Wary of inflation, Americans have been watching the prices of everyday items such as eggs and gasoline. A less-noticed expense should cause greater alarm: rising premiums for health insurance. They have been trending upward for years and are now rising faster than ever.

Consider that, from 2000 to 2020, egg prices fluctuated between just under $1 and about $3 a dozen; they reached $6.23 in March but then fell to $3.78 in June. Average gas prices, after seesawing between $2 and $4 a gallon for more than a decade starting in 2005, peaked at $4.93 in 2022 and recently fell back to just over $3.

Meanwhile, since 1999, health insurance premiums for people with employer-provided coverage have more than quadrupled. From 2023 to 2024 alone, they rose more than 6% for both individuals and family coverage — a steeper increase than that of wages and overall inflation.

For many people who have the kind of insurance plans created by the Affordable Care Act (because they work for small companies or insure themselves), rates have probably risen even more drastically. In this market, state regulators scrutinize insurers’ proposed rate increases, but only if they exceed 15%.

And the situation is about to get worse: For 2026, ACA marketplace insurers have proposed eye-popping new prices: In New York, UnitedHealthcare has proposed a 66.4% rise. HMO Colorado has asked for an average increase of more than 33% in that state. In Washington, the average proposed increase across all insurers is 21.2%, and in Rhode Island it’s 23.7%.

According to Business Group on Health, a consortium of major employers, “actual health care costs have grown a cumulative 50% since 2017.” In a separate survey published in 2021, 87% of companies said that in the next five to 10 years, the cost of providing health insurance for their workers would become “unsustainable.”

And insurers in the ACA marketplace are increasing premiums by an average of 20% for next year, according to a new analysis. Imagine if tens of millions of Americans’ rent or mortgage payments were to suddenly increase by that amount.

Insurance regulators theoretically could demand that these proposed rates be lowered — and this often happens. But some states are more active than others in this regard. And all are wary that too much regulatory interference could drive insurers from their markets.

Insurers offer many explanations for their calculations, some of which are tied to recent actions by Congress and President Donald Trump. New tariffs on America’s trading partners, for example, are expected to push up the cost of drugs and medical supplies.

Meanwhile, reductions in health care spending included in the GOP budget bill, along with the expiration of some Biden-era premium subsidies at the end of this year, will cause many people to lose their health insurance. About 16 million Americans are expected to become uninsured in 2034, in many cases because keeping insurance will become unaffordable.

Because most of these people are likely to be young and/or healthy, the “risk pool” of those remaining insured will become older and sicker — and therefore more expensive to cover.

“Ultimately, we believe the ACA market will likely be smaller and higher acuity-driven next year,” Janey Kiryluik, vice president of corporate communications for Elevance Health (formerly known as Anthem), wrote in an email. She added: “Our position reflects early disciplined action.”

Remember, most insurers in the United States are public, for-profit companies; as such, they tend to act in the interests of their shareholders, not the patients whose health care they cover.

Large employers that manage their own health care plans might be able to negotiate better deals for their workers. But smaller companies, for the most part, will need to accept what’s on offer.

Premiums are not the only part of health insurance that’s getting more expensive. Deductibles — the money that beneficiaries must spend out-of-pocket before insurance kicks in — are also rising. The average deductible for a standard ACA silver plan in 2025 was nearly $5,000, about double what it was in 2014. (For those with employer-based insurance, the average number is just under $2,000.)

A few states are trying to stem the tide by offering a state-run “public option,” a basic affordable insurance plan that patients can choose. But they have struggled because a lower payment rate for workers generally means fewer participating providers and reduced access to care.

If voters paid as much attention to the price of health insurance as they do to the cost of gas and eggs, maybe elected officials would respond with more action.

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Last year in Massachusetts, after finding lumps in her breast, Jessica Chen went to Lowell General Hospital-Saints Campus, part of Tufts Medicine, for a mammogram and sonogram. Before the screenings, she asked the hospital for the estimated patient responsibility for the bill using her insurance, Tufts Health Plan. Her portion, she was told, would be $359 — and she paid it. She was more than a little surprised weeks later to receive a bill asking her to pay an additional $1,677.51. “I was already trying to stomach $359, and this was many times higher,” Chen, a physician assistant, told me.

The No Surprises Act, which took effect in 2022, was rightly heralded as a landmark piece of legislation, which “protects people covered under group and individual health plans from receiving surprise medical bills,” according to the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services. And yet bills that take patients like Chen by surprise just keep coming.

