnerables. Este verano, el grupo encuestó a 89 personas a través de su línea directa y descubrió que alrededor del 30% de los encuestados tuvieron problemas para acceder a las vacunas mientras estuvieron detenidos.

Ramírez-Cecena dijo que le dijeron que es elegible para una segunda vacuna de refuerzo de covid, pero que, a diciembre, aún no la había recibido. Un detenido en el Centro de Procesamiento de Moshannon Valley en Pennsylvania dijo que a un guardia se le permitió interactuar con los detenidos mientras estaba visiblemente enfermo, dijo Brittney Bringuez, coordinadora del programa de asilo de Physicians for Human Rights, quien visitó las instalaciones este otoño.

La orden judicial que requería que ICE considerara la liberación de personas con alto riesgo de covid ha ayudado a los detenidos con afecciones médicas graves, dijeron los defensores. Según la orden, ICE liberó a unos 60,000 detenidos médicamente vulnerables en dos años, dijo Susan Meyers, abogada sénior del Southern Poverty Law Center, uno de los grupos de defensa que ayudó a presentar la demanda que resultó en la orden judicial.

El ICE dijo en un comunicado que aún considerará los factores de riesgo de covid como una razón para la liberación. Pero los abogados dijeron que las instalaciones de ICE a menudo no cumplían con la orden judicial cuando estaba vigente.

El año pasado, el ICE negó la solicitud de liberación de Ricardo Chambers del Centro de Detención de Stewart. Chambers, de 40 años, tiene enfermedades psiquiátricas graves, consideradas un factor de riesgo según la orden judicial. También tiene problemas para respirar y se ahoga mientras duerme, como resultado de una lesión nasal que sufrió en un ataque antes de ser detenido. A dos años de estar detenido, todavía no recibió atención para esa lesión.

Ha presentado quejas sobre los protocolos para covid de Stewart, incluidas las condiciones de hacinamiento y la falta de uso de máscaras u otro equipo de protección por parte del personal.

Al negar su liberación, el ICE dijo que Chambers era una amenaza para la seguridad pública debido a sus antecedentes penales, según su abogada Erin Argueta, abogada principal de la oficina de la Iniciativa de Libertad de Inmigrantes del Sureste del Southern Poverty Law Center en Lumpkin. Chambers ya cumplió sus condenas, dijo, y hay una familia en Nueva York que lo acogería.

A principios de este año, fue enviado a confinamiento solitario durante unos 10 días después de dar positivo para covid, dijo. Pero Chambers, quien está luchando contra una orden de deportación a Jamaica, dijo que su experiencia con covid no fue diferente de las otras veces que estuvo en aislamiento.

“Serás tratado como un animal, enjaulado y sin tener culpa de nada”, dijo Chambers.

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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“Honestly, I didn’t want to go spend 10 days by myself in a room — they call it the hole,” Ramirez-Cecena said. He is being held at the center as he waits to learn whether he will be deported to Mexico or can remain in the United States, where he has lived for more than two decades.

Shortly before Ramirez-Cecena got sick, officials from U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement at the facility denied his request for a medical release. He is HIV-positive, which is on the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention’s list of conditions that make a person more likely to get seriously ill from covid.

Now, heading into the third pandemic winter, he’s praying he doesn’t get covid while detained. “It is still scary,” he said.

Across the country, the chance of developing severe illness or dying from covid has fallen, a result of updated booster shots, at-home tests, and therapeutics. Most people can weigh the risks of attending gatherings or traveling. But for the roughly 30,000 people living in close quarters in the country’s network of immigration facilities, covid remains an ever-present threat.

ICE updated its pandemic guidance in November. But facilities have flouted past recommendations to use masks and protective equipment, to make testing and vaccines available, and to avoid the use of solitary confinement for quarantining, according to detainees, advocacy groups, and internal federal government reports.

Under ICE’s pandemic protocols, covid isolation, used to keep other detainees from falling ill, must be separate from disciplinary segregation. The agency didn’t address claims that facilities have used solitary confinement areas to isolate detainees who have tested positive for covid but said in a statement to KHN that detainees are placed in a “single, medical housing room” or a “medical airborne infection isolation room” when available.

