CVS’s New Opioid Policy Does Nothing to Solve Addiction While Negatively Impacting Pain Patients

Torso of person in white lab coat with stethoscope around neck. The person is holding a clipboard and writing on it. The background is blurred.

On September 21st, CVS Pharmacy announced a significant change in their policy regarding prescription opioid painkillers. According to CVS, “this program will include limiting to seven days the supply of opioids dispensed for certain acute prescriptions for patients who are new to therapy; limiting the daily dosage of opioids dispensed based on the strength of the opioid; and requiring the use of immediate-release formulations of opioids before extended-release opioids are dispensed.” This new policy is of great concern to people with chronic pain and complex medical conditions who see it as another attempt to solve the problem of opioid abuse with a one-size-fits-all policy change in the continuing “War on Opioids.”

As a person with Crohn’s Disease who has experienced several complications – from abdominal surgeries to a bout of osteomyelitis – I have needed access to powerful opioid painkillers for nine years. As such, CVS’s new policy is concerning for me, because it’s unclear how it will apply to someone like me, who doesn’t need constant access to opioids like other pain patients, but has needed them for treatment of severe pain in the past. Since the complications for which I’ve needed opioid prescriptions are separated sometimes by years, will I be considered a “patient new to the therapy” with “acute pain,” even though the severity of my pain lasts longer than a week and I have taken opioids in the past?

I’m not the only one concerned about how pharmacists will be required to distinguish between acute and chronic pain. Andi Shechter has lived with chronic pain her entire adult life and has taken opioid painkillers for serious spinal problems for decades. “How can anyone judge ‘acuteness?,’” she asks. “Saying that a pain that lasts for seven days is ‘acute’ and anything else is chronic is arbitrary and pointless. My body does not know what day it is in terms of pain. It receives medication and the pain is eased.” Thinking of the long history of doctors changing medications to treat her condition, she asks “how does a pharmacist know any of this? And how can anyone counsel anyone without that knowledge?”

Proponents of CVS’s new policy will argue that people limited to seven-day prescriptions can simply go and get another one from the doctor if the pain persists, but that puts even more of a burden on a patient who is unwell. For those of us with complex health conditions, we already spend hours a week in doctors’ offices and on the phone with insurers and billing departments, have limited access to transportation, and are already hindered by pain and fatigue that limits our ability to juggle all of these tasks. And while some doctors may request exceptions to the policy, in the increasingly tense atmosphere of the “War on Opioids,” many doctors may adhere to the restrictions, regardless of the impact on their patients.

Creating policies that limit patients’ access to pain management isn’t just a burden on these patients, it’s also misguided. According to the National Survey on Drug Use and Health, 75% of opioid abuse originates with people to whom the medication is not prescribed. Rather it’s friends or family of prescription-holders, or those who buy from a dealer. Furthermore, among chronic pain patients, opioid misuse and overdose is relatively low, with about an 8% to 12% rate of addiction among patients taking opioid painkillers for chronic pain. And in a study of 136,000 people who have overdosed from opioids, only 13% were identified as having a chronic pain condition.

Instead of focusing on regulations to decrease the availability of opioid prescriptions to those who do not tend to abuse them, perhaps it would be better to focus on expanding access to addiction treatment and recovery.

Unfortunately, access to these programs is threatened by the current priority of some legislators to cut and cap Medicaid spending. Medicaid plays a significant role in access to treatment for addiction, especially for poor and disabled people. Just as private insurance companies experienced a thirteenfold increase from 2011 to 2015 in spending on patients with opioid dependence or abuse diagnoses, Medicaid has seen a comparable increase in its expenditures on these treatments. In recent years, spending from Medicaid on opioid addiction treatment has risen dramatically. From 2011 to 2016, Medicaid spending on just two medications used to treat opioid addiction, buprenorphine and naltrexone, rose 136% on average nationwide, with spending in some states increasing as much as 400%. Furthermore, Medicaid is a major program when it comes to individual patients having access to drug treatment programs. In 2014, Medicaid paid for a quarter of drug treatment programs. Although activists have managed to fend off the continued attacks by Republican lawmakers that would throw out the ACA and put in place block grants and spending caps that drastically decrease Medicaid funding, if such an attempt eventually succeeds, millions of Americans may lose access to addiction treatment.

CVS’s new policy limiting access to opioid painkillers is a misguided attempt to reduce illicit access to painkillers by punishing patients who have, and need, legitimate access.

