Archive Page 150

All the President’s Mail

Perhaps doctors should be more like the President.

After all, we also carry the ultimate responsibility for our constituents, even though we, too, have team members who do part of that work.

The way I understand things to work at the White House, those other team members collect, review and prioritize the information the President needs in order to manage his, and all our, business.

That is how things used to work in medicine, too, before computerization revolutionized our workflows: Nurses, medical assistants or secretaries would open the mail, gather the faxes, look over the lab and X-ray reports and put them on physicians’ desks in a certain order. Highly abnormal or time-sensitive information would be prioritized over routine “signature-needed” forms, and in my case, essentially normal reports on patients already scheduled to be seen within a few days wouldn’t even reach my eyes until the patient appointment.

Computers changed all that.

Now, most of the information goes straight to the doctors’ inboxes, unseen by other human eyes in the office. This is said to be faster. It is, to a degree, in the sense that the information leaves the laboratory or the X-ray department faster via their Internet connected computers. But in the typical medical office, we have now turned decision making doctors into frontline mail sorters and de facto bottlenecks of routine information.

The average doctor sees a different patient every fifteen minutes and the medical assistant rooms patients, takes vital signs, inputs visit information into the EMR and listens to voicemails, which are turned into physician emails. At the same time, the doctor’s electronic inbox is continually filling up with lab reports, X-ray results, consultation reports, electronic prescription refill requests, emails from case managers, and messages from counsellors and other care team members to please read and respond to their issues.

So when does the doctor check his or her inbox?

“Between patients”, is the way many people imagined this “system” to work. But, how much time do we have between all those back to back fifteen minute patient encounters? And how do we prioritize in those precious moments between the various types of new information waiting for our review?

Most EMRs color code “urgent” or abnormal reports, but when it comes to standard laboratory panels, “normal” patients statistically have 5% of their results outside the “normal range” without being sick, so the majority of Complete Blood Counts and Comprehensive Metabolic Profiles show up red, whether they contain panic values or just statistical noise. (See my post “The Red Blues“.)

Where does a doctor even begin a two minute dash through their overflowing virtual inbox?

By lunchtime, or after the last patient visit is over, we dive into the information that has been waiting all day, speedily delivered but bottle-necked for hours while we have been seeing patients.

Imagine if the White House IT Department instituted a similar workflow for the President: After a day of speeches, audiences with foreign dignitaries, ribbon cuttings and baby kissing, he has a few minutes before the State Dinner, and hastily types in his multiple passwords on the Executive Computer.

A hundred messages await. One of them contains information about hostile troup movements on our border, another a ransom demand from extremists threatening to blow up our embassy in a faraway land, but most of them are routine missives, reports and requests marked “urgent” in hopes of grabbing the President’s attention.

Is that any way to run a country? No, and any such proposal would surely be vetoed by the Commander in Chief. But that is exactly how information is managed in today’s medical office, on the frontlines of primary care.

Tick-tock, Doc! Three patients waiting, no more time for refills, emails or test results, urgent or not.

And stop reminiscing about having a secretary. Who do you think you are? The President??

The Man with the Up and Down Blood Pressure

Gordon Grass had fallen three times. He said he was always lightheaded.

A slender chain smoker with nicotine-stained fingertips, he didn’t go to doctors much. He was on a blood pressure pill, though, started years ago by a colleague over in Danderville.

I looked at his vital sign display in my EMR. His blood pressure had never been high in the years that I had known him. In fact, sometimes it was on the low side. His typical systolic blood pressure was 130-134, but occasionally it was in the 100-110 range.

His exam was unremarkable when I saw him a couple of weeks ago. I listened carefully for bruits in his carotid arteries, did a standard neurological and ENT exam and even took out my tuning fork to check his Weber and Rinne; everything was normal.

