Teens who land in emergency rooms with an opioid overdose generally receive naloxone to reverse the effects of dangerous drugs in their system and are sent home with a list of places they can go for follow-up care. But too often, those teens never seek additional help. They are left to suffer through the agony of withdrawal with no medications to ease their cravings. As a result, many, seeking relief, go back to opioids, often with tragic consequences.

Christian Thurstone, the director of behavioral health services at the Denver hospital, said six of his teen patients have died of fentanyl overdoses in the past two years. Denver Health has now opened what he believes to be the nation’s first adolescent inpatient detox unit.

“I’ve been doing adolescent substance treatment here in Denver for 20 years,” Thurstone said. “I wouldn’t know where to send somebody for adolescent detox.”

New research has found that most areas of the U.S. lack facilities that offer medically managed withdrawal for patients under 18. With adolescent overdoses continuing to rise along with the rapid growth of intentional and unintentional fentanyl use, there is a stark lack of options for teens.

Researchers at Oregon Health & Science University posed as an aunt or uncle of a teen who recently overdosed. The researchers called every U.S. teen addiction treatment facility they could find to ask if their niece or nephew could go there to detox and whether the facility offered medications to help with the process.

Of the 160 adolescent residential treatment facilities they contacted, only 63 said they would allow adolescents to detox on-site. Of those 63, only 18 offered buprenorphine — the one medication that’s FDA-approved to treat opioid use disorder in kids as young as 16 — and some of those offered no additional medications to manage withdrawal symptoms.

“I’m not sure if inhumane is too strong of a word,” said Caroline King, an emergency medicine resident at Yale University, who graduated from OHSU in 2023 and led the research. “Offering nothing, offering no additional medication, even nausea medication or really basic things, is really a travesty.”

Staff members at one facility told the researchers they don’t offer medications because kids are resilient, implying they don’t suffer as much as adults, or perhaps that they deserve to suffer, King said. Workers at another told researchers they “try to push Gatorade down them and just lay them down in a cot,” she said.

King said multiple locations responded that they couldn’t think of a single place in their state where kids could go to detox.

“It’s just really terrible to hear that that’s the case,” King said.

The American Society of Addiction Medicine is revising its standards for treating opioid use disorder in adults (this year) and children (in 2024). Sandra Gomez-Luna, the chief medical officer for psychiatry at the Yale School of Medicine, who is leading the pediatric effort, said most adolescents do not experience significant withdrawal symptoms and that, in general, withdrawal isn’t as intense for teens as it is for adults.

“That doesn’t mean that there isn’t a portion of teens with substance use disorders that will require medically monitored withdrawal management,” she said.

Because teens usually haven’t been using drugs for as long as adults, Gomez-Luna said, they may not suffer the consequences of chronic use or have as many accompanying health conditions that can make withdrawal more difficult, or more complex to treat.

But the rise in the more potent opioid fentanyl may be changing that thinking.

“As more and more teens will get involved in fentanyl use,” Gomez-Luna said, “there will be more adolescents that will require medically monitored withdrawal.”

Gomez-Luna said the addiction medicine group is also concerned there are too few facilities for teens and a lack of specialized personnel to treat them.

Scott Hadland, chief of adolescent and young adult medicine at Mass General for Children and Harvard Medical School, said there are fewer facilities for adolescents in part because many teens are never identified as needing help or connected to care, despite the growing number of overdoses.

“The patient volume is surprisingly not always there to support a program like this, even though we know that this is a huge public health problem,” Hadland said. “It becomes financially difficult to build a program whose sole service line is to provide detoxification services for young people.”

When no dedicated detox units are available, teens sometimes get admitted to a hospital, often to the intensive care unit, where more monitoring is available than on regular inpatient floors. But that also means teens are less likely to be cared for by a team specializing in adolescent addiction medicine.

“Our pediatric workforce has not traditionally received strong training in the management of addiction,” Hadland said. “When patients do go to general pediatric hospital settings, it’s possible that there isn’t someone there who has the expertise needed to manage that patient’s care.”

Thurstone said the biggest hurdle in getting Denver Health’s teen detox unit running was staffing. It took more than a year to find a certified addiction specialist to run the unit.

Addiction specialists stress that not all teens with opioid use disorder need inpatient detox. Withdrawal can be managed at home if teens have a stable family environment to support them and monitor their symptoms. Many adolescents with opioid use disorders, however, come from broken homes in which the parents may be struggling with addiction themselves. And coming out of the pandemic, specialists are also seeing more teens with opioid use disorders who have other psychiatric problems, such as depression, anxiety, attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder, or eating disorders.

“All of these conditions have been on the rise in the wake of covid, alongside the rise in overdoses that we’re seeing,” Hadland said. “Part of the charge of our pediatric workforce right now is not just to address addiction, but also to tackle the underlying mental health conditions that young people are working through.”

Thurstone said that nationwide about half of all adolescents drop out of treatment, but that it’s worse in marginalized communities.

Denver Health repurposed beds from an inpatient psychiatric unit to get its teen detox program running. The unit saw its first patient this spring and has been admitting about one patient a week, mostly teens with a fentanyl dependence.

The teens start medication-assisted therapy, most often with buprenorphine, to address their cravings; get additional meds to manage any side effects of withdrawal; and receive cognitive behavioral therapy to help them with their recovery. Once they can be safely discharged, they are connected to addiction treatment programs in their communities. Thurstone believes providing that continuum of care will help reduce teen overdoses in the Denver region.

“We can do better than, you know, an ER visit and a list of resources to call,” he said.

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The takeover by Tower Health meant the 219-bed Pottstown Hospital no longer had to pay federal and state taxes. It also no longer had to pay local property taxes, taking away more than $900,000 a year from the already underfunded Pottstown School District, school officials said.

The district, about an hour’s drive from Philadelphia, had no choice but to trim expenses. It cut teacher aide positions and eliminated middle school foreign language classes.

“We have less curriculum, less coaches, less transportation,” said Superintendent Stephen Rodriguez.

The school system appealed Pottstown Hospital’s new nonprofit status, and earlier this year a state court struck down the facility’s property tax break. It cited the “eye-popping” compensation for multiple Tower Health executives as contrary to how Pennsylvania law defines a charity.

The court decision, which Tower Health is appealing, stunned the nonprofit hospital industry, which includes roughly 3,000 nongovernment tax-exempt hospitals nationwide.

“The ruling sent a warning shot to all nonprofit hospitals, highlighting that their state and local tax exemptions, which are often greater than their federal income tax exemptions, can be challenged by state and local courts,” said Ge Bai, a health policy expert at Johns Hopkins University.

The Pottstown case reflects the growing scrutiny of how much the nation’s nonprofit hospitals spend — and on what — to justify billions in state and federal tax breaks. In exchange for these savings, hospitals are supposed to provide community benefits, like care for those who can’t afford it and free health screenings.

More than a dozen states have considered or passed legislation to better define charity care, to increase transparency about the benefits hospitals provide, or, in some cases, to set minimum financial thresholds for charitable help to their communities.

The growing interest in how tax-exempt hospitals operate — from lawmakers, the public, and the media — has coincided with a stubborn increase in consumers’ medical debt. KFF Health News reported last year that more than 100 million Americans are saddled with medical bills they can’t pay, and has documented aggressive bill-collection practices by hospitals, many of them nonprofits.

In 2019, Oregon passed legislation to set floors on community benefit spending largely based on each hospital’s past expenditures as well as its operating profit margin. Illinois and Utah created spending requirements for hospitals based on the property taxes they would have been assessed as for-profit organizations.

And a congressional committee in April heard testimony on the issue.

“States have a general interest in understanding how much is being spent on community benefit and, increasingly, understanding what those expenditures are targeted at,” said Maureen Hensley-Quinn, a senior director at the National Academy for State Health Policy. “It’s not a blue or red state issue. It really is across the board that we’ve been seeing inquiries on this.”

Besides providing federal, state, and local tax breaks, nonprofit status also lets hospitals benefit from tax-exempt bond financing and receive charitable contributions that are tax-deductible for the donors. Policy analysts at KFF estimated the total value of nonprofit hospitals’ exemptions in 2020 at about $28 billion, much higher than the $16 billion in free or discounted services they provided through the charity care portion of their community benefits.

Federal law defines the sort of spending that can qualify as a community benefit but does not stipulate how much hospitals need to spend. The range of community benefit activities, reported by hospitals on IRS forms, varies considerably by organization. The spending typically includes charity care — broadly defined as free or discounted care to eligible patients. But it can also include underpayments from public health plans, as well as the costs of training medical professionals and doing research.

Hospitals also claim as community benefits the difference between what it costs to provide a service and what Medicaid pays them, known as the Medicaid shortfall. But some states and policy experts argue that shouldn’t count because higher payments from commercial insurance companies and uninsured patients paying cash cover those costs.

Bai, of Johns Hopkins, collaborated on a 2021 study that found for every $100 in total spending, nonprofit hospitals provided $2.30 in charity care, while for-profit hospitals provided $3.80.

Last month, another study in Health Affairs reported substantial growth in nonprofit hospitals’ operating profits and cash reserves from 2012 to 2019 “but no corresponding increase in charity care.”

And an April report by the Lown Institute, a health care think tank, said more than 1,350 nonprofit hospitals have “fair share” deficits, meaning the value of their community investments fails to equal the value of their tax breaks.

“With so many Americans struggling with medical debt and access to care, the need for hospitals to give back as much as they take grows stronger every day,” said Vikas Saini, president of the institute.

The Lown Institute does not count compensating for the Medicaid shortfall, spending on research, or training medical professionals as part of hospitals’ “fair share.”

Hospitals have long argued they need to charge private insurance plans higher rates to make up for the Medicaid shortfall. But a recent state report from Colorado found that, even after accounting for low Medicaid and Medicare rates, hospitals get enough from private health insurance plans to provide more charity care and community benefits than they do currently and still turn a profit.

The American Hospital Association strongly disagrees with the Lown and Johns Hopkins analyses.

For many hospitals — after dozens of closures over the past 20 years — “just keeping your doors open is a clear community benefit,” said Melinda Reid Hatton, general counsel for the AHA. “You can’t focus entirely on charity care” as a measure of community benefit. Hospitals deliver nine times the community benefit for every dollar of federal tax avoided, Hatton said.

The 2010 Affordable Care Act, she noted, imposed additional community benefit mandates. Tax-exempt hospitals must conduct a community health needs assessment at least once every three years; establish a written financial assistance policy; and limit what they charge individuals eligible for that help. And they must make a reasonable attempt to determine if a patient is eligible for financial assistance before they take “extraordinary collection actions,” such as reporting people to the credit bureaus or placing a lien on their property.

Still, the Government Accountability Office, a congressional watchdog agency, argues that community benefit is poorly defined.

“They’re not requirements,” said Jessica Lucas-Judy, a GAO director. “It’s not clear what a hospital has to do to justify a tax exemption. What’s a sufficient benefit for one hospital may not be a sufficient benefit for another.” The GAO, in a 2020 report, said it found 30 nonprofit hospitals that got tax breaks in 2016 despite reporting no spending on community benefits.

The GAO then recommended Congress consider specifying the services and activities that demonstrate sufficient community benefit.

The tax and benefit question has become a bipartisan issue: Democrats criticize what they see as scant charity care, while Republicans wonder why nonprofit hospitals get a tax break.

In Georgia, Democratic lawmakers and the NAACP spearheaded the filing of a complaint to the IRS about Wellstar Health System’s nonprofit status after it closed two Atlanta-area hospitals in 2022. The complaint noted the system’s proposed merger with Augusta University Health, under which Wellstar would open a new hospital in an affluent suburban county.

“I understand you pledged over $800 million” in the deal with AU Health, state Sen. Nan Orrock, an Atlanta Democrat, told Wellstar executives at a recent legislative hearing, citing the system’s disinvestment in Atlanta. “Doesn’t sound like a nonprofit. It sounds like a for-profit approach.”

Wellstar said it provides more uncompensated health care services than any other system in Georgia, and that its 2022 community benefit totaled $1.2 billion. Wellstar attributed the closures to chronic financial losses and an inability to find a partner or buyer for the inner-city hospitals, which served a disproportionately large African American population.

In North Carolina, a Republican candidate for governor, state Treasurer Dale Folwell, said many hospitals “have disguised themselves as nonprofits.”

“They’re not doing the job. It should be patients over profits. It’s always now profits over patients,” he said.

Ideas for reforms, though, have run up against powerful hospital opposition.

Montana’s state health department proposed developing standards for community benefit spending after a 2020 legislative audit found nonprofit hospitals’ reporting vague and inconsistent. But the Montana Hospital Association opposed the plan, and the idea was dropped from the bill that passed.

Pennsylvania, though, has a unique but strong law, Bai said, requiring hospitals to prove they are a “purely public charity” and pass a five-pronged test. That may make the state an easier place to challenge tax exemptions, Bai said.

This year, the Pittsburgh mayor challenged the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center over the tax-exempt status of some of its properties.

Nationally, Bai said, “I don’t think hospitals will lose tax exemptions in the short run.”

But, she added, “there will likely be more pressure from the public and policymakers for hospitals to provide more community benefit.”

Mountain States editor Matt Volz contributed to this report.

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The report from the Colorado Division of Insurance found that more than 1.7 million Americans rely on sharing plans and that many of the plans require members to ask for charity care before submitting their bills.

The total membership numbers are likely even higher. The state agency collected data from 16 sharing plans across the U.S. but identified five other plans that did not report their data.

“These plans cover more people than we had previously known,” said JoAnn Volk, co-director of the Center on Health Insurance Reforms at Georgetown University.

Under the arrangements, members, who usually share some religious beliefs, agree to send money each month to cover other members’ health care bills. At least 11 of the sharing plans that reported data operated in or advertised plans in all 50 states in 2021.

Sharing plans do not guarantee payment for health services and are not held to the same standards and consumer protections as health insurance plans. Sharing plans are not required to cover preexisting conditions or provide the minimum health benefits mandated by the Affordable Care Act. And unlike health insurance, sharing plans can place annual or lifetime caps on payments. A single catastrophic health event can easily exceed a sharing plan’s limits.

In Colorado, at least 67,000 people were members of sharing plans in 2021, representing about 1 in 4 Coloradans purchasing health care coverage on their own. That rate concerns Kate Harris, a chief deputy commissioner of the Colorado Division of Insurance, which she said regularly receives complaints from sharing plan enrollees.

“What we hear from consumers is that when they purchase one of these, they do think there is some guarantee of coverage, for the most part, despite the disclaimers on many of the organizations’ websites,” Harris said.

The Colorado report found that health sharing arrangements often require their members to seek charity care or assistance from providers, governments, or consumer support organizations before submitting sharing requests. Those costs are then shifted to other public or private health plans.

Katy Talento, executive director of the Alliance of Health Care Sharing Ministries, which represents five of the largest and longest-operating sharing plans in the country, said sharing ministries encourage members to act like the uninsured people they are. Such requirements to seek charity care reflect a desire to be good stewards of their members’ money, Talento said.

“Think about it like a soup kitchen,” she said.

Fourteen sharing plans reported that Colorado members submitted a cumulative $362 million in health bills in 2021, and nearly $132 million of those requests were approved. The remainder, sharing plan executives told the division, reflected duplicative bills, ineligible charges, negotiated discounts, and the members’ agreed-upon portion of medical bills.

“It’s not like every claim line on a health care sharing request is going to be eligible for sharing,” Talento said. “They have to submit the whole bill. They can’t just pull out a piece of it.”

But consumer complaints to the Division of Insurance and to consumer assistance programs, such as the Colorado Consumer Health Initiative, show that members do not always realize what sharing plans will cover.

“We have seen firsthand the risks that people face when they sign up for these arrangements without recognizing the magnitude of the risk that they’re assuming for their health care costs,” said Isabel Cruz, the initiative’s policy director.

Talento disputed the notion that members don’t know the parameters of their sharing plans.

“That’s just suggesting that our members are dumb,” she said. “Is it likely that somehow our people are going to be willy-nilly jumping blindly into something?”

Theresa Brilli, a small-business owner in Longmont, Colorado, said she and her partner signed up for a direct primary care plan in 2017 that covered primary care visits for $179 a month. Direct primary care plans are payment arrangements between patients and providers for receiving health services without billing insurance. The plan had an arrangement with Liberty HealthShare, a Canton, Ohio-based sharing plan with more than 131,000 members nationwide, to cover additional services like preventive screenings, emergency room care, and hospitalizations for $349 a month with a $1,000 deductible. The rates increased to $499 a month, with a $1,750 deductible, in 2020, Brilli said.

