A Country Doctor Writes:

Twenty years ago, I changed the name and focus of the “annual physical” I offered my patients. I designed a new form on my laptop with Geoworks, my favorite DOS-based (pre-Windows) desktop publishing program, and rolled out my “Annual Health Review”.

I explained to patients that many of the things we used to do in routine physicals every year had proven to be of little value, but there were more and more screening and preventive services we simply needed to talk about. It was also a time to do a thorough review of systems, and to update the family history.

When patients started talking about sore knees, allergies or frequent urination, I would try to gently steer the conversation by saying something like “those are things we can look into some time, but today I’d like to focus on the big health issues that could kill you”.

This approach was generally well accepted, and my homemade form made documentation quick and efficient. As the years went by, and as guidelines changed, some things disappeared from my routine. For example, screening or baseline EKGs were proven to be of little value, and I also stopped doing visual screenings on adults, because I wanted them to go to an eye doctor to get their intraocular pressure checked. My own Schiotz tonometer had become a veritable museum piece as it is so much more awkward for patients than modern tonometers.

I never did have a set of routine blood tests for a routine physical. Even when PSA testing for prostate cancer screening was de rigueur, I reasoned “this is America, and nobody has to do anything; who am I to boss people around by requiring that they have certain tests?” Ordering blood test was something I always did with the patient’s informed consent. Even with cholesterol, I always had plenty of patients who felt they had a healthy lifestyle and simply didn’t want to know what their cholesterol was.

I talked with patients about diet, alcohol, seat belts and all kinds of lifestyle issues. But I didn’t screen for things we essentially cannot treat, like early dementia. In our annual conversations, I usually got a good sense of who was high-tech in terms of wanting “everything done” in case of a cardiorespiratory arrest, but I admit I wasn’t quite systematic in collecting Advance Directives.

Of course, my Annual Health Review was not covered by Medicare, since it was perhaps technically a physical. But Medicare did pay for long visits where three or four chronic health conditions, even stable ones, were reviewed, so sometimes it was possible to add the Annual at no charge to a chronic care visit.

The other doctors in my practice used the same form, but I know each one carried a slightly different conversation with their patients. This visit was in the hands of my colleagues a reflection of each one’s style and of their patients’ preference. Dr. A ordered a few more blood tests, Dr. B recommended vitamins and supplements, and Dr. C promoted exercise with more passion than I did, and so on. These differences caused patients to gravitate to the one doctor among us that resonated most with their own ideas. This was personalized health care before patient-centeredness became formalized and formulaic.

All of us were pretty comfortable with our combined physical and health review visits.

Fast forward twenty years.

Today, under the new world order, doctors are mandated to perform Annual Wellness Visits on their Medicare patients, but not according to their own best efforts or their patients stated preference – one item missed or omitted out of deference to conflicting guidelines or common sense, like the kindergarten-style visual exam for new Medicare beneficiaries in their first six months of coverage, and no payment is collected. And similarly, check a few basic things like lung or heart sounds, the presence of leg edema or skin cancer, and the free insurance benefit is forfeited.

What was a naturally evolved focused physical combined with an individualized health risk assessment has been replaced by a tightly scripted no-touch session that leaves many doctors and most patients confused and bemused.

This new “Annual” feels like an administratively reinvented wheel, downright square and not rolling very well at all, at least on the roads where I travel.

“The last thing Edward did was bring in the groceries from the car. I saw the perspiration rolling off his forehead and I heard him moan, but he didn’t stop to rest. I should have told him to come inside and sit down for a while. The next morning, he was gone”, an eighty-two year old widow said to me the other day in a voice filled with the pain of a secret guilt she had harbored for almost a year.

I stretched my hands out toward her and she put her thin, arthritic hands in mine. I held them gently, careful not to squeeze so hard that I might cause her pain.

“Oh, Mary”, I said, “Edward had hardening of the arteries everywhere in his body. He could have had a heart attack many, many years ago if you hadn’t gotten him to quit smoking when you did twenty years ago.”

Her hands returned my gentle squeeze and she smiled faintly as the tears streamed down her furrowed cheeks.

Today, as I familiarized myself with the medical history of a delightful little preschooler, her forty-something mother blamed herself for the little girl’s speech delays. “With my husband’s first losing his job when the mill closed, and then having a stroke less than a year after that, I just wasn’t there for Hayley to nurture her the way I should have”, she said as her eyes turned red and her voice grew faint.

“Look at this wonderful little girl”, I said. “See how she waits for her turn to speak and see how engaging she is with Autumn and me, even though she’s never been to our office before. She exudes a sort of gentle confidence that comes from being loved and cared for. It seems to me you have done a wonderful job with her, in spite of all the challenges you’ve had to deal with.”

“Thank you”, she whispered as she bit her lip, turned her head toward the ceiling and closed her eyes.

I am often reminded of the power of a physician’s words and the role our patients put us in of advisers in matters that go beyond diagnosing and treating illness.

A doctor, as the word “docere” was originally used, is a scholar and teacher, and the office we hold in the conscious or subconscious minds of many patients is like that of a priest or a judge.

We need to be aware of how a single, careless word or even our body language can hurt or undermine a patient’s hope or confidence. And we need to use our words and the authority some of our patients grant us as a kind of surgical instrument that can cut away festering doubts, fears or guilt. We have the power to ease suffering by wisely accepting and judiciously exercising that power. It is our responsibility to use it when that is what our patients need.