With the help of her software-wise boyfriend, she found the complicated “machine-readable” master price list that hospitals are required to post online and looked up the negotiated rate between Lowell General and her insurer. It was $302.56 — less than she had paid out-of-pocket.

CMS is charged with enforcing the law, so Chen sent a complaint about the surprising bill to the agency. She received a terse email in return: “We have reviewed your complaint and have determined that the rights and protections of the No Surprises Act do not apply.”

When I asked the health system to explain how such a surprising off-estimate bill could be generated, Tufts Medicine spokesperson Jeremy Lechan responded by email: “Healthcare billing is complex and includes various factors and data points, so actual charges for care provided may differ from initial estimates. We understand the frustration these discrepancies can cause.”

Here’s the problem: While the No Surprises Act has been a phenomenal success in taking on some unfair practices in the wild West of medical billing, it was hardly a panacea.

In fact, the measure protected patients primarily from only one particularly egregious type of surprise bill that had become increasingly common before the law’s enactment: When patients unknowingly got out-of-network care at an in-network facility, or when they had no choice but to get out-of-network care in an emergency. In either case, before President Donald Trump signed the law late in his first term, patients could be hit with tens or hundreds of thousands of dollars in out-of-network bills that their insurance wouldn’t pay.

The No Surprises Act also provided some protection from above-estimate bills, but at the moment, the protection is only for uninsured and self-pay patients, so it wouldn’t apply in Chen’s case since she was using health insurance.

But patients who do qualify generally are entitled to an up-front, good-faith estimate for treatment they schedule at least three business days in advance or if they request one. Patients can dispute a bill if it is more than $400 over the estimate. (The No Surprises Act also required what amounted to a good-faith estimate of out-of-pocket costs for patients with insurance, but that provision has not been implemented, since, nearly five years later, the government still has not issued rules about exactly what form it should take.)

So, surprising medical bills — bills that the patient could not have anticipated and never consented to — are still stunning countless Americans.

Jessica Robbins, who works in product development in Chicago, was certainly surprised when, out of the blue, she was recently billed $3,300 by Endeavor Health for a breast MRI she had received two years earlier, with prior authorization from her then-insurer, Blue Cross and Blue Shield of Illinois. In trying to resolve the problem, she found herself caught in a Kafkaesque circle involving dozens of calls and emails. The clinic where she had the procedure no longer existed, having been bought by Endeavor. And she no longer had Blue Cross.

“We are actively working with the patient and their insurer to resolve this matter,” Endeavor spokesperson Allie Burke said in an emailed response to my questions.

Mary Ann Bonita of Fresno, California, was starting school this year to become a nursing assistant when, on a Friday, she received a positive skin test for tuberculosis. Her school’s administration said she couldn’t return to class until she had a negative chest X-ray. When her doctor from Kaiser Permanente didn’t answer requests to order the test for several days, Bonita went to an emergency room and paid $595 up front for the X-ray, which showed no TB. So she and her husband were surprised to receive another bill, for $1,039, a month later, “with no explanation of what it was for,” said Joel Pickford, Bonita’s husband.

In the cases above, each patient questioned an expensive, unexpected medical charge that came as a shock — only to find that the No Surprises Act didn’t apply.

“There are many billing problems out there that are surprising but are not technically surprise bills,” Zack Cooper, an associate professor of economics at Yale University, told me. The No Surprises Act fixed a specific kind of charge, he said, “and that’s great. But, of course, we need to address others.”

Cooper’s research has found that before the No Surprises Act was passed, more than 25% of emergency room visits yielded a surprise out-of-network bill.

CMS’ official No Surprises Help Desk has received tens of thousands of complaints, which it investigates, said Catherine Howden, a CMS spokesperson. “While some billing practices, such as delayed bills, are not currently regulated” by the No Surprises Act, Howden said, complaint trends nonetheless help “inform potential areas for future improvements.” And they are needed.

Michelle Rodio, a teacher in Lakewood, Ohio, had a lingering cough weeks after a bout of pneumonia that required treatment with a course of antibiotics. She went to Cleveland Clinic’s Lakewood Family Health Center for an examination. Her X-ray was fine. As was her nasal swab — except for the stunning $2,700 bill it generated.

“I said, ‘This is a surprise bill!’” Rodio recalled telling the provider’s finance office. The agent said it was not.

“So I said, ‘Next time I’ll be sure to ask the doctor for an estimate when I get a nose swab.’”

