By Charles Lam
By R. Scott Moxley
By Taylor Hamby
By Matt Coker
By R. Scott Moxley
By Charles Lam
By LP Hastings
By Taylor Hamby
Steve Silen says he learned about health-maintenance organizations (HMOs) the hard way. In January 1998, his 16-year-old daughter, Serenity, went to Silen's HMO doctor complaining of a sore throat. (Silen later sued, and his settlement agreement bars him from naming either the insurance company or the dollar amount.) After several weeks and several more sore-throat diagnoses, Silen's wife pressured doctors to give Serenity a routine blood test. The HMO relented and discovered a white-blood-cell count of 92,000—10 to 15 times higher than normal. Serenity, an Irvine High School sophomore who trained to ride horses in the Olympics, didn't have a sore throat, a cold, or a viral infection. She had leukemia.
Silen's complaint claims the delayed diagnosis reduced Serenity's chances of survival. The HMO placed her in an LA-area hospital, where, according to the complaint, cancer patients like his daughter with weakened immune systems were mixed with infectious-diseases patients. Silen described understaffed hospital wards and undertrained staff. As the Silens watched doctors and nurses stumble around her in something like a cross between Duck Soup and ER, their daughter's condition worsened. It was, Silen recalls, "one miscue after another."
When their daughter went into remission in April 1998, the Silens lobbied the HMO for a bone-marrow transplant—an expensive operation, Silen concedes, but one that "would've saved my daughter's life." But the hospital hesitated and then finally agreed to schedule the procedure for a date in late 1999. Serenity relapsed, closing the briefly opened window of opportunity.
"That's when you find out the HMO isn't your friend," Silen says. "That's when you find out you're dealing with accountants, not doctors."
Desperate, the Silens removed their daughter from the HMO system. They paid for an oncologist in private practice out of their own pockets. "We risked everything we owned to save her life," he says. "Our goal was to save a life, not a bottom line."
Risking everything wasn't enough. On October 11, 1998, just eight months after her leukemia diagnosis, Serenity Silen died.
The Silens had little recourse after their daughter's death, thanks to the federal Employee Retirement Income Security Act (ERISA). The act contains a loophole that treats HMOs as if they were pension programs; that loophole protects HMOs from virtually all lawsuits.
Under the law, the Silens and others like them can sue only for legitimate treatment denied and lost wages. But ERISA prohibits the Silens—and the 125 million other Americans signed onto employer-paid insurance plans—from collecting any money for pain and suffering or damages. They can't claim anything that might encourage HMOs to perform differently in the future.
That's not how ERISA was supposed to work. Passed in 1974, the law was designed to protect employee pension funds from lawsuits that might wipe out the retirement funds of hundreds or thousands of workers. More recently, the law has been interpreted to cover employee health-insurance programs—even if those programs are run by private corporations.
California law doesn't recognize HMOs as insurance companies; instead, such companies as Kaiser, PacifiCare, United Health and others fall under the jurisdiction of the Department of Corporations. California also limits damage claims to a few hundred thousand dollars. Except for government workers—whose exemption is clearly stated in ERISA—and some individuals who pay for their own health insurance, anyone who sues an HMO can expect compensation only for the cost of treatment denied them and any lost wages.
Sometimes, an individual plan holder can successfully negotiate the HMO litigation maze. In the summer of 1998, Ventura County attorney Mark Hiepler won a stunning $89 million wrongful-death judgment against Health Net. The HMO had refused to pay for a life-saving procedure for his sister, who was then suffering from breast cancer—a refusal Hiepler successfully argued contributed to her death.
But for the other 14 million Californians who get their health coverage from HMOs, there is no such hope. Bills to restore full litigation rights to them died miserable deaths last year after then-Governor Pete Wilson vowed to veto anything that might, as he put it, make insurance more expensive—a grotesque manipulation developed by the insurance industry to scare consumers into maintaining the status quo. By killing bills designed to increase a patient's right to sue an HMO for full damages, Wilson could claim he was only protecting consumers from the "higher premiums" such legislation might bring.
The latest attempt to close the ERISA loophole for state health-care consumers is Senate Bill 21, which is now working its way through the state Senate. That bill would place HMOs under the jurisdiction of the state insurance commissioner, removing its current special exemptions. It's unknown if Governor Gray Davis will sign the bill, much less whether both state houses will pass it, or whether insurance-industry-friendly Insurance Commissioner Chuck Quackenbush would do anything to act on the bill once it becomes law. Last year, Assembly Bill 2436, which would have given patients the right to sue HMOs, never made it out of the state Assembly.
A federal law rescinding the ERISA exemption would be a far easier approach. Currently, the Kennedy-Dingell bill (the so-called Patients' Bill of Rights) would do exactly that. But that bill faces serious opposition—not merely from the GOP-led Congress, but also from the insanely rich health-insurance industry. In May and July of 1998, the industry lobbying group Health Benefits Coalition (HBC) spent $2 million campaigning against Kennedy-Dingell. Federal Election Commission records show the entire HMO industry spent an incredible $6 million on lobbying in just the last half of 1998.