Sitting on my stool opposite Gordon in the drafty, north facing Room 4, its old windows rattling as a powerful nor’easter pounded on the brick walls of the former hospital, I pulled the portable blood pressure cuff stand closer and tightened it on Gordon’s right arm. Sitting, his blood pressure was 136/68, and standing, it was 122/60.

“I think we should stop your blood pressure pill and see how you do”, I said. Gordon said he was happy to get rid of them, and we agreed to check his blood pressure and his symptoms in a couple of weeks.

I knocked on the door to Room 1 and entered the sun-drenched room across the hall from where I had seen him two weeks earlier.

“Feel that solar heat”, I said as he squinted in the warm, bright yellow room. “How are you doing?”

“Better, not as lightheaded.”

I looked at his vital signs. Autumn had entered his blood pressure when she checked him in: 112/62.

“Your blood pressure is lower than last time”, I mumbled, adding “I have read that the effect of hydrochlorothiazide can last for months after you stop it.”

Instinctively, and without speaking, I pulled the wall mounted sphygmomanometer down from the concrete wall between Gordon’s chair and the exam table on his left, tightened it around his arm and pumped up the cuff. Listening carefully as I released the pressure, I, too, recorded a lower blood pressure than last time: 116/60.

“I like the cuff we used last time better, but let me check your right arm also with this cuff”, I said and stretched the tubing across to his right arm. There, his blood pressure was 132/78.

“Hmm, let me check a few things again”, I said and ran my fingers along his neck, his collarbones and in his armpits. I put my stethoscope in my ears again and listened to his carotid arteries and his lungs.

Finally, I took both his wrists and found each radial pulse with my index fingers. I took a deep breath and relaxed. Then I sat quietly as my fingertips registered his pulse, bom-boom, first in his right wrist, and, a split second later, in his left.

“This is the first time I’ve diagnosed this condition in thirty five years”, I began.

I explained Subclavian Steal Syndrome to Gordon; how a blocked artery under his left collarbone causes blood to be shunted from the right carotid artery, across the brain, and downward through the left carotid and into his circulation-deprived left arm, stealing some of the blood that was supposed to fuel his brain.

“There are two ways you can get this condition”, I said. “One is similar to any blocked artery from smoking and all the other causes of poor circulation, and the other is something constricting the artery from the outside, like a cervical rib or a tumor of the lung”.

Gordon made a silent gesture to the pack of Pall Mall cigarettes in his breast pocket.

“Yes, them, either way”, I said. “Let me order some tests…”

A few days later, the Chief of Radiology called me: Subclavian Steal, no tumor.

Next week, Gordon meets with a cardiovascular surgeon to discuss a bypass of his blocked subclavian artery, because he is still symptomatic, even without his blood pressure pill.

The Art of Antibiotic Selection

Jacques Johndreau did not look like his usual self when I saw him in the office a few weeks ago. He looked part retired bank manager and part Disney cartoon chipmunk.

He spoke with hardly any facial movements:

“Holy Boys, my wife said to me this morning, you look like you’ve got the mumps again!”

I was aware that Jacques had an atrophic testicle from catching the mumps as a teenager. This time, it was not likely the mumps, but a bacterial parotitis. He was afebrile, and could open his mouth when asked to. I could not palpate a stone in Stensen’s duct and he didn’t experience any worsening of pain when eating acidic foods, so I wasn’t so sure he had a stone.

This was an early, mild case of parotitis and I thought he had a good chance of beating the infection with oral antibiotics. The majority of these infections are caused by staphylococci, but sometimes gram-negative bacteria are the culprit. Whatever I chose, I needed to consider that Jacques takes a blood thinner, warfarin, which interacts with many antibiotics, particularly ones with gram negative coverage.

I e-prescribed a high dose of Ceftin, or cefuroxime, a second generation cephalosporin with good coverage for both staph and gram-negatives and no effect on warfarin.

“If you get worse instead of better on this”, I explained, “you’ll need intravenous antibiotics. So, by Saturday, 48 hours from now, you’ll know if you need to go to the hospital or not.”