But Brilli said getting payments was a major hassle.

“It took about four to eight months to get reimbursed,” she said. “It was a fight, every bill.”

When she heard about enhanced subsidies for ACA marketplace plans in 2022, she decided the hassle was no longer worth it and switched to a Kaiser Permanente plan for $397 a month.

“I will never go back to Liberty Health or a health care sharing plan,” she said. “I didn’t agree with the whole ministry thing. They made you sign off saying you believed in God, which was like, ‘Whoa, I guess that’s what I have to do to get my health insurance.’”

Laura Murray, 49, of Aurora, Colorado, said she signed up for a Liberty HealthShare plan in 2017 as a more affordable alternative to her husband’s employer-based plan.

“We kind of felt we were cutting out the middleman in a way, and it was a helping-out-your-neighbor sort of deal,” she said.

But when she became pregnant unexpectedly, she had trouble getting her health bills paid. Initially, Liberty paid only a portion of the tab, and her bills got sent to a collection agency. It was only through multiple calls that she learned she needed to send the bills to a third party that would negotiate with the providers.

“It took years to get it cleared up,” she said.

Timothy Bryan, Liberty’s vice president of marketing and communication, disputed many of the details of Brilli’s account and attributed some of the delay in payment to her “failure to submit the required supporting documentation.” Murray’s payments, he said, were delayed more than 10 months because she had failed to provide the required pre-notification.

Mike Quinlan, 42, of Denver, turned to a health sharing ministry in 2014 after the birth of his first child cost him more than $17,000 out-of-pocket, on top of nearly $24,000 in premiums that year, under an employer-sponsored health plan. He said the births of his three youngest children were covered in full by Samaritan Ministries International, a Peoria, Illinois-based sharing plan with 359,000 members, to which he contributes $600 a month. When he incurs large health expenses, he receives a slew of $600 checks from other members, he said.

Every year, Quinlan attests that he is a Christian and identifies the church he attends.

“This is a group of like-minded people who have said voluntarily we’re going to trust each other to cover each other’s health costs,” he said.

The rules differ from plan to plan. Some sharing plans require members to pledge to abide by Christian principles, and some exclude payment for out-of-wedlock births or health issues that arise from drug use. Many sharing plans exclude coverage of contraception, mental health services, and abortion, often with no exceptions for rape or safety of the mother.

Regulators in Colorado and other states have also expressed concerns that health sharing arrangements are paying brokers much higher commissions for signing up members than health plans do. That could create financial incentives to push sharing plans over health insurance without adequately educating consumers about the differences.

In 2019, Covered California, the Golden State’s ACA marketplace, instituted a requirement that its certified agents who sell both sharing plans and health insurance provide consumers with a list of disclosures about sharing plans and show them the subsidies they could receive for buying traditional health insurance coverage.

“It’s really important that consumers understand what these arrangements are, and what they are not,” said Jessica Altman, executive director of Covered California.

Harris said the Colorado Division of Insurance is investigating multiple health sharing arrangements based on consumer complaints but declined to name them.

Colorado officials are also concerned that health sharing arrangements might appeal primarily to people who don’t expect to use many health services. That could increase the proportion of sicker and more expensive patients among enrollees in traditional health insurance plans, driving up premiums.

Harris said many consumers can get a health plan for less than the cost of a sharing plan, particularly with increased federal and state subsidies put in place in recent years. State officials are also working to inform consumers of the financial risks associated with health sharing arrangements, some of which have gone bankrupt in recent years.

“It might look cheaper on its face, month to month,” Harris said. “But if they do really actually need their costs covered, there’s a real risk that they may not be.”

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At best, a Colorado panel of medical and pharmacy experts seeking to cut the costs of expensive drugs will be able to help only one of them.

Starting this summer, the state’s Prescription Drug Affordability Board will choose up to 18 high-cost drugs for review over the next three years to determine if the medications are unaffordable and whether to cap what health plans and consumers pay for them.

But with hundreds of expensive drugs to choose from, the board members face tough decisions about who will get help now and who will have to wait.

Do they tackle drugs with extremely high costs taken by only a handful of patients, or drugs with merely very high costs taken by a larger group? Should they consider only out-of-pocket costs paid by consumers, such as for insulin, whose copays Colorado caps at $50 a month, or the total cost of the drug to the health system? Will they weigh only drug prices, or will they try to right social wrongs with their choices?

And what does “affordable” even mean?

“That question alone is a lot harder to answer than it might seem at face value,” said Jennifer Reck, project director for the National Academy for State Health Policy’s Center for State Prescription Drug Pricing. “You immediately get into how utterly complex our drug supply chain is, how opaque it is, how many different prices there are,” she said.

Maryland was the first state to establish a drug affordability board in 2019, but funding challenges and the pandemic have slowed its progress. Colorado passed a bill creating its board in 2021 and has already moved ahead of Maryland in the process. Washington followed in 2022 but is still in its early phases of implementation.

Maine, New Hampshire, Ohio, and Oregon have also established boards, but they lack the power to limit drug payments. And at the federal level, the Inflation Reduction Act of 2022 included a provision requiring the Health and Human Services secretary to negotiate prices with drug companies for a small number of the most costly medications covered by Medicare.

It’s taken years for the Colorado and Maryland board members to create all the rules and regulations to govern their work before getting to the point of looking at specific drugs.

“It’s just a long, tortuous government process to get things up and running,” said Gerard Anderson, a professor of health policy and management at Johns Hopkins University, and a member of Maryland’s board. “You basically have to dot every ‘i’ and cross every ‘t’ in order not to get sued.”

Setting Priorities

On May 12, Colorado released its first list of hundreds of drugs eligible for review, mostly because they each cost more than $30,000 for a course of treatment. Next month, they’ll release a dashboard ranking those drugs according to the board’s priorities. The dashboard can also be used to examine which drugs have the highest price tags, which have had the largest increases in price, and which the state spends the most on. That would allow the board to begin affordability reviews this summer and set payment limits for the first four to eight drugs sometime in 2024. But board members will first have to set their priorities, and those could change from year to year.

“Maybe one year we focus on the impact to the system, and another year we focus on out-of-pocket costs, and one year we focus on a lifesaving drug that has smaller utilization,” said Lila Cummings, director of the Colorado board.

Such approaches could pit one group of patients against others looking for cost relief. But Cummings said not all groups are eager to see payment limits.

“Some of them said, ‘We want the board to focus on our drugs,’ and others said, ‘Please leave us alone,’” she said.

That reluctance likely reflects the close ties that some patient groups have with the manufacturers of their medications, including receiving funding from the drugmakers.

“We have seen cases in public hearings — it seems counterintuitive or surprising — where a patient group, instead of being thrilled that they might have access to the drugs at a lower price, instead are arguing against upper payment limits,” Reck said. “But in most cases, there’s a pretty clear financial connection to drug manufacturers.”

Maryland has also received input from patient groups as it finalizes its regulations.

“So far it has not been, ‘Pick me! Pick me! Pick me!’” Anderson said. But that could change once the Maryland board begins its affordability reviews this fall.

The drug that Garcia, 47, of Denver, takes did not make the board’s list. Diagnosed with four bleeding disorders, including von Willebrand disease, he needs the medication Humate-P, made by CSL Behring, to replace one of the clotting factors missing in his blood. This winter, driving home from his job at the airport, Garcia hit a patch of black ice, spun out, and careened into a concrete barrier at 75 mph. He needed the expensive medication every day for the first five days after the accident, and then every other day for a full month.

“It’s not like I can just sit there and say no to this medication, because my bleeds get so bad,” he said.

According to Perry Jowsey, executive director of the National Hemophilia Foundation’s Colorado chapter, about 300 to 400 individuals are being treated for von Willebrand disease in Colorado. That’s far fewer than the roughly 10,000 Coloradans with MS or the 74,000 who manage their diabetes with insulin.

“In my shoes, I would target what would help the most people,” Garcia said. “You have to find a balance, especially starting out. You’re not going to be able to help everyone.”

The Colorado and Maryland boards will rely on data from state databases that show how much various public and private health plans pay for drugs. That data, however, doesn’t capture what uninsured patients pay, and it doesn’t give any insight into how much manufacturers pay for research and development.

“The goal is not to stifle innovation,” Anderson said. “But we can’t get any public data, so we have to ask the pharmaceutical industry, and they’re not required to give us the data.”

The boards want to ensure that patients like Reitzel still have access to new and better therapies. Reitzel, 38, of Highlands Ranch, was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 2008 and has switched medications several times seeking one whose side effects she could tolerate. “They’re all terrible in their own special way,” she said.

In 2021, she began taking a relatively new drug from Biogen and Alkermes called Vumerity, which was included on Colorado’s list of eligible drugs. But the cost of a three-month supply was nearly $24,000, including a copay of more than $7,000. Biogen provides up to $20,000 in annual copay assistance through a debit card she can use at the pharmacy. But now her health plan no longer credits those payments toward her deductible. It makes it almost impossible for her to meet the $25,000 out-of-pocket maximum under her plan.

“Primarily for this reason, I am no longer taking any medication,” Reitzel said, “and have to only hope my disease does not progress.”

Colorado legislators passed a bill to require health plans to count copay assistance programs toward patients’ deductibles for drugs with no generic equivalents, but that provision does not take effect until 2025.

Insulin as an Outlier?

Just a couple of years ago, insulin may have been a higher priority for drug affordability boards, but now it’s not so clear. Both Colorado and Maryland have established insulin copay caps that provide pocketbook relief, at least for patients with coverage. And manufacturers are making their own moves to lower insulin prices. That could prompt the boards to bypass insulin and concentrate their limited resources on other high-cost drugs.

Copay caps do not lower the actual cost of insulin but instead spread it among members of the health plan through higher premiums. The Colorado copay caps don’t help new state residents and initially did not help those without insurance, either. Both of those hurdles would have applied to Marquez-Farmer when she moved from California to Colorado Springs a couple of years ago.

“I got married to my husband during covid because I didn’t have insurance,” she said. “I loved him, and it all worked out, but a big reason for me to marry him was because I would not be able to afford insulin.”

Marquez-Farmer, 34, said that while insulin may not be the most expensive drug on the market, many Coloradans, particularly those from marginalized communities who have higher rates of diabetes, struggle to afford it.

“I’m not saying the other medicines are not important, because obviously they are,” she said. “The reality is there’s more people who are being affected by not being able to afford their insulin and a lot of people who are dying because of them rationing insulin.”

Andrew York, executive director of the Maryland board, said the payment limits should be viewed as a last resort, a tool that can be used when other cost-control measures haven’t worked.

“The goal is for folks to never be able to say that they can’t afford their insulin. And I think we may get there soon enough just because of how much is happening in that space,” he said. “So if that’s the case, then maybe boards don’t need to use the upper payment limit tool.”

At least one form of insulin was included on Colorado’s list of drugs eligible for review, but not the most commonly taken brand-name insulins. That precludes the Colorado board from addressing insulin costs more broadly.

The pharmaceutical industry has pushed back against the concept of payment limits, warning that drugmakers could pull out of states that set payment limits.

“The boards are acutely aware of this discussion point. The interest and the purpose of these boards is to increase access to the drugs, not decrease it,” York said. “But there’s kind of this game theory element of: How will manufacturers react?”

Reck discounted the notion that a payment limit would prompt a manufacturer to abandon a profitable market.

“Unfortunately, it’s kind of a scary message and it can be impactful on patients,” she said.

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Mike Lee no se arrepintió de su carrera. Había sido uno de los mejores boxeadores profesionales del mundo en su categoría. Tenía marca de 21-1, y peleó en el Madison Square Garden y frente a millones en la televisión.

Pero habían pasado más de dos años desde que pisó un ring, y cada día era un recordatorio del costo. En un momento, Lee estaba tomando ocho medicamentos recetados, todos para tratar de sobrellevar la situación.

Contó que, en su momento más bajo, en una noche en que estaba en lo más profundo de una adicción a los analgésicos, pensó en chocar su auto contra la valla de una autopista de Chicago a 140 mph.

Estaba dispuesto a hacer cualquier cosa para escapar del infierno en el que se sentía atrapado.

El impulso se desvaneció, pero el dolor permaneció.

Estaba perdido.

“Cuando tienes dolor y estás atrapado, harás cualquier cosa para salir de eso”, dijo Lee.

Ahora, había llegado a una jungla verde al final de un camino de tierra en la mitad de una montaña.

Esperaba que los hongos psicodélicos pudieran cambiar su vida.

Lee era parte de un pequeño grupo, muchos de ellos atletas retirados, que viajaron a Jamaica en marzo de 2022 para un retiro que costó hasta $5500. Cada uno de ellos había venido a Good Hope Estate, una plantación de azúcar convertida en centro turístico exclusivo, con la esperanza de librarse de la depresión, la ansiedad y el dolor crónico que habían experimentado durante años.

Dos ceremonias con hongos psicodélicos y dos sesiones de terapia les esperaban en el retiro dirigido por una empresa canadiense llamada Wake Network. Los participantes estaban nerviosos, pero también esperanzados.

Junto con Lee, había un jugador profesional de fútbol americano que estaba considerando retirarse y una ex estrella de hockey que tenía múltiples conmociones cerebrales.

Venían de todas partes de América del Norte, de diferentes orígenes y diferentes deportes, pero tenían algunas cosas en común: eran vulnerables y sentían que los medicamentos recetados les habían fallado. No sabían qué esperar, si el tratamiento funcionaría, si regresarían a casa con una solución o simplemente con otra decepción.

Lee se enteró del retiro por un amigo de la infancia que trabaja como médico en Wake. Otros habían sido reclutados por Riley Cote, un ex ejecutor de los Philadelphia Flyers y ahora un evangelista psicodélico que es asesor de Wake con una participación accionaria.

Alguna vez, Cote fue como Lee. Le encantaba golpear a la gente en la cara. Amaba la forma en que su mano aterrizaba con un ruido sordo cuando sus nudillos se conectaban con la carne y el hueso a una velocidad violenta. Romper la cabeza de alguien hacía que Cote se sintiera vivo.

“Luché contra todos. Escogía al tipo más grande que pudiera encontrar y lo desafiaba. Así fue como sobreviví, cómo me hice un nombre. Me estaba infligiendo todo este dolor e inflamación, siempre recibiendo puñetazos en la cara, y tenía que mantener este tipo de personalidad machista, como, ‘Oh, no puedes lastimarme. No puedes lastimarme’”.

Ya no era esa persona. Le daba escalofríos pensar en el hombre que alguna vez fue, alguien que bebía en exceso y usaba analgésicos para adormecer su cerebro. Hubo un tiempo en que él, como Lee, estaba en un lugar oscuro, pero con el transcurso de varios años, los hongos psicodélicos, cree Cote, lo ayudaron a regresar a la luz.

“El mundo está en una crisis, una crisis de salud mental, una crisis espiritual”, dijo Cote. “Y creo que estas son medicinas espirituales, y siento que es el camino correcto para mí. No lo considero más que mi deber, mi propósito en este planeta es compartir la verdad sobre la medicina natural”.

Durante años, han circulado rumores sobre una red clandestina de atletas, principalmente ex atletas, que usan psilocibina, el compuesto de los hongos mágicos, para tratar lesiones cerebrales traumáticas, ansiedad y depresión.

Muchos de ellos, como Cote, ven a los psicodélicos como una cura milagrosa, lo único que pudieron encontrar que podría ayudar a romper un ciclo de analgésicos y abuso de sustancias. Se reunían en pequeños grupos para ingerir hongos en privado o viajaban a países como Jamaica donde los hongos psicodélicos no están prohibidos.

Ahora, el uso de hongos psicodélicos está ganando terreno en los Estados Unidos. Varias ciudades han despenalizado la posesión de psilocibina, y los votantes de Oregon y Colorado aprobaron medidas electorales para legalizar los hongos mágicos bajo uso supervisado. Muchos investigadores predicen que la Administración de Drogas y Alimentos (FDA) aprobará un tratamiento psicodélico en los próximos cinco años.

Pero muchos de esos mismos investigadores advierten que la intensa promoción de los psicodélicos está superando a la ciencia, y que el tratamiento conlleva riesgos significativos para algunos pacientes. Temen que, a menos que la investigación se lleve a cabo de forma metódica y ética, el uso generalizado de la psilocibina podría resultar en una reacción negativa del público, como sucedió en la década de 1960, relegando un tratamiento prometedor al basurero de las sustancias prohibidas.

Están instando a las entidades corporativas como Wake, que ya se están posicionando para aprovechar la posible legalización de los psicodélicos, a que avancen lentamente, se aseguren de que la investigación se realice de la manera correcta y permitan que la ciencia se ponga al día.

