Ten reform areas. Real demands. Built from lived experience — not theory.
Our Position
Every reform area on this page comes from direct experience — Brian's five months paralyzed in a hospital that labeled him, billed him $1.5 million, sent radiology bills to his hospital bed while his immune system was critically compromised, blocked his transfer to Johns Hopkins to keep him as a teaching case, and forced his neurologist to take his cell phone off hospital property just to consult with the specialists who could save him.
Brian underwent a plasma exchange — a radical treatment that removed all the plasma from his blood, leaving his immune system so depleted that a minor cut could trigger hemophiliac symptoms. He needed stillness, safety, and rest. What he got was financial threats, institutional politics, and a system that saw him as a revenue opportunity and a case study.
He survived. He walked again. And he refuses to stay silent — because everything that happened to him is happening to millions of others, right now, in hospitals across this country. His suffering is the reason this page exists. His survival is the reason there is still hope.
Below are ten reform areas, the specific changes we demand, and the campaigns we are actively running. Read them. Share them. Add your voice.
400+
Physician suicides per year
$1.5M
Brian's hospital bill — shared room
1 in 3
Americans can't afford their care
10
Reform areas demanding change
Reform Areas
Hospitals are designed for efficiency. They should be designed for healing.
The modern hospital environment is a paradox: a place meant to restore health that is engineered in ways that actively impede recovery. Cold, sterile rooms. Constant noise — devices blaring, equipment banging, alarms sounding day and night. Patients pulled from deep, restorative sleep to take medications on a schedule designed for staff convenience, not patient biology. The evidence is clear: sleep deprivation slows healing, increases pain sensitivity, and compromises immune function. The environment itself is making patients sicker.
What We Demand
Hospitals block transfers, withhold referrals, and keep patients captive — when it serves them.
The pressure to discharge is real. But so is its opposite: the pressure to retain patients when they are profitable. Brian Van Korn was diagnosed with Transverse Myelitis — a rare, acute inflammatory condition attacking the spinal cord. Johns Hopkins, the leading institution for this condition, offered to take him. His hospital refused to discharge him, citing concern for his health. The real concern was institutional: this was a teaching hospital that had never treated Transverse Myelitis before. Brian was a case study. A feather in their cap. A way to attract future patients away from Johns Hopkins. His neurologist — unable to speak freely inside the building — had to physically take Brian's cell phone off hospital property to consult with the Johns Hopkins specialist who was helping treat him remotely. It was that Johns Hopkins doctor who told the hospital: perform the plasma exchange, or he may never walk again. The clock is running out. Brian underwent a radical treatment that removed all the plasma from his blood — a procedure that left his immune system critically compromised for a week, his white blood cell count dangerously low, where even a minor cut could trigger hemophiliac symptoms. The last thing a patient in that state needs is financial stress. Brian received radiology bills sent directly to his hospital bed, threatening legal action. The system found a way to add financial terror to medical crisis.
What We Demand
Every patient deserves an advocate who works for them — not the hospital.
Hospital social workers are employed by the hospital. Their primary obligation — whatever the job description says — is to the institution. They manage discharge timelines, coordinate with insurance, and smooth over conflicts in ways that serve the facility's interests. Patients need someone in their corner who is not on the hospital's payroll. An independent case worker — assigned at admission, not requested by the patient — who explains options, communicates between patient and care team, flags concerns, and ensures the patient's voice is heard. Brian experienced firsthand what happens without one: a $1.5 million bill for a room costing $9,000 a day, shared with another patient. Radiology bills delivered to his bed while his immune system was critically compromised. A hospital blocking his transfer to Johns Hopkins while presenting itself as acting in his best interest. An independent advocate — present from day one — could have changed every one of those outcomes.
What We Demand
A system that destroys its healers cannot heal anyone.
Over 400 physicians die by suicide in the United States every year — the equivalent of two full medical school graduating classes. Nurse burnout is at crisis levels. And the system's response to providers who speak up about their own suffering is, in many cases, to punish them. Physicians who admit burnout or depression are referred to mandatory treatment programs — programs they pay for out of pocket, alongside genuinely addicted colleagues — or face the threat of losing their license. Those who question the system, who advocate for patients against institutional pressure, who refuse to stay silent, are threatened with termination and professional destruction. The result is a workforce that has learned that silence is survival. And patients pay the price.
What We Demand
We train doctors to triage. We barely train them to listen.
Medical education in the United States is built on a military model of triage — rapid assessment, decisive action, move to the next patient. This produces technically skilled clinicians who are often profoundly underprepared for the human dimensions of care. Bedside manner, communication, active listening, and the ability to receive and act on patient-reported symptoms receive a fraction of the attention given to clinical protocols. The result is a culture in which patients who report symptoms inconsistent with a working diagnosis are humored or ignored — sometimes fatally. Brian was told his symptoms were not what they were. He was labeled before he was listened to.
