Archive Page 117

Lists of Three: Unforgettable Lessons from Medical School

A few weeks ago, I saw a patient with shortness of breath during my Saturday clinic. He had been short of breath for a few of weeks, and on a couple of occasions he had also experienced mild chest pain. He has known aortic stenosis, moderate according to his last echocardiogram two years ago.

My brain kicked into autopilot and I asked “have you fainted or passed out recently?” It was a flashback to medical school, where it seemed we were inundated with lists of threes.

For aortic stenosis, the triad of surgical indications for critical degrees was: Angina, synkope (remember I’m Swedish) and svikt, which is Swedish for failure, specifically congestive heart failure.

I’ve already written about a diagnosis right under my nose that I missed because the onset was so gradual: Dementia, urinary incontinence and gait disturbance, the diagnostic triad of normal pressure hydrocephalus.

A few months ago a crackerjack nurse practitioner came to me with the question: “What’s the syndrome with a droopy eyelid and a small pupil?”

“And a sunken-in eyeball?” I added.

“Yes!” She exclaimed.

“Horner’s Syndrome”, I proclaimed. “I still remember it from medical school and from a patient and my first Persian cat who both had sinus cancer.”

I don’t know why there are all these diagnostic triads out there, is it by some divine design or just because medical students can only retain short lists because of the multitude of diagnoses we have to memorize?

Where would we be without memorization? Sure, we could use computers to sift through endless lists of symptoms, most of which are red herrings, but there’s nothing quite as satisfying as knowing, in an instant, what the diagnosis is.

Wikipedia has a list of fifty clinical triads:

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_medical_triads_and_pentads

And, I almost forgot, last week I saw a patient with Reiter’s Syndrome, now called Reactive Arthritis: Persistent conjunctivitis, frequent urination and migrating arthritis that all began after a bout of severe diarrhea. She had already seen one other primary care clinician and her optometrist and both knew there was a bigger, overarching diagnosis behind her eye irritation. I was the one who nailed it.

If Not a Doctor, Then What?

One of the questions I was asked recently in an interview was something along the lines of could I say something about myself that few people know about.

The answer came to me fairly quickly.

After my military service, I applied to medical school. I had decided I wanted to go to Uppsala University. The Karolinska Institute was more famous, not the least because they pick the Nobel Prize winners in Medicine. But Uppsala is the second oldest university in the world, and the history behind it impressed me as the most classical medical education I could get.

In what now seems like a reckless thing to do, I only applied to Uppsala. It never occurred to me until after the deadline that it might have been wise to make a second and maybe even a third choice.

That fall semester I worked as a substitute teacher in my home town. I found myself one week in front of a room full of wide eyed second graders and the next facing one with bored and sullen fourteen year olds.

During those months I knew what I could do if Uppsala wouldn’t have me: I might become a teacher. I loved explaining things plainly and simply. I enjoyed presenting the hard to engage teenagers with an opening hook to gain their interest, or at least some degree of curiosity.

Today, again and again, day in and day out, I explain, challenge and engage patients in similar ways. As I often find myself pointing out, the word doctor is derived from “docere”, to teach.

So I got both jobs – a doctor, educated at the school of my choice, and a teacher for all ages, having to adapt my style and approach for a wide variety of patients, toddlers to centenarians.

It’s all the same, in a way. And I love it.

A Rare Form of Deafness or a Trivial Case of Congestion?

I chose doxycycline to treat Norman Starks Lyme disease. A week later he went to a walk-in clinic with sudden loss of hearing in his right ear. The PA who saw him suspected that the doxycycline had caused it and told him to stop the medication. Meanwhile, he needed at least one or two more weeks of antibiotics. He got amoxicillin.

When I saw Norman I asked what kind of exam they had done on him, he said “they just looked in my ears”.

“Did they do any kind of hearing test?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“Did they put a tuning fork on your head?”

“No”, he said quizzically.

I pulled my tuning fork from a plastic basket on the counter. I have one in every room.

“So how is your hearing now?” I asked.

“I think it’s a little better.”

“OK, tell me, if I put this tuning fork in the middle of your head like this, where do you hear it the loudest?”

Norman looked like he concentrated hard. He seemed confused.

“It’s louder in my right ear.”

“And which of these is louder, on the bone behind your ear or in the air in front of it?”

“Behind.”

I put the tuning fork away and sat down next to him.

“Your hearing is going to be fine. You can hurry it along by using some cortisone nose spray for a while. This is not nerve deafness, you’re just congested. And the doxycycline had nothing to do with it.”

I love low tech medicine.

And just the other day I saw a new diabetic who complained of blurry vision. After a split second of worry, I excused myself and got several sheets of dark paper, stapled them together and pierced a small hole in the center.

“Come with me, let’s check your vision”, I said.

We went down the hall and I asked him to look at the eye chart through the pinhole, one eye at a time.

“What’s the smallest line you can read?”

“D,E,F,P,O,T,E,C”, he read.

“Perfect. The lenses inside your eyes are just swollen from your high blood sugars. Hold off a little before seeing the eye doctor, and don’t order glasses until your blood sugars have settled down.”

Another early lesson all the way back from medical school.

Medicare Knows Everything About My Patients, But Hopes I Will Forget

My clinic belongs to an Accountable Care Organization. My job is to keep my patients medical costs down, in my clinic as well as in the hospital and specialist offices, without sacrificing quality. Of course, I have about zero control over costs generated outside my office.

So, since I can’t do very much about what Cityside Hospital and all the specialists they employ charge for their work, my only chance of getting any “shared savings” is to make my patients look real bad.