Medical care in immigration detention facilities was deficient even before the pandemic. Then, in September, medically vulnerable people in ICE detention facilities lost a source of protection, with the expiration of a court order that had required federal immigration officials to consider releasing detainees with covid risks.

The agency has “completely given up on protecting people in detention from covid,” said Zoe Bowman, supervising attorney at Las Americas Immigrant Advocacy Center in El Paso, Texas.

The country’s use of immigration detention exploded in the late 1990s and rose even more after the creation of ICE in 2003. Detention facilities — made up of about 200 privately run complexes, ICE-run facilities, local jails, and prisons scattered across the country — hold adults who are not U.S. citizens while they contest or await deportation. The average length of stay in the 2022 federal fiscal year was about 22 days, according to the agency. Advocates for immigrants have long argued that people shouldn’t be detained and instead should be allowed to live in communities.

Stewart Detention Center, a vast complex surrounded by rows of barbed wire in Lumpkin’s forests, has one of the largest populations of detainees in the country. Four people in the center’s custody have died from covid since the start of the pandemic — the highest number of recorded covid deaths among detention centers.

When immigration officials transferred Cipriano Alvarez-Chavez to the Stewart center in August 2020, he was still relying on the mask he had after being released from federal prison in July, according to his daughter, Martha Chavez.

Ten days later, the 63-year-old lymphoma survivor was taken to a hospital in Columbus, 40 miles away, where he tested positive for covid, according to his death report. He died after spending more than a month on a ventilator.

“It was pure neglect,” his daughter said. His death “shattered our world.”

Two years after Alvarez-Chavez’s death, advocacy groups and detainees said ICE has not done enough to protect detainees from covid, a situation consistent with the facilities’ history of poor medical care and lack of hygiene. “It’s disheartening to see that no matter how bad things get, they don’t change,” said Dr. Amy Zeidan, an assistant professor at Emory University School of Medicine, who reviews detainee health records and performs medical evaluations for people seeking asylum.

A bipartisan Senate investigation revealed in November that women at Georgia’s Irwin County Detention Center “appear to have been subjected to excessive, invasive, and often unnecessary gynecological procedures.” At the Folkston Processing Center, also in Georgia, ICE did not respond to medical requests in a timely manner, had inadequate mental health care, and failed to meet basic hygiene standards, including working toilets, according to a June report from the Department of Homeland Security’s Office of Inspector General. And a July complaint filed by a group of advocacy organizations alleged that a nurse at the Stewart center sexually assaulted four women.

ICE defended its medical care in an emailed statement, saying that it spends more than $315 million on health care annually and ensures the provision of necessary and comprehensive medical services.

Still, many facilities are understaffed and ill-equipped to handle the long-term medical needs of the large detainee population, Zeidan said. Delayed care is common, specialty care is almost nonexistent, and access to therapeutics is limited, she said. Covid care is no different.

In its covid protocols, ICE recommends the use of monoclonal antibodies, which help the immune system respond more effectively to covid, for treatment. But it recognizes none of the other CDC-recommended treatments, including antivirals such as Paxlovid, which can reduce hospitalizations and deaths among covid patients.

“For decades, ICE has proven itself incapable and unwilling to ensure the health and safety of people in its custody,” said Sofia Casini, director of monitoring and community advocacy at Freedom for Immigrants, an advocacy group. “Covid-19 has only worsened this horrifying reality.”

Eleven people have died from covid in ICE custody. But that number may be an underestimate; advocates for detainees have accused the agency of releasing people or deporting them when they are seriously ill as a way to suppress the death statistics.

Before the pandemic, Johana Medina Leon was released from ICE custody four days before her death, according to a May article in the Los Angeles Times. She saw a doctor about six weeks after her first request, the article said, but ICE expedited her release only hours after her condition grew dire.

