Write a new simple attractive title based on the title from Villarreal Sosa: “Any Doctor Can Fix a Broken Bone”: Eight Days in a Fractured Health Care System Taught Me Otherwise and dont use quote marks

By Leticia Villarreal Sosa

“Any doctor can fix a broken bone,” my son suggested while I was trying to access emergency care in the Rio Grande Valley.

This assumption sounded reasonable until a broken bone sent me on an eight-day search for care that ultimately required leaving Texas.

This experience provided a new level of insight into issues of health equity in the RGV. I understood in a very personal way what it meant when research participants in studies I have conducted say they don’t trust the health system in the RGV or must find ways to make do in the absence of care. 

My experience occurred just as policymakers and healthcare leaders were assessing the implications of the One Big Beautiful Bill Act, a law is expected to reshape Medicaid and healthcare financing nationwide. As Texas begins preparing for changes under the One Big Beautiful Bill Act, residents of the Rio Grande Valley face an uncomfortable question: What happens when a region already struggling with healthcare provider shortages is asked to do more with less? Recent analyses of the law warn that changes to Medicaid financing, coverage, and provider reimbursement could affect patients, hospitals, and healthcare access across Texas. For those of us living in the RGV, those concerns are not theoretical. They are already visible in the gaps patients encounter every day. 

The second issue affecting health care access and quality in the RGV is the proliferation and large market share of for-profit hospitals and health systems. Research has found that for-profit hospitals can have worse patient outcomes and experiences. After an ER visit to a Level 1 Trauma Center, where I assumed I would have access to an orthopedic surgeon, I went home without even seeing an ER doctor, much less an orthopedic surgeon, a poorly fitted splint placed by hospital technicians, and empty instructions to call an orthopedic surgeon the next day. In other words, I left without treatment, without the confidence that my injury had been addressed, and without the certainty of care. 

The next day, I called clinic after clinic asking to make an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon, only to be met with the same phrase, “Ma’am there are no doctors here.” After reaching out to my personal and professional network, I was finally able to get an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon at a clinic. My appointment was brief, with an x-ray and a confirmation that my arm was broken in two places, and a recommendation for surgery. I was still left with an untreated broken arm, the poorly placed splint from the ER, no pain medication, and an empty promise of surgery without being placed on the surgical schedule. Moreover, the surgery recommended, I later discovered, was not indicated nor the standard of care for my age group. In fact, once I left Texas for care elsewhere, I received immediate treatment, which consisted of a closed reduction and a new splint placed by an orthopedic surgeon and no surgery. I couldn’t help to think that the for-profit incentives were shaping my treatment more than my own preferences and best practice. For example, a non-surgical option results in a 12-fold less reimbursement compared to surgical care. 

What echoed through my mind during this experience was an article by Hilario Molina and Robert Carly who describe Mexican bodies as “extractible” due to structural problems such as a lack of basic public services in colonias and predatory market practices. In that moment, I felt like an extractable body. No one seemed concerned I was walking around with a poorly splinted, untreated broken arm. My ER experience felt like I was a product on an assembly line, not a human being. 

As I started exploring options out of state, one phrase pushed me to decide to leave the RGV and the for-profit system for care. In trying to get an appointment elsewhere, a physician called me directly (signaling actual access to a doctor), and she told me that her orthopedic surgeon colleague said “that sounds really bad,” in reference to my situation. This ounce of empathy made me feel heard and valued and convinced me that I needed to leave immediately to get care elsewhere. I had to leave the comfort of my own home to get compassionate and evidence-based care. 

The challenges I encountered seeking treatment for a broken bone were not an isolated failure of the healthcare system, but a warning about what happens when longstanding provider shortages, geographic inequities, incentives embedded in for-profit health care systems, and policy changes converge in communities that already struggle to access care. Furthermore, my experience outside of the RGV demonstrates that patient-centered care is achievable and should be the standard for everyone. Delayed care is not simply inconvenient. It can change the course of a person’s recovery and quality of life. My bone eventually healed. But the experience exposed fractures in our healthcare system that remain unresolved.

No one should have to leave the Rio Grande Valley—or Texas—to be treated like a patient instead of a problem. And no one should spend eight days with a broken bone waiting for the care they need.

Editor’s Note: The above guest column was penned by Leticia Villarreal Sosa, LCSW, PhD, inaugural associate dean of research and faculty development and professor at the  chool of Social Work at UT-Rio Grande Valley. The column appears in the Rio Grande Guardian with the permission of the author.