That is what some of the Medicare Advantage plans (Federally subsidized for profit contractors who manage Medicare subpopulations that get extra benefits, like glasses and gym memberships, in exchange for Prior Authorizations and other forms of rationing). I used to puzzle over why they paid us $150 just to update/verify my patients problem lists until I got caught up in the same situation through no fault of my own. Now I also know why these lists sometimes contained outrageously erroneous diagnoses such as paraplegia.

The baseline cost, from which any savings (shared savings for my clinic) or the dreaded opposite is calculated, is predicated on complex actuarial formulas, summarized in what Medicare calls Hierarchical Condition Categories.

This is how that works:

Even through Medicare paid for patient X’s medical care in previous years, and received bills with all of his terrible diagnoses listed, they calculate my base “cost” only counting the diagnoses submitted recently. If they don’t see anything that looks expensive, they budget about $8,000 for the coming year for that patient. Never mind that he is a quadriplegic amputee (which I might not include as a reason for any particular visit, although I might treat and code for his bedsores). Of course, since he may need a new power wheelchair anytime, I wouldn’t want that cost to drag down my “performance”, so I’d better put “quadriplegia” and “below-the-knee amputation” on at least one superbill every year.

It seems obvious they hope I’ll forget to “take credit” for how sick Mr. X really is, so that his multiple hospitalizations and new power chair will hurt my clinic’s bottom line.

In other cases, it is more a matter of word choice: If somebody has fairly stable heart disease and takes nitroglycerin two or three times per year, “coronary artery disease” gets me no points, whereas “angina pectoris” jacks up my baseline a little.

Obesity is an interesting problem. If a patient is morbidly obese, that gives me more of this HCC “play money” to work with. Once they lose the weight, I will of course lose those dollars. But there are quality bonuses to be gained from treating obesity. However, Medicare will REJECT any and all claims for office visits conducted solely for the purpose of treating obesity.

There is obviously more money to be made, at least for the next several years, from aggressive coding than from looking over the shoulders of hospitalists and specialists. I can’t even tell from the hospital reports exactly what they did and why they did it. So how and why could I gain more from that than from becoming a Hierarchical Condition Category Coding expert?

This is what I not so fondly call Metamedicine.

(See also https://acountrydoctorwrites.wordpress.com/2014/07/24/medicine-is-easy-but-metamedicine-is-hard/. The diagnosis codes in that post are the old ICD-9 ones, but the principles still apply.)

Guidelines: When Satan Reads the Bible

Clinical guidelines are a mixed blessing. Wise clinicians know that they offer a general pattern of doing things that usually results in favorable outcomes. They also know there are lots of situations when guidelines can’t be applied because of unique patient characteristics.

Guidelines can be dangerous if we apply them indiscriminately. Education and experience teaches us when and when not to follow them.

The problem with guidelines is that people without our knowledge or experience have placed themselves in positions where they judge physicians by whether we follow a particular guideline or not. Never mind that there are competing guidelines, and that the web repository of them shut down a month ago.

That reminds me of a colorful Swedish analogy my grandmother often used, “som fan läser Bibeln”, translated “like Satan reads the Bible”.

One of many American Christian authors writes about it this way:

“What makes Satan happy is when he can get Christians to believe that Proverbs 15:6 justifies the accumulation of wealth in a world of hunger; that 2 Thessalonians 3:10 abolishes charity; that Romans 9:16 makes evangelism superfluous; that 1 Timothy 2:4 means God is not sovereign in conversion; that John 10:28 means a “Christian” can do whatever he wants and still be saved; that Hebrews 6:4–6 means there is no security and assurance for God’s elect.”

If Satan can pick and choose Bible phrases to confuse, tempt or mislead earnest and well meaning Christians, imagine what someone with ill will or authority without wisdom can make out of clinical guidelines.

That is the reality of today’s Quality Quagmire in health care.

We sometimes get judged if we don’t have diabetics on ACE inhibitors, even if they don’t have microalbuminuria. According to UpToDate, there is insufficient evidence for this practice.

Regarding statins, the American College of Cardiology writes: “Five major North American and European guidelines on statin use in primary prevention have been published since 2013. Guidance on use in the growing elderly population (age >65 years) differs markedly…The main goal of primary prevention with statins is to achieve net-benefit from treatment. Potential harm(s) is a crucial part of appropriate decision making. As frailty, comorbidity, and polypharmacy may increase the risk for adverse statin-associated symptoms, the “risk-benefit” balance in the elderly could theoretically tip in favor of withholding statin therapy if such conditions are present.” So much for following guidelines there.

Another striking example of how crazy this system is:

A doctor sees a patient with bronchitis. Guidelines discourage antibiotics. That is a Quality indicator. On the way out of the office, empty handed, so to speak, with no antibiotic but a lengthy diatribe about the uselessness of antibiotics and the looming threat of multi resistant superbugs, the patient is asked to rate his physician. Such ratings are an increasingly large part of provider evaluations and even compensation formulas. Will that patient give the doctor a favorable rating?

This what I do: Some patients, like those with chronic lung disease, get antibiotics right away. Others get a thorough explanation of why I’m not prescribing them. And a few get a “backup prescription”: “If this, this or this happens, fill it”.

Guidelines and doctor ratings shouldn’t tie our hands. We are the professionals here. We must apply our knowledge to every clinical situation we encounter. In some cases, the people who dangle guidelines or popularity ratings over our heads are simply being ignorant bullies.


I just realized none of the posts show on an iPad or a computer, but they do show on an iPhone. WordPress is working on this. In the meantime, please visit my Substack.

 

 

Osler said “Listen to your patient, he is telling you the diagnosis”. Duvefelt says “Listen to your patient, he is telling you what kind of doctor he needs you to be”.

 

BOOKS BY HANS DUVEFELT, MD

CONDITIONS, Chapter 1: An Old, New Diagnosis

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