“The doctors wouldn’t know that,” the agent replied, as Rodio recalled — and indeed physicians generally have no idea how much the tests they order will cost. And in any case, Rodio was not legally entitled to a binding estimate, since the part of the No Surprises Act that grants patients with insurance that right has not been implemented yet.

So she was stuck with a bill of $471 (the patient responsibility portion of the $2,700 charge) that she couldn’t have consented to (or rejected) in advance. It was surprising — shocking to her, even — but not a “surprise bill,” according to the current law. But shouldn’t it be?

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Health care has proved a vulnerable target for the firehose of cuts and policy changes President Donald Trump ordered in the name of reducing waste and improving efficiency. But most of the impact isn’t as tangible as, say, higher egg prices at the grocery store.

One thing experts from a wide range of fields, from basic science to public health, agree on: The damage will be varied and immense. “It’s exceedingly foolish to cut funding in this way,” said Harold Varmus, a Nobel Prize-winning scientist and former director of both the National Institutes of Health and the National Cancer Institute.

The blaze of cuts have yielded nonsensical and perhaps unintended consequences. Consider instances in which grant funding gets canceled after two years of a three-year project. That means, for example, that $2 million has already been spent but there will be no return on that investment.

Some of the targeted areas are not administration priorities. That includes the abrupt termination of studies on long covid, which afflicts more than 100,000 Americans, and the interruption of work on mRNA vaccines, which hold promise not just in infectious disease but also in treating cancer.

While charitable dollars have flowed in to plug some gaps, “philanthropy cannot replace federal funding,” said Dustin Sposato, communications manager for the Science Philanthropy Alliance, a group that works to boost support from charities for basic science research.

Here are critical ways in which Trump administration cuts — proposed and actual — could affect American health care and, more important, the health of American patients.

Cuts to the National Institutes of Health: The Trump administration has cut $2.3 billion in new grant funding since its term began, as well as terminated existing grants on a wide range of topics — vaccine hesitancy, HIV/AIDS, and covid-19 — that do not align with its priorities. National Institutes of Health grants do have yearly renewal clauses, but it is rare for them to be terminated, experts say. The administration has also cut “training grants” for young scientists to join the NIH.

Why It Matters: The NIH has long been a crucible of basic science research — the kind of work that industry generally does not do. Most pharmaceutical patents have their roots in work done or supported by the NIH, and many scientists at pharmaceutical manufacturers learned their craft at institutions supported by the NIH or at the NIH itself. The termination of some grants will directly affect patients since they involved ongoing clinical studies on a range of conditions, including pediatric cancer, diabetes, and long covid. And, more broadly, cuts in public funding for research could be costly in the longer term as a paucity of new discoveries will mean fewer new products: A 25% cut to public research and development spending would reduce the nation’s economic output by an amount comparable to the decline in gross domestic product during the Great Recession, a new study found.

Cuts to Universities: The Trump administration also tried to deal a harrowing blow — currently blocked by the courts — to scientific research at universities by slashing extra money that accompanies research grants for “indirect costs,” like libraries, lab animal care, support staff, and computer systems.

Why It Matters: Wealthier universities may find the funds to make up for draconian indirect cost cuts. But poorer ones — and many state schools, many of them in red states — will simply stop doing research. A good number of crucial discoveries emerge from these labs. “Medical research is a money-losing proposition,” said one state school dean with former ties to the Ivies. (The dean requested anonymity because his current employer told him he could not speak on the record.) “If you want to shut down research, this will do it, and it will go first at places like the University of Tennessee and the University of Arkansas.” That also means fewer opportunities for students at state universities to become scientists.

Cuts to Public Health: These hits came in many forms. The administration has cut or threatened to cut long-standing block grants from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention; covid-related grants; and grants related to diversity, equity, and inclusion activities — which often translated into grants to improve health care for the underserved. Though the covid pandemic has faded, those grants were being used by states to enhance lab capacity to improve detection and surveillance. And they were used to formally train the nation’s public health workforce, many of whom learn on the job.

Why It Matters: Public health officials and researchers were working hard to facilitate a quicker, more thoughtful response to future pandemics, of particular concern as bird flu looms and measles is having a resurgence. Mati Hlatshwayo Davis, the St. Louis health director, had four grants canceled, three in one day. One grant that fell under the covid rubric included programs to help community members make lifestyle changes to reduce the risk of hypertension and diabetes — the kind of chronic diseases that Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. has said he will focus on fighting. Others paid the salaries of support staff for a wide variety of public health initiatives. “What has been disappointing is that decisions have been made without due diligence,” she said.