This fall, detainees being held at facilities across the country called Freedom for Immigrants’ detention hotline to complain about covid conditions, which vary facility to facility, Casini said. “Even in the same facility, it can change week to week,” she said.

Many people who had tested positive for covid were being held in the same cells as people who had tested negative, including people who were medically vulnerable, according to Casini. The group surveyed 89 people through its hotline this summer and found that about 30% of respondents had trouble accessing vaccines in detention.

Ramirez-Cecena said he was told that he’s eligible for a second covid booster shot but had yet to receive it as of December. A detainee at Moshannon Valley Processing Center in Pennsylvania said a guard was allowed to interact with detainees while visibly sick, said Brittney Bringuez, asylum program coordinator at Physicians for Human Rights, who visited the facility this fall.

The court order that required ICE to consider releasing people with covid risks has helped detainees with serious medical conditions, advocates said. Under the order, ICE released about 60,000 medically vulnerable detainees in two years, said Susan Meyers, senior staff attorney at the Southern Poverty Law Center, one of the advocacy groups that helped bring the lawsuit that resulted in the court order.

ICE said in a statement it will still consider covid risk factors as a reason for release. But lawyers said ICE facilities often failed to comply with the court order when it was in place.

Last year, ICE denied Ricardo Chambers’ request for release from Stewart Detention Center. Chambers, who is 40, has serious psychiatric illnesses, considered a risk factor under the court order. He also has trouble breathing and chokes in his sleep — the result of a nasal injury he sustained in an attack before he was detained. It has yet to be repaired during the two years he has been at the detention facility.

He has filed complaints about Stewart’s covid protocols, including crowded conditions and failures by staffers to wear masks or other protective equipment. In its denial of his release, ICE said Chambers was a threat to public safety because of his criminal history, according to his lawyer Erin Argueta, lead attorney for the Southern Poverty Law Center’s Southeast Immigrant Freedom Initiative office in Lumpkin. Chambers has served prison time for his criminal convictions, she said, and there’s a family in New York that would take him in.

Earlier this year, he was sent to solitary confinement for about 10 days after testing positive for covid, he said. But Chambers, who is fighting a deportation order to Jamaica, said his covid experience was no different from the other times he had been in solitary.

“You’ll be treated like an animal, caged, and for no fault of your own,” Chambers said.

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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Medical equipment is still strewn around the house of Rick Lucas, 62, nearly two years after he came home from the hospital. He picks up a spirometer, a device that measures lung capacity, and takes a deep breath — though not as deep as he’d like.

Still, Lucas has come a long way for someone who spent more than three months on a ventilator because of covid-19.

“I’m almost normal now,” he said. “I was thrilled when I could walk to the mailbox. Now we’re walking all over town.”

Dozens of major medical centers have established specialized covid clinics around the country. A crowdsourced project counted more than 400. But there’s no standard protocol for treating long covid. And experts are casting a wide net for treatments, with few ready for formal clinical trials.

It’s not clear just how many people have suffered from symptoms of long covid. Estimates vary widely from study to study — often because the definition of long covid itself varies. But the more conservative estimates still count millions of people with this condition. For some, the lingering symptoms are worse than the initial bout of covid. Others, like Lucas, were on death’s door and experienced a roller-coaster recovery, much worse than expected, even after a long hospitalization.

Symptoms vary widely. Lucas had brain fog, fatigue, and depression. He’d start getting his energy back, then go try light yardwork and end up in the hospital with pneumonia.

It wasn’t clear which ailments stemmed from being on a ventilator so long and which signaled the mysterious condition called long covid.

“I was wanting to go to work four months after I got home,” Rick said over the laughter of his wife and primary caregiver, Cinde.

“I said, ‘You know what, just get up and go. You can’t drive. You can’t walk. But go in for an interview. Let’s see how that works,’” Cinde recalled.

Rick did start working earlier this year, taking short-term assignments in his old field as a nursing home administrator. But he’s still on partial disability.

Why has Rick mostly recovered while so many haven’t shaken the symptoms, even years later?