Monday morning came. There were two ER reports with accounts of late Friday and Saturday visits with intravenous administration of ceftriaxone, a third generation cephalosporin. There was also a CT scan report with a hedged opinion that there was no frank parotid abscess. The third ER note, from late Sunday night, described how the doctor on duty had selected clindamycin and instructed Jacques to see me Monday morning for a referral to an otolaryngologist.

Monday morning Jacques definitely looked worse than the week before. His cheek was bigger and firmer, although not red. It seemed warm, but he didn’t have a fever. He had trismus; his mouth opened very little.

“Wait right here”, I said. “I’m going to call Dr. Ritz, the ENT specialist over at the hospital.”

I logged on to UpToDate and quickly looked at half a dozen treatment regimens for parotitis, and all were multi-drug intravenous protocols with oral step down alternatives.

“He’s in Danderville today, seeing patients at the Outpatient Clinic and tomorrow he’s in surgery all day”, his nurse said. She agreed to double book Jacques for Wednesday morning.

I called the Danderville clinic and asked to talk to Dr. Ritz.

After reassuring me that he never minded taking calls from a colleague, he listened to my story, and said “you’re old enough to remember Duricef, cefadroxil, right?”

“Sure”, I said. “I haven’t used it for years, though.” I remember we used to think of it as having better tissue penetration than other first generation cephalosporins.

“These are all staph. And Duricef works better than any other oral antibiotic. In thirty seven years, I’ve never had to operate on one of these.”

I thanked him and mentioned that I had scheduled Jacques to see him two days later, just to be safe.

“Oh, I’m happy to see him, but he’ll be fine”, the old otolaryngologist told me.

I related my phone conversation to Jacques and told him about his Wednesday appointment with Dr. Ritz at his office, thirty five miles away.

“If I can make it there. It’s going to storm, you know.”

Jacques’ usual drugstore didn’t have any cefadroxil in stock, but the other pharmacy in town did, so I e-prescribed it there.

“I’ll see you back here if the roads are too bad, but if you spike a fever or feel worse, go back to the hospital”, I concluded our visit.

I had a vague, uneasy feeling about just switching from one cephalosporin to another, but Ritz has a lot of experience and he’s the only ENT within a hundred miles.

Wednesday morning brought eight inches of snow with a thin layer of ice. After a slow commute in four wheel drive, I stomped the snow off my boots inside the clinic back door and hung my thick leather coat on the back of Autumn’s and my office door. I changed to my indoor shoes and booted up my desktop and tablet computers.

“Jacques Johndreau is coming in at nine”, Autumn told me, “he didn’t dare driving down to Dr. Ritz’ office.”

At nine o’clock I knocked on the door to room 2 and entered. Jacques stood up from his chair and greeted me with a handshake.

“I wanted you to confirm”, he said, and paused to show me how far he could open his mouth. “But I am definitely better.”

There was no question. His gland was half the size it had been 48 hours earlier.

“You didn’t need me to tell you that, even. This is very good news, that such an old drug worked better than two newer ones that I and the ER tried, even intravenously. I’ll call Dr. Ritz to let him know just how dramatic the difference is”, I said and patted Jacques on his broad shoulder.

The experience of an almost seventy year old solo doc beat the Boston medical Brahmins this time. I was fortunate to have my senior consultant to back me up.

And as for antibiotics, too, sometimes newer isn’t better.

It’s Time We Talk: A Doctor is a Doctor is a Doctor, Right?

I am a foreign born, foreign trained doctor, serving many patients from an ethnic minority, whose native language I never mastered.

So, perhaps I am in a position to reflect a little on the modern notion that healthcare is a standardized service, which can be equally well provided by anyone, from anywhere, with any kind of medical degree and postgraduate training.