“Si no haces esto de manera segura, la gente saldrá lastimada”, dijo Matthew Johnson, profesor de psiquiatría e investigador de psicodélicos en la Universidad Johns Hopkins.

Pero muchos, incluidos los ex atletas profesionales con cuerpos y cerebros maltratados, no quieren esperar el lento avance de la investigación clínica. Necesitan ayuda ahora.

Los analgésicos, los antidepresivos, las innumerables píldoras diferentes que les recetaron a lo largo de los años no han ayudado. En sus mentes, las historias de sus compañeros atletas que dicen que se han beneficiado de los psicodélicos superan cualquier incertidumbre científica.

“Cuando piensas en hongos mágicos, piensas en los hippies de Woodstock bailando al ritmo de la música”, dijo Lee. “Pensar que tienes algunos de los mejores atletas del mundo aquí que están lidiando con algunas cosas y las están tomando, te hace sentir más cómodo. Me hace sentir como, ‘Está bien, tal vez estoy haciendo lo correcto’. Es una medicina curativa; no es solo una droga de fiesta”.

***

Cote, ahora de 41 años, era un patinador de hockey decente que creció en Winnipeg, Manitoba, tenaz de punta a punta y un trabajador incansable, pero bastante promedio en el manejo del disco.

No anotó suficientes goles para ascender en el hockey junior como lo hicieron algunos prospectos. Sin embargo, a medida que crecía, a los entrenadores no les importaba tanto. Tenía hombros anchos y un largo alcance. En una era del hockey en la cual la violencia todavía era moneda corriente, había encontrado su boleto dorado para la NHL: Cote golpeaba a la gente y recibía golpes a cambio.

Como miembro de los Flyers, vio que era su deber mantener las tradiciones de los Broad Street Bullies, un grupo de jugadores de la década de 1970 que fueron celebrados por la prensa por jugar y festejar fuerte.

Se abrió camino a través de la NHL durante partes de cuatro temporadas, acumulando más de 400 minutos de penalización en su carrera y anotando solo un gol. La mayoría de sus peleas fueron situaciones brutales, bárbaras. Sus destacados muestran a un gigante corpulento, con los ojos llenos de violencia, el tipo de matón que podría romperte la mandíbula y reír como un maníaco después, la sangre goteando de su rostro y cayendo al hielo.

“Fue algo que disfruté hacer, y creo que era solo un elemento de competencia para mí”, dijo Cote. “Y probablemente también era algo que estaba haciendo por miedo: miedo de no vivir mi sueño de la infancia o de decepcionar a mis padres o a la gente”.

Dijo que se medicaba por su dolor casi todos los días con alcohol. Las cervezas eran un aperitivo de camino a los shots en la barra. Después, venían drogas duras. Él y sus compañeros de equipo se quedaban fuera hasta las 3 am, a veces más tarde, y luego intentaban sudar el veneno al día siguiente durante la práctica.

Después de unos años, su cerebro comenzó a empañarse. Se hizo más grande y más fuerte a través del levantamiento de pesas, y parecía un monstruo en el hielo, pero cada una de sus habilidades de hockey se deterioró, salvo las peleas. A medida que su carrera terminaba, dijo, se sentía como si la oscuridad se acercara sigilosamente. Se deprimió. Tenía miedo de en lo que se había convertido.

Hoy, Cote se parece poco a aquel ejecutor de los videos. Más delgado y tranquilo, imparte clases de yoga en un estudio de Delaware tres veces por semana. Con el pelo hasta los hombros, tatuajes en los brazos y el pecho, habla con una suave voz de barítono. Parece más un monje que un monstruo.

“Miro hacia atrás y tal vez solo muestra lo confundido que estaba y la realidad que estaba buscando, que supuestamente era la felicidad y la satisfacción de perseguir el sueño de mi infancia”, dijo Cote. “Pero es difícil para mí entender que estoy haciendo eso ahora, simplemente sabiendo quién soy ahora y dándome cuenta de que se necesita mucha oscuridad para hacer lo que hice”.

Cote dijo que tomó hongos de forma recreativa durante sus 20 años, pero nunca en un entorno terapéutico o con el entendimiento de que podrían ayudarlo a procesar su trauma físico y emocional. “Era solo parte de la escena o parte de la fiesta”, dijo.

Pero cuando se jubiló en 2010, sintió que estaba enfrentando una crisis de identidad. Había sido un luchador durante tanto tiempo que pensó que eso era todo lo que era. ¿Cómo podría un ejecutor fracasado criar a dos hijas?

Empezó a leer. Lo que aprendió lo sorprendió.

Los investigadores habían revivido silenciosamente el estudio sobre los hongos psicodélicos como tratamiento médico en el año 2000, y los primeros hallazgos sugirieron que la psilocibina a menudo tenía beneficios notables para las personas diagnosticadas con ansiedad y depresión. Ayudó a algunos pacientes a deshacerse de sus adicciones a las drogas o al alcohol.

Otra investigación sugirió que la psilocibina en realidad puede ser capaz de remodelar la anatomía del cerebro, restaurar las vías neurológicas y ayudar a curar lesiones cerebrales traumáticas.

Para Cote, a quien le diagnosticaron al menos tres conmociones cerebrales en su carrera de hockey y probablemente sufrió muchas más, fue transformador.

Cote ahora recluta clientes para Wake, que organiza retiros inmersivos de psilocibina fuera de los Estados Unidos.

“Algunas personas vienen a estos eventos y están al borde del suicidio”, dijo Tyler Macleod, cofundador de Wake y su director de experiencia. “No se arreglan después de una ceremonia, pero ya no están atascados en la oscuridad. Se despiertan y dicen: ‘Oh, puedo navegar de nuevo una relación con mis hijos'”.

Todos los ex atletas que asisten a estos retiros están luchando con algo, dijo Cote. Necesitan ayuda. En muchos casos, sienten que han probado todo lo demás. Les pregunta por qué tienen que esperar cuando tantos estudios y anécdotas indican resultados positivos.

“Es como con el cannabis: ¿cuántas historias tuvimos que contarnos antes de tener un programa médico?”, apuntó Cote. “Simplemente ha estado bloqueado durante tanto tiempo”.

***

En 1970, el presidente Richard Nixon promulgó la Ley de Sustancias Controladas, legislación que dividía las drogas en cinco niveles, clasificándolas en gran medida según su potencial de abuso. Los hongos mágicos se clasificaron como sustancias de la Lista 1, junto con la heroína y la marihuana, lo que significa que el gobierno creía que no tenían ningún beneficio médico y que tenían un alto potencial de generar adicción. (La cocaína, la oxicodona y la metanfetamina se clasificaron como drogas de la Lista 2).

Esas decisiones, que el asesor de Nixon, John Ehrlichman, dijo más tarde que tenían motivaciones políticas, continúan teniendo un efecto dominó en la actualidad. La investigación sobre tratamientos psicodélicos se suspendió durante 30 años.

Si bien los estudios recientes han tenido un alcance pequeño, han mostrado efectos notables. Los medicamentos recetados aprobados para afecciones como la ansiedad o la depresión ayudan, en el mejor de los casos, a entre el 40% y el 60% de los pacientes. En los primeros ensayos, los psicodélicos han alcanzado tasas de eficacia de más del 70%.

Y, a diferencia de la mayoría de los medicamentos recetados, que dejan de funcionar poco después de que los pacientes dejan de tomarlos, uno o dos tratamientos de psilocibina pueden tener efectos terapéuticos por seis meses, un año o incluso más, según un estudio de Johns Hopkins.

Con un riesgo mínimo de adicción o sobredosis y siglos de uso por parte de las culturas indígenas, muchos investigadores consideran que la psilocibina es un tratamiento innovador potencial con grandes beneficios y pocos riesgos.

Scott Aaronson, director de programas de investigación clínica en Sheppard Pratt, un hospital psiquiátrico sin fines de lucro en las afueras de Baltimore, ha estado estudiando los trastornos del estado de ánimo difíciles de tratar durante 40 años, comenzando con algunos de los primeros estudios sobre Prozac.

“Soy un ser humano cínico, escéptico y sarcástico”, dijo Aaronson. “Y te diré, nunca he visto algo así en todos mis años”.

Pero la psilocibina no está exenta de riesgos. Puede exacerbar problemas cardíacos y desencadenar esquizofrenia en personas con una predisposición genética, y la combinación de psilocibina y litio puede causar convulsiones.

Los ensayos clínicos generalmente han descartado a los pacientes en riesgo de tales complicaciones. Aún así, una parte significativa de quienes consumen psilocibina, incluso sin ninguna de esas preocupaciones, tienen una experiencia negativa.

“En una dosis alta, alrededor de un tercio de las personas en nuestros estudios, incluso en estas condiciones ideales, pueden tener lo que se llamaría un mal viaje, algún grado de ansiedad o miedo sustancial”, dijo Johnson, investigador de Johns Hopkins. “Una persona puede ser muy vulnerable psicológicamente. Puede sentirse como si estuvieran muriendo”.

Sin embargo, a veces, incluso esos “malos viajes” pueden conducir a la ayuda con la depresión u otros problemas, según han descubierto investigadores, especialmente con la ayuda de seguimiento de un terapeuta para procesar la experiencia.

Los efectos psicodélicos de la psilocibina también pueden desconectar a una persona de la realidad, lo que puede llevar a las personas a hacer cosas peligrosas, como correr hacia el tráfico o saltar por una ventana.

“La percepción misma de la realidad y de ellos mismos en la realidad, como quiénes son, estas cosas pueden cambiar profundamente y no es una buena receta para interactuar en público”, dijo Johnson.

Los investigadores también describen casos en los que la psilocibina pone a las personas con problemas psicológicos no resueltos en estado de angustia a largo plazo.

Es por eso que los investigadores insisten en que la psilocibina debe administrarse en un entorno clínico con terapeutas capacitados que puedan guiar a las personas a través de la experiencia, lidiar con los resultados negativos cuando surjan, y ayudarlas a procesar e integrar sus experiencias.

Los ensayos clínicos de psilocibina se han basado en protocolos estrictos, que incluyen una o más sesiones antes del tratamiento para ayudar a los participantes a comprender qué esperar. El consumo de los hongos se hace a menudo en un solo día, con uno o dos terapeutas disponibles.

En los días siguientes, la persona regresa para lo que se conoce como integración, generalmente una sesión de terapia individual para ayudar a procesar la experiencia y comenzar el camino hacia la curación. Algunos ensayos agregan un día adicional de terapia entre dos tratamientos.

A diferencia de un medicamento típico, nose envía a los pacientes a casa con un frasco de píldoras. Todo el protocolo se parece más a un procedimiento médico.

Pero es un error pensar que es la medicina psicodélica la que hace todo el trabajo, no la terapia que viene después, dijo Jeffrey LaPratt, psicólogo e investigador de psilocibina con Sheppard Pratt. “Es un trabajo muy duro y requiere vulnerabilidad. Se necesita coraje. Puede ser realmente doloroso”.

***

El ex jugador de la NHL Steve Downie sintió como si algo en él se hubiera roto cuando lo invitaron al retiro de Wake en Jamaica. Sus días estaban llenos de niebla. Vivía con depresión, a menudo incapaz de salir de su casa.

“Me cansé de ir a esos médicos y me cansé de hablar con ellos”, dijo Downie. “No me malinterpreten, no digo que los médicos sean malos. Solo digo que, en mi experiencia personal, lo que viví no fue positivo. Y llega un punto en el que tienes que probar algo nuevo, y es por eso que estoy aquí”.

También tuvo un trauma en su vida que nunca había enfrentado realmente. Cuando Downie tenía 8 años, su padre murió en un accidente automovilístico que lo llevó a practicar hockey. Lanzarse profundamente en el deporte fue su única forma de sobrellevar la muerte de su padre. Al igual que Cote, su compañero de equipo en los Flyers durante dos años, jugó de manera imprudente imprudente, lanzándose a colisiones violentas que lo dejaban a él y a sus oponentes ensangrentados.

Después de una carrera juvenil empañada por una controversia de novatos, Downie comenzó su primera temporada en la NHL, en 2007, con una suspensión de 20 juegos por un brutal control en las tablas en un competencia de pretemporada que envió a su oponente fuera del hielo en camilla.

Sigue siendo una de las suspensiones más largas jamás emitidas por la liga. En la prensa de hockey, fue etiquetado como un villano, un matón y un psicótico extremo. Las palabras le dolieron un poco, incluso cuando trató de reírse de ellas.

“No tengo dientes y soy pequeño, así que no pueden estar tan equivocados”, dijo Downie. “¿Bien? Al final del día, era un trabajo. Hice lo que me pidieron”.

Durante sus nueve temporadas jugando para cinco equipos de la NHL, sufrió más conmociones cerebrales de las que podía recordar. Sordo de un oído, al borde de las lágrimas todos los días y bastante seguro de que estaba bebiendo demasiado, Downie, que ahora tiene 36 años, se miraba en el espejo algunos días y se preguntaba si estaría muerto en seis meses.

No sabía nada sobre psicodélicos, solo que Cote le había dicho que lo ayudaría cuando Downie estuviera listo.

“Llamé a Riley y le dije: ‘Necesito algo, hombre’. Me cansé de ir a los médicos y hablar con ellos”, dijo Downie. “Muchas de las pastillas que te dan, te comen el cerebro. Realmente no te ayudan”.

Justin Renfrow, un jugador de línea de 33 años que jugó en la NFL y en Canadá, llegó en busca de claridad. Estaba considerando retirarse del fútbol profesional, algo que lo asustaba y lo emocionaba. Había estado jugando durante la mitad de su vida, y el juego era una gran parte de su identidad. Fue la última conexión que tuvo con su abuela, una de las personas más importantes de su vida. Ella fue la que iba a los viajes de reclutamiento con él. Después de su muerte en 2021, Renfrow sintió que una parte de ella todavía estaba con él mientras jugara.

Pero después de una década de jugar profesionalmente, el cuerpo de Renfrow estaba maltratado. Le dolía una de las rodillas. Había llegado a odiar las drogas farmacéuticas. Dijo que los médicos del equipo le habían recetado tantos medicamentos diferentes, incluidos los que cubren el estómago y los bloqueadores de los nervios para que pudiera tomar más analgésicos, que su cuerpo comenzó a experimentar terribles efectos secundarios.

Dijo que una vez tuvo una reacción tan mala a una combinación de analgésicos que le habían dado que necesitó atención médica después de sudar a través de su ropa y tener problemas para respirar.

“Es solo, ‘Necesitamos llegar a los playoffs, así que toma esto'”, dijo Renfrow. “Lanzó mi cuerpo en picada”.

Había usado hongos psicodélicos en numerosas ocasiones, principalmente como una forma de lidiar con el dolor provocado por el fútbol americano, pero nunca los había usado como parte de una ceremonia o para meditar. En este viaje, buscó claridad. ¿Era hora de alejarse del fútbol? Le apasionaba la cocina y estaba pensando en iniciar su propio programa en YouTube. Tal vez era hora de cambiar su enfoque y dejar que el fútbol se desvaneciera.

“Tengo muchas personas que dependen de mí todos los días”, dijo Renfrow.

Los atletas esperaban que la ceremonia los ayudara a obtener respuestas.

La investigación sobre psicodélicos es prometedora y emocionante, pero la efectividad de los hongos como tratamiento no está del todo establecida. Pero incluso si la psilocibina y otros psicodélicos resultan ser nada más que un placebo, lo que algunos investigadores dicen que es posible, muchos atletas juran que están encontrando un alivio real de la ansiedad, la depresión y otros traumas persistentes de sus días de juego.

Con un mercado global potencial multimillonario, también hay un gran incentivo financiero. Wake es solo una de un número creciente de nuevas empresas con fines de lucro respaldadas por dinero de inversión privada que buscan una parte del tratamiento psicodélico.

Eventualmente, ellos y otros esperan abrir centros de tratamiento o vender las drogas en los Estados Unidos y Canadá. En Canadá, la producción, venta o posesión de hongos psicodélicos son ilegales.

Durante el retiro de Jamaica, los líderes de Wake dieron una presentación a los participantes sobre cómo podrían invertir en la empresa.

Macleod dijo que se interesó en la terapia psicodélica no como una oportunidad comercial, sino después de que perdió a su hermana, Heather, hace seis años por suicidio.

Perderla lo llevó a buscar respuestas. Su hermana había sido esquiadora competitiva en Canadá, pero una serie de caídas le provocaron múltiples conmociones cerebrales y durante su vida adulta tuvo ansiedad y depresión. La medicina tradicional le falló repetidamente, dijo Macleod. Cada semana, se encuentra deseando haber sabido lo que sabe ahora y haberlo usado para intentar salvarla.

