Health & Fitness (206)
In U.S. hospitals, an estimated 1 in 20 patients pick up infections they didn't have when they arrived, some caused by dangerous `superbugs' that are hard to treat.
The rise of these superbugs, along with increased pressure from the government and insurers, is driving hospitals to try all sorts of new approaches to stop their spread:
Machines that resemble "Star Wars" robots and emit ultraviolet light or hydrogen peroxide vapors. Germ-resistant copper bed rails, call buttons and IV poles. Antimicrobial linens, curtains and wall paint.
While these products can help get a room clean, their true impact is still debatable. There is no widely-accepted evidence that these inventions have prevented infections or deaths.
Meanwhile, insurers are pushing hospitals to do a better job and the government's Medicare program has moved to stop paying bills for certain infections caught in the hospital.
"We're seeing a culture change" in hospitals, said Jennie Mayfield, who tracks infections at Barnes-Jewish Hospital in St. Louis.
Those hospital infections are tied to an estimated 100,000 deaths each year and add as much as $30 billion a year in medical costs, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. The agency last month sounded an alarm about a "nightmare bacteria" resistant to one class of antibiotics. That kind is still rare but it showed up last year in at least 200 hospitals.
Hospitals started paying attention to infection control in the late 1880s, when mounting evidence showed unsanitary conditions were hurting patients. Hospital hygiene has been a concern in cycles ever since, with the latest spike triggered by the emergence a decade ago of a nasty strain of intestinal bug called Clostridium difficile, or C-diff.
The diarrhea-causing C-diff is now linked to 14,000 U.S. deaths annually. That's been the catalyst for the growing focus on infection control, said Mayfield, who is also president-elect of the Association for Professionals in Infection Control and Epidemiology.
C-diff is easier to treat than some other hospital superbugs, like methicillin-resistant staph, or MRSA, but it's particularly difficult to clean away. Alcohol-based hand sanitizers don't work and C-diff can persist on hospital room surfaces for days. The CDC recommends hospital staff clean their hands rigorously with soap and water - or better yet, wear gloves. And rooms should be cleaned intensively with bleach, the CDC says.
Michael Claes developed a bad case of C-diff while he was a kidney patient last fall at New York City's Lenox Hill Hospital. He and his doctor believe he caught it at the hospital. Claes praised his overall care, but felt the hospital's room cleaning and infection control was less than perfect.
"I would use the word `perfunctory,'" he said.
Lenox Hill spokeswoman Ann Silverman disputed that characterization, noting hospital workers are making efforts that patients often can't see, like using hand cleansers dispensers in hallways. She ticked off a list of measure used to prevent the spread of germs, ranging from educating patients' family members to isolation and other protective steps with each C-diff patient.
The hospital's C-diff infection rate is lower than the state average, she said.
Westchester Medical Center, a 643-bed hospital in the suburbs of New York City has also been hit by cases of C-diff and the other superbugs.
Complicating matters is the fact that larger proportions of hospital patients today are sicker and more susceptible to the ravages of infections, said Dr. Marisa Montecalvo, a contagious diseases specialist at Westchester.
There's a growing recognition that it's not only surgical knives and operating rooms that need a thorough cleaning but also spots like bed rails and even television remote controls, she said. Now there's more attention to making sure "that all the nooks and crannies are clean, and that it's done in perfect a manner as can be done," Montecalvo said.
Enter companies like Xenex Healthcare Services, a Texas company that makes a portable, $125,000 machine that's rolled into rooms to zap C-diff and other bacteria and viruses dead with ultraviolet light. Xenex has sold or leased devices to more than 100 U.S. hospitals, including Westchester Medical Center.
The market niche is expected to grow from $30 million to $80 million in the next three years, according to Frost & Sullivan, a market research firm.
Mark Stibich, Xenex's chief scientific officer, said client hospitals sometimes call them robots and report improved satisfaction scores from patients who seem impressed that the medical center is trotting out that kind of technology.
At Westchester, they still clean rooms, but the staff appreciates the high-tech backup, said housekeeping manager Carolyn Bevans.
"We all like it," she said of the Xenex.
At Cooley Dickinson Hospital, a 140-bed facility in Northampton, Mass., the staff calls their machines Thing One, Thing Two, Thing Three and Thing Four, borrowing from the children's book "The Cat in the Hat."