“There is absolutely nothing anywhere that’s clear about long covid,” said Dr. Steven Deeks, an infectious disease specialist at the University of California-San Francisco. “We have a guess at how frequently it happens. But right now, everyone’s in a data-free zone.”

Researchers like Deeks are trying to establish the condition’s underlying causes. Some of the theories include inflammation, autoimmunity, so-called microclots, and bits of the virus left in the body. Deeks said institutions need more money to create regional centers of excellence to bring together physicians from various specialties to treat patients and research therapies.

Patients say they are desperate and willing to try anything to feel normal again. And often they post personal anecdotes online.

“I’m following this stuff on social media, looking for a home run,” Deeks said.

The National Institutes of Health promises big advances soon through the RECOVER Initiative, involving thousands of patients and hundreds of researchers.

“Given the widespread and diverse impact the virus has on the human body, it is unlikely that there will be one cure, one treatment,” Dr. Gary Gibbons, director of the National Heart, Lung, and Blood Institute, told NPR. “It is important that we help find solutions for everyone. This is why there will be multiple clinical trials over the coming months.”

Meanwhile, tension is building in the medical community over what appears to be a grab-bag approach in treating long covid ahead of big clinical trials. Some clinicians hesitate to try therapies before they’re supported by research.

Dr. Kristin Englund, who oversees more than 2,000 long covid patients at the Cleveland Clinic, said a bunch of one-patient experiments could muddy the waters for research. She said she encouraged her team to stick with “evidence-based medicine.”

“I’d rather not be just kind of one-off trying things with people, because we really do need to get more data and evidence-based data,” she said. “We need to try to put things in some sort of a protocol moving forward.”

It’s not that she lacks urgency. Englund experienced her own long covid symptoms. She felt terrible for months after getting sick in 2020, “literally taking naps on the floor of my office in the afternoon,” she said.

More than anything, she said, these long covid clinics need to validate patients’ experiences with their illness and give them hope. She tries to stick with proven therapies.

For example, some patients with long covid develop POTS — a syndrome that causes them to get dizzy and their heart to race when they stand up. Englund knows how to treat those symptoms. With other patients, it’s not as straightforward. Her long covid clinic focuses on diet, sleep, meditation, and slowly increasing activity.

But other doctors are willing to throw all sorts of treatments at the wall to see what might stick.

At the Lucas house in Tennessee, the kitchen counter can barely contain the pill bottles of supplements and prescriptions. One is a drug for memory. “We discovered his memory was worse [after taking it],” Cinde said.

Other treatments, however, seemed to have helped. Cinde asked their doctor about her husband possibly taking testosterone to boost his energy, and, after doing research, the doctor agreed to give it a shot.

“People like myself are getting a little bit out over my skis, looking for things that I can try,” said Dr. Stephen Heyman, a pulmonologist who treats Rick Lucas at the long covid clinic at Ascension Saint Thomas in Nashville.

He’s trying medications seen as promising in treating addiction and combinations of drugs used for cholesterol and blood clots. And he has considered becoming a bit of a guinea pig himself.

Heyman has been up and down with his own long covid. At one point, he thought he was past the memory lapses and breathing trouble, then he caught the virus a second time and feels more fatigued than ever.

“I don’t think I can wait for somebody to tell me what I need to do,” he said. “I’m going to have to use my expertise to try and find out why I don’t feel well.”

This story is from a reporting partnership that includes WPLN, NPR, and KHN.

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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This story can be republished for free (details).

His parents sued the Kool Smiles dental clinic in Yuma, Arizona, and its private equity investor, FFL Partners. They argued the procedures were done needlessly, in keeping with a corporate strategy to maximize profits by overtreating kids from lower-income families enrolled in Medicaid. Zion died after being diagnosed with “brain damage caused by a lack of oxygen,” according to the lawsuit.

Kool Smiles “overtreats, underperforms and overbills,” the family alleged in the suit, which was settled last year under confidential terms. FFL Partners and Kool Smiles had no comment but denied liability in court filings.