Health-Related Impact of Tariffs: Though Trump has exempted prescription drugs from his sweeping tariffs on most imports thus far, he has not ruled out the possibility of imposing such tariffs. “It’s a moving target,” said Michael Strain, an economist at the American Enterprise Institute, noting that since high drug prices are already a burden, adding any tax to them is problematic.

Why It Matters: That supposed exemption doesn’t fully insulate American patients from higher costs. About two-thirds of prescription drugs are already manufactured in the U.S. But their raw materials are often imported from China — and those enjoy no tariff exemption. Many basic supplies used in hospitals and doctors’ offices — syringes, surgical drapes, and personal protective equipment — are imported, too. Finally, even if the tariffs somehow don’t themselves magnify the price to purchase ingredients and medical supplies, Americans may suffer: Across-the-board tariffs on such a wide range of products, from steel to clothing, means fewer ships will be crossing the Pacific to make deliveries — and that means delays. “I think there’s an uncomfortably high probability that something breaks in the supply chain and we end up with shortages,” Strain said.

Changes to Medicaid: Trump has vowed to protect Medicaid, the state-federal health insurance program for Americans with low incomes and disabilities. But House Republicans have eyed the program as a possible source of offsets to help pay for what Trump calls “the big, beautiful bill” — a sweeping piece of budget legislation to extend his 2017 tax cuts. The amount of money GOP leaders have indicated they could squeeze from Medicaid, which now covers about 20% of Americans, has been in the hundreds of billions of dollars. But deep cuts are politically fraught.

To generate some savings, administration officials have at times indicated they are open to at least some tweaks to Medicaid. One idea on the table — work requirements — would require adults on Medicaid to be working or in some kind of job training. (Nearly two-thirds of Medicaid recipients ages 19-64 already work.)

Why It Matters: In 2024 the uninsured rate was 8.2%, near the all-time low, in large part because of the Medicaid expansion under the 2010 Affordable Care Act. Critics say work requirements are a backhanded way to slim down the Medicaid rolls, since the paperwork requirements of such programs have proved so onerous that eligible people drop out, causing the uninsured rate to rise. A Congressional Budget Office report estimates that the proposed change would reduce coverage by at least 7.7 million in a decade. This leads to higher rates of uncompensated care, putting vulnerable health care facilities — think rural hospitals — at risk.

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Caitlyn Mai woke up one morning in middle school so dizzy she couldn’t stand and deaf in one ear, the result of an infection that affected one of her cranial nerves. Though her balance recovered, the hearing never came back.

Growing up, she learned to cope — but it wasn’t easy. With only one functioning ear, she couldn’t tell where sounds were coming from. She couldn’t follow along with groups of people in conversation — at social gatherings or at work — so she learned to lip-read.

For many years, insurers wouldn’t approve cochlear implants for single-sided deafness due to concerns that it would be hard to train the brain to manage signals from a biological ear and one that hears with the aid of an implant. But research on the detrimental effects of single-sided deafness and improvements in technique changed all that.

So Mai, now 27 and living near Oklahoma City, was thrilled last fall to get a prior authorization letter from her insurer saying she was covered for cochlear implant surgery.

She had successful outpatient surgery to implant the device in December and soon after was eagerly attending therapy to get her brain accustomed to its new capabilities.

“It was amazing. When I’d misplaced my phone and it rang, I could tell where the sound was coming from and find it,” she said.

Then the bill came.

The Patient: Caitlyn Mai, who is insured through her husband’s job by HealthSmart, which is owned by UnitedHealth Group.

Medical Services: Cochlear implant surgery, including the operating room, anesthesia, surgical supplies, and drugs.

Service Provider: SSM Health Bone & Joint Hospital at St. Anthony, an orthopedic hospital in Oklahoma City that is part of SSM Health, a Catholic health system in the central U.S.

Total Bill: $139,362.74 — or, with a “prompt pay discount” if she paid about two months after surgery, $125,426.47.

What Gives: Providers and insurers often have disagreements over how a bill is submitted or coded, and as they work through them (or don’t), the patient is left holding the bag, facing sometimes huge bills.

“I almost had a heart attack when I opened the bill,” Mai said of the first monthly missive, which arrived in late December. She said she was so upset she left work to investigate. Before surgery, “I’d even checked that all hospitals and doctors were in-network and that I’d met my deductible,” she said.