But while the things in the Dr. Seuss tale were house-wrecking imps, Cooley Dickinson officials said the ultraviolet has done a terrific job at cleaning their hospital of the difficult C-diff.
"We did all the recommended things. We used bleach. We monitored the quality of cleaning," but C-diff rates wouldn't budge, said nurse Linda Riley, who's in charge of infection prevention at Cooley Dickinson.
A small observational study at the hospital showed C-diff infection rates fell by half and C-diff deaths fell from 14 to 2 during the last two years, compared to the two years before the machines.
Some experts say there's not enough evidence to show the machines are worth it. No national study has shown that these products have led to reduced deaths or infection rates, noted Dr. L. Clifford McDonald of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.
His point: It only takes a minute for a nurse or visitor with dirty hands to walk into a room, touch a vulnerable patient with germy hands, and undo the benefits of a recent space-age cleaning.
"Environments get dirty again," McDonald said, and thorough cleaning with conventional disinfectants ought to do the job.
Beyond products to disinfect a room, there are tools to make sure doctors, nurses and other hospital staff are properly cleaning their hands when they come into a patient's room. Among them are scanners that monitor how many times a health care worker uses a sink or hand sanitizer dispenser.
Still, "technology only takes us so far," said Christian Lillis, who runs a small foundation named after his mother who died from a C-diff infection.
Lillis said the hospitals he is most impressed with include Swedish Covenant Hospital in Chicago, where thorough cleanings are confirmed with spot checks. Fluorescent powder is dabbed around a room before it's cleaned and a special light shows if the powder was removed. That strategy was followed by a 28 percent decline in C-diff, he said.
He also cites Advocate Christ Medical Center in Oak Lawn, Ill., where the focus is on elbow grease and bleach wipes. What's different, he said, is the merger of the housekeeping and infection prevention staff. That emphasizes that cleaning is less about being a maid's service than about saving patients from superbugs.
"If your hospital's not clean, you're creating more problems than you're solving," Lillis said.
--- Online: CDC: HTTP://WWW.CDC.GOV/HAI/
A new poll examined how people 40 and over are preparing for this difficult and often pricey reality of aging, and found two-thirds say they've done little to no planning.
In fact, 3 in 10 would rather not think about getting older at all. Only a quarter predict it's very likely that they'll need help getting around or caring for themselves during their senior years, according to the poll by the AP-NORC Center for Public Affairs Research.
That's a surprise considering the poll found more than half of the 40-plus crowd already have been caregivers for an impaired relative or friend - seeing from the other side the kind of assistance they, too, may need later on.
"I didn't think I was old. I still don't think I'm old," explained retired schoolteacher Malinda Bowman, 60, of Laura, Ohio.
Bowman has been a caregiver twice, first for her grandmother. Then after her father died in 2006, Bowman moved in with her mother, caring for her until her death in January. Yet Bowman has made few plans for herself.
"I guess I was focused on caring for my grandmother and mom and dad, so I didn't really think about myself," she said. "Everything we had was devoted to taking care of them."
The poll found most people expect family to step up if they need long-term care - even though 6 in 10 haven't talked with loved ones about the possibility and how they'd like it to work.
Bowman said she's healthy now but expects to need help someday from her two grown sons. Last month, prompted by a brother's fall and blood clot, she began the conversation by telling her youngest son about her living will and life insurance policy.
"I need to plan eventually," she acknowledged.
Those family conversations are crucial: Even if they want to help, do your relatives have the time, money and knowhow? What starts as driving Dad to the doctor or picking up his groceries gradually can turn into feeding and bathing him, maybe even doing tasks once left to nurses such as giving injections or cleaning open wounds. If loved ones can't do all that, can they afford to hire help? What if you no longer can live alone?
"The expectation that your family is going to be there when you need them often doesn't mean they understand the full extent of what the job of caregiving will be," Susan Reinhard, a nurse who directs AARP's Public Policy Institute, said. "Your survey is pointing out a problem for not just people approaching the need for long-term care, but for family members who will be expected to take on the huge responsibility of providing care."
Those who have been through the experience of receiving care are less apt to say they can rely on their families in times of need, the poll found.
With a rapidly aging population, more families will be facing those responsibilities. Government figures show nearly 7 in 10 Americans will need long-term care at some point after they reach age 65, whether it's from a relative, a home health aide, assisted living or a nursing home. On average, they'll need that care for three years.