Private equity is rapidly moving to reshape health care in America, coming off a banner year in 2021, when the deep-pocketed firms plowed $206 billion into more than 1,400 health care acquisitions, according to industry tracker PitchBook.

Seeking quick returns, these investors are buying into eye care clinics, dental management chains, physician practices, hospices, pet care providers, and thousands of other companies that render medical care nearly from cradle to grave. Private equity-backed groups have even set up special “obstetric emergency departments” at some hospitals, which can charge expectant mothers hundreds of dollars extra for routine perinatal care.

As private equity extends its reach into health care, evidence is mounting that the penetration has led to higher prices and diminished quality of care, a KHN investigation has found. KHN found that companies owned or managed by private equity firms have agreed to pay fines of more than $500 million since 2014 to settle at least 34 lawsuits filed under the False Claims Act, a federal law that punishes false billing submissions to the federal government with fines. Most of the time, the private equity owners have avoided liability.

New research by the University of California-Berkeley has identified “hot spots” where private equity firms have quietly moved from having a small foothold to controlling more than two-thirds of the market for physician services such as anesthesiology and gastroenterology in 2021. And KHN found that in San Antonio, more than two dozen gastroenterology offices are controlled by a private equity-backed group that billed a patient $1,100 for her share of a colonoscopy charge — about three times what she paid in another state.

It’s not just prices that are drawing scrutiny.

Whistleblowers and injured patients are turning to the courts to press allegations of misconduct or other improper business dealings. The lawsuits allege that some private equity firms, or companies they invested in, have boosted the bottom line by violating federal false claims and anti-kickback laws or through other profit-boosting strategies that could harm patients.

“Their model is to deliver short-term financial goals and in order to do that you have to cut corners,” said Mary Inman, an attorney who represents whistleblowers.

Federal regulators, meanwhile, are almost blind to the incursion, since private equity typically acquires practices and hospitals below the regulatory radar. KHN found that more than 90% of private equity takeovers or investments fall below the $101 million threshold that triggers an antitrust review by the Federal Trade Commission and the U.S. Justice Department.

Spurring Growth

Private equity firms pool money from investors, ranging from wealthy people to college endowments and pension funds. They use that money to buy into businesses they hope to flip at a sizable profit, usually within three to seven years, by making them more efficient and lucrative.

Private equity has poured nearly $1 trillion into nearly 8,000 health care transactions during the past decade, according to PitchBook.

Fund managers who back the deals often say they have the expertise to reduce waste and turn around inefficient, or moribund, businesses, and they tout their role in helping to finance new drugs and technologies expected to benefit patients in years to come.

Critics see a far less rosy picture. They argue that private equity’s playbook, while it may work in some industries, is ill suited for health care, when people’s lives are on the line.

In the health care sphere, private equity has tended to find legal ways to bill more for medical services: trimming services that don’t turn a profit, cutting staff, or employing personnel with less training to perform skilled jobs — actions that may put patients at risk, critics say.

KHN, in a series of articles published this year, has examined a range of private equity forays into health care, from its marketing of America’s top-selling emergency contraception pill to buying up whole chains of ophthalmology and gastroenterology practices and investing in the booming hospice care industry and even funeral homes.

These deals happened on top of well-publicized takeovers of hospital emergency room staffing firms that led to outrageous “surprise” medical bills for some patients, as well as the buying up of entire rural hospital systems.

“Their only goal is to make outsize profits,” said Laura Olson, a political science professor at Lehigh University and a critic of the industry.

Hot Spots

When it comes to acquisitions, private equity firms have similar appetites, according to a KHN analysis of 600 deals by the 25 firms that PitchBook says have most frequently invested in health care.

Eighteen of the firms have dental companies listed in their portfolios, and 16 list centers that offer treatment of cataracts, eye surgery, or other vision care, KHN found.

Fourteen have bought stakes in animal hospitals or pet care clinics, a market in which rapid consolidation led to a recent antitrust action by the FTC. The agency reportedly also is investigating whether U.S. Anesthesia Partners, which operates anesthesia practices in nine states, has grown too dominant in some areas.