1) Doctors are People

No matter what outsiders may want to think, medicine is a pretty personal business and the personalities of patients and doctors matter, possibly more in the long term relationships of Primary Care than in orthopedics or brain surgery. Before physicians came to be viewed as interchangeable provider-employees of large corporations, small groups of like-minded physicians used to form medical groups with shared values and treatment styles. The physicians personified the spirit of their voluntary associations. Some group practices I dealt with in those days were busy, informal and low-tech, while others exuded personal restraint, procedural precision and technical sophistication. Patients gravitated toward practices and doctors they resonated with.

In many of today’s medical practices, the doctors’ names aren’t on the front door, office letterhead or company advertisements; they’re often not even in the phone book. A group of employed doctors these days can consist of multiple personality types with disparate treatment philosophies and clinical styles. I once worked with a doctor who would give patients with upper respiratory infections half a dozen prescriptions while I would say “go home and get some rest; it’ll go away”. Not knowing what the two of us were like, patients could end up choosing the doctor whose style didn’t meet their needs.

I have worked with colleagues who view every laboratory abnormality as an ominous threat and pursue each one to the ultimate degree, making even the healthiest patients uncertain about their chances of survival. Some of the same doctors also insisted on seeing even patients with mundane medical conditions on a tight schedule in order to monitor them for unforeseen medical disasters. In today’s generic clinics, patients may not know if their new or covering doctor is a reassuring pragmatist or a consummate worrywart. Worse yet, they may be shuffled back and forth between doctors with opposite styles.

2) Training Differs

In Primary Care, we have MD’s and DO’s, Family Physicians, Internists and “Med-Peds” physicians. Each training is inherently different, further complicated by differences between schools, regions and countries.

Internists, trained to treat diseases of adults, are sometimes asked to treat children in the government-sponsored type of clinic I have spent most of my career in. They are also oftentimes faced with treating conditions in ophthalmology, otorhinolaryngology, gynecology and orthopedics – areas where they may have little experience. Their residency training may have been entirely urban and hospital based, but in today’s American job market, the demand and opportunities tend to be in more rural areas, particularly for visa applicant physicians from third world countries, where academic hospital medicine may be fairly similar to US healthcare, but where small town and rural medicine can be very different.

3) Culture Matters

As an immigrant physician with English as my second language, I had to work at speaking comfortably with rural American patients, many of whom were of French-Canadian origin. It must be a bigger challenge for physicians from further away than Sweden. Language is only the beginning. How different cultures view life events and medical conditions can vary greatly. I am told that the Japanese don’t have a word for hot flashes and that in Tibet, most people aren’t familiar with the notion of depression.

People in this country often talk about how doctors need to be sensitive to minority patients’ culture. Less is said about minority physicians’ familiarity with the American majority of patients; whether we are from Sweden, Japan, Tibet or India, we each have a learning curve for understanding those we are here to serve as personal physicians.

I remember one internal medicine physician from a Muslim country who found out that his American employer expected him to perform routine gynecological exams including Pap smears on his female patients. Not only had he never been trained to do any of it, he also had to wrestle with overcoming what his his entire upbringing had told him was improper.

4) What is a Good Doctor?

The industrial view of healthcare imagines that it consists of standardized processes that are easily measured: What is the average blood sugar, or glycohemoglobin, of Dr Andersson’s and Dr Singh’s patients? Their pneumonia immunization rate? How many of their heart failure patients are on a beta blocker? How many seniors have had a fall risk assessment? How many obese patients have an obesity action plan documented in their medical record?

Nobody talks about this, but all those quality indicators make less difference for individual patients’ longevity and for entire populations’ health than healthy lifestyles do. For individual patients’ health as it relates to healthcare, accurate diagnosis of new symptoms can amount to an all-or-nothing disparity between health and disease, even between life and death.

Some of the most basic measurements of physician quality are surprisingly irrelevant: Beta blocker therapy in heart failure patients only increases average survival 6-12 months, it takes 50,000 pneumonia vaccinations to prevent one pneumonia death, and prostate cancer screening, once a basic minimum requirement for men’s health care, is no longer even recommended.