Despite the "it won't happen to me" reaction, the AP-NORC Center poll found half of those surveyed think just about everyone will need some assistance at some point. There are widespread misperceptions about how much care costs and who will pay for it. Nearly 60 percent of those surveyed underestimated the cost of a nursing home, which averages more than $6,700 a month.
Medicare doesn't pay for the most common types of long-term care. Yet 37 percent of those surveyed mistakenly think it will pay for a nursing home and even more expect it to cover a home health aide when that's only approved under certain conditions.
The harsh reality: Medicaid, the federal-state program for the poor, is the main payer of long-term care in the U.S., and to qualify seniors must have spent most of their savings and assets. But fewer than half of those polled think they'll ever need Medicaid - even though only a third are setting aside money for later care, and just 27 percent are confident they'll have the financial resources they'll need.
In Cottage Grove, Ore., Police Chief Mike Grover, 64, says his retirement plan means he could afford a nursing home. And like 47 percent of those polled, he's created an advance directive, a legal document outlining what medical care he'd want if he couldn't communicate.
Otherwise, Grover said he hasn't thought much about his future care needs. He knows caregiving is difficult, as he and his brother are caring for their 85-year-old mother.
Still, "until I cross that bridge, I don't know what I would do. I hope that my kids and wife will pick the right thing," he said. "It depends on my physical condition, because I do not want to be a burden to my children."
The AP-NORC Center poll found widespread support for tax breaks to encourage saving for long-term care, and about half favor the government establishing a voluntary long-term care insurance program. An Obama administration attempt to create such a program ended in 2011 because it was too costly.
The older they get, the more preparations people take. Just 8 percent of 40- to 54-year-olds have done much planning for long-term care, compared with 30 percent of those 65 or older, the poll found.
Mary Pastrano, 74, of Port Orchard, Wash., has planned extensively for her future health care. She has lupus, heart problems and other conditions, and now uses a wheelchair. She also remembers her family's financial struggles after her own father died when she was a child.
"I don't want people to stand around and wring their hands and wonder, `What would Mom think was the best?'" said Pastrano, who has discussed her insurance policies, living will and care preferences with her husband and children.
Still, Pastrano wishes she and her husband had started saving earlier, during their working years.
"You never know how soon you're going to be down," she said. "That's what older people have a problem understanding: You can be in your 60s and then next flat on your back. You think you're invincible, until you can't walk."
The AP-NORC Center for Public Affairs Research survey was conducted Feb. 21 through March 27, with funding from the SCAN Foundation. The SCAN Foundation is an independent, nonprofit organization that supports research and other initiatives on aging and health care. The nationally representative poll involved landline and cellphone interviews with 1,019 Americans age 40 or older. It has a margin of sampling error of plus or minus 4.1 percentage points.
Associated Press writer Stacy A. Anderson and News Survey Specialist Dennis Junius contributed to this report.
Government long-term care primer: HTTP://LONGTERMCARE.GOV
AP-NORC Center for Public Affairs Research: HTTP://WWW.APNORC.ORG
The men had health insurance from jobs at one of the nation's largest pork producers. But neither had legal permission to live in the U.S., nor was it clear whether their insurance would pay for the long-term rehabilitation they needed.
So Iowa Methodist Medical Center in Des Moines took matters into its own hands: After consulting with the patients' families, it quietly loaded the two comatose men onto a private jet that flew them back to Mexico, effectively deporting them without consulting any court or federal agency.
When the men awoke, they were more than 1,800 miles away in a hospital in Veracruz, on the Mexican Gulf Coast.
Hundreds of immigrants who are in the U.S. illegally have taken similar journeys through a little-known removal system run not by the federal government trying to enforce laws but by hospitals seeking to curb high costs. A recent report compiled by immigrant advocacy groups made a rare attempt to determine how many people are sent home, concluding that at least 600 immigrants were removed over a five-year period, though there were likely many more.
In interviews with immigrants, their families, attorneys and advocates, The Associated Press reviewed the obscure process known formally as "medical repatriation," which allows hospitals to put patients on chartered international flights, often while they are still unconscious. Hospitals typically pay for the flights.
"The problem is it's all taking place in this unregulated sort of a black hole ... and there is no tracking," said law professor Lori Nessel, director of the Center for Social Justice at Seton Hall Law School, which offers free legal representation to immigrants.
