Mangum Regional Medical Center v. Glen C Stuchell
What's This Case About?
Let’s get one thing straight: in the grand tradition of American healthcare absurdity, a hospital is suing a man for $4,094.87 because he showed up with what was presumably an emergency, got treated like a human being, and then—gasp—didn’t pay the bill. That’s it. That’s the case. No murder, no scandal, no secret affair exposed through subpoena. Just cold, hard medical debt, served up with a side of legal paperwork and a dash of existential dread. Welcome to CrazyCivilCourt, where the crimes are small, the stakes are personal, and the invoices are always itemized.
So who are we talking about here? On one side, you’ve got Mangum Regional Medical Center, a modest rural hospital in Jackson County, Oklahoma—population: small enough that everyone probably knows someone who works there, and large enough that someone always ends up in the ER after a questionable decision involving farm equipment or fried food. They’re represented by Timothy and Kristin Blue Fisher of Fisher & Fisher, a law firm that, judging by the email addresses ([email protected], really?), has fully embraced the modern era of legal branding. On the other side is Glen C. Stuchell, a 42-year-old man from Altus, Oklahoma, who, according to the records, walked into the ER one fine August day in 2022 and left with a diagnosis, a clean bill of health (we assume), and a financial hangover that’s now being enforced by the judicial system.
Here’s how it went down: On August 10, 2022, Mr. Stuchell showed up at the Mangum ER—coded as “E” for emergency, which sounds dramatic, though we don’t know if he was bleeding out or just really worried about that rash. He was seen, treated, and discharged the same day, coded as “H” for home. Nothing too wild—except the bill. Oh, the bill. Because buried in the labyrinthine patient account detail is a line-by-line takedown of every single service rendered, like a hospital-themed receipt from hell. There’s a $364.80 charge for something called “73610LTIC” (which, according to medical billing code, is a left hip X-ray), another $364.80 for a right hip X-ray (“73100RTTC”), and a third for a left shoulder X-ray (“73130LTIC”)—because apparently, whatever brought Glen in required a full skeletal audit. There’s blood work ($112 for “86140,” whatever that means), more blood work ($219.30 for “80053,” which sounds like a Bond villain code name), and a whopping $992 for an emergency department visit coded as “99283,” which, according to billing experts, means he was seriously sick or at least looked seriously sick. There’s even a 50-cent charge for something called “85025”—presumably a vial of hope or a single drop of saline. And then, because this is America, there’s a $783.92 charge for “anesthesia” even though there’s no surgery listed. Maybe they anesthetized his soul.
The total? $4,694.87, which was later adjusted down to $4,094.87—possibly because someone realized charging $4,700 for an ER visit that didn’t involve surgery, ICU time, or a helicopter ride was slightly aggressive. Still, Glen didn’t pay. No payments were recorded. No insurance stepped in (he’s listed as “P PRIVATE PAY,” which in hospital-speak means “you’re on your own, buddy”). So the account went to bad debt. And then, over a year later—on August 28, 2025—the hospital filed a lawsuit. Not a collections call. Not a sternly worded letter. A lawsuit. A formal, notarized, Exhibit-A-included, interest-accruing, attorney-represented legal action. Because $4,094.87 is apparently worth dragging someone to court over.
Now, legally speaking, this is what’s called an “account stated” claim—which sounds fancy but really just means: “You got services, you didn’t object, you now owe money.” It’s the legal equivalent of, “You stayed at the hotel, you didn’t complain about the charges, so you can’t cry poor now.” The hospital is asking for the $4,094.87, plus 6% annual interest from the date of service (that’s over three years now, so the total’s creeping up), plus court costs and a “reasonable attorney’s fee.” They even included a Verification of Account signed by someone calling themselves a “Magisterial Administrator” (which sounds like a title from Harry Potter, but is probably just a billing manager with a flair for drama). And because Oklahoma law requires it, they’ve filed an Affidavit of Compliance with the Transparency in Health Care Prices Act—meaning they swear, under oath, that their list of secret medical prices is technically available to the public, if you know where to look and have the stomach for PDFs.
So what do they want? $4,094.87, give or take. Is that a lot? In the world of civil court, it’s not exactly Scandal-level drama. It’s not a divorce over a $2 million mansion. It’s not a defamation case with celebrity stakes. But for a single man in rural Oklahoma, over four grand is real money. It’s a car down payment. It’s a year of rent. It’s three months of groceries. And from the hospital’s side? It’s also real money—especially for a small regional center that likely operates on razor-thin margins. They’re not being greedy; they’re being open. They provided care. They documented it. They sent the bill. And when it wasn’t paid, they did what hospitals do: they lawyered up.
And here’s our take: the most absurd thing about this case isn’t that someone got sued for an ER bill. That happens every day in America. The absurd part is that we’ve normalized this. We treat emergency medical care like a retail transaction—“Here’s your X-rays, your blood work, your existential crisis—that’ll be $4,094.87, please.” We expect people to shop around for emergency services. We expect them to negotiate while in pain. We expect them to understand CPT codes like “99283” and “J1010” like they’re menu items at Chipotle. And when they don’t—or can’t—we sue them. In 2025. In August. Over an incident from 2022. With interest.
We’re not rooting for the hospital. We’re not rooting for the patient. We’re rooting for a world where you don’t have to choose between your health and your bank account. But since we don’t live in that world, we’ll settle for at least itemizing the 50-cent charge. Because if you’re going to sue a man over four grand, you better be ready to explain every damn penny. And honestly? We’re still waiting on the receipt for the anesthesia. What, exactly, was numbed? His leg? His anxiety? His faith in the American healthcare system? That, dear readers, remains medically necessary but unexplained.
Case Overview
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Mangum Regional Medical Center
business
Rep: Timothy A. Fisher and Kristin Blue Fisher of Fisher & Fisher
- Glen C Stuchell individual
| # | Cause of Action | Description |
|---|---|---|
| 1 | Account stated | Plaintiff seeks payment for medical services rendered to Defendant. |