My uncle had waxing and waning paralysis of his left arm, but his doctors never checked his carotid arteries, and soon thereafter he had a stroke. My aunt had a cough for well over a year, but because she never smoked, her doctor didn’t order a chest x-ray until it was too late and her lung cancer was inoperable. This happened in Sweden, where the average life expectancy is the 6th highest in the world, 3 years more than 32nd ranking USA. It could have happened anywhere, because doctors are people, each one different, and the real quality of their work cannot be measured, let alone regulated.

Employers and bureaucrats may think a doctor is a doctor is a doctor. My aunt, for one, doesn’t think so anymore.

Three Dimensional Doctoring


“I keep six honest serving-men
(They taught me all I knew);
Their names are What and Why and When
And How and Where and Who.”

Rudyard Kipling

Medicine has become a very complex, multifaceted science, ranging from pharmacogenetics to psychoneurobiology. Doctoring, however, is increasingly viewed as so simple that you don’t actually have to be a doctor to know how it should be done.

What else could explain why IT people tell doctors what “workflows” to follow, instead of doctors telling them “we need computers that do this in this kind of way, so that we can better take care of our patients”?

What else could explain why the quality of our work can be measured by only a handful of parameters, all simple numeric indicators? Never mind that the target numbers change from time to time, and never mind that even well established individual targets sometimes disappear from the checklists.

What else could explain why it is the government that defines the overarching goals of health care in this country, and probably many others?

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be a doctor, and particularly a good one, in the present era and from a historical perspective. Also, I have started to formulate a definition of what it takes to make doctoring a sustainable lifetime vocation in these times.

I think doctoring occurs on three levels, each one necessary for the physician to engage on:

1) The “How”

The most visible, and perhaps most intuitive, level is that of solid clinical knowledge and proficiency. This, of course, takes different forms in different specialties. Knowledge and proficiency are not enough, though. Judgment and critical thinking are essential but seldom emphasized in the lay debate on medical matters. The clinical art of medicine involves an infinite array of decisions about when general principles apply to the individual patient and when they do not. It also involves staying current with medical science and viewing claims, be they by drug companies, medical or political authorities, through the lens of the scientifically trained clinician. Today’s emerging practice of applying genetic research to individual treatment decisions moves us away from blindly following “guidelines”and validates the traditional importance of considering each patient’s unique social and biological makeup as manifested in their family history.

If the “How” of medical practice truly was as simple as some say today, guidelines and “best practices” would largely eliminate the need for independent, critical thinking and make a university education and the years of rigorous clinical training and practice unnecessary for delivering what we call health care today. Obviously, this is far from the truth.

2) The “Who, What, When and Where”

But doctoring goes beyond the technical proficiency and the scientific thinking that goes into each patient encounter. Borrowing from Kipling’s expansion of journalism’s “Who, What, When, Where, Why”, the first level of doctoring is the “How”. The technical “How” cannot be viewed in isolation. The “W” words of analyzing the locus of complex issues date back to Hermagoras’ “seven circumstances“, two thousand years ago.

A doctor doesn’t work without context or in complete isolation, although my wife sometimes (lovingly, I believe) calls me a Martian, implying that I somehow just landed on this planet as a doctor, ready to serve patients. Each doctor usually has a place of practice, a schedule, a way of collecting money for services rendered and these days also assistants, nurses and people who carry out administrative tasks.

In today’s society, doctors are increasingly separated from this necessary aspect of the practice of medicine. As employees of large organizations, they have their office hours, the length of each appointment and the number of patients seen on any given day determined by other employees.

Equipment purchases, from EMR’s to surgical instruments, are made by managers and supervisors with only varying degrees of physician input. And support staff are usually hired, trained and evaluated by management, not by the physicians.

In the day-to-day work of physicians, the seemingly inconsequential practical aspects of how a medical office functions can be significant impediments to good care as well as to both patient and physician satisfaction.