While she was never threatened with having her bill sent to collections, she said she worried about that possibility when the same bills arrived in January, February, and March, with ominous warnings that “your balance is now past due.”

Mai said she first called the hospital billing office but that the representative could tell her only that the claim had been denied and didn’t know why. She called her insurer, and a representative there said the hospital didn’t adequately itemize its charges or include billing codes. She then called the hospital back and relayed exactly what her insurer said must be done to rectify the bill — and the name and number of the insurance employee to fax it to.

When her insurer told her a week or two later it hadn’t received a corrected bill, Mai said, she called the hospital again … and again.

“I said, ‘I’ve done your job for you — now can you please take it from here?’” she said.

Mai said a hospital staffer promised to fax over the corrected, itemized bill in two to three weeks. “How does it take that long to send a fax,” she wondered. She said she asked to speak with a supervisor and was told the person wasn’t available but would call her back. No one did.

After receiving another $139,000 bill in late February, Mai said, she checked back in with her insurer, but a representative said it had not yet received the revised bill.

Finally, she said, she told the hospital to “just send it to me and I’ll send it over.” This time, she forwarded the bill to her insurer herself. But in late March she got another bill demanding the full amount — and offering an $11,000-a-month payment plan.

Mai said she had met her out-of-pocket deductible and, with prior authorization in hand, expected the surgery to be fully covered.

SSM Health did not respond to multiple requests for comment about why it billed Mai.

“It’s outrageous that the patients end up umpiring the decisions,” said Elisabeth Ryden Benjamin, vice president of health initiatives at the Community Service Society of New York, an advocacy organization. “And it’s outrageous that providers are allowed to bill patients while they’re haggling with the insurer.”

Indeed, more and more patients are stuck with such bills as insurers and hospitals spend more and more time arguing in the trenches, data shows. A recent report by Crowe, an accounting firm that works with a large number of hospitals, found that more than 30% of claims submitted to commercial insurers early last year weren’t paid for more than 90 days — striking compared with the lower rates of such delays in Medicare, which were 12% for inpatient claims and 11% for outpatient claims.

The Crowe report found a particular justification for denying claims was cited at 12 times the rate by commercial insurers as by Medicare: that they needed more information before they would process the submission. Such a request allows insurers to sidestep laws in most states that require claims be paid in 30 to 40 days, automatically granting health plans the right to delay payment.

In a separate analysis, the American Hospital Association complained that increases in insurance denials and delays “strain hospital resources” and “inhibit medically necessary care.”

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But perhaps no one is harmed as gravely as the patient, who is barraged with bills and believes they must pay up — particularly when the missives are stamped “past due” and contain offers of prompt-payment discounts or no-interest payment plans. “The stress and anxiety was huge,” Mai said.

Caroline Landree, a spokesperson for UnitedHealth Group, said the insurer could pay Mai’s claims only “after receiving a detailed bill from her provider.”

“We encourage our members to contact the number on their insurance cards for more information on the status of payments,” she added.

The Resolution: Mai estimated she spent at least 12 hours on the phone doing tasks that typically fall to someone working in a hospital billing department: making sure the bill was coded as needed and that the insurer had what it wanted to process the payment.

More than 90 days after her surgery, after Mai had received four terrifyingly huge bills, her insurance finally paid the claim. Mai owed nothing more.

She added: “I’ve never got that call back from a supervisor to this day.”

The Takeaway: It’s not uncommon for an insurer to delay paying a claim until it receives an itemized bill; providers sometimes get creative with billing codes to increase revenue, and studies show that more than half of hospital bills contain errors. But studies also suggest insurers are wont to drag their feet, niggling over coding and charges — and, in doing so, delaying reimbursement and holding on to the cash.

Medical billing experts say it may not seem right for patients to receive bills as this process plays out but that it’s probably legal.

“Laws say ‘hold the patient harmless,’” Benjamin said. “What we didn’t say is, ‘Don’t send them a bill.’” She said it is also unfair that patients may be forced to act as the go-between for providers and insurers who should be talking to each other.

What’s a patient to do? First step: Don’t pay the bill (aside from a copay or coinsurance) for care or services preapproved by insurance. Call the health care provider and explain they should take up their bill with the insurer.

Second, ask the provider to send an itemized bill with all billing codes used, then review it for errors. As the patient, you would know that you never had an MRI, for example. Your insurer wouldn’t.

If submissions to “Bill of the Month” are reflective of trends, many patients these days are finding themselves ping-ponging between representatives for providers and insurers to get bills resolved and paid.

