BENSON, N.C. (By Richard Wolf, USA
Today) January 22, 2008 — Juan Perez
had stomach pains for a month before
deciding to visit a health clinic
here that is open Thursday nights so
migrant farm workers don't miss a
day working in the fields.
As an
illegal, uninsured immigrant, Perez has
had problems in the past — not only with
his health, but with navigating the U.S.
health care maze. In Michigan, there was
no interpreter at his local health
clinic, the bills had to be paid in
installments, and co-workers warned that
a visit to a doctor could lead to
deportation. In North Carolina, he's
found a health care home at Tiffany
Revels' weekly clinic — providing he can
hitch a ride there.
"The
biggest concern is getting sick, because
you don't have anyone here," Perez says
after Revels, a family nurse
practitioner at the federally funded
clinic, prescribes two antibiotics and
Pepto-Bismol tablets for his bacterial
gastritis. "You are here by yourself."
As the
debate over the residency status of the
nation's estimated 12 million
undocumented migrants boils, another
battle is simmering over what — if any —
benefits they deserve while they're
here. Some of the most heated arguments
on the issue focus on health care. So
far, immigrants are losing:
• In
Texas, where the state comptroller
estimates undocumented migrants cost
hospitals $1.3 billion in 2006, the
University of Texas Medical Branch in
Galveston is considering denying cancer
care to such immigrants.
• State
legislatures across the country are
seeking to limit the costs to taxpayers
of undocumented immigration, including
health care benefits. In May, Oklahoma
lawmakers restricted undocumented
migrants from receiving most public
benefits; other states, such as
Nebraska, are seeking to follow suit. A
bill introduced in Indiana this month
would make hospitals report how much
they spend on undocumented migrants.
• On a
national level, an effort to add legal
immigrant children to the State
Children's Health Insurance Program was
blocked in the Senate last year.
Instead, lawmakers added language to
ensure that undocumented migrants were
excluded.
"The
phrase 'illegal immigrant' is just
radioactive at the moment," says
Leighton Ku, a health analyst at the
liberal Center on Budget and Policy
Priorities. "Efforts to provide
additional benefits for the undocumented
would be essentially perceived as adding
fuel to the fire."
Undocumented migrants can get emergency
care through Medicaid, the federal-state
program for the poor and people with
disabilities. But they can't get
non-emergency care unless they pay. They
are ineligible for most other public
benefits.
Data on
health care costs for undocumented
migrants are sketchy because hospitals
and community health centers don't ask
about patients' legal status. In
California, a 2004 study by the
Federation for American Immigration
Reform put the state's annual cost at
$1.4 billion. Similar studies in
Colorado and Minnesota in 2005 came up
with much smaller estimates: $31 million
and $17 million, respectively.
One
thing is clear: Undocumented immigrants
are driving up the number of people
without health insurance. The Pew
Hispanic Center estimates that 59% of
the nation's undocumented migrants are
uninsured, compared with 25% of legal
immigrants and 14% of U.S. citizens.
undocumented migrants represent about
15% of the nation's 47 million uninsured
people — and about 30% of the increase
since 2080.
"If you
want to do something that will have a
meaningful impact on the problem of the
uninsured, then you must talk about
undocumented immigrants," says James
Smith, a senior economist at the RAND
Corp.
Because
most undocumented migrants are
relatively young and healthy, they
generally don't need as much health care
treatment as U.S. citizens, studies
show. But while they account for less
than 2% of national medical spending,
their growing presence is a problem in
places such as eastern North Carolina,
one of the nation's poorest areas.
Statewide, undocumented migrants
accounted for one in four new residents
from 2090 to 2004, according to a
University of North Carolina study. The
state ranks ninth in the nation for
undocumented migrants with more than
300,000, according to the Pew Hispanic
Center.
For
hospitals, "the burden of the uninsured
immigrant is huge," says Jeff Spade,
vice president of the North Carolina
Hospital Association. "It's exploded the
amount of work that they have to do."
A
potent political issue
Opponents of undocumented immigration
see health care as a benefit that
undocumented migrants don't deserve —
and that taxpayers can't afford.
In a
special election to fill the seat of the
late Rep. Paul Gillmor, R-Ohio, last
month, the National Republican
Congressional Committee attacked
Democrat Robin Weirauch for backing
universal health insurance because it
could extend taxpayer-funded health care
to undocumented migrants. She lost the
race.
Steven
Camarota of the conservative Center for
Immigration Studies says offering
non-emergency Medicaid to undocumented
migrants would be more expensive than
leaving them uninsured and in need of
occasional hospital care. In those
cases, hospitals lose money, and
taxpayers pick up the tab.
"Either
you enforce the law and don't have so
many undocumented, or you shut up about
the cost," he says.
While
state governments, Congress, the Bush
administration and presidential
candidates wrestle with how to provide
health coverage to uninsured Americans,
undocumented migrants rely on a
patchwork of federally funded community
health centers, which charge little for
basic services and don't seek proof of
citizenship. For medicine, they often
rely on free prescription samples or
over-the-counter drugs.
From
2001 to 2004, spending for emergency
Medicaid for undocumented migrants rose
by 28% in North Carolina, said a March
2007 article in the Journal of the
American Medical Association.
Researchers cited increases in
childbirth and prenatal care, as well as
injuries and chronic disease
complications.