Involvement and input into the workings of the medical office are important aspects of being a doctor. Why would Michelangelo not care and instead have someone else pick out his paints and brushes for him? If a company of firefighters were issued pairs of only two left boots, would they perform to the best of their abilities, running toward the fire?

Another aspect of “Who, What, When and Where” is how medical practices relate to their customers, their physicians’ patients. All physicians, I believe, should be involved with how the office treats its patients, from telephone triage to billing and collections practices. Those things frame the office visit and may determine its outcome in many instances.

Only a one dimensional, disillusioned physician would have no interest at all in what happens in the medical office outside the exam room and the allotted fifteen minutes of appointment time. No disease can be effectively treated out of the patient’s context, so how can we imagine treatments working entirely without considering the clinic’s context?

Sir William Osler said: “The good physician treats the disease; the great physician treats the patient who has the disease.” The patient relates and reacts not only to the physician, but also to to the organization that employs the physician and defines the terms of engagement between doctor and patient.

3) The “Why”

The government wants most people to be healthy enough to be productive citizens, so it has defined health care with that purpose in mind and will sacrifice individuals to protect the collective. This happens when we go to war, too, for example.

Physicians generally feel a very strong obligation to their individual patients, and seldom face the choice of helping one patient over another.

So, why do doctors take on such obligations as their vocation?

I see doctoring as a calling with a higher purpose. My main professional motivation is to relieve suffering. In some specialties the purpose may be finding ways to enhance well-being, something I do to a degree as well.

Then, what defines a doctor?

The word “doctor” is derived from the Latin “docere”, which means “teacher”, and can also mean someone who has been taught, or educated. And if we think about this, every physician has been taught by another physician, which is the way it has been for thousands of years. Even though the profession has changed, just like the science of medicine, we are still carrying the legacy of those who went before us.

I really didn’t just arrive one day as a fully capable doctor from another planet; I went to a five hundred year old university, home of Linnaeus, Celsius, Ångström, Berzelius and Bárány. I owe whatever acumen I have acquired to the dozens of teachers and mentors, who shared their knowledge with me.

In a moment of passion, I thought of the phrase “The Apostolic Nature of our Profession”. It points out that physicians today are still carrying out an ancient tradition and also a fundamental role in our society and in people’s lives.

That sense of our place in history is necessary to navigate the rapidly changing currents in health care today. Without it, we are just technicians with ever-changing repair manuals, while our patients, just like patients two thousand years ago, are looking for a “docere” – someone learned, who knows not just the facts, like Google or Wikipedia, but understands their context and can help weigh their significance.

When the increasingly complex “How” of daily practice doesn’t always make sense, and when the “Who, What, When and Where” doesn’t take physicians’ accumulated experience into account, the “Why” is the ultimate question that defines us and our place in society as well as in history. All three sets of questions demand consideration as we think about our vocation as physicians.

Sir William Osler also spoke of three dimensions of medicine. His eloquent words define three somewhat different aspects than my musings, but the idea is still the same: Doctoring is something that takes place simultaneously on many levels. He placed doctoring in the arena of disparate definitions of medicine (religious in his day, political in ours), in the cross point of art and science and in the realm of morals and noble ideals:

“The critical sense and sceptical attitude of the Hippocratic school laid the foundations of modern medicine on broad lines, and we owe to it: first, the emancipation of medicine from the shackles of priestcraft and of caste; secondly, the conception of medicine as an art based on accurate observation, and as a science, an integral part of the science of man and of nature; thirdly, the high moral ideals, expressed in […] the Hippocratic oath…”

Physicians in today’s politicized, technocratic and materialized society are at constant risk of becoming one dimensional robotniks in a healthcare machine whose purpose is not the same as our ancient forbears’. We need to always remember “Why” we are here; we must be a strong voice in all discussions about “Who, What, When and Where”; and we need to guard our scientific integrity as we practice the “How” of our profession.


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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