“No puedo decirte cuántas personas vienen a mí que están luchando como mi hermana”, dijo. “Dios, desearía que ella pudiera estar aquí. Sé que ella nos estaría animando. La veo a veces mirándonos desde arriba y diciendo: ‘Ayuda a otras personas que estaban atrapadas donde yo estaba'”.

Ansiosas por llevar los tratamientos psicodélicos a los consumidores, las empresas corporativas a menudo extrapolan los resultados de la investigación de ensayos clínicos estrictamente controlados con pacientes cuidadosamente seleccionados para promover un uso más amplio por parte de la población general en casi cualquier entorno.

“La presión por los psicodélicos generalmente está siendo impulsada por personas que quieren ganar dinero, mucho más que por científicos”, dijo Kevin Sabet, ex asesor principal de la Oficina de Política Nacional de Control de Drogas de la Casa Blanca, y ahora presidente y director ejecutivo de Smart Approaches to Marijuana, un grupo político que se opone a la legalización de la marihuana.

“¿Por qué dejaríamos que los inversionistas de Wall Street, que son realmente los que están aquí tratando de ganar dinero, lideren la conversación?”, agregó.

La comercialización podría ser tanto buena como mala para los psicodélicos. Por un lado, podría proporcionar financiación para la investigación; por otro, el deseo de rentabilizar esa inversión podría influir indebidamente en los resultados y poner en riesgo a los pacientes.

“Tu modelo de negocio no va a funcionar bien cuando alguien salta por la ventana y aparece en la portada de The New York Times”, dijo Johnson, el investigador de Johns Hopkins.

La investigación clínica también debe superar la imagen del hongo como una droga de fiesta, algo que los hippies comparten en bolsas de plástico en las últimas filas de los conciertos.

Para cambiar esa narrativa, dicen Wake y otras compañías, se están inclinando mucho hacia la ciencia. Esto no es una búsqueda de emociones, dicen, sino una medicina legítima que trata condiciones psiquiátricas reales.

Es el mismo argumento que hicieron los defensores de la legalización de la marihuana, ya sea que lo creyeran o lo estuvieran usando como un medio para un fin: presionar para legalizar el cannabis como medicina antes de abrir las puertas al uso recreativo sin restricciones.

Los líderes de Wake, como la mayoría de los ejecutivos en el universo psicodélico, han dicho que están comprometidos a ayudar en la investigación para demostrar a los reguladores federales que la psilocibina es segura y efectiva. Las muestras de sangre y saliva que recolectó un médico en el retiro de Wake, dijeron, se usarían para identificar marcadores genéticos que podrían predecir quién responderá al tratamiento con psilocibina.

El equipo de Wake hizo que los participantes usaran un casco que contenía tecnología de imágenes experimentales que se había utilizado en ensayos clínicos para rastrear la actividad cerebral antes, durante y después de las experiencias psicodélicas. Como parte de la investigación, los participantes usaron el casco mientras jugaban juegos de palabras.

Muchos investigadores académicos se preguntan si algunas empresas simplemente están aplicando un barniz de ciencia a un esfuerzo por hacer dinero, lo que muchos escépticos denominan “teatro placebo”.

De hecho, Aaronson teme que el campo pronto pueda estar “lleno de vendedores ambulantes”.

“El problema que tienes es que, como era de esperar, las redes sociales y las comunicaciones funcionan mucho más rápido que la ciencia”, dijo. “Entonces, todos están tratando de tener en sus manos estas cosas porque creen que será increíble”.

Aaronson ha diseñado protocolos de ensayos clínicos para Compass Pathways, una empresa competidora con fines de lucro que busca comercializar tratamientos con psilocibina, y ha rechazado a otras empresas que buscan crear una huella en el espacio psicodélico. (Aaronson recibe fondos de Compass para respaldar su investigación, pero dijo que no tiene ningún interés financiero directo en la empresa).

“Me preocupa quién respalda el juego de algunas de estas compañías y trato de averiguar qué es lo que realmente busca alguien”, dijo. “Hablas con la gente y ves si hay un plan real para investigar o si hay un plan real para vender algo”.

***

Un murmullo de tensión nerviosa perduraba en el aire mientras los atletas se preparaban para la ceremonia. En el desayuno, no hubo muchas conversaciones triviales. Los asistentes se arremolinaron y se registraron con el personal médico de Wake para ofrecer sus muestras de sangre y saliva. Algunos participaron en una clase de yoga en un estudio al aire libre con vista a la jungla.

Wake había contratado a una chamán jamaicana, una mujer llamada Sherece Cowan, una empresaria de comida vegana que fue finalista de Miss Universe Jamaica 2012, para dirigir a los atletas en la ceremonia. Pidió que la llamaran Sita y se refirió a sí misma como facilitadora de medicina natural.

Habló lenta y deliberadamente, agitando el humo de una urna mientras instaba a los participantes a reunirse en círculo en el césped de la finca. Después de beber una dosis de 3 a 5 gramos de psilocibina, que había sido molida en polvo y mezclada con jugo de naranja, los atletas cayeron en un estado de sueño durante las próximas cuatro a seis horas.

“Espero que obtengas todo lo que necesitas. Puede que no sea todo lo que estás pidiendo, pero espero que recibas todo lo que necesitas”, dijo Cowan. “Bendiciones en tu viaje”.

Un músico local comenzó a tocar, sus tambores y campanas pretendían realzar el viaje. La mayoría de los atletas yacían sobre colchonetas, como si durmieran. Cote se sentó en una pose de yoga. Nick Murray, director ejecutivo de Wake, le había pedido a Cote que usara un casco especial, un dispositivo de electroencefalografía más pequeño que el otro casco, para medir su actividad cerebral.

Excepto por los tambores y las campanas del músico, todo estaba en silencio. De vez en cuando, el viento agitaba las hojas de los árboles en el límite de la propiedad, pero durante las siguientes seis horas, dentro del círculo, el tiempo casi se detuvo.

Dos horas después de la ceremonia, después de que el psicodélico había hecho efecto, lo que estaba ocurriendo pasaba dentro de las cabezas de los atletas. Cote, sorprendentemente, seguía manteniendo su postura de yoga.

El silencio se rompió cuando Renfrow se levantó de su estera después de tres horas. Llevaba una sudadera en la ceremonia con sus iniciales, JR, estampadas en el pecho. Se quitó la camisa de su cuerpo con frustración y la arrojó a un lado.

Las lágrimas se derramaron por su rostro.

Cuando la ceremonia terminó, los atletas comenzaron a sentarse y algunos charlaron en voz baja.

La mayoría no estaba seguro de cómo describir la experiencia. Para algunos, se sintió como un descenso a los rincones de la mente, con colores y emociones mezclándose. Otros dijeron que enfrentaron traumas que pensaron que habían enterrado o emociones que querían reprimir. Dijeron sentir una conexión con las otras personas en el círculo.

“Es el último asesino del ego porque, al menos para mí, te da una empatía increíble que nunca antes habías sentido”, dijo Lee. “Cuando estás haciendo un viaje con otras personas, te ves a tí mismo en ellos. Es casi como si estuvieras caminando frente a un espejo, diferentes espejos. Ves partes de tí mismo en todos y te das cuenta de que todos estamos conectados y todos estamos pasando por algo, todos tenemos algún tipo de dolor, y eso te vuelve humilde”.

La mayoría de los atletas se quedaron solos para poder anotar sus pensamientos en un diario, siguiendo las instrucciones del personal de Wake. Habría una sesión de terapia comunitaria a la mañana siguiente.

A cada uno se le pediría que compartiera algo de su viaje.

***

Al final, la mayoría de los curiosos sobre la psilocibina simplemente quieren saber: ¿Funciona? Y, ¿cómo funciona? Los científicos dicen que esas son preguntas difíciles de responder en este momento.

Investigadores han descubierto que los psicodélicos clásicos, como la psilocibina y el LSD, actúan sobre el receptor de serotonina 2A, el mismo receptor al que se apuntan los antidepresivos más comunes del mercado. Pero más allá de eso, la comprensión de cómo funcionan para ayudar a las personas es, en este punto, más teoría o conjetura que hecho científico.

Johnson, el investigador de Johns Hopkins, dijo que la psilocibina ayuda a aumentar la apertura en las personas, permitiéndoles salir de su visión de quiénes son. Alguien que se resigna a ser un fumador que no puede dejar de fumar o una persona con depresión que no puede encontrar la felicidad puede, bajo la influencia de los psicodélicos, verse a sí mismo de una manera diferente, explicó.

“Una vez que están fuera de la trampa mental, se vuelve tan obvio para las personas con estos diferentes trastornos que, ‘¿Sabes qué? Puedo simplemente decidir dejar de fumar. Puedo dejar de lado mi tristeza’”, dijo Johnson.

Estudios con ratas muestran que los psicodélicos también parecen aumentar la conectividad neuronal en el cerebro, incluso después de una sola dosis. Eso podría ayudar al cerebro a recuperarse de lesiones traumáticas o conmociones cerebrales, encontrando nuevos caminos alrededor de las áreas dañadas.

La teoría predominante de cómo la psilocibina y otros psicodélicos podrían ayudar a tratar la salud mental es que reprimen la actividad en la red de modo predeterminado del cerebro. Es un conjunto de regiones del cerebro que se activan cuando las personas reflexionan sobre algo, y una de las pocas partes que está hiperactiva en las personas con depresión.

A menudo revisan los errores que cometieron una y otra vez o se castigan continuamente por ellos, dijo LaPratt, el investigador de Sheppard Pratt. Esa hiperactividad en la red de modo predeterminado conduce a patrones repetitivos de pensamientos negativos. ¿Qué me pasa? ¿Por qué soy tan infeliz? De los cuales la persona no puede escapar.

Las personas con depresión suelen reflexionar sobre el pasado; personas con ansiedad, sobre el futuro.

“Es posible que surja algo y luego el cerebro comience a pensar, y nuevamente, como ese disco rayado”, dijo LaPratt. “Puede ser muy fácil comenzar a pensar en cómo todo podría salir mal y comenzar a dramatizar”.

Ese pensamiento repetitivo también prevalece en personas con otras afecciones, incluido el trastorno obsesivo compulsivo y el trastorno por estrés postraumático. Comienza a afectar el sentido de quiénes son; se definen a sí mismos por su condición.

Pero los psicodélicos parecen ayudar a las personas a examinar viejos traumas sin volver a caer en el mismo ciclo destructivo. Pueden ayudar a las personas a sentirse más conectadas con los demás. La depresión y la ansiedad no se borran simplemente, dijo LaPratt, sino que las personas pueden obtener una nueva perspectiva de sus problemas y comenzar a sentir, tal vez por primera vez, que pueden deshacerse de ellos.

“Vemos una mayor apertura y cierta motivación para cambiar los comportamientos”, dijo.

La mayoría de los psicodélicos están fuera del sistema de una persona a la mañana siguiente, pero, según los investigadores, esa mayor apertura puede durar semanas o meses sin dosis adicionales, lo que brinda una ventana durante la cual pueden comenzar a abordar sus problemas.

“Quizás estemos ayudando a las personas a llegar al punto de poder aceptar las cosas que no pueden cambiar y cambiar las cosas que sí pueden”, dijo Aaronson, haciéndose eco de la Oración de la serenidad, que a menudo se usa en los ejercicios de 12 pasos de los programas de recuperación. “Se les quita autonomía personal a las personas con depresión. No sienten que puedan operar en su mejor interés. Se ven atrapados en un conflicto interno. Y creo que esto les ayuda a ir más allá de eso”.

Por la mañana, los atletas se reunieron en un patio para una forma de terapia de grupo llamada integración. Estaba previsto que durara al menos dos horas. Macleod explicó que era una parte esencial para comprender el viaje de la psilocibina. Todos los asistentes tuvieron la oportunidad de compartir algo de su experiencia, ya fuera esclarecedor, confuso, edificante o una mezcla de muchas emociones.

Lee habló sobre su ansiedad, sobre tratar de entender cuál sería su identidad ahora que no era boxeador. Al alejarse del ring, temía estar decepcionando a todas las personas que lo apoyaron cuando eligió una carrera de boxeo en lugar de un trabajo en finanzas después de graduarse de Notre Dame.

Pero ahora había llegado a comprender que esas eran sus propias inseguridades. Podía seguir su propio camino. Podría ayudar a las personas que experimentan un dolor físico y emocional similar.

Renfrow respiró hondo varias veces mientras buscaba las palabras. Durante la mayor parte de su vida, se había visto a sí mismo como un jugador de fútbol americano. Pero en su viaje de psilocibina, sintió como si los miembros de su familia le dijeran que estaba bien dejarlo ir. Cuando se puso de pie durante la ceremonia y se quitó la camisa con sus iniciales, dijo que, simbólicamente, estaba soltando algo.

“Está bien dejar de perseguir el viaje del fútbol”, dijo Renfrow. “No voy a vestirme bien este año y eso está bien para mí. Seré capaz de resolverlo.

Al decir adiós al fútbol, dijo, se estaba despidiendo de su abuela.

“El fútbol era ella”, dijo Renfrow, y comenzó a llorar. “Fuimos a todos mis viajes de reclutamiento. Así que tuve que dejarla ir dejando ir al fútbol. Y ese fue un gran momento cuando me puse de pie. Tuve que dejarla ir. Así que fue difícil, pero tenía que hacerlo”.

Cuando fue el turno de Downie, trató de calmar la tensión bromeando, diciendo que era hora de ir a comer. No quería abrirse al grupo, dijo. Había escrito algunas notas en una hoja de papel. Sus manos temblaban mientras trataba de leerlas.

“No estaba bebiendo y no estaba consumiendo drogas por diversión”, dijo Downie con voz temblorosa. “Estaba adormeciendo mi cerebro porque estaba jodido. No pude salir de mi camino de entrada durante un año. Me senté en cuartos oscuros y recurrí a las drogas y el alcohol”.

Pero dijo que en el viaje psicodélico pudo conectarse con su pasado. “Estoy sentado allí y estoy repasando mi cerebro, estoy hablando con mi papá, estoy hablando con los miembros de mi familia. He pedido perdón a todos los que podría pedir perdón”, dijo. “Me hizo llorar. Me hizo sentir bien”.

Se dio cuenta, a través del viaje, que quería ser un mejor hombre. Su voz temblaba mientras trataba de pronunciar las palabras.

“Al final de todo esto, creo que lo que he aprendido es cómo controlar lo que sucede. yo tengo el control. Puedo controlar esto”, dijo. “Me iré a casa y me identificaré y ejecutaré y seré un mejor padre y me quedaré para mis hijos, lidiaré con mis conmociones cerebrales lo mejor que pueda”.

Se giró para mirar directamente a Cote, las lágrimas corrían por sus mejillas detrás de sus gafas de sol.

“Quiero decir esto, hermano, cuando digo que me salvaste la vida”.

Cuando las palabras de Downie dieron paso al silencio, Lee se levantó de su silla. Cruzó el círculo, se acercó a Downie y abrió los brazos. Los dos luchadores, que llegaron a Jamaica tristes y destrozados, se abrazaron.

***

Si bien los estudios han encontrado que la psilocibina junto con la terapia es más efectiva que la terapia sola, no está claro si la psilocibina sola, sin el trabajo preparatorio o la integración posterior, tiene algún efecto.

“Hay una razón por la cual las personas que van a raves y toman psilocibina no se curan”, dijo Aaronson. “La psilocibina no es un antidepresivo”.

Incluso dentro de los estrictos protocolos de ensayos clínicos, la pregunta sigue siendo si la terapia asistida por psilocibina funciona. Los estudios preliminares han sido prometedores, pero el número de sujetos de prueba ha sido pequeño. Se necesitan estudios mucho más amplios para determinar tanto la seguridad como la eficacia.

Aún así, eso no ha impedido que los defensores de la psilocibina promocionen la investigación hasta la fecha, lo que implica que es más definitiva de lo que es. Además, muchos evangelistas de los hongos atribuyen los efectos positivos de los ensayos clínicos al consumo de psilocibina en general, descartando los protocolos utilizados en los estudios.

En el retiro de Wake en Jamaica, por ejemplo, los atletas tomaron psilocibina en ceremonias grupales guiadas por Cowan, la chamán local, mientras que las sesiones de integración grupal fueron dirigidas por un médico osteópata. Ninguno de los dos era un psicoterapeuta autorizado, dijo Murray. No está claro si los beneficios de la terapia con psilocibina sugeridos por la investigación clínica se aplicarían a un entorno grupal, para la dosificación o la integración.