Now advocates for immigrants are concerned that hospitals could soon begin expanding the practice after full implementation of federal health care reform, which will make deep cuts to the payments hospitals receive for taking care of the uninsured.
Health care executives say they are caught between a requirement to accept all patients and a political battle over immigration.
"It really is a Catch-22 for us," said Dr. Mark Purtle, vice president of Medical Affairs for Iowa Health System, which includes Iowa Methodist Medical Center. "This is the area that the federal government, the state, everybody says we're not paying for the undocumented."
Hospitals are legally mandated to care for all patients who need emergency treatment, regardless of citizenship status or ability to pay. But once a patient is stabilized, that funding ceases, along with the requirement to provide care. Many immigrant workers without citizenship are ineligible for Medicaid, the government's insurance program for the poor and elderly.
That's why hospitals often try to send those patients to rehabilitation centers and nursing homes back in their home countries.
Civil rights groups say the practice violates U.S. and international laws and unfairly targets one of the nation's most defenseless populations.
"They don't have advocates, and they don't have people who will speak on their behalf," said Miami attorney John De Leon, who has been arguing such cases for a decade.
Estimating the number of cases is difficult since no government agency or organization keeps track.
The Center for Social Justice and New York Lawyers for the Public Interest have documented at least 600 immigrants who were involuntarily removed in the past five years for medical reasons. The figure is based on data from hospitals, humanitarian organizations, news reports and immigrant advocates who cited specific cases. But the actual number is believed to be significantly higher because many more cases almost certainly go unreported.
Some patients who were sent home subsequently died in hospitals that weren't equipped to meet their needs. Others suffered lingering medical problems because they never received adequate rehabilitation, the report said.
Gail Montenegro, a spokeswoman for U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, said the agency "plays no role in a health care provider's private transfer of a patient to his or her country of origin."
Such transfers "are not the result of federal authority or action," she said in an email, nor are they considered "removals, deportations or voluntary departures" as defined by the Immigration and Nationality Act.
The two Mexican workers in Iowa came to the U.S. in search of better jobs and found work at Iowa Select Farms, which provided them with medical insurance even though they had no visas or other immigration documents.
Cruz had been here for about six months, Rodriguez-Saldana for a little over a year. The men were returning home from a fishing trip in May 2008 when their car was struck by a semitrailer truck. Both were thrown from the vehicle and suffered serious head injuries.
Insurance paid more than $100,000 for the two men's emergency treatment. But it was unclear whether the policies would pay for long-term rehabilitation. Two rehabilitation centers refused to take them.
Eleven days after the car crash, the two men were still comatose as they were carried aboard a jet bound for Veracruz, where a hospital had agreed to take them.
Rodriguez-Saldana, now 39, said the Des Moines hospital told his family that he was unlikely to survive and should be sent home.
The hospital "doesn't really want Mexicans," he said in a telephone interview with the AP. "They wanted to disconnect me so I could die. They said I couldn't survive, that I wouldn't live."
Hospital officials said they could not discuss the case because of litigation. The men and their families filed a lawsuit in 2010 claiming they received minimal rehabilitative care in Veracruz.
A judge dismissed the lawsuit last year ruling that Iowa Methodist was not to blame for the inadequate care in Veracruz. The courts also found that even though the families of the men may not have consented to their transport to Mexico, they also failed to object to it. An appeals court upheld the dismissal.
Patients are frequently told family members want them to come home. In cases where the patient is unconscious or can't communicate, relatives are told their loved one wants to return, De Leon said.
Sometimes they're told the situation is dire, and the patient may die, prompting many grief-stricken relatives to agree to a transfer, he said.
Some hospitals "emotionally extort family members in their home country," De Leon said. "They make family members back home feel guilty so they can simply put them on a plane and drop them off at the airport."
In court documents, Iowa hospital officials said they had received permission from Saldana's parents and Cruz's long-term partner for the flight to Mexico. Family members deny they gave consent.
There's no way to know for sure whether the two men would have recovered faster or better in the United States. But the accident left both of them with life-altering disabilities.
Nearly five years later, the 49-year-old Cruz is paralyzed on his left side, the result of damage to his hip and spine. He has difficulty speaking and can't work.
"I can't even walk," he said in a telephone interview, breaking into tears several times. His long-term partner, Belem, said he's more emotional since the accident.
