Destiny Maxam was on a breathing machine for two weeks after her wheelchair broke and she was stuck in bed. When she came off the ventilator, the first thing she did was check her phone to see if her repair company had called. They hadn't. It would take five more months. This is not a horror story from some failed state. This is Boston, 2023, and it is the entirely predictable result of letting private equity eat the wheelchair repair industry whole.
Two Companies Own Basically Everything Now
More than 5 million Americans use a wheelchair, according to census data. When something breaks on one of those chairs, users have almost nowhere to turn. As NPR reports, the market is now controlled largely by two companies: Numotion and National Seating & Mobility. Both are owned by private equity.
Those two companies have spent the last decade buying up dozens of competitors in what the industry calls a rollup transaction. You buy one company, use it as a platform to gobble up rivals, eliminate competition, and then eventually sell the whole thing for a profit. Jim Baker from the Private Equity Stakeholder Project, a nonprofit watchdog group based in Chicago, told NPR this is textbook stuff. 'They buy a company and then use it as a platform to buy lots of its competitors,' he said.
The result is what you'd expect when any industry loses competition: fewer options, worse service, and no real pressure to improve. If your wheelchair breaks in most of America, you are dealing with one of these two companies whether you like it or not. Franklin Pineda-Lopez, a wheelchair user in Boston, put it plainly to NPR: 'It's not like a car where there's many car shops.'
The Waits Are Not Just Inconvenient. They Are Medically Dangerous.
Pineda-Lopez has been waiting for a repair since February. His wheel is wobbly and clicking. He has to slow down constantly just to get around downtown Boston. That is the mild version of this story.
The severe version is Destiny Maxam, who works at the Disability Policy Consortium in Boston. Three years ago her chair broke. She was stuck in bed. She developed pneumonia. She ended up in the hospital on a ventilator for two weeks. Numotion, her repair provider, still had not called to schedule an appointment by the time she was coming off the breathing machine. It eventually took five months total to get her chair fixed.
NPR reports that delays can leave wheelchair users stranded on sidewalks, stuck in bed, and missing major family events. Users say it has gotten significantly worse over the past decade. The causes are multiple: insurance preapproval requirements, a shortage of repair technicians, and the consolidation of the market into two private equity-owned giants who, according to users and advocates, are far more interested in selling you an $80,000 new chair than fixing a part that costs under a thousand dollars.
The $80,000 Math Problem
Here is the business logic, and it is grotesque in its simplicity. Maxam told NPR her wheelchair alone is worth over $80,000. A simple repair might cost under $1,000. Private equity companies that have loaded up on debt to fund acquisitions and need to generate returns for investors are not exactly incentivized to hustle on the $1,000 job.
This is not a conspiracy theory. It is how rollup acquisitions work. You consolidate the market, reduce redundant costs, cut staff, and push volume toward higher-margin products. In the wheelchair industry, that means new chairs over repairs. The fact that the people waiting on those repairs are sometimes ending up on ventilators is, from a spreadsheet perspective, someone else's problem.
Neither Numotion nor National Seating & Mobility responded to NPR's requests for comment. The National Coalition for Assistive & Rehab Technology, a nonprofit representing the industry, told NPR they agree repairs should be faster and support overhauling insurance requirements and preventative maintenance. That is a very polite way of acknowledging the system is broken without pointing at the people who broke it.
Lawmakers Are Trying. Sort Of.
A bill in the Massachusetts state House would require companies to complete wheelchair repairs within 10 business days. Connecticut passed a similar law last year, according to NPR. Other states have given users the right to repair their own chairs or use independent providers, which is a reasonable workaround that should not have to exist in the first place.
At the federal level, Massachusetts Congresswoman Ayanna Pressley introduced a bill that would remove the insurance preapproval requirement for some repairs, streamlining what is currently a bureaucratic mess layered on top of a consolidation mess. Good luck getting that through a Congress that can barely agree on lunch, but the effort exists.
State-level 10-business-day repair mandates are a start. But ten business days is two full calendar weeks. If your wheelchair breaks on a Monday, you may legally wait until the second Friday after that to get it fixed. For someone who is bed-bound without their chair, that is a very long time to develop a secondary infection.
Still Broken, Right Now, While We Talk About It
NPR's Meghan Smith reported one detail that should stick with you. Almost every single person she interviewed for this story had a broken part on their wheelchair at the time of the interview. Not in the past. Right then. As they were speaking.
That is not a coincidence. That is the equilibrium the market has settled into. Broken chairs waiting for repairs that may take months, owned by people who have no meaningful alternative and no leverage over the companies that hold their mobility hostage. Destiny Maxam, disability policy advocate, cut through all the industry language for NPR: 'It all boils down to, in the simplicity of sake, is private equity.'
The Dingo Take
Private equity has already eaten emergency rooms, nursing homes, veterinary clinics, and rental housing. The wheelchair repair market is a smaller story only in the sense that fewer people are watching it. The mechanism is identical: buy up competitors until there is no competition, cut costs until the service degrades, and collect returns until the whole thing gets sold to the next fund. The people who rely on the service are not customers in any meaningful sense. They are captive revenue.
What makes this particular case so clarifying is how nakedly it contradicts the usual talking points. Nobody can argue that wheelchair users are making lifestyle choices that expose them to market risk. Nobody can argue they should just switch providers. There are no other providers. That is the whole point. Numotion and National Seating & Mobility made sure of it, one acquisition at a time, and now they do not even have to answer a reporter's questions about a woman who checked her phone from a ventilator hoping they had finally called.
The 10-business-day repair mandate bills are fine. Pressley's insurance reform bill is fine. But the actual problem is that we have decided, as a policy matter, to let private equity firms treat disabled Americans as a captive market with no recourse and no regulator paying serious attention. Until that changes, people will keep coming off ventilators and reaching for phones and finding nothing there.