Murray, director ejecutivo de Wake, dijo que si bien la investigación clínica se esfuerza por eliminar cualquier variable, como las interacciones entre los participantes, los líderes de Wake sienten que el entorno grupal ofrece beneficios a sus clientes.

“Es ese grupo que siente que, ‘Estamos juntos en esto. Mi divorcio es como tu divorcio. Perdí a un hermano’”, dijo. “Eso es difícil de poner en un ensayo clínico”.

Wake se había registrado para realizar un ensayo clínico en Jamaica, pero Murray dijo que la compañía finalmente decidió no continuar, centrándose, en cambio, en ofrecer tratamiento.

Aún así, Murray dijo que Wake está contribuyendo a la investigación científica: recolectaron muestras de sangre y saliva, y se les pidió a los participantes que completaran cuestionarios antes y después del retiro para ayudar a evaluar si el tratamiento había funcionado.

Murray dijo que Wake usa los mismos cuestionarios validados clínicamente que se usan en el consultorio de un psiquiatra.

“Entonces, no es teatro. Estas son las herramientas reales que se utilizan”, dijo. Sin embargo, sería difícil con el enfoque de Wake analizar si los hongos y la integración ayudaron a los participantes u otras influencias, como estar de vacaciones en Jamaica, estar entre un grupo de compañeros de apoyo o la marihuana que muchos de ellos fumaban regularmente durante el retiro.

“Al menos tienes que escuchar y tomarlo en serio. Hay anécdotas de personas que dicen que se habrían suicidado”, dijo Johnson. “A veces ves solo la experiencia de ‘full monty’, donde esta persona está allí en una trayectoria oscura, oscura y toda su vida cambia. Sospecho que esto es real. Algo está pasando con estos atletas que hacen estos informes”.

Las anécdotas brillantes, particularmente cuando provienen de atletas o celebridades de alto perfil, tienen peso entre el público y ayudan a impulsar medidas como las de Oregon y Colorado que están estableciendo vías para el tratamiento con psilocibina, independientemente de lo que piensen los investigadores o los reguladores.

“Cuando las personas están molestas y no satisfacemos sus necesidades, van a probar cosas”, dijo Atheir Abbas, profesor asistente de neurociencia del comportamiento en la Oregon Health & Science University. “Con suerte, los científicos pueden ponerse al día para comprender por qué las personas piensan que esto es realmente útil. Y tal vez sea útil, pero tratemos de averiguar si lo es y cómo”.

Pero existe el peligro de tomar estas historias, sin importar cuán convincentes sean, y extrapolar su seguridad o eficacia.

“La parte difícil es que el plural de anécdota no son datos”, dijo Sabet, el CEO de Smart Approaches to Marijuana. “Y los datos aún no están allí”.

***

Un año después del retiro, Downie, Renfrow y Lee dijeron que creían que su viaje con la psilocibina los había ayudado. No solucionó mágicamente todos sus problemas, pero cada uno lo consideró una experiencia positiva.

Downie ya no siente que está atrapado en un lugar oscuro. Dijo que cuando regresó a Ontario, su familia notó una diferencia de inmediato.

“Ese viaje me dio mucha claridad”, dijo Downie. “Te da direcciones. Te da respuestas internamente. Es algo único que experimenté. Mi año fue definitivamente mejor que el año anterior, eso es seguro… ¿Creo que podría ayudar a otras personas? Yo diría que sí. ¿Me ayudó? Absolutamente”.

Sin sentirse más como un prisionero en su casa, Downie comenzó un campamento de motos de nieve que lleva a los adultos en aventuras guiadas por Moosonee, cerca de James Bay. Es algo que solía hacer con su familia antes de que despegara su carrera en el hockey.

“No es mucho de lo que presumir, pero es lo más al norte al que puedes ir en una moto de nieve en Ontario”, dijo Downie. “Vienen muchos adultos de todas partes. Es una experiencia genial. Siempre ha sido una de mis pasiones”.

Todavía tiene problemas persistentes por sus conmociones cerebrales y sospecha que siempre los tendrá.

“Es lo que es”, dijo. “¿Diría que está mejorando? Es un proceso”.

El resultado más positivo ha sido la alegría que ha encontrado en ser padre.

“Mi pequeño está empezando a enamorarse del hockey, que es algo que he estado esperando”, dijo Downie.

Aunque Downie no ha realizado otro viaje con psilocibina, dijo que estaría abierto a hacerlo.

Renfrow salió de la ceremonia con la intención de retirarse del fútbol profesional, pero tres meses después volvió a firmar con Edmonton Elks de la Canadian Football League. Este año, se unió a los Jacksonville Sharks de la National Arena League, en parte para estar más cerca de su hijo.

“En ese momento, pensé que iba a dejar el fútbol”, dijo.

Pero se siente cómodo donde está y dice que está cumpliendo sus objetivos, incluido presentar ese programa de cocina en YouTube que esperaba hacer. Y dijo que se está divirtiendo de nuevo. Ahora recurre a los hongos cada vez que tiene que tomar una gran decisión.

“Creo de todo corazón en eso y en todo el tipo de orientación que me ha dado”, dijo. “No podrías pedir algo mejor, haber seguido la guía de un viaje con hongos”.

Lee se mudó de California a Austin, Texas, y ahora dirige un negocio de CBD con su hermana. Encontrar su identidad posterior al boxeo sigue siendo un proceso. En sus viajes psicodélicos en el retiro de Wake, dijo Lee, nunca pensó en deportes o boxeo. Sus visiones eran todas sobre la familia, Dios, el universo.

“Simplemente me hace darme cuenta de la importancia que le estoy dando a algo que a mi subconsciente ni siquiera le importa”, dijo. “A mi subconsciente no le importa que sea boxeador, que fui luchador e hice esto y aquello. Es todo tipo de ego”.

La experiencia, dijo, lo ayudó a comprender cuán poderosa puede ser la mente, que puede ser un amigo o un enemigo.

“Salí de eso dándome cuenta de que tengo todas las herramientas para curarme a mí mismo”, dijo. “Eso es enorme. Porque, especialmente para los muchachos que han tenido conmociones cerebrales o atletas o lo que sea, te sientes un poco aislado, te sientes solo, te sientes sin esperanza. Así que te da un sentido de esperanza”.

Le permitió ir más allá de la necesidad de probarse a sí mismo, en el ring o fuera de él, para dejar de medir su valor por sus logros. Se ha obsesionado con actividades mucho más tranquilas y no violentas: el surf y el pickleball.

“Puedo apagar mi cerebro como en el boxeo”, dijo. “Pero al mismo tiempo, es más fácil para mi cuerpo y simplemente, no sé, más satisfactorio. No tengo que probar nada”.

El viaje a Jamaica le está permitiendo salir adelante, hacer el trabajo necesario para sanar.

“Una parte de mí entró con la esperanza de que todos mis problemas se resolvieran, pero poner esas expectativas puede ser difícil”, dijo. “¿Estoy curado? No. ¿Pero realmente ayudó? ¿Y fue como una de las experiencias más profundas de mi vida?

“Yo diría que sí”.

Este artículo fue producido y escrito por Markian Hawryluk de KFF Health News y Kevin Van Valkenburg de ESPN. El investigador John Mastroberardino colaboró con la historia.

Si tu mismo o alguien que conoces puede estar experimentando una crisis de salud mental, llama o envía un mensaje de texto a la Línea de vida de crisis y suicidio al 988 o a la Línea de texto de crisis enviando un mensaje de texto con “HOME” al 741741. En Canadá, llama a Talk Suicide Canada al 1-833- 456-4566 o envía un mensaje de texto al 45645 de 4 pm a medianoche ET.

[Nota del editor: como parte del reportaje de este artículo, algunos miembros del equipo de reporteros de ESPN, bajo la guía del personal de Wake Network, usaron psilocibina. Wake Network fue compensado, pero no por ESPN.]

KFF Health News is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues and is one of the core operating programs at KFF—an independent source of health policy research, polling, and journalism. Learn more about KFF.

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WAKEFIELD, Jamaica — The boxer felt broken. Every day, he was waking up in pain. Some days, it was debilitating headaches. Other times, it was his back. Or his fists. His ribs. His nose. On top of that, he had mood swings. Depression. Anxiety.

Mike Lee didn’t regret his career. He had been one of the best professional fighters in the world in his weight class. He’d gone 21-1 professionally and fought in Madison Square Garden and in front of millions on TV.

But it had been more than two years since he’d been inside a ring, and every day was a reminder of the cost. At one point, Lee was taking eight prescription medications, all of them trying to help him cope. In his lowest moment, on a night when he was in the depths of an addiction to painkillers, he said, he contemplated driving his car into the median of a Chicago freeway at 140 mph. He was willing to do anything to escape the hell he felt trapped in.

The impulse faded, but the pain remained.

He was lost.

“When you’re in pain and you’re stuck in a corner, you’ll do anything to get out of it,” Lee said.

Now, he had come to a verdant jungle at the end of a dirt road halfway up a mountain.

Psychedelic mushrooms, he hoped, could change his life.

Lee was part of a small group — many of them retired athletes — who’d traveled to Jamaica in March 2022 for a retreat costing as much as $5,500. They each had come to the Good Hope Estate, a sugar plantation turned exclusive resort, hoping to rid themselves of depression, anxiety, and chronic pain they had experienced for years.

Two psychedelic mushroom ceremonies and two therapy sessions awaited them at the retreat run by a Canadian company called Wake Network. The participants were nervous, but also hopeful.

Along with Lee, there was a professional football player considering retirement and a former hockey star who had multiple concussions. They’d come from all over North America, from different backgrounds and different sports, but they had a few things in common: They were vulnerable, and they felt that prescription medications had failed them. They didn’t know what to expect, whether the treatment would work, whether they’d return home with a solution or just more disappointment.

Lee had learned about the retreat from a childhood friend who works as a doctor for Wake. Others had been recruited by Riley Cote, a former enforcer with the Philadelphia Flyers and now a psychedelics evangelist who is an adviser to Wake with an equity stake.

Cote was once just like Lee. He used to love punching people in the face. He loved the way his hand landed with a thud when his knuckles connected with flesh and bone at a violent speed. Snapping someone’s head back made Cote feel alive.

“I fought everyone and their brother in my career,” Cote said. “I would pick out the biggest guy I could find and challenge him. It was how I survived, how I made a name for myself. I was inflicting all this pain and inflammation on myself, always getting punched in the face, and I had to keep up with this macho type of personality, like, ‘Oh, you can’t hurt me. You can’t hurt me.’”

He was no longer that person. It made him cringe to think about the man he once was, someone who drank excessively and used painkillers to numb his brain. There was a time when he, like Lee, was in a dark place, but over the course of several years, psychedelic mushrooms, Cote believes, helped bring him back into the light.

“The world is in a crisis, a mental health crisis, a spiritual crisis,” Cote said. “And I think these are spiritual medicines, and I just feel like it’s the right path for me. I don’t think of it as anything more than my duty, my purpose on this planet is to be sharing the truth around natural medicine.”

For years, whispers have circulated about an underground network of athletes — primarily ex-athletes — using psilocybin, the compound in magic mushrooms, to treat traumatic brain injuries, anxiety, and depression. Many of them, like Cote, view psychedelics as a miracle cure, the one thing they’d been able to find that could help break a cycle of pharmaceutical painkillers and substance abuse. They gathered in small groups to ingest mushrooms in private or traveled to countries such as Jamaica where psychedelic mushrooms aren’t prohibited.

Now the use of psychedelic mushrooms is gaining traction in the United States. A number of cities have decriminalized possession of psilocybin, and Oregon and Colorado voters passed ballot measures to legalize magic mushrooms under supervised use. Many researchers predict FDA approval of a psychedelic treatment will come within the next five years.

But many of those same researchers warn the hype over psychedelics is outpacing the science — and that the treatment comes with significant risks for some patients. They fear that, unless research is conducted methodically and ethically, widespread use of psilocybin could result in a public backlash, as it did in the 1960s, relegating a promising treatment to the dustheap of banned substances.

They are urging corporate entities like Wake, which are already positioning themselves to take advantage of the potential legalization of psychedelics, to go slowly, ensure the research is done the right way, and allow the science to catch up.

“If you don’t do this safely, people are going to get hurt,” said Matthew Johnson, a psychiatry professor and psychedelics researcher at Johns Hopkins University.

But many — including former pro athletes with battered bodies and brains — don’t want to wait for the slow grind of clinical research. They need help now. The painkillers, the antidepressants, the countless different pills they were prescribed over the years haven’t helped. In their minds, the stories told by fellow athletes who say they have benefited from psychedelics outweigh any scientific uncertainty.

“When you think of magic mushrooms, you think of hippies at Woodstock dancing around to music,” Lee said. “To think about you’ve got some of the best athletes in the world here that are dealing with some stuff and they’re taking it, it makes you feel more comfortable. It makes me feel like, ‘OK, maybe I’m doing the right thing.’ It’s a healing medicine; it’s not just a party drug.”

***

Cote, now 41, was a decent hockey skater growing up in Winnipeg, Manitoba, tenacious as hell from end to end and a tireless worker, but fairly average at handling the puck. He didn’t score enough goals to rise through junior hockey the way some prospects did. Yet as he got older, coaches didn’t mind as much. He had broad shoulders and a long reach. In an era of hockey where violence was still currency, he had found his golden ticket to the NHL: Cote would beat on people and get beat on in return. As a member of the Flyers, he saw it as his duty to uphold the traditions of the Broad Street Bullies, a group of players from the 1970s who were celebrated by the press for playing — and partying — hard.

He fought his way through the NHL for portions of four seasons, accumulating more than 400 career penalty minutes while scoring just one goal. Most of his fights were brutal, barbaric affairs. His highlight reel shows a hulking giant, his eyes filled with violence, the kind of goon who could break your jaw and laugh maniacally in the aftermath, blood dripping from his face down onto the ice.

“It was something I enjoyed doing, and I think it was just an element of competition for me,” Cote said. “And it was also probably something I was doing out of fear — fear of not living my childhood dream or letting my parents down or people down.”

He said he medicated his pain nearly every day with booze. Beers were an appetizer on the way to doing shots at the bar. Shots often led to harder drugs. He and his teammates would stay out until 3 a.m., sometimes later, then try to sweat out the poison the next day during practice.

After a few years, his brain started to fog. He got bigger and stronger through weightlifting, and he looked like a monster on the ice, but every hockey skill except his fighting deteriorated. As his career wound down, he said, it felt as if darkness was creeping in. He grew depressed. He was afraid of what he’d become.

Today, Cote bears little resemblance to that enforcer in the videos. Thinner and calmer, he teaches yoga classes in a Delaware studio three times a week. With shoulder-length hair, tattoos on his arms and chest, he speaks with a soft baritone voice. He seems more monk than monster.

“I look back and it just shows maybe how confused I was and what reality I was seeking, which was supposedly happiness and fulfillment within chasing my childhood dream,” Cote said. “But it’s hard for me to wrap my head around me doing that now, just knowing who I am now, and realizing it takes a lot of darkness to do what I did.”

Cote said he took mushrooms recreationally throughout his 20s, but never in a therapeutic setting or with the understanding they might help him process both his physical and emotional trauma. “It was just part of the scene or part of the party,” he said.

But when he retired in 2010, he felt like he was facing an identity crisis. He had been a fighter for so long, he thought that’s all he was. How could a washed-up enforcer raise two daughters?

He started reading. What he learned shocked him.

Researchers had quietly revived the study of psychedelics as a medical treatment in 2000, and early findings suggested psilocybin often had noticeable benefits for people diagnosed with anxiety and depression. It helped some patients shed their addictions to drugs or alcohol. Other research suggested that psilocybin may actually be capable of reshaping the anatomy of the brain, restoring neuropathways, and helping heal traumatic brain injuries.

For Cote, who was diagnosed with at least three concussions in his hockey career and probably incurred many more, it was transformative.

Cote now recruits clients for Wake, which hosts immersive psilocybin retreats outside the U.S.

“Some people come to these events and they’re borderline suicidal,” said Tyler Macleod, a Wake co-founder and its chief experience officer. “They’re not fixed after one ceremony, but they’re not stuck in the dark anymore. They wake up and they’re like, ‘Oh, I can navigate a relationship with my kids again.’”

The ex-athletes who attend these retreats are all struggling with something, Cote said. They need help. In many cases, they feel as if they have tried everything else. He asks why they need to wait when so many studies and anecdotes indicate positive results?