"He feels bad because he went over there and came back like this," she said. "Now he can't work at all. ... He cries a lot."
She works selling food and cleaning houses. Their oldest son, 22, sometimes contributes to the family income.
Rodriguez-Saldana said he has to pay for intensive therapy for his swollen feet and bad circulation. He also said he walks poorly and has difficulty working. He sells home supplies such as kitchen and bath towels and dishes, a business that requires a lot of walking and visiting houses. He often forgets where he lives, but people recognize him on the street and take him home because he's confused.
The American Hospital Association said it does not have a specific policy governing immigrant removals, and it does not track how many hospitals encounter the issue.
Nessel expects medical removals to increase with implementation of health care reform, which makes many more patients eligible for Medicaid. As a result, the government plans to cut payments to hospitals that care for the uninsured.
Some hospitals call immigration authorities when they receive patients without immigration documentation, but the government rarely responds, Nessel said. Taking custody of the patient would also require the government to assume financial responsibility for care.
Jan Stipe runs the Iowa Methodist department that finds hospitals in patients' native countries that are willing to take them. The hospital's goal, she said, is to "get patients back to where their support systems are, their loved ones who will provide the care and the concern that each patient needs."
The American Medical Association's Council on Ethical and Judicial Affairs issued a strongly worded directive to doctors in 2009, urging them not to "allow hospital administrators to use their significant power and the current lack of regulations" to send patients to other countries.
Doctors cannot expect hospitals to provide costly uncompensated care to patients indefinitely, the statement said. "But neither should physicians allow hospitals to arbitrarily determine the fate of an uninsured noncitizen immigrant patient."
Arturo Morales, a Monterrey, Mexico, lawyer who helps Cruz and Rodriguez-Saldana with legal issues, is convinced the men would have been better off staying in Iowa.
"I have no doubt," he said. "You have a patient who doesn't have money to pay you. You can't let them die."
--- Associated Press Writer Barbara Rodriguez in Des Moines contributed to this report. ---
"I know this is how people live every day in other countries. But I'm not used to it here," said Greeley, 27, a technician at Tufts Medical Center who was on duty Monday when part of the hospital was briefly evacuated even as victims of the blast were being treated in the emergency room.
Anger, crying jags and nightmares are all normal reactions for both survivors of the Boston Marathon bombings and witnesses to the mayhem. While the injured and those closest to the blasts are most prone to psychological aftershocks, even people with no physical injuries and those like Greeley might feel the emotional impact for weeks afterward as they struggle to regain a sense of security. What's not clear is who will suffer lingering anxiety, depression or even post-traumatic stress disorder.
But specialists say that how resilient people are helps determine how quickly they bounce back. The resilient tend to be people who share their emotions before becoming overwhelmed, who know how to copewith stress, and who have the ability to look for a silver lining - such as focusing on bystanders who helped the wounded.
Focusing on the horror, "that's harder on our body and our mind," said Dr. Catherine Mogil, co-director of the family trauma service at the University of California, Los Angeles. "People who tend to be able to make positive meaning out of tough situations are going to fare better."
Among the typical reactions that psychologists say anyone who witnessed the bombings or their aftermath might experience include difficulty sleeping or eating; sweats or stomachaches; anxiety or fear - especially in crowded situations that remind people of the bombing. People may have a hard time focusing on work or other everyday activities. They may feel numb, anger easily, or cry often.
Priscilla Dass-Brailsford, a psychologist at Georgetown University Medical Center, said that if those symptoms don't fade in about a month, of if they are bad enough to impair function, people should seek help.
But for most, "time is a great healer," said Dass-Brailsford, who served on disaster mental health teams that counseled survivors of 9/11 in New York.
Specialists say only a small number of people are expected to be so severely affected that they develop PTSD, a disorder that can include flashbacks, debilitating anxiety, irritability and insomnia months after the trauma. Even among veterans of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars, the best estimate was that just under 20 percent returned with symptoms of PTSD or major depression.
More at risk for lingering psychological effects are people who've previously been exposed to trauma, whether from the battlefield, a car crash or a hurricane.
During two stints in Iraq as a Marine, Eusebio Collazo of Humble, Texas, was gravely wounded and today runs regularly to help deal with PTSD. Running with a veterans group called Team Red, White & Blue, he was at mile 25 of the marathon when the bombs detonated - and adrenaline fueled his frantic race to find his wife, Karla, at the finish line. She was unharmed.