In practice, CVS’s new regulations on opioids ignore the real problems with opioid addiction and foist the responsibility for the epidemic on patients in pain. Andi, who is all too familiar with the controversy surrounding access to opioid painkiller, sums it up: “all doctors who prescribe medicine have a responsibility to prescribe responsibly. No patient should be made to feel that he or she is somehow dangerous, or irresponsible, or needs to be closely watched solely because there is ‘an epidemic’ out there.”

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Rooted in Rights exists to amplify the perspectives of the disability community. Blog posts and storyteller videos that we publish and content we re-share on social media do not necessarily reflect the opinions or values of Rooted in Rights nor indicate an endorsement of a program or service by Rooted in Rights. We respect and aim to reflect the diversity of opinions and experiences of the disability community. Rooted in Rights seeks to highlight discussions, not direct them. Learn more about Rooted In Rights

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#IAmAPreExisitingCondition and I Am Afraid I Will Die Under AHCA

A photo of a stethoscope laying on top of a surface covered in U.S. hundred dollar bills

If the American Health Care Act (AHCA) becomes law, it is my death sentence.

There are probably supporters of the law out there who think that this statement lacks nuance, but it’s true. As a woman with multiple serious pre-existing conditions, I see only three grim options if this law is passed: I keep my healthcare but meet a lifetime cap on medical expenses; I’m thrown into a high-risk pool; or I’m priced out of the healthcare market altogether. All three options eventually lead to financial ruin, eventually followed by an inability to access care. Without healthcare, I go out of remission. If I go out of remission, I could face severe suffering and even death.

I have never been healthy, but it hasn’t been because of my lifestyle, as some legislators would like to believe.

I had severe allergies as a child, asthma diagnosed in middle school, and then I developed Crohn’s Disease in high school. Crohn’s is a serious, incurable, and painful autoimmune disease that affects the digestive system. Its cause is unknown, but doctors and scientists believe that it is a genetic condition that has environmental triggers. The treatments for Crohn’s are not only expensive new medications, but dangerous immunosuppressants that can have side effects as serious as Crohn’s itself. In fact, I had chronic infections for five years, followed by a bone infection, due to immunosuppression from a medicine that kept me in remission. I spent eight days in the hospital and two months receiving intravenous antibiotics for the infection, which nearly killed me and gave me another pre-existing condition: chronic infections.

Crohn’s doesn’t just affect the digestive system, but many other parts of the body as well. Crohn’s patients often suffer from depression and anxiety, and I have been treated for both. Last month, I was diagnosed with inflammatory bowel disease (IBD)-induced arthritis, another pre-existing condition.

For those of you keeping score, that’s seven pre-existing conditions that put me in danger of losing my healthcare under the AHCA.

As I mentioned, my first option would be, by some miracle, that I am able to stay on the coverage I have now at the same price. Even then, I still wouldn’t be safe. Under the AHCA, insurance companies will be allowed to reinstate lifetime caps on coverage. My pre-existing conditions are costly. Crohn’s Disease is treated by medications that have cost me up to $25,000 per treatment, and my current treatment costs $15,000 per injection every four weeks. And unfortunately, I can’t “just switch to a cheaper drug.” I’ve tried and failed nearly all the drugs on the market, so I have to go with what works for me at this moment in time. On top of that, I have had bills for hospitalizations that have been $300,000 per stay, I have medical appointments almost weekly, and routine procedures and monitoring all the time. I’m 24 years old. If I have a lifetime cap of a million dollars on my medical plan, how long will it take for me to reach that limit? Not very long.

My second option would be a high-risk pool, something that has been proven to be ineffective in the past. By throwing people with pre-existing conditions into high-risk pools, you aren’t spreading their medical costs out with those who have lower medical costs, and everybody in the pool will be sending significant medical bills to their insurance companies. It has been estimated that even with the GOP’s $8 billion increase in funding for high-risk pools, they are still $192 billion short of the money they would need to cover those pools. This would mean that those of us in high-risk pools would have extremely high premiums for subpar medical coverage.

And finally, the option that keeps me up at night, and the most likely option under the current version of AHCA: being priced out of the healthcare market. It is estimated that someone with asthma would receive a $4,000 increase in premiums under the AHCA, and that’s the least serious of my conditions. Crohn’s is much more complex. There is no estimate on how much all of my pre-existing conditions combined would cost me under the AHCA, but it is fairly certain that I would be unable to afford my healthcare. This dooms me to an inability to receive the treatments that keep me alive and out of pain.