“It’s like with cannabis: How many stories did we have to be told before we had a medical program?” Cote said. “It’s just been roadblocked for so long.”

***

In 1970, President Richard Nixon signed into law the Controlled Substances Act, legislation that divided drugs into five levels, ranking them based largely on their potential for abuse. Magic mushrooms were categorized as Schedule 1 substances, alongside heroin and marijuana, meaning the government believed they had no medical benefit as well as high potential for abuse. (Cocaine, oxycodone, and methamphetamine were all classified as Schedule 2 drugs.)

Those decisions — which Nixon adviser John Ehrlichman later said were politically motivated — continue to have a ripple effect today. Research into psychedelic treatments was put on hold for 30 years.

While the recent studies have been small in scope, they have shown remarkable effects. Prescription drugs approved for conditions such as anxiety or depression help at best 40% to 60% of patients. In early trials, psychedelics have reached efficacy rates of more than 70%.

And unlike most prescribed medications, which stop working soon after patients quit taking them, one or two treatments of psilocybin can have lasting effects of six months, a year, or even longer, according to one Johns Hopkins study. With minimal risk of addiction or overdose and centuries of use by Indigenous cultures, psilocybin is seen by many researchers as a potential breakthrough treatment with great benefits and few risks.

Scott Aaronson, director of clinical research programs at Sheppard Pratt, a nonprofit psychiatric hospital outside Baltimore, has been studying difficult-to-treat mood disorders for 40 years, starting with some of the early studies on Prozac.

“I’m a cynical, skeptical, sarcastic human being,” Aaronson said. “And I will tell you, I have never seen anything like it in all my years.”

But psilocybin is not without risks. It can exacerbate heart problems and trigger schizophrenia in those with a genetic predisposition, and the combination of psilocybin and lithium may cause seizures. Clinical trials have generally screened out patients at risk for such complications. Still, a significant portion of those who consume psilocybin, even without any of those concerns, have a negative experience.

“At a high dose, about a third of people in our studies, even under these ideal conditions, can have what would be called a bad trip, some degree of substantial anxiety or fear,” said Johnson, the Johns Hopkins researcher. “A person can be very psychologically vulnerable. It can feel like they’re dying.”

Sometimes, though, even those “bad trips” can lead to help with depression or other issues, researchers have found, especially with follow-up help from a therapist to process the experience.

The psychedelic effects of psilocybin can also disconnect a person from reality, which can lead people to do dangerous things, like running out into traffic or jumping out a window.

“The very conception of reality and themselves in reality, like who they are — these things can be profoundly changed and it’s not a good recipe for interacting in public,” Johnson said.

Researchers also describe cases where psilocybin puts people with unresolved psychological issues into long-term distress.

That’s why researchers are adamant that psilocybin should be administered in a clinical setting with trained therapists who can guide people through the experience, deal with negative outcomes when they emerge, and help people process and integrate their experiences.

Clinical trials of psilocybin have relied on strict protocols, involving one or more sessions before the treatment to help the test subjects understand what to expect. The ingestion of the mushrooms is often done in a single day, with one or two therapists on hand. In the following days, the person returns for what’s known as integration, typically a one-on-one therapy session to help process the experience and to begin the journey toward healing. Some trials add an extra day of therapy in between two treatments.

Unlike with a typical medication, patients aren’t sent home with a bottle of pills.The entire protocol is more like a medical procedure.

But it’s a misconception that it’s the psychedelic medicine doing all the work, not the therapy that comes afterward, said Jeffrey LaPratt, a psychologist and psilocybin researcher with Sheppard Pratt. “It’s really hard work and it takes vulnerability. It takes courage. It can be really painful.”

***

Former NHL player Steve Downie felt as if something in him was broken when he was invited to the Wake retreat in Jamaica. His days were filled with fog. He was living with depression, often unable to leave his home.

“I got tired of going to those doctors and tired of talking to them,” Downie said. “Don’t get me wrong — I’m not saying doctors are bad. I’m just saying, in my personal experience, what I went through, it wasn’t positive. And it just comes to a point where you got to try something new, and that’s why I’m here.”

He also had trauma in his life he’d never truly confronted. When Downie was 8 years old, his father died in a car crash driving him to hockey practice. Throwing himself deep into the sport was his only way of coping with his father’s death. Like Cote, his teammate on the Flyers for two years, he played the game with reckless abandon, launching himself into violent collisions that left both him and his opponents bloodied.

After a junior career marred by a hazing controversy, Downie started his first NHL season, in 2007, with a 20-game suspension for a brutal check into the boards in a preseason contest that sent his opponent off the ice on a stretcher. It remains one of the longest suspensions ever issued by the league. In the hockey press, he was labeled a villain, a thug, a goon, and borderline psychotic. The words stung a little, even when he tried to laugh them off.

“I got no teeth, and I am small, so they can’t be all that wrong,” Downie said. “Right? End of the day, it was a job. I did what I was asked.”

Over his nine seasons playing for five NHL teams, he endured more concussions than he could remember. Deaf in one ear, on the verge of tears every day, and fairly certain he was drinking too much, Downie, now 36, would look in the mirror some days and wonder if he would be dead in six months. He didn’t know anything about psychedelics, just that Cote had told him he would help when Downie was ready.

“I called Riley and I said, ‘I need something, man.’ I got tired of going to doctors and talking to them,” Downie said. “A lot of the pills they give you, they eat at your brain. They don’t really help you.”

Justin Renfrow, a 33-year-old lineman who played in the NFL and in Canada, came seeking clarity. He was considering retiring from professional football, something that both scared and excited him. He’d been playing for half his life, and the game was a huge part of his identity. It was the last connection he had to his grandmother, one of the most important people in his life. She was the one who went on recruiting trips with him. After she died in 2021, Renfrow felt that a part of her was still with him as long as he played the game.

But after a decade of playing professionally, Renfrow’s body was battered. One of his knees was aching. He had come to loathe pharmaceutical drugs. He said he’d been prescribed so many different drugs by team doctors — including stomach coaters and nerve blockers so he could take more painkillers — that his body started to experience terrible side effects. Once, he said, he had such a bad reaction to a combination of painkillers he’d been given, he needed medical attention after he sweated through his clothes and began to have trouble breathing.

“It’s just, ‘We need to make the playoffs, so take this,’” Renfrow said. “It threw my body into a tailspin.”

He’d used psychedelic mushrooms numerous times, mainly as a way to cope with the pain brought on by football, but he’d never used them as part of a ceremony or to be meditative. On this trip, he sought clarity. Was it time to walk away from football? He was passionate about cooking and thinking of starting his own show on YouTube. Maybe it was time to shift his focus and let football fade away.

“I’ve got a lot of people who depend on me every day,” Renfrow said.

The ceremony, the athletes hoped, would guide them toward some answers.

***

The research into psychedelics is promising and exciting, but the effectiveness of mushrooms as a treatment isn’t fully settled. But even if psilocybin and other psychedelics prove to be nothing more than a placebo — which some researchers say is possible — many athletes swear they are finding real relief from the anxiety, depression, and other traumas lingering from their playing days.

With a potential multibillion-dollar global market, there’s also a huge financial incentive. Wake is just one of a growing number of for-profit startups backed by private investment money staking a claim in the psychedelic treatment space. They and others hope to open treatment centers or sell the drugs in the U.S. and Canada eventually. Magic mushrooms are illegal to produce, sell, or possess in Canada.

During the Jamaica retreat, Wake leaders gave a presentation to participants on how they could invest in the company.

Macleod said he grew interested in psychedelic therapy not as a business opportunity but after he lost his sister, Heather, six years ago to suicide. Losing her drove him to search for answers. His sister had been a competitive skier in Canada, but a series of falls led to multiple concussions, and throughout her adult life she had anxiety and depression. Traditional medicine repeatedly failed her, Macleod said. Every week, he finds himself wishing he’d known then what he knows now and used it to try to save her.

“I can’t tell you how many people come to me who are struggling like my sister was,” he said. “God, I wish she could be here. I know that she’d be cheering us on. I see her sometimes looking down on us and saying, ‘Help other people who were stuck where I was.’”

Eager to bring psychedelic treatments to consumers, corporate firms often extrapolate research findings from tightly controlled clinical trials with carefully selected patients to promote broader use by the general population in almost any setting.

“The push for psychedelics generally is being driven by people that want to make money, much more than it is about scientists,” said Kevin Sabet, a former White House Office of National Drug Control Policy senior adviser who’s now president and CEO of Smart Approaches to Marijuana, a political group opposed to marijuana legalization. “Why would we let the Wall Street investors, who are really the ones here trying to make money, be driving the conversation?”

Commercialization could be both good and bad for psychedelics. On the one hand, it could provide funding for research; on the other, the desire for a return on that investment could improperly influence the results and put patients at risk.

“Your business model isn’t going to work well when someone’s jumped out of a window and it’s on the front page of The New York Times,” said Johnson, the Johns Hopkins researcher.

Clinical research must also overcome the mushroom’s image as a party drug, something hippies share out of plastic baggies in the back rows of concerts. To change that narrative, Wake and other companies say, they are leaning hard into the science. This isn’t thrill-seeking, they say, but legitimate medicine treating real psychiatric conditions. It’s the same argument proponents of marijuana legalization made, whether they believed it or were using it as a means to an end — pushing to legalize cannabis as medicine before opening the floodgates to unfettered recreational use.

Wake leaders, like most executives in the psychedelic space, have said they are committed to assisting research to prove to federal regulators that psilocybin is safe and effective. Blood and saliva samples a doctor collected at the Wake retreat, they said, would be used to identify genetic markers that could predict who will respond to psilocybin treatment.

Wake’s team had participants use a helmet containing experimental imaging technology that had been used in clinical trials to track brain activity before, during, and after psychedelic experiences. As part of the research, participants wore the helmet while playing games of Wordle.

Many academic researchers wonder whether some companies are simply applying a veneer of science to a moneymaking endeavor, what many skeptics refer to as “placebo theater.”

Indeed, Aaronson fears the field could soon be “full of hucksters.”

“The problem you’ve got is that, not surprisingly, social media and communications works much faster than science does,” he said. “So everybody’s trying to get their hands on this stuff because they think it’s going to be incredible.”

Aaronson has designed clinical trial protocols for Compass Pathways, a competing for-profit company seeking to market psilocybin treatments, and has turned down other firms looking to create a footprint in the psychedelic space. (Aaronson receives funding from Compass to support his research but said he has no direct financial interest in the company.)

“I worry about who’s backing the play from some of these companies and try to figure out what somebody is really after,” he said. “You talk to people and you see whether there’s a real plan to do research or there’s a real plan to sell something.”

***

A hum of nervous tension lingered in the air as the athletes prepared for the ceremony. At breakfast, there wasn’t a lot of small talk. The attendees milled about, checking in with Wake’s medical personnel to offer up their blood and saliva samples. Some participated in a yoga class in an outdoor studio that overlooked the jungle.

Wake had hired a Jamaican shaman — a woman named Sherece Cowan, a vegan food entrepreneur who was a 2012 Miss Universe Jamaica runner-up — to lead the athletes in the ceremony. She asked to be called Sita and referred to herself as a plant medicine facilitator.

She spoke slowly and deliberately, waving smoke from an urn as she urged participants to gather in a circle on the lawn of the estate. After drinking a 3- to 5-gram dose of psilocybin, which had been ground into a powder and mixed with orange juice, the athletes would slip into a dream state for the next four to six hours.

“I hope that you get all that you need. It may not be all that you’re asking for, but I hope you receive all that you need,” Cowan said. “Blessings on your journey.”

A local musician began to play, his drums and chimes intended to enhance the journey. Most of the athletes lay on mats, as if sleeping. Cote sat in a yoga pose. Nick Murray, Wake’s CEO, had asked Cote to wear special headgear — an electroencephalography device smaller than the other helmet — to measure his brain activity. Except for the musician’s drums and chimes, it was quiet. The wind occasionally rustled the leaves on the trees at the edge of the property, but for the next six hours, inside the circle, time mostly stood still.

Two hours into the ceremony, after the psychedelic had kicked in, whatever was taking place was occurring inside the athletes’ heads. Cote, remarkably, was still holding his yoga pose.

The stillness was broken when Renfrow stood up from his mat after three hours. He’d worn a sweatshirt to the ceremony with his initials, JR, emblazoned across the chest. He peeled the shirt off his body in frustration and tossed it aside.

Tears spilled down his face.

As the ceremony wound down, the athletes began sitting up, and a few chatted quietly.

Most weren’t sure how to describe the experience. For some, it felt like a descent into the recesses of the mind, with colors and emotions swirling together. Others said they confronted traumas they thought they’d buried, or emotions they wanted to suppress. They expressed feeling a connection to the other people in the circle.

“It’s the ultimate ego killer because, for me at least, it gives you incredible empathy that you’ve never felt before,” Lee said. “When you’re doing a journey with other people, you see yourself in them. It’s almost like you’re walking past a mirror, different mirrors. You see parts of yourself in everybody and you realize that we’re all connected and we’re all going through something, we’re all in some sort of pain, and it humbles you.”

Most of the athletes drifted off to be alone so they could scribble down their thoughts in a journal, per instructions from Wake staffers. There would be a communal therapy session the next morning.

Each would be asked to share something from their journey.

***

In the end, most of those curious about psilocybin simply want to know: Does it work? And how does it work? Scientists say those are difficult questions to answer right now.

Researchers have discovered that classic psychedelics, like psilocybin and LSD, act on the serotonin 2A receptor, the same receptor targeted by the most common antidepressants on the market. But beyond that, the understanding of how they work to help people is, at this point, more theory or conjecture than scientific fact.

Johnson, the Johns Hopkins researcher, said psilocybin helps increase openness in people, allowing them to step outside of their vision of who they are. Someone who is resigned to being a smoker who can’t quit or a person with depression who can’t find happiness can, under the influence of psychedelics, view themselves in a different way, he said.

“Once they’re outside of the mental trap, it just becomes so obvious to people with these different disorders that, ‘You know what? I can just decide to quit smoking. I can cast aside my sadness,’” Johnson said.

Studies with rats show that psychedelics also appear to increase neuronal connectivity in the brain, even after a single dose. That could help the brain recover from traumatic injuries or concussions, finding new pathways around damaged areas.

The prevailing theory of how psilocybin and other psychedelics might help treat mental health is that they tamp down activity in the brain’s default mode network. It’s a set of regions in the brain that are engaged when people are ruminating about something and one of the few parts that is overactive in people with depression.

They often revisit mistakes they’ve made over and over again or continually beat themselves up about them, said LaPratt, the Sheppard Pratt researcher. That overactivity in the default mode network leads to repetitive patterns of negative thoughts — What’s wrong with me? Why am I so unhappy? — from which the person cannot escape.

People with depression often ruminate about the past; people with anxiety, about the future.

“You may have something coming up and then the brain starts thinking, and again, like that broken record,” LaPratt said. “It can be very easy to start thinking about how everything might go wrong and start catastrophizing.”

That repetitive thinking prevails in people with other conditions, too, including obsessive compulsive disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder. It begins to affect their sense of who they are; they define themselves as their condition.

But psychedelics seem to help people examine old traumas without falling back into the same kind of destructive loop. They can help people feel more connected to others. Depression and anxiety aren’t simply erased, LaPratt said, but people can gain a new perspective on their problems and start to feel, maybe for the first time, that they can shake them off.

“We see increased openness and some motivation for changing behaviors,” he said.

Psychedelics are mostly out of a person’s system by the next morning, but, according to researchers, that increased openness can last for weeks or months without additional doses, providing a window during which they can begin to address their problems.

“It is maybe that we’re helping people get to the point of being able to accept the things they can’t change and to change the things that they can,” Aaronson said, echoing the Serenity Prayer, often used in 12-step recovery programs. “Personal autonomy is taken away from people with depression. They don’t feel like they can operate in their own best interest. They get caught in internal conflict. And I think this helps them get beyond that.”

***

In the morning, the athletes gathered on a patio for a form of group therapy called integration. It was scheduled to last at least two hours. Macleod explained it was an essential part of understanding a psilocybin journey. Every attendee had an opportunity to share something from their experience, whether it was enlightening, confusing, uplifting, or a mixture of many emotions.

Lee spoke about his anxiety, about trying to understand what his identity would be now that he wasn’t a boxer. By walking away from the ring, he feared he was letting down all the people who supported him when he chose a boxing career instead of a job in finance after he graduated from Notre Dame. But now he’d come to understand those were his own insecurities. He could walk his own path. He could help people experiencing similar physical and emotional pain.