Private equity has flocked to companies that treat autism, drug addiction, and other behavioral health conditions. The firms have made inroads into ancillary services such as diagnostic and urine-testing and software for managing billing and other aspects of medical practice.

Private equity has done so much buying that it now dominates several specialized medical services, such as anesthesiology and gastroenterology, in a few metropolitan areas, according to new research made available to KHN by the Nicholas C. Petris Center at UC-Berkeley.

Although private equity plays a role in just 14% of gastroenterology practices nationwide, it controls nearly three-quarters of the market in at least five metropolitan areas across five states, including Texas and North Carolina, according to the Petris Center research.

Similarly, anesthesiology practices tied to private equity hold 12% of the market nationwide but have swallowed up more than two-thirds of it in parts of five states, including the Orlando, Florida, area, according to the data.

These expansions can lead to higher prices for patients, said Yashaswini Singh, a researcher at the Bloomberg School of Public Health at Johns Hopkins University.

In a study of 578 physician practices in dermatology, ophthalmology, and gastroenterology published in JAMA Health Forum in September, Singh and her team tied private equity takeovers to an average increase of $71 per medical claim filed and a 9% increase in lengthy, more costly, patient visits.

Singh said in an interview that private equity may develop protocols that bring patients back to see physicians more often than in the past, which can drive up costs, or order more lucrative medical services, whether needed or not, that boost profits.

“There are more questions than answers,” Singh said. “It really is a black hole.”

Jean Hemphill, a Philadelphia health care attorney, said that in some cases private equity has merely taken advantage of the realities of operating a modern medical practice amid growing administrative costs.

Physicians sometimes sell practices to private equity firms because they promise to take over things like billing, regulatory compliance, and scheduling — allowing doctors to focus on practicing medicine. (The physicians also might reap a big payout.)

“You can’t do it on a scale like Marcus Welby used to do it,” Hemphill said, referring to an early 1970s television drama about a kindly family doctor who made house calls. “That’s what leads to larger groups,” she said. “It is a more efficient way to do it.”

But Laura Alexander, a former vice president of policy at the nonprofit American Antitrust Institute, which collaborated on the Petris Center research, said she is concerned about private equity’s growing dominance in some markets.

“We’re still at the stage of understanding the scope of the problem,” Alexander said. “One thing is clear: Much more transparency and scrutiny of these deals is needed.”

‘Revenue Maximization’

Private equity firms often bring a “hands-on” approach to management, taking steps such as placing their representatives on a company’s board of directors and influencing the hiring and firing of key staffers.

“Private equity exercises immense control over the operations of health care companies it buys an interest in,” said Jeanne Markey, a Philadelphia whistleblower attorney.

Markey represented physician assistant Michelle O’Connor in a 2015 whistleblower lawsuit filed against National Spine and Pain Centers and its private equity owner, Sentinel Capital Partners.

In just a year under private equity guidance, National Spine’s patient load quadrupled as it grew into one of the nation’s largest pain management chains, treating more than 160,000 people in about 40 offices across five East Coast states, according to the suit.

O’Connor, who worked at two National Spine clinics in Virginia, said the mega-growth strategy sprang from a “corporate culture in which money trumps the provision of appropriate patient care,” according to the suit.

She cited a “revenue maximization” policy that mandated medical staffers see at least 25 patients a day, up from 16 to 18 before the takeover.

The pain clinics also overcharged Medicare by billing up to $1,100 for “unnecessary and often worthless” back braces and charging up to $1,800 each for urine drug tests that were “medically unnecessary and often worthless,” according to the suit.

In April 2019, National Spine paid the Justice Department $3.3 million to settle the whistleblower’s civil case without admitting wrongdoing.

Sentinel Capital Partners, which by that time had sold the pain management chain to another private equity firm, paid no part of National Spine’s settlement, court records show. Sentinel Capital Partners had no comment.

In another whistleblower case, a South Florida pharmacy owned by RLH Equity Partners raked in what the lawsuit called an “extraordinarily high” profit on more than $68 million in painkilling and scar creams billed to the military health insurance plan Tricare.