“Bravo for Ms. Mai for having the energy to keep at it and get resolution,” Benjamin said.

Dan Weissmann reported the audio story.

Bill of the Month is a crowdsourced investigation by KFF Health News and NPR that dissects and explains medical bills. Do you have an interesting medical bill you want to share with us? Tell us about it!

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When George Lai of Portland, Oregon, took his toddler son to a pediatrician last summer for a checkup, the doctor noticed a little splinter in the child’s palm. “He must have gotten it between the front door and the car,” Lai later recalled, and the child wasn’t complaining. The doctor grabbed a pair of forceps — aka tweezers — and pulled out the splinter in “a second,” Lai said. That brief tug was transformed into a surgical billing code: Current Procedural Terminology (CPT) code 10120, “incision and removal of a foreign body, subcutaneous” — at a cost of $414.

“This was ridiculous,” Lai said. “There was no scalpel.” He was so angry that he went back to the office to speak with the manager, who told him the coding was correct because tweezers could make an incision to open the skin.

When Helene Schilders of Seattle went to her dermatologist for her annual skin check this year, she mentioned her clothing was irritating a skin tag she had. The doctor froze the tag with liquid nitrogen. “It was squirt, squirt. That’s it,” Schilders told me. She was “floored” by an explanation of benefits that said the simple treatment had been billed as $469 for surgery.

Assuming the bill was a mistake, she called the doctor’s office and was told that surgery had indeed occurred — because the skin was broken in the process. Hence surgical CPT code 17110, “destruction of 1-14 benign lesions.”

Schilders complained to her insurer, who provided a document informing her that “surgery is classified as something entering the body, such as a Q-tip entering the ear canal or a scalpel during surgery.”

Huh? “I have had surgery, and this is not it,” Schilders said.

In common vernacular, “surgery” evokes images of physicians and nurses leaning over an operating table, gowned and masked, as they address a problem deep in the body. Removing an appendix or a tumor. Replacing a knee. Clipping a leaking aneurysm in the brain. It most probably involves a scalpel or specialized instruments and surgical skill.

More and more minor interventions, however, have been rebranded and billed as surgery, for profit. These tiny interventions don’t yield huge bills — in the hundreds rather than the thousands of dollars — but, cumulatively, they likely add up to tens if not hundreds of millions of dollars for doctors and hospitals annually. The surprise bills often catch patients off guard. And they must pay up if they haven’t met their insurance deductible. Even if they have, “surgery” generally requires a coinsurance payment, while an office visit doesn’t.

“There’s more pressure to make money, and the idea is you can charge more if it’s a surgical procedure,” said Sabrina Corlette, founder and co-director of Georgetown University’s Center on Health Insurance Reforms. “The payer should be reviewing this and saying this is run-of-the-mill. But there’s not a lot of incentive to do that.”

Corlette surmised that the codes employed in the instances mentioned above were intended for rare, complicated cases in which the removal of a splinter or a skin lesion — or 14 of them — required special skills or time. But the codes’ use has ballooned, covering the complicated and the commonplace. The use of code 17110 billed from doctors’ offices has gone up 62% from 2013 (1,739,708) to 2022 (2,817,190).

The blizzard of surgeries-in-name-only is a symptom of a system that has long valued procedures far more than intellectual work in its payments to medical providers. That merits rethinking, and there are some hints that the incoming presidential administration might be interested in doing so.

The current payment calculation system has its origins in the late 1980s, when a team led by an economist at Harvard University’s public health school, William Hsiao, created what’s called the Resource Based Relative Value Scale, or RBRVS, to rationalize Medicare’s payments to doctors. It allocated reimbursement using a formula that included physician work, practice expenses, and malpractice expenses. It concluded “that the work per unit time (a measure of intensity) for invasive services is about three times that of evaluation/management.”

In other words, it enshrined the notion that “invasive services” — procedures or surgery — were by far the most valuable.

An American Medical Association committee that includes physicians from an array of specialties periodically suggests updates to those codes (and federal regulators accept them, in many years, over 90% of the time). Since surgeons are overrepresented on the committee, the valuation of anything defined as an operation has only increased, giving billers the incentive to classify even the most mundane interventions as surgery.

Experts of all political stripes have spent years critiquing the process — it’s common sense that the fox (physicians) should not be guarding the henhouse (payments). President-elect Donald Trump’s pick for Health and Human Services secretary, Robert F. Kennedy Jr., has signaled that he might rethink that approach, according to the health-industry publication Stat. Kennedy has not outlined an actual plan to replace the current process, but he is reportedly exploring if the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services, a government agency, could do it instead.