Renfrow took several deep breaths as he searched for words. For most of his life, he’d viewed himself as a football player. But on his psilocybin journey, he felt as if members of his family told him it was OK to let go. When he stood up during the ceremony and peeled off his shirt with his initials, he said, he was symbolically letting go of something.

“It’s OK to stop chasing the football journey,” Renfrow said. “I’m not going to suit up this year and that’s cool with me. I’ll be able to figure it out.”

In saying goodbye to football, he said, he was saying goodbye to his grandmother.

“Football was her,” Renfrow said, and he began crying. “We went on all my recruiting trips. So I had to let her go with letting football go. And that was a big moment when I stood up. I had to let her go. So it was tough, but I had to do it.”

When it was Downie’s turn, he tried to defuse the tension by joking that it was time to go eat. He didn’t want to open up to the group, he said. He’d written some notes on a sheet of paper. His hands shook as he tried to read them.

“I wasn’t drinking and I wasn’t doing drugs for fun,” Downie said, his voice trembling. “I was numbing my brain because it was f—ed. I couldn’t turn out of my driveway for a year. I sat in dark rooms and I turned to drugs and alcohol.”

But on the psychedelic trip, he said, he was able to connect with his past. “I’m sitting there and I’m going through my brain, I’m talking to my dad, I’m talking to my family members. I’ve said sorry to everyone I could possibly say sorry to,” he said. “It made me cry. It made me feel good.”

He realized, through the journey, he wanted to be a better man. His voice was shaking as he tried to get the words out.

“At the end of all this, I think what I’ve learned is how to control what goes on. I do have control. I can control this,” he said. “I’m going to go home and I’m going to identify and execute and be a better father and stay around for my kids, deal with my concussion problems as best I can.”

He turned to look directly at Cote, tears streaming down his cheeks from behind his sunglasses.

“I mean this, bro, when I say you saved my life.”

As Downie’s words gave way to silence, Lee stood up from his chair. He crossed the circle, walked over to Downie, and opened his arms wide. The two fighters, who came to Jamaica sad and broken, embraced.

***

While studies have found that psilocybin plus therapy is more effective than therapy alone, it’s unclear whether psilocybin alone, without the preparatory work or the integration afterward, has any effect.

“There’s a reason why people who go to raves and take psilocybin don’t get cured,” Aaronson said. “Psilocybin is not an antidepressant.”

Even within strict clinical trial protocols, the question remains whether psilocybin-assisted therapy works. Preliminary studies have been promising, but the numbers of test subjects have been small. Much larger studies are needed to determine both safety and efficacy.

Still, that hasn’t stopped psilocybin advocates from touting the research to date, implying it is more definitive than it is. Moreover, many mushroom evangelists attribute the positive effects from clinical trials to taking psilocybin in general, discounting the protocols used in the studies.

The Wake retreat in Jamaica, for example, had the athletes take psilocybin in group ceremonies guided by Cowan, the local shaman, while the group integration sessions were led by an osteopathic physician. Neither was a licensed psychotherapist, Murray said. It’s unclear whether the benefits of psilocybin therapy suggested by clinical research would apply to a group setting — for the dosing or the integration.

Murray, Wake’s CEO, said that while clinical research strives to remove any variables, such as interactions between test subjects, Wake leaders feel the group setting offers benefits to its clients.

“It’s that group feeling that, ‘We’re in this together. My divorce is like your divorce. I lost a brother,’” he said. “That’s tough to put into a clinical trial.”

Wake had registered to hold a clinical trial in Jamaica, but Murray said the company ultimately decided not to pursue it, focusing on offering treatment instead.

Still, Murray said Wake is contributing to scientific research: They collected the blood and saliva samples, and participants were asked to fill out questionnaires before and after the retreat to help assess whether the treatment worked.

Murray said Wake uses the same clinically validated questionnaires used in a psychiatrist’s office. “So, it’s not theater. These are the actual tools that are used,” he said. It would be hard with Wake’s approach, however, to parse whether participants were helped by the mushrooms and integration or by other influences, such as being on vacation in Jamaica, being among a supportive peer group, or the marijuana many of them smoked regularly during the retreat.

“You’ve got to at least listen and take it seriously. There’s anecdotes of people saying they would have killed themselves,” Johnson said. “Sometimes you do see just the ‘full monty’ experience, where this person is just there on a dark, dark trajectory and their whole life changes. I suspect this is real. Something’s happening with these athletes making these reports.”

Glowing anecdotes, particularly when they come from high-profile athletes or celebrities, carry weight with the public and help spur measures like those in Oregon and Colorado that are establishing pathways to psilocybin treatment regardless of what researchers or regulators think.

“When people are upset and we’re not meeting their needs, they’re going to try things out,” said Atheir Abbas, an assistant professor of behavioral neuroscience at Oregon Health & Science University. “Hopefully, scientists can catch up to understanding why people think this is really helpful. And maybe it is helpful, but let’s try to figure out if it is and how.”

But there’s a danger in taking these stories, no matter how compelling, and extrapolating safety or efficacy from them.

“The hard part is the plural of anecdote is not data,” said Sabet, the Smart Approaches to Marijuana CEO. “And the data isn’t there yet.”

***

A year after the retreat, Downie, Renfrow, and Lee said they believed their psilocybin journey had helped them. It did not magically fix all their issues, but each considered it a positive experience.

Downie no longer feels that he is stuck in a dark place. When he returned to Ontario, he said, his family noticed a difference right away.

“That trip gave me a lot of clarity,” Downie said. “It gives you directions. It kind of gives you answers internally. It’s a unique thing I experienced. My year was definitely better than the previous year, that’s for sure. … Do I think it could help other people? I would say yes. Did it help me? Absolutely.”

No longer feeling like a prisoner in his house, Downie started a snowmobile camp that takes adults on guided adventures around Moosonee, near James Bay. It’s something he used to do with his family before his hockey career took off.

“It’s not much to brag about, but it’s the most northern you can go in Ontario in a snowmobile,” Downie said. “A lot of adults come from all over. It’s a pretty cool experience. It’s always been a passion of mine.”

He still has lingering issues from his concussions and suspects he always will.

“It is what it is,” he said. “Would I say it’s getting better? It’s a process.”

The most positive outcome has been the joy he’s found in being a father.

“My little guy is starting to fall in love with hockey, which is something I’ve been waiting for,” Downie said.

Although Downie hasn’t taken another psilocybin journey, he said he would be open to it.

Renfrow emerged from the ceremony intent on retiring from professional football but three months later re-signed with the Canadian Football League’s Edmonton Elks. This year, he joined the National Arena League’s Jacksonville Sharks, in part to be closer to his son.

“At that time, I thought I was going to quit football,” he said.

But he feels comfortable where he is and says he’s fulfilling his goals, including hosting that cooking show on YouTube he’d hoped to do. And he said he’s having fun again. He now turns to mushrooms whenever he has a big decision to make.

“I wholehearted believe in that and all the kind of guidance it’s given me,” he said. “You couldn’t ask for a better thing, to have followed guidance from a mushroom journey.”

Lee moved from California to Austin, Texas, and now runs a CBD business with his sister. Finding his post-boxing identity has remained a process. In his psychedelic journeys at the Wake retreat, Lee said, he was never thinking about sports or boxing. His visions were all about family, God, the universe.

“It kind of just makes me realize how much importance I’m putting on something that my subconscious doesn’t even care about,” he said. “My subconscious doesn’t care that I’m a boxer, that I was a fighter and did this and did that. It’s all kind of ego.”

The experience, he said, helped him understand how powerful the mind can be — that it can be a friend or a foe.

“I came away from it kind of realizing that I have all the tools to heal myself,” he said. “That’s huge. Because, especially for guys who have had concussions or athletes or what have you, you feel kind of isolated, you feel alone, you feel hopeless. So it kind of gives you a sense of hope.”

It allowed him to move beyond the need to prove himself, in the ring or outside it, to stop measuring his worth by his accomplishments. He’s become obsessed with much calmer, nonviolent pursuits: surfing and pickleball.

“I can turn my brain off just like in boxing,” he said. “But at the same time, it’s easier on my body and just, I don’t know, more fulfilling. I don’t have to prove anything.”

The Jamaican trip is allowing him to move forward, to do the work necessary to heal.

“Part of me went into it hoping that all my problems would be solved, but putting those expectations on it can be difficult,” he said. “Am I cured? No. But did it really help? And was it, like, one of the most profound experiences of my life?

“I’d say yes.”

This article was reported and written by KFF Health News’ Markian Hawryluk and ESPN’s Kevin Van Valkenburg. Researcher John Mastroberardino contributed to this report.

[Editor’s note: As part of the reporting of this article, some members of ESPN’s reporting team, under the guidance of Wake Network staff, used psilocybin. Wake Network was compensated, but not by ESPN.]

KFF Health News is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues and is one of the core operating programs at KFF—an independent source of health policy research, polling, and journalism. Learn more about KFF.

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When Brittany Tesso’s then-3-year-old son, Roman, needed an evaluation for speech therapy in 2021, his pediatrician referred him to Children’s Hospital Colorado in Aurora. With in-person visits on hold due to the covid-19 pandemic, the Tessos met with a panel of specialists via video chat.

The specialists, some of whom appeared to be calling from their homes, observed Roman speaking, playing with toys, and eating chicken nuggets. They asked about his diet.

Tesso thought the $676.86 bill she received for the one-hour session was pretty steep. When she got a second bill for $847.35, she assumed it was a mistake. Then she learned the second bill was for the costs of being seen in a hospital — the equipment, the medical records, and the support staff.

“I didn’t come to your facility,” she argued when disputing the charges with a hospital billing representative. “They didn’t use any equipment.”

This is the facility fee, the hospital employee told her, and every patient gets charged this.

“Even for a telehealth consultation?” Tesso laughed in disbelief, which soon turned into anger.

Millions of Americans are similarly blindsided by hospital bills for doctor appointments that didn’t require setting foot inside a hospital. Hospitals argue that facility fees are needed to pay for staff and overhead expenses, particularly when hospitals don’t employ their own physicians. But consumer advocates say there’s no reason hospitals should charge more than independent clinics for the same services.

“If there is no change in patient care, then the fees seem artificial at best,” said Aditi Sen, a Johns Hopkins University health economist.

At least eight states agree such charges are questionable. They have implemented limits on facility fees or are moving to clamp down on the charges. Among them are Connecticut, which already limits facility fees, and Colorado, where lawmakers are considering a similar measure. Together, the initiatives could signal a wave of restrictions similar to the movement that led to a federal law to ban surprise bills, which took effect last year.

“Facility fees are simply another way that hospital CEOs are lining their pockets at the expense of patients,” said Rep. Emily Sirota, the Denver Democrat who sponsored the Colorado bill.

Generally, patients at independent physician clinics receive a single bill that covers the physician’s fee as well as overhead costs. But when the clinic is owned by a hospital, the patient generally receives separate bills for the physician’s fee and the facility fee. In some cases, the hospital sends a single bill covering both fees. Medicare reduces the physician’s payment when a facility fee is charged. But private health plans and hospitals don’t disclose how physician and facility fees are set.

Children’s Hospital Colorado officials declined to comment on the specifics of Tesso’s experience but said that facility fees cover other costs of running the hospital.

“Those payments for outpatient care are how we pay our nurses, our child life specialists, or social workers,” Zach Zaslow, senior director of government affairs for Children’s Hospital said in a February call with reporters. “It’s how we buy and maintain our imaging equipment, our labs, our diagnostic tests, really all of the care that you expect when you come to a hospital for kids.”

Research suggests that when hospitals acquire physician practices and hire those doctors, the physicians’ professional fees go up and, with the addition of facility fees, the total cost of care to the patient increases, as well. Other factors are in play, too. For instance, health plans pay the rates negotiated with the hospital, and hospitals have more market power than independent clinics to demand higher rates.

Those economic forces have driven consolidation, as hospital systems gobble up physician clinics. According to the Physicians Advocacy Institute, 3 in 4 physicians are now employed by hospitals, health systems, or other corporate entities. And less competition usually leads to higher prices.

One study found that prices for the services provided by physicians increase by an average of 14% after a hospital acquisition. Another found that billing for laboratory tests and imaging, such as MRIs or CT scans, rise sharply after a practice is acquired.

Patients who get their labs drawn in a hospital outpatient department are charged up to three times what they would pay in an office, Sen said. “It’s very hard to argue that the hospital outpatient department is doing that differently with better outcomes,” she said.

Hospital officials say they acquire physician practices to maintain care options for patients. “Many of those physician practices are not viable and they were having trouble making ends meet, which is why they wanted to be bought,” said Julie Lonborg, a senior vice president for the Colorado Hospital Association.

Along with Colorado and Connecticut, other states that have implemented or are considering limits on facility fees are Indiana, Minnesota, New Hampshire, Ohio, Texas, and Washington. Those measures include collecting data on what facility fees hospitals charge, prohibiting add-on fees for telehealth, and requiring site-neutral payments for certain Medicaid services. A federal bill introduced in 2022 would require off-campus hospital outpatient departments to bill as physician providers, eliminating the possibility of charging facility fees.

Connecticut has gone the furthest, banning facility fees for basic doctor visits off-campus, and for telehealth appointments. But the law’s application still has limitations, and with rising health care costs, the amount of facility fees in Connecticut continues to increase.

“It hasn’t changed much, partly because there’s so much money involved,” said Ted Doolittle, who heads the state’s Office of the Healthcare Advocate. “They can’t just painlessly take that needle out of their arm. They’re addicted to it.”

The Colorado bill would prohibit facility fees for primary care visits, preventive care services that are exempted from cost sharing, and telehealth appointments. Hospitals would also be required to notify patients if a facility fee would apply. The ban would not apply to rural hospitals. The bill was scaled back from a much broader proposal after criticism from hospitals about its potential consequences.

Rural hospital executives, like Kevin Stansbury, CEO of Lincoln Health, a small community hospital in the eastern Colorado town of Hugo, had been particularly worried about the impact of a fee ban. The state hospital association estimated his hospital would lose as much as $13 million a year if facility fees were banned. The 37-bed hospital’s netted $22 million in patient revenue last year, resulting in a loss. It stays open only through local taxes, Stansbury said.

“This will still harm access to care — and especially essential primary and preventive care that is helping Coloradans stay healthier and out of the hospital,” Lonborg said of the revised approach. “It will also have a detrimental impact on access to specialty care through telehealth, which many Coloradans, especially in rural parts of the state, have come to depend on.”

The Colorado bill presents particular challenges for health systems such as UC Health and Children’s Hospital, which rely on the University of Colorado School of Medicine for staffing. For outpatient appointments, the medical school bills for the doctor’s fee, while the hospital bills a facility fee.

“The professional fee goes solely to the provider, and, very frequently, they’re not employed by us,” said Dan Weaver, vice president of communications for UC Health. “None of that supports the clinic or the staff members.”

Without a facility fee, the hospital would not receive any payment for outpatient services covered by the ban. Weaver said the combination of the clinicians’ and facility fees is often higher than fees charged in independent clinics because hospitals provide extra services that independent physician clinics cannot afford.

“Prohibiting facility fees for primary care services and for telehealth would still cause significant problems for patients throughout our state, forcing some clinics to close, and causing patients to lose access to the care they need,” he said.

Backers of the Colorado bill disagree.

“The data on their costs and their revenue paints a little different picture of their financial health,” said Isabel Cruz, policy manager for the Colorado Consumer Health Initiative, which backs the bill.

From 2019 through 2022, UC Health had a net income of $2.8 billion, including investment gains and losses.

The Colorado market is dominated by large health systems that can dictate higher rates to health plans. Plans pass on those costs through higher premiums or out-of-pocket costs.

“Unless the employers and patients that are incurring the prices are raising the alarm, there really isn’t a strong incentive for health plans to push against this,” said Christopher Whaley, a health care economist with the nonprofit think tank Rand Corp.

Consumer complaints helped pave the way for the federal No Surprises Act, which protects against unanticipated out-of-network bills. But far more people get hit with facility fees — about half of patients compared with 1 in 4 hospital patients who receive surprise bills, Whaley said.

Dr. Mark Fendrick, a University of Michigan health policy professor, said facility fees are also generally surprises but don’t fall under the definition of the No Surprises Act. And with the rise of high-deductible plans, patients are more likely to have to pay those fees out-of-pocket.

“It falls on the patient,” Fendrick said. “It’s a tax on the sick.”

Tesso held off paying the facility fee for her son’s visit as long as possible. And when her pediatrician again referred them to Children’s Hospital, she called to inquire what the facility fee would be. The hospital quoted a price of $994, on top of the doctor’s fee. She took her son to an independent doctor instead and paid a $50 copay.