The suit alleges that the pharmacy paid illegal kickbacks to telemarketers who drove the business. One doctor admitted prescribing the creams to scores of patients he had never seen, examined, or even spoken to, according to the suit.

RLH, based in Los Angeles, disputed the Justice Department’s claims. In 2019, RLH and the pharmacy paid a total of $21 million to settle the case. Neither admitted liability. RLH managing director Michel Glouchevitch told KHN that his company cooperated with the investigation and that “the individuals responsible for any problems have been terminated.”

In many fraud cases, however, private equity investors walk away scot-free because the companies they own pay the fines. Eileen O’Grady, a researcher at the nonprofit Private Equity Stakeholder Project, said government should require “added scrutiny” of private equity companies whose holdings run afoul of the law.

“Nothing like that exists,” she said.

Questions About Quality

Whether private equity influences the quality of medical care is tough to discern.

Robert Homchick, a Seattle health care regulatory attorney, said private equity firms “vary tremendously” in how conscientiously they manage health care holdings, which makes generalizing about their performance difficult.

“Private equity has some bad actors, but so does the rest of the [health care] industry,” he said. “I think it’s wrong to paint them all with the same brush.”

But incipient research paints a disturbing picture, which took center stage earlier this year.

On the eve of President Joe Biden’s State of the Union speech in March, the White House released a statement that accused private equity of "buying up struggling nursing homes” and putting “profits before people.”

The covid-19 pandemic had highlighted the “tragic impact” of staffing cuts and other moneysaving tactics in nursing homes, the statement said.

More than 200,000 nursing home residents and staffers had died from covid in the previous two years, according to the White House, and research had linked private equity to inflated nursing costs and elevated patient death rates.

Some injured patients are turning to the courts in hopes of holding the firms accountable for what the patients view as lapses in care or policies that favor profits over patients.

Dozens of lawsuits link patient harm to the sale of Florida medical device maker Exactech to TPG Capital, a Texas private equity firm. TPG acquired the device company in February 2018 for about $737 million.

In August 2021, Exactech recalled its Optetrak knee replacement system, warning that a defect in packaging might cause the implant to loosen or fracture and cause “pain, bone loss or recurrent swelling.” In the lawsuits, more than three dozen patients accuse Exactech of covering up the defects for years, including, some suits say, when “full disclosure of the magnitude of the problem … might have negatively impacted” Exactech’s sale to TPG.

Linda White is suing Exactech and TPG, which she asserts is “directly involved” in the device company’s affairs.

White had Optetrak implants inserted into both her knees at a Galesburg, Illinois, hospital in June 2012. The right one failed and was replaced with a second Optetrak implant in July 2015, according to her lawsuit. That one also failed, and she had it removed and replaced with a different company’s device in January 2019.

The Exactech implant in White’s left knee had to be removed in May 2019, according to the suit, which is pending in Cook County Circuit Court in Illinois.

In a statement to KHN, Exactech said it conducted an “extensive investigation” when it received reports of “unexpected wear of our implants.”

Exactech said the problem dated to 2005 but was discovered only in July of last year. “Exactech disputes the allegations in these lawsuits and intends to vigorously defend itself,” the statement said. TPG declined to comment but has denied the allegations in court filings.

‘Invasive Procedures’

In the past, private equity business tactics have been linked to scandalously bad care at some dental clinics that treated children from low-income families.

In early 2008, a Washington, D.C., television station aired a shocking report about a local branch of the dental chain Small Smiles that included video of screaming children strapped to straightjacket-like “papoose boards” before being anesthetized to undergo needless operations like baby root canals.

Five years later, a U.S. Senate report cited the TV exposé in voicing alarm at the "corporate practice of dentistry in the Medicaid program.” The Senate report stressed that most dentists turned away kids enrolled in Medicaid because of low payments and posed the question: How could private equity make money providing that care when others could not?

“The answer is ‘volume,’” according to the report.