Absent reform, on it goes.

Anthony Norton of Puyallup, Washington, took his 3-year-old daughter to a doctor this year because she had a bothersome plantar wart on her foot. The doctor applied a chemical ointment to the wart in the office every two weeks and covered it with a Band-Aid. When the child arrived for a third visit, Norton was informed he had an outstanding balance of $465 (in addition to the $25 office visit copay already paid) because the application was “surgery.” CPT code 17110 again.

“It made no sense,” Norton later recalled. The billing office assured him it was surgery, he said, “because the ointment penetrates the skin.”

Norton wondered: “When you extrapolate that, is putting on Neosporin or calamine surgery, too?”

We are now in an era in which a neurologist spending 40 minutes with a patient to tease out a diagnosis can be paid less for that time than a dermatologist spending a few seconds squirting a dollop of liquid nitrogen onto the skin.

Lai was so angry at being charged more than $400 to pull that splinter out of his child’s hand that he went on a crusade, returning to the dermatologist’s office when his calls were ignored, accusing it of fraud and threatening to complain to his insurer. Only then, he said, did the doctor’s office waive the surgical charge — and kick him and his family out of the practice.

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GoFundMe started as a crowdfunding site for underwriting “ideas and dreams,” and, as GoFundMe’s co-founders, Andrew Ballester and Brad Damphousse, once put it, “for life’s important moments.” In the early years, it funded honeymoon trips, graduation gifts, and church missions to overseas hospitals in need. Now GoFundMe has become a go-to platform for patients trying to escape medical billing nightmares.

One study found that, in 2020, the annual number of U.S. campaigns related to medical causes — about 200,000 — was 25 times the number of such campaigns on the site in 2011. More than 500 current campaigns are dedicated to asking for financial help for treating people, mostly kids, who have spinal muscular atrophy, a neurodegenerative genetic condition. The recently approved gene therapy for young children with the condition, by the drugmaker Novartis, has a price tag of about $2.1 million for the single-dose treatment.

Perhaps the most damning aspect of this is that paying for expensive care with crowdfunding is no longer seen as unusual; instead, it is being normalized as part of the health system, like getting bloodwork done or waiting on hold for an appointment. Need a heart transplant? Start a GoFundMe to get on the waiting list. Resorting to GoFundMe when faced with bills has become so accepted that, in some cases, patient advocates and hospital financial aid officers recommend crowdfunding as an alternative to being sent to collections. My inbox and the “Bill of the Month” project (a collaboration by KFF Health News and NPR) have become a kind of complaint desk for people who can’t afford their medical bills, and I’m gobsmacked every time a patient tells me they’ve been advised that GoFundMe is their best option.

GoFundMe acknowledges the reliance of patients on its platform. Ari Romio, a spokesperson for the company, said that “medical expenses” is the most common category of fundraiser it hosts. But she declined to say what proportion of campaigns are medically related, because people starting a campaign self-select the purpose of the fundraiser. They might choose the family or travel category, she said, if a child needs to go to a different state for treatment, for example. So although the company has estimated in the past that roughly a third of the funds raised on the site are related to costs for illness or injury, that could be an undercount.

Andrea Coy of Fort Collins, Colorado, turned to GoFundMe in 2021 as a last resort after an air-ambulance bill tipped her family’s finances over the edge. Sebastian, her son who was then a year old, had been admitted with pneumonia to a local hospital and then transferred urgently by helicopter to Children’s Hospital Colorado in Denver when his oxygen levels dropped. REACH, the air-ambulance transport company that contracted with the hospital, was out-of-network and billed the family nearly $65,000 for the ride — more than $28,000 of which Coy’s insurer, UnitedHealthcare, paid. Even so, REACH continued sending Coy’s family bills for the balance, and later began regularly calling Coy to try to collect — enough so that she felt the company was harassing her, she told me.

Coy made calls to her company’s human resources department, REACH, and UnitedHealthcare for help in resolving the case. She applied to various patient groups for financial assistance and was rejected again and again. Eventually, she got the outstanding balance knocked down to $5,000, but even that was more than she could afford on top of the $12,000 the family owed out-of-pocket for Sebastian’s actual treatment.