It’s blunt, but it’s true: if the AHCA passes, I will suffer and die so that somebody else, or an insurance company, can see a small cost savings. Congress is telling me that my life is less important than a little tax break or a cut in premiums for somebody who is healthy. If I don’t have healthcare, I don’t get my medicine and I don’t see my doctors, and I go out of remission. If I go out of remission and don’t treat it, at some point I will need to go to the hospital, which I will no longer be able to afford. If I’m cut off from my treatment options, a condition that is considered treatable in Western countries will likely become terminal for me, and I will die from Crohn’s or one of the many complications for which I am unable to seek proper medical care.

I am a pre-existing condition, and the AHCA is my death sentence. If you believe that people don’t deserve to suffer and die from lack of access to medical treatment, if you are a decent human being, you will oppose this law with all your might.


Rooted in Rights exists to amplify the perspectives of the disability community. Blog posts and storyteller videos that we publish and content we re-share on social media do not necessarily reflect the opinions or values of Rooted in Rights nor indicate an endorsement of a program or service by Rooted in Rights. We respect and aim to reflect the diversity of opinions and experiences of the disability community. Rooted in Rights seeks to highlight discussions, not direct them. Learn more about Rooted In Rights

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Listen Up, Doctors: When Patients Talk, Pay Attention

A doctor and patient (both female) talking and looking together at a tablet

It was midnight on a Monday, and the lesion on my leg was swollen to the size of a dinner plate, hot, and extremely painful. Although I had an excision for a sebaceous cyst scheduled for Thursday with the dermatologist, these were textbook signs of an infection, knowledge I gained from a five-year history of cutaneous staph infections and a muscle abscess that led to the development of osteomyelitis, a bone infection that nearly killed me. With my medical history and immunosuppression, I knew that this was an emergency situation and that I needed to call the doctor on call immediately.

On the other end of the line, a sleepy voice picked up: my dermatologist. Apologizing for waking her up, I explained the symptoms that I was having, that I thought that the sebaceous cyst was infected, and that I was worried that we couldn’t wait until Thursday to take action.

“Well, are you having any fever or chills?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Then you probably aren’t having an infection. The swelling is just from its location on your leg, and there’s nothing you can do until Thursday. There’s certainly nothing you can do at midnight,” she said with annoyance in her voice.

Stunned that my doctor was giving me attitude for calling the on-call line, which existed for emergencies, I apologized again and hung up. The next morning, my mother scheduled an emergency appointment with a general surgeon for later that day.

The surgeon confirmed that not only did I have a staph infection, but I would have ended up in the hospital if I did not get it drained.

I then had one of the most painful surgical experiences of my life, was left with a one-inch draining wound that would have to be packed for three weeks, and was put on a cocktail of antibiotics that made me feel extremely ill.

This isn’t the only time I have been treated with disbelief or suspicion by a care provider. In fact, it is a rather common experience, both for me and for many others with disabilities and chronic illnesses. My stories range from when I was accused of hiding a pregnancy at the age of 14 to being screamed at and called immature by a doctor who disapproved of me waiting to make a change to my medications until I could discuss it with my family. These experiences have made it extremely difficult for me to develop trust in doctors.

Although I have some very healthy doctor-patient relationships in my life, I am extremely wary, bordering on anxious, when I interact with a new doctor, as I don’t know if my concerns are going to be met with suspicion or hostility.

I understand that doctors have to detect when patients are exaggerating their symptoms or are not being truthful, but here’s the thing: trust in a doctor-patient relationship is a two-way street. If I’m going to trust a doctor with treating my life-threatening conditions and complex medical needs, they need to trust that I am telling the truth about how I am feeling and what I am experiencing.

I don’t have a medical degree and extensive years of training, but I have the lived experience that comes with years of living with Crohn’s Disease, a plethora of complications from staph infections to intestinal blockages, and intense medications that cause complex side effects ranging from hot flashes, to flu-like symptoms, to severe immunosuppression. I manage my health needs for hours a week like most people manage their careers, while handling my own career and “other” parts of life successfully at the same time.

I’m not a doctor, but I’m not a novice. When I say my pain is in the upper registers of the pain scale, I’m not joking. If I think I have an infection, my concerns shouldn’t be brushed off as an overreaction. Doctors, being a patient with a disability does not mean I’m your punching bag or your pushover.

If I’m going to trust you with my life, you need to trust me, too.


Rooted in Rights exists to amplify the perspectives of the disability community. Blog posts and storyteller videos that we publish and content we re-share on social media do not necessarily reflect the opinions or values of Rooted in Rights nor indicate an endorsement of a program or service by Rooted in Rights. We respect and aim to reflect the diversity of opinions and experiences of the disability community. Rooted in Rights seeks to highlight discussions, not direct them. Learn more about Rooted In Rights

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