Small Smiles settled several whistleblower cases in 2010 by paying the government $24 million. At the time, it was providing “business management and administrative services” to 69 clinics nationwide, according to the Justice Department. It later declared bankruptcy.

But complaints that volume-driven dentistry mills have harmed disadvantaged children didn’t stop.

According to the 2018 lawsuit filed by his parents, Zion Gastelum was hooked up to an oxygen tank after questionable root canals and crowns “that was empty or not operating properly” and put under the watch of poorly trained staffers who didn’t recognize the blunder until it was too late.

Zion never regained consciousness and died four days later at Phoenix Children’s Hospital, the suit states. The cause of death was “undetermined,” according to the Maricopa County medical examiner’s office. An Arizona state dental board investigation later concluded that the toddler’s care fell below standards, according to the suit.

Less than a month after Zion’s death in December 2017, the dental management company Benevis LLC and its affiliated Kool Smiles clinics agreed to pay the Justice Department $24 million to settle False Claims Act lawsuits. The government alleged that the chain performed “medically unnecessary” dental services, including baby root canals, from January 2009 through December 2011.

In their lawsuit, Zion’s parents blamed his death on corporate billing policies that enforced “production quotas for invasive procedures such as root canals and crowns” and threatened to fire or discipline dental staff “for generating less than a set dollar amount per patient.”

Kool Smiles billed Medicaid $2,604 for Zion’s care, according to the suit. FFL Partners did not respond to requests for comment. In court filings, it denied liability, arguing it did not provide “any medical services that harmed the patient.”

Covering Tracks

Under a 1976 federal law called the Hart-Scott-Rodino Antitrust Improvements Act, deal-makers must report proposed mergers to the FTC and the Justice Department antitrust division for review. The intent is to block deals that stifle competition, which can lead to higher prices and lower-quality services.

But there’s a huge blind spot, which stymies government oversight of more than 90% of private equity investments in health care companies: The current threshold for reporting deals is $101 million.

KHN’s analysis of PitchBook data found that just 423 out of 7,839 private equity health care deals from 2012 through 2021 were known to have exceeded the current threshold.

In some deals, private equity takes a controlling interest in medical practices, and doctors work for the company. In other cases, notably in states whose laws prohibit corporate ownership of physician practices, the private equity firm handles a range of management duties.

Thomas Wollmann, a University of Chicago researcher, said antitrust authorities may not learn of consequential transactions “until long after they have been completed” and “it's very hard to break them up after the fact.”

In August, the FTC took aim at what it called “a growing trend toward consolidation” by veterinary medicine chains.

The FTC ordered JAB Consumer Partners, a private equity firm based in Luxembourg, to divest from some clinics in the San Francisco Bay and Austin, Texas, areas as part of a proposed $1.1 billion takeover of a rival.

The FTC said the deal would eliminate “head-to-head” competition, “increasing the likelihood that customers are forced to pay higher prices or experience a degradation in quality of the relevant services.”

Under the order, JAB must obtain FTC approval before buying veterinary clinics within 25 miles of the sites it owns in Texas and California.

The FTC would not say how much market consolidation is too much or whether it plans to step up scrutiny of health care mergers and acquisitions.

“Every case is fact-specific,” Betsy Lordan, an FTC spokesperson, told KHN.

Lordan, who has since left the agency, said regulators are considering updates to regulations governing mergers and are reviewing about 1,900 responses to the January 2022 request for public comment. At least 300 of the comments were from doctors or other health care workers.

Few industry observers expect the concerns to abate; they might even increase.

Investors are flush with “dry powder,” industry parlance for money waiting to stoke a deal.

The Healthcare Private Equity Association, which boasts about 100 investment companies as members, says the firms have $3 trillion in assets and are pursuing a vision for "building the future of healthcare.”

That kind of talk alarms Cornell University professor Rosemary Batt, a longtime critic of private equity. She predicts that investors chasing outsize profits will achieve their goals by “sucking the wealth” out of more and more health care providers.

“They are constantly looking for new financial tricks and strategies,” Batt said.

KHN’s Megan Kalata contributed to this article.

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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