That’s when a hospital financial aid officer suggested she try GoFundMe. But, as Coy said, “I’m not an influencer or anything like that,” so the appeal “offered only a bit of temporary relief — we’ve hit a wall.” They have gone deep into debt and hope to climb out of it.

In an emailed response, a spokesperson for REACH noted that they could not comment on a specific case because of patient-privacy laws, but that, if the ambulance ride occurred before the federal No Surprises Act went into effect, the bill was legal. (That act protects patients from such air-ambulance bills and has been in force since Jan. 1, 2022.) But the spokesperson added, “If a patient is experiencing a financial hardship, we work with them to find equitable solutions.” What is “equitable” — and whether that includes seeking an additional $5,000, beyond a $28,000 insurance payment, for transporting a sick child — is subjective, of course.

In many respects, research shows, GoFundMe tends to perpetuate socioeconomic disparities that already affect medical bills and debt. If you are famous or part of a circle of friends who have money, your crowdfunding campaign is much more likely to succeed than if you are middle-class or poor. When the family of the former Olympic gymnast Mary Lou Retton started a fundraiser on another platform, *spotfund, for her recent stay in the intensive care unit while uninsured, nearly $460,000 in donations quickly poured in. (Although Retton said she could not get affordable insurance because of a preexisting condition — dozens of orthopedic surgeries — the Affordable Care Act prohibits insurers from refusing to cover people because of their medical history, or charging them abnormally high rates.)

And given the price of American health care, even the most robust fundraising can feel inadequate. If you’re looking for help to pay for a $2 million drug, even tens of thousands can be a drop in the bucket.

Rob Solomon, CEO of GoFundMe from 2015 to March 2020, who in 2018 was named one of Time magazine’s 50 most influential people in health care, has said that he “would love nothing more than for ‘medical’ to not be a category on GoFundMe.” He told KFF Health News that “the system is terrible. It needs to be rethought and retooled. Politicians are failing us. Health care companies are failing us. Those are realities.”

Despite the noble ambitions of its original vision, however, GoFundMe is a privately held for-profit company. In 2015, the founders sold a majority stake to a venture-capital investor group led by Accel Partners and Technology Crossover Ventures. And when I asked about medical bills being the most common reason for GoFundMe campaigns, the company’s current CEO, Tim Cadogan, sounded less critical than his predecessor of the health system, whose high prices and financial cruelty have arguably made his company famous.

“Our mission is to help people help each other,” he said. “We are not, and cannot, be the solution to complex, systemic problems that are best solved with meaningful public policy.”

And that’s true. Despite the site’s hopeful vibe, most campaigns generate only a small fraction of the money owed. Most medical-expense campaigns in the U.S. fell short of their goal, and some raised little or no money, a 2017 study from the University of Washington found. Campaigns made an average of about 40% of the target amount, and there is evidence that yields — measured as a percentage of their targets — have worsened over time.

Carol Justice, a recently retired civil servant and a longtime union member in Portland, Oregon, turned to GoFundMe because she faced a mammoth unexpected bill for bariatric surgery at Oregon Health & Science University.

She had expected to pay about $1,000, the amount left of her deductible, after her health insurer paid the $15,000 cap on the surgery. She didn’t understand that a cap meant she would have to pay the difference if the hospital, which was in-network, charged more.

And it did, leaving her with a bill of $18,000, to be paid all at once or in monthly $1,400 increments, which were “more than my mortgage,” she said. “I was facing filing for bankruptcy or losing my car and my house.” She made numerous calls to the hospital’s financial aid office, many unanswered, and received only unfulfilled promises that “we’ll get back to you” about whether she qualified for help.

So, Justice said, her health coach — provided by the city of Portland — suggested starting a GoFundMe. The campaign yielded about $1,400, just one monthly payment, including $200 from the health coach and $100 from an aunt. She dutifully sent each donation directly to the hospital.

In an emailed response, the hospital system said that it couldn’t discuss individual cases but that “financial assistance information is readily available for patients, and can be accessed at any point in a patient’s journey with OHSU. Starting in early 2019, OHSU worked to remove barriers for patients most in need by providing a quick screening for financial assistance that, if a certain threshold is met, awards financial assistance without requiring an application process.”

This tale has a happy-ish ending. In desperation, Justice went to the hospital and planted herself in the financial aid office, where she had a tearful meeting with a hospital representative who determined that — given her finances — she wouldn’t have to pay the bill.

“I’d been through the gamut and just cried,” she said. She said she would like to repay the people who donated to her GoFundMe campaign. But, so far, the hospital won’t give the $1,400 back.

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