I am a physician living in California, but what is happening in Florida with the 340B program hurts me as much as if I were there. Ten years ago, I was involved in the operations of a clinic in Miami, I had the opportunity to direct a healthcare plan in Florida, and I currently still hold a medical license in the state.

I know firsthand what it means to care for patients in communities where every dollar and every prescription counts. The clinics that rely on this program to provide affordable medications are at risk because of policy decisions that, frankly, ignore the realities of those of us on the front lines. If those funds are cut or the program is weakened, the hardest hit will be the patients who can least afford to lose that help: working families, older adults, and uninsured children. Defending 340B isn't a technical issue; it's a matter of human dignity.

For 30 years, the 340B program has been a quiet force for good in places like these. It has kept clinics open, medications affordable, and hope alive.

If we allow this program to deteriorate, the consequences will be measured in lives, not just dollars.

In small towns, patients might put off their cancer checkups because the nearest specialist is two hours away. When rural hospitals close (more than 140 have done so in the last decade), 340B is often the only thing that keeps others running. These places don't just provide medical care—they're the heart of their communities. Losing them would mean people would drive past shuttered clinics on their way to distant emergency rooms, praying they'd get there on time.

However, cities aren't immune to health disparities either. In urban clinics, doctors see working parents who are rationing their insulin doses to make rent. Currently, one in four Americans stops filling their prescriptions because of the cost. If 340B discounts disappear,The ability of clinics to offer income-based care, making crisis situations manageable, would also be lost.

I teach my patients how to eat well and stay active. And while some manage to control their cholesterol and glucose without medication, many people need prescriptions for optimal control. Regular health care is not optional! It allows people to live long enough to enjoy those healthy choices.

The 340B program means a farmer can receive his blood pressure medication before he suffers a stroke; a single mother can pick up free prenatal vitamins at her community health center; and a grandmother doesn't have to ration her insulin because of her limited income. These supports aren't gifts; they are the foundation of thriving communities.

The reality is that many have to choose between medication or food. Imagine your child's teacher splitting his arthritis pills to make them last an extra month. To your neighbor choosing between getting their glaucoma drops or dinner this week. And as drug prices continue to rise, this will more often become a matter of life or death for more Americans.

340B clinics mean that a $400 inhaler can be purchased for $40. That lifesaving HIV treatment costs nothing for someone experiencing homelessness, and that a child receives antibiotics before an ear infection becomes an ER visit.

Without these discounts, medical debt, already the leading cause of bankruptcy, will affect more families.

The 340B program isn't politics. It's the diabetic teen in Miami, the grandmother with high blood pressure in Los Angeles, and the veteran receiving treatment for PTSD in rural Wisconsin, all sharing the same right: to see a doctor without risking losing everything.

I've witnessed what happens when health care is accessible. Patients live. Families stay together. Communities are strengthened. That's not just public policy—it's the oath I took as a doctor.

To those who think the 340B program isn't necessary, I invite you to sit in my office. To hear the stories, and then to tell me who should lose their health care so pharmaceutical companies can add another zero to their profits.

Because in America, health care shouldn't be a privilege.