What We Demand
A label placed in a chart can follow a patient for life — and affect their care at every turn.
Brian Van Korn was labeled a "difficult patient" by an exhausted ER doctor who made a snap judgment based on appearance. That label — placed in his medical record — shaped how every subsequent provider interacted with him through five months of paralysis. It is not an isolated story. Discriminatory labels, assumptions about drug-seeking behavior, and notes that reflect provider frustration rather than clinical observation are embedded in medical records across the country. They travel with patients. They influence prescribing decisions, diagnostic thoroughness, and the basic quality of human interaction a patient receives. They are almost impossible to challenge or remove.
What We Demand
Silence keeps the system broken. Those who speak must be protected.
The Healthcareless system is sustained, in large part, by fear. Nurses who witness unsafe care and say nothing. Physicians who know a colleague is impaired and look away. Administrators who bury complaints to protect the institution's reputation. The fear is rational — retaliation is real, career destruction is documented, and the legal protections that exist are routinely circumvented by institutions with far more resources than the individuals they silence. After COVID-19, the problem deepened: providers who had been flagged for unprofessional or dangerous conduct before the pandemic were called back to work as "heroes." Charges were dropped. Records were buried. The public never knew.
What We Demand
$1.5 million. One room. One roommate. Radiology bills delivered to his hospital bed.
Brian Van Korn's hospital stay generated a bill of $1.5 million — for a room that cost $9,000 a day, shared with another patient. While his immune system was critically compromised from a plasma exchange that had removed all the plasma from his blood — leaving him so vulnerable that a minor cut could trigger hemophiliac symptoms — radiology bills arrived at his bedside threatening legal action. This is not an anomaly. It is the system working as designed. Billing departments operate independently of clinical care. There are no rules preventing collection activity from reaching patients mid-treatment. The financial terror is a feature, not a bug — it pressures patients to comply, to not ask questions, to accept whatever the institution decides. The fine print signed at admission — often while in crisis — routinely limits hospital liability for errors, complications, and death. "There were complications" is hospital-speak for "we made a mistake." The patient absorbs the consequences. The institution absorbs the revenue.
What We Demand
Mental health is health. Full stop.
Despite federal parity laws, mental health and substance use disorder treatment remains dramatically underfunded and underinsured compared to physical health care. Wait times for psychiatric care are measured in months. Coverage is routinely denied. Patients in mental health crises are placed in rooms with other unstable patients — sometimes as a punitive measure for being deemed "difficult." Brian experienced this directly: a hospital system that used room assignments as a management tool, placing him with a severely unbalanced patient as a consequence of his label.
What We Demand
Claim denial as a business strategy must end.
Insurance companies have perfected the art of delay, deny, and defend. Prior authorization requirements, arbitrary claim denials, and narrow networks are not accidents — they are profit strategies. The human cost is measured in delayed diagnoses, untreated conditions, and lives cut short. We push for systemic reform that puts patients before premiums.
What We Demand
Current Campaigns
Hospitals block patient transfers to specialist facilities when it serves their institutional interests — not the patient's. Brian was denied transfer to Johns Hopkins while paralyzed and deteriorating. We are building the case for an enforceable federal right to transfer.
Despite the No Surprises Act, patients continue to receive unexpected bills from out-of-network providers at in-network facilities. We are pushing for stronger enforcement and expanded protections.
Over 400 physicians die by suicide in the U.S. every year — the equivalent of two medical school graduating classes. We are building awareness and advocating for systemic support structures that protect providers without punishing them for being human.
We are building the case for mandatory independent patient advocate assignment at hospital admission — advocates who work for the patient, not the institution. No patient should navigate a $1.5 million bill alone.
Prior authorization delays are directly linked to patient harm and death. We are advocating for the GOLD CARES Act and similar legislation to limit the scope and timeline of prior authorization requirements.
Disciplinary actions against healthcare workers were deferred or dropped during the pandemic. We are calling for a full audit of those deferrals and public disclosure of outcomes — because patients deserve to know who is caring for them.
Discriminatory labels in medical records — "difficult patient," "drug-seeking," "non-compliant" — follow patients through the system and affect their care for years. We are building a campaign to establish federal legal protections and a right of removal.
My neurologist had to take my cell phone off hospital property just to speak with Johns Hopkins. That's what it took to save my life. My suffering exists so others don't have to suffer the way I have — and still do to this day.
Add Your Voice
Read the book. Share the story. Join the initiative. The more voices that join this movement, the harder it becomes for the system to ignore.