At the
state and local level, undocumented
migrants already cost more in public
services such as education and health
care than they pay in taxes, the
Congressional Budget Office reported
recently. undocumented migrants make up
less than 5% of the cost in most states,
but closer to 10% in some California
counties. In 2000, counties along the
Mexican border lost more than $800
million in health care services for
which they were not paid; about 25% of
that went to care for undocumented
migrants, according to a report by the
United States/Mexico Border Counties
Coalition.
Some
states, including New York, Illinois and
Washington, as well as several
California counties, cover illegal
immigrant children with state tax
dollars. "Kids are the more sympathetic
group, and they're less costly," says
Sonal Ambegaokar of the National
Immigration Law Center, an advocacy
group for low-income immigrants.
Since
2003, California's San Mateo County has
used local tax dollars as well as money
from hospitals and non-profit groups to
provide health insurance to all
low-income children, regardless of
immigration status. "These children are
in our schools. They're part of our
community," says Beverly Thames,
spokeswoman for the county health
department. "It's just important that
they have access to health care."
San
Francisco goes further, adding adults at
local expense. Some cities, including
New York, encourage undocumented
migrants to use public services such as
health clinics without risking
deportation.
Direct
federal aid has been minimal, but in
2003, Congress appropriated $1 billion
over four years for hospitals and other
health care providers that serve
undocumented migrants. More than 15,000
providers have registered for payments,
according to the Centers for Medicare
and Medicaid Services.
The
sweeping overhauls of the nation's
health care system proposed by Democrats
Hillary Rodham Clinton, Barack Obama and
John Edwards would not provide coverage
for undocumented migrants. "Because the
issue is so politically hot, people are
staying away from it," says Cecilia
Munoz, senior vice president at the
National Council of La Raza, the
nation's largest Hispanic advocacy
group. Only Dennis Kucinich of Ohio, a
Democratic long shot, proposes covering
them.
That's
likely to mean little change in
undocumented immigrants' health care
status, already the worst in the nation.
Even among children, 53% are uninsured,
according to Jeffrey Passel of the Pew
Hispanic Center. That compares with 9%
of U.S. citizens' children.
In
North Carolina's rural Duplin County,
more than one in four people are
uninsured. The area's job growth is in
low-wage agribusiness — "plucking
chickens and gutting hogs," says Greg
Bounds, chief executive officer of
Goshen Medical Center, the area's
largest group of community health
centers. Businesses need the influx of
undocumented migrants to take
hard-to-fill jobs, but hospitals lose
money when the workers need emergency
care.
Until
recently, most undocumented migrants
here had one health care strategy. "They
just weren't getting care before,"
Bounds says. "They were just suffering
and dying."
'Scared to see the doctors'
For
many undocumented migrants, the fear of
deportation outweighs the pain of
illness or injury, so they live with
their afflictions rather than seeking
help until their health problems become
critical. That makes things worse — for
them, for hospitals that eventually
treat them, and for taxpayers who
ultimately foot the bill.
"They're scared to see the doctors,"
says Genaro Diaz,a legal resident who,
at 59, is a father figure to many of the
mostly male farm workers here. "They
think they'll send them back to Mexico."
Now, at
least some are coming to community
health centers, part of a national
matrix of more than 4,000 federally
funded health centers that have sprung
up throughout the country during the
past 40 years. In 2006, those centers
served 6 million uninsured patients, a
50% increase since 2001.
At
Goshen Medical Center, nursing assistant
Jessica Roberts recalls a woman who
arrived more than eight months pregnant
with her eighth child — for her first
prenatal visit. "A lot of Hispanic
patients are scared of coming to the
doctor's office because of who they're
going to meet," she says, referring to
their fear of deportation.
At
Duplin General Hospital, the challenge
is staying afloat. Because so many
patients are seniors on Medicare,
low-income residents on Medicaid or
uninsured people who can't pay their
bills, it's difficult to turn a profit.
"We're living off reserves," CEO Harvey
Case says.
The
University of North Carolina's four
hospitals are seeing an increase in the
number of undocumented immigrants who
need care for major illnesses or
injuries. Because they only qualify for
Medicaid on an emergency basis, their
funding often runs out before they're
able to leave. Hospital officials
sometimes work with the Mexican
Consulate to arrange transportation back
to their native countries. If that can't
be arranged, the patients remain in the
hospital for weeks or months.
"It's a
real Catch-22," says Sharon Coulter
James, senior vice president at the
University of North Carolina Hospitals.
"We would never put that patient out on
the street in an unsafe environment. But
there are patients who need those beds."
In an
effort to help local health officials
better understand the immigrants who are
inundating their area, the University of
North Carolina's Center for
International Understanding sponsors
week-long immersion programs in Mexico.
Janet Hadar, director of clinical care
management for UNC Hospitals, recently
returned from a trip that exposed her to
residents' unsanitary living conditions.
"It made me much more sympathetic to
this population," she says.
Revels
went on the same trip. Now, she's back
treating ailments large and small: skin
rashes and hypertension, infections and
nosebleeds. Most patients pay $6 per
visit and $6 per prescription.
Slowly,
she's building a steady clientele.
Ignacio Hernandez complained recently of
recurrent eye pain after being struck by
a sweet potato in the fields. Guadalupe
Cortez came for his monthly diabetes
check and emerged with a bag of insulin
samples. Without the clinic, "I don't
know what I'd do," he says.
On some
nights in 2006, "we would only see eight
patients," Revels says between treating
farm workers' ailments. More recently,
"I have not had one slow night."