"My wife keeps asking me, `I don't know how I should be feeling. I want to cry but I can't.' And then I want to cry, and I can't cry either. So, there's a lot of weird, different feelings going on," Collazo said Thursday. It's harder, he said, to handle explosions on the home front than in a war zone.
In Boston's hospitals, teams of counselors and social workers are telling patients and their families what to expect in the difficult days and weeks ahead.
"Most people are having a lot of flashbacks," and thoughts of the bombing interrupt their days and nights, said Lisa Allee, who directs the Community Violence Response Team at Boston Medical Center. "These are very typical, normal, expected emotions after any traumatic event or disaster."
Beyond hospitalized patients, part of coping is awareness about how to take care of the psyche - turning off scary TV coverage and reading a book, going out for a quiet dinner, anything to temporarily cut the stress, says Dass-Brailsford, the disaster specialist.
That's especially true for parents who are trying to calm their children, added UCLA's Mogil, because kids take their emotional cues from the adults around them. Younger children especially don't need to see repeated footage of the blasts, because they may think it's happening again.
For a lot of people, psychiatrists say, talking about their experience can be cathartic.
A cashier's routine "how are you?" was enough for Anndee Hochman to tear up in a Philadelphia hardware store Wednesday. Hochman and her 12-year-old daughter had traveled to Boston to watch her partner run the marathon - and all three were in different places when the bombs exploded, Hochman herself just a few blocks from the finish line.
Hochman spent 10 minutes telling the store clerk her family's story of reuniting - and said it helps every time she's told friends, family, even a near-stranger about the experience.
Unknowingly, Hochman echoed the advice to look for a silver lining as she counseled daughter Sasha, who was nervous about returning to school.
"I reminded her, " `Sweetie' - and reminded myself, too - `there may have been a few people who planned those bombs and wanted to hurt people," Hochman said, "but there are so many more people there and in the world who want to help.'"
AP Medical Writer Lauran Neergaard reported from Washington. AP writer Kevin Freking contributed to this report.
LOS ANGELES (AP) — Dick Van Dyke is seeing doctors for an undiagnosed health problem, and he's seeking advice online as well.
"My head bangs every time I lay down," the 87-year-old actor posted on his Twitter account. "I've had every test come back that I'm perfectly healthy. Anybody got any ideas?"
Bob Palmer, a spokesman for Van Dyke, said Thursday that he's undergoing tests for "cranial throbbing" that's causing him to lose sleep. The sensation occurs when Van Dyke lies down, and scans and other tests have yet to yield a diagnosis, Palmer said.
Van Dyke drew a number of responses to his tweet for help Wednesday, including questions about what's been done so far for the problem he described as stubborn.
"It has been going on for 7 years. I've had every test you can think of," he replied, including an MRI and spinal tap.
Van Dyke has a strong constitution and is otherwise OK, but the "fatigue factor has become acute," Palmer said. Until he receives a diagnosis and treatment plan he's been advised not to fly, and is resting at his Malibu home.
He was to accept an award next week from New York's 92nd Street Y but canceled the trip.
Van Dyke's credits include "The Dick Van Dyke Show" and "Diagnosis Murder."
SPRINGFILED, IL (AP) - State health officials are urging parents to make sure their children have received all their recommended vaccinations.
The Illinois Department of Public Health says the state is reporting its highest number of pertussis cases since 1950.
In 2012 there were 2,026 cases of the illness, also known as whooping cough.
Dr. LaMar Hasbrouck is director of the state public health department. He says the record number of cases is "the perfect example of the importance of continued immunization."
Saturday marks the start of National Infant Immunization Week.
Hasbrouck says parents may visit the department's website to find a list of recommended vaccines and the age at which children should receive them. Illinois residents who cannot afford to pay for the immunizations may be eligible for assistance.
The tests also showed the veterinary anti-inflammatory drug phenylbutazone, or bute, was present about .50 percent of the horse meat. Bute is banned for human use because in rare cases it causes severe side effects, but veterinary experts say there is little risk from consuming small amounts of the drug in horse meat.
European Health Commissioner Tonio Borg said Tuesday that "today's findings have confirmed that this is a matter of food fraud and not of food safety."
Borg said in the upcoming months the European Commission, the EU's executive arm, would propose measures "to strengthen the controls along the food chain."