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“Eso es tener mucho acceso y en poco tiempo”, dijo Virginia McCarthy, estudiante de doctorado en la Escuela de Salud Pública de Colorado y autora principal de la carta editorial que describe los hallazgos de la investigación publicados en la revista médica JAMA Pediatrics.

Los resultados de la encuesta se publicaron en un momento difícil para los habitantes de Colorado, que hace poco enfrentaron otro tiroteo en una escuela.

El 22 de marzo, un estudiante de 17 años disparó e hirió a dos administradores escolares en la secundaria East High School en Denver. La policía encontró su cuerpo en las montañas al oeste de Denver, en el condado de Park, y confirmó que había muerto de una herida de bala autoinfligida. Otro estudiante de East High School murió de un disparo en febrero mientras estaba sentado en su auto afuera de la escuela.

El tiempo que toma acceder a un arma es importante, dijo McCarthy, especialmente en casos de intento de suicidio, decisiones que para los adolescentes suelen ser impulsivas. En una investigación de personas que intentaron suicidarse, casi la mitad dijo que el tiempo entre pensar en hacerlo y actuar fue menos de 10 minutos.

Al tomar medidas que limiten el acceso a las armas de fuego, como guardar las pistolas bajo llave y descargadas, se extiende el tiempo en que la persona puede actuar por impulso y aumenta la probabilidad de que se arrepienta o de que alguien intervenga.

“La esperanza es comprender el concepto de acceso para alargar ese lapso y mantener a los niños lo más seguros posible”, agregó McCarthy.

Los datos de la investigación provienen del estudio Healthy Kids Colorado, una encuesta realizada cada dos años con una muestra aleatoria de 41,000 estudiantes de escuela media y secundaria. La encuesta de 2021 le hizo la siguiente pregunta a los jóvenes: “¿Cuánto tiempo te llevaría estar listo para disparar un arma cargada sin el permiso de tus padres?”.

En Colorado, los estudiantes indígenas americanos reportaron el mayor acceso a armas cargadas, de un 39%, incluyendo un 18% que dijeron poder obtener un arma en 10 minutos (comparado con el 12% de todos los jóvenes que participaron en la encuesta). Los jóvenes indígenas americanos y nativos de Alaska también tienen las tasas más altas de suicidio.

Casi el 40% de los estudiantes en zonas rurales reportaron tener acceso a armas de fuego, en comparación con el 29% de residentes de ciudades.

Colorado está pasando por una etapa tensa con respecto a la violencia armada entre los jóvenes. A principios de este mes, cientos de estudiantes dejaron sus aulas y caminaron casi 2 millas hasta el Capitolio estatal para abogar por leyes de control de armas y escuelas más seguras. Enfrentaron a los legisladores nuevamente la semana pasada, luego del tiroteo en la escuela secundaria del día 22.

La Legislatura estatal está considerando varios proyectos de ley para prevenir la violencia armada.

Estos incluyen aumentar la edad mínima para comprar o poseer un arma a 21 años; establecer un período de espera de tres días para poder comprar un arma de fuego; limitar las protecciones legales para los fabricantes y vendedores de armas y ampliar el grupo de personas que pueden solicitar órdenes de protección por riesgo extremo para confiscar las armas de personas que están en riesgo de lastimar a otras o de suicidarse.

Según los Centros para el Control y la Prevención de Enfermedades (CDC), en 2020 las armas de fuego fueron la principal causa de muerte entre las personas de 19 años o menores, al superar el número de muertes por accidentes automovilísticos. Y las muertes de niños por armas de fuego aumentaron durante la pandemia, con un promedio de siete niños por día muriendo a causa de un arma, en 2021.

En los últimos 25 años, Colorado ha sufrido una serie de tiroteos en escuelas, incluyendo en Columbine High School en 1999, Platte Canyon High School en 2006, Arapahoe High School en 2013 y STEM School Highlands Ranch en 2019.

Aunque los tiroteos en las escuelas reciben más atención, la mayoría de las muertes de adolescentes por armas de fuego son suicidios.

“El problema del suicidio en los adolescentes es mayor que nunca”, dijo el doctor Paul Nestadt, investigador del Johns Hopkins Center for Gun Violence Solutions. “Esto tiene que ver en parte con el hecho de que cada vez hay más armas accesibles para los jóvenes”.

Si bien la posesión de armas presenta un mayor riesgo de suicidio para todos los grupos etarios, los adolescentes son particularmente vulnerables, dado que las habilidades para controlar los impulsos no suelen estar completamente desarrolladas en sus cerebros.

“Un adolescente puede ser inteligente y saber cómo manejar correctamente un arma de fuego, pero ese mismo adolescente en un momento de desesperación puede actuar impulsivamente sin pensar en las consecuencias”, dijo la doctora Shayla Sullivant, psiquiatra de niños y adolescentes en el hospital infantil Children’s Mercy Kansas City. “Las áreas del cerebro que se ocupan de tomar decisiones no están completamente maduras hasta la adultez”.

Otras investigaciones han demostrado que los padres y sus hijos tienen distintas ideas sobre el acceso a las armas de fuego en el hogar. Un estudio de 2021 indicó que el 70% de los padres que tienen armas en sus casas piensan que sus hijos no pueden agarrarlas, pero el 41% de los niños de esas mismas familias dijeron que podrían conseguir esas armas en dos horas.

“Hacer que las armas sean inaccesibles no significa solo bloquearlas. Significa asegurarse de que el niño no sepa dónde están las llaves o no pueda adivinar la combinación”, dijo Catherine Barber, investigadora principal del Harvard Injury Control Research Center de la Escuela de Salud Pública TH Chan de la Universidad de Harvard. “Los padres se olvidan con qué facilidad sus hijos pueden adivinar la combinación o verlos ingresar los números, o ver dónde se guardan las llaves”.

Si un adolescente tiene sus propias armas para la caza o el deporte, estas también deben mantenerse bajo el control de los padres cuando no se están usando, dijo.

El próximo paso de los investigadores de Colorado será indagar más a fondo para entender en dónde los adolescentes están consiguiendo armas, para poder adaptar las estrategias de prevención a distintos grupos de jóvenes.

“Al darle un poco más de contexto a estos datos, podremos comprender mejor qué tipos de educación y prevención se pueden implementar”, dijo McCarthy.

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One in 4 Colorado teens reported they could get access to a loaded gun within 24 hours, according to survey results published Monday. Nearly half of those teens said it would take them less than 10 minutes.

“That’s a lot of access and those are short periods of time,” said Virginia McCarthy, a doctoral candidate at the Colorado School of Public Health and the lead author of the research letter describing the findings in the medical journal JAMA Pediatrics.

The results come as Coloradans are reeling from yet another school shooting. On March 22, a 17-year-old student shot and wounded two school administrators at East High School in Denver. Police later found his body in the mountains west of Denver in Park County and confirmed he had died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Another East High student was fatally shot in February while sitting in his car outside the school.

The time it takes to access a gun matters, McCarthy said, particularly for suicide attempts, which are often impulsive decisions for teens. In research studying people who have attempted suicide, nearly half said the time between ideation and action was less than 10 minutes. Creating barriers to easy access, such as locking up guns and storing them unloaded, extends the time before someone can act on an impulse, and increases the likelihood that they will change their mind or that someone will intervene.

“The hope is to understand access in such a way that we can increase that time and keep kids as safe as possible,” McCarthy said.

The data McCarthy used comes from the Healthy Kids Colorado Study, a survey conducted every two years with a random sampling of 41,000 students in middle and high school. The 2021 survey asked, “How long would it take you to get and be ready to fire a loaded gun without a parent’s permission?”

American Indian students in Colorado reported the greatest access to a loaded gun, at 39%, including 18% saying they could get one within 10 minutes, compared with 12% of everybody surveyed. American Indian and Native Alaskan youths also have the highest rates of suicide.

Nearly 40% of students in rural areas reported having access to firearms, compared with 29% of city residents.

The findings were released at a particularly tense moment in youth gun violence in Colorado. Earlier this month, hundreds of students left their classrooms and walked nearly 2 miles to the state Capitol to advocate for gun legislation and safer schools. The students returned to confront lawmakers again last week in the aftermath of the March 22 high school shooting.

The state legislature is considering a handful of bills to prevent gun violence, including raising the minimum age to purchase or possess a gun to 21; establishing a three-day waiting period for gun purchases; limiting legal protections for gun manufacturers and sellers; and expanding the pool of who can file for extreme risk protection orders to have guns removed from people deemed a threat to themselves or others.

According to the federal Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, firearms became the leading cause of death among those ages 19 or younger in 2020, supplanting motor vehicle deaths. And firearm deaths among children increased during the pandemic, with an average of seven children a day dying because of a firearm incident in 2021.

Colorado has endured a string of school shootings over the past 25 years, including at Columbine High School in 1999, Platte Canyon High School in 2006, Arapahoe High School in 2013, and the STEM School Highlands Ranch in 2019.

Although school shootings receive more attention, the majority of teen gun deaths are suicides.

“Youth suicide is starting to become a bigger problem than it ever has been,” said Dr. Paul Nestadt, a researcher at the Johns Hopkins Center for Gun Violence Solutions.

“Part of that has to do with the fact that there’s more and more guns that are accessible to youth.”

While gun ownership poses a higher risk of suicide among all age groups, teens are particularly vulnerable, because their brains typically are still developing impulse control.

“A teen may be bright and know how to properly handle a firearm, but that same teen in a moment of desperation may act impulsively without thinking through the consequences,” said Dr. Shayla Sullivant, a child and adolescent psychiatrist at Children’s Mercy Kansas City. “The decision-making centers of the brain are not fully online until adulthood.”

Previous research has shown a disconnect between parents and their children about access to guns in their homes. A 2021 study found that 70% of parents who own firearms said their children could not get their hands on the guns kept at home. But 41% of kids from those same families said they could get to those guns within two hours.

“Making the guns inaccessible doesn’t just mean locking them. It means making sure the kid doesn’t know where the keys are or can’t guess the combination,” said Catherine Barber, a senior researcher at the Harvard University T.H. Chan School of Public Health’s Injury Control Research Center, who was not involved in the study. “Parents can forget how easily their kids can guess the combination or watch them input the numbers or notice where the keys are kept.”

If teens have their own guns for hunting or sport, those, too, should be kept under parental control when the guns are not actively being used, she said.

The Colorado researchers now plan to dig further to find out where teens are accessing guns in hopes of tailoring prevention strategies to different groups of students.

“Contextualizing these data a little bit further will help us better understand types of education and prevention that can be done,” McCarthy said.

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Hospital officials said in early December that without a cash infusion they would be unable to pay their bills or meet payroll by the end of the week.

The eight-bed rural hospital had turned a $2.2 million profit in 2021, but the windfall was largely a mirage. Pandemic relief payments masked problems in the way the hospital billed for services and collected payments.

In 2022, St. Vincent lost nearly $2.3 million. It was at risk of closing and leaving the 7,400 residents of Lake County without a hospital or immediate emergency care. A $480,000 bailout from the county and an advance of more than $1 million from the state kept the doors open and the lights on.

Since 2010, 145 rural hospitals across the U.S. have closed, according to the Cecil G. Sheps Center for Health Services Research at the University of North Carolina. But covid-19 relief measures slowed that trend. Only 10 rural hospitals shut down in 2021 and 2022 combined, after a record 19 in 2020. Two rural hospitals have closed already this year.

Now that those covid funds are gone, many challenges that threatened rural hospitals before the pandemic have resurfaced. Industry analysts warn that rural facilities, like St. Vincent Health, are once again on shaky ground.

Jeffrey Johnson, a partner with the consulting firm Wipfli, said he has been warning hospital boards during audits not to overestimate their financial position coming out of the pandemic.

He said the influx of cash aid gave rural hospital operators a “false sense of reality.”

No rural hospitals have closed in Colorado in the past decade, but 16 are operating in the red, according to Michelle Mills, CEO of the nonprofit Colorado Rural Health Center, the State Office of Rural Health. Last year, Delta County voters saved a rural hospital owned by Delta Health by passing a sales tax ballot measure to help support the facility. And state legislators are fast-tracking a $5 million payment to stabilize Denver Health, an urban safety-net hospital.

John Gardner took over as interim CEO of St. Vincent after the previous CEO resigned last year. He said the hospital’s cash crunch stemmed from decisions to spend covid funds on equipment instead of operating costs.

St. Vincent is classified by Medicare as a critical access hospital, so the federal program reimburses it based on its costs. Medicare advanced payments to hospitals in 2020, but then recouped the money by reducing payments in 2022. St. Vincent had to repay $1.2 million at the same time the hospital faced higher spending, a growing accounts-payable obligation, and falling revenue. The hospital, Gardner said, had mismanaged its billing process, hadn’t updated its prices since 2018, and failed to credential new clinicians with insurance plans.

Meanwhile, the hospital began adding services, including behavioral health, home health and hospice, and genetic testing, which came with high startup costs and additional employees.

“Some businesses the hospital was looking at getting into were beyond the normal menu of critical access hospitals,” Gardner said. “I think they lost their focus. There were just some bad decisions made.”

Once the hospital’s upside-down finances became clear, those services were dropped, and the hospital reduced staffing from 145 employees to 98.

Additionally, St. Vincent had purchased an accounting system designed for hospitals but had trouble getting it to work.

The accounting problems meant the hospital was late completing its 2021 audit and hadn’t provided its board with monthly financial updates. Gardner said the hospital believes it may have underreported its costs to Medicare, and so it is updating its reports in hopes of securing additional revenue.

The hospital also ran into difficulty with equipment it purchased to perform colonoscopies. St. Vincent is believed to be the highest-elevation hospital in the U.S., at more than 10,150 feet, and the equipment used to verify that the scopes weren’t leaking did not work at that altitude.

“We’re peeling the onion, trying to find out what are the things that went wrong and then fixing them, so it’s hopefully a ship that’s running fairly smoothly,” Gardner said.

Soon Gardner will hand off operations to a management company charged with getting the hospital back on track and hiring new leadership. But officials expect it could take two to three years to get the hospital on solid ground.

Some of those challenges are unique to St. Vincent, but many are not. According to the Chartis Center for Rural Health, a consulting and research firm, the average rural hospital operates with a razor-thin 1.8% margin, leaving little room for error.

Rural hospitals operating in states that have expanded Medicaid under the Affordable Care Act, as Colorado did, average a 2.6% margin, but rural hospitals in the 12 non-expansion states have a margin of minus 0.5%.

Chartis calculated that 43% of rural hospitals are operating in the red, down slightly from 45% last year. Michael Topchik, who heads the Chartis Center for Rural Health, said the rate was only 33% 10 years ago.

A hospital should be able to sustain operations with the income from patient care, he said. Additional payments — such as provider relief funds, revenues from tax levies, or other state or federal funds — should be set aside for the capital expenditures needed to keep hospitals up to date.

“That’s not what we see,” Topchik said, adding that hospitals use that supplemental income to pay salaries and keep the lights on.

Bob Morasko, CEO of Heart of the Rockies Regional Medical Center in Salida, said a change in the way Colorado’s Medicaid program pays hospitals has hurt rural facilities.

Several years ago, the program shifted from a cost-based approach, similar to Medicare’s, to one that pays per patient visit. He said a rural hospital has to staff its ER every night with at least a doctor, a nurse, and X-ray and laboratory technicians.

“If you’re paid on an encounter and you have very low volumes, you can’t cover your costs,” he said. “Some nights, you might get only one or two patients.”

Hospitals also struggle to recruit staff to rural areas and often have to pay higher salaries than they can afford. When they can’t recruit, they must pay even higher wages for temporary travel nurses or doctors. And the shift to an encounter-based system, Morasko said, also complicated coding for billing , leading to difficulties in hiring competent billing staff.

On top of that, inflation has meant hospitals pay more for goods and services, said Mills, from the state’s rural health center.

“Critical access hospitals and rural health clinics were established to provide care, not to be a moneymaker in the community,” she said.

Even if rural hospitals manage to stay open, their financial weakness can affect patients in other ways. Chartis found the number of rural hospitals eliminating obstetrics rose from 198 in 2019 to 217 last year, and the number no longer offering chemotherapy grew from 311 to 353.

“These were two we were able to track with large data sets, but it’s across the board,” Topchik said. “You don’t have to close to be weak.”

Back in Leadville, Gardner said financial lifelines thrown to the hospital have stabilized its financial situation for now, and he doesn’t anticipate needing to ask the county or state for more money.

“It gives us the cushion that we need to fix all the other things,” he said. “It’s not perfect, but I see light at the end of the tunnel.”

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