Archive Page 168

Quality or Conformity Revisited

In 2009 I wrote a post titled “Quality or Conformity“, where I pointed out that many of the quality measures in primary care have more to do with whether doctors follow guidelines than if they deliver care that helps patients live long and well. There is a tendency to focus quality efforts on measuring what is easy to measure, rather than what matters the most.

That phenomenon is called the Streetlamp Effect, named after the man who was found searching for his car keys not in the dark alley where he lost them, but under the corner streetlight where he could see better.

Last night and tonight I read four articles in The New England Journal of Medicine and JAMA that made me think again about how elusive an ideal quality is in primary care.

The Case Record of the Massachusetts General Hospital for the week of May 23 was a 12-year-old girl with celiac disease, behavioral symptoms and fatigue. Her final diagnosis was Addison’s disease, a deficiency of the body’s natural steroids. The piece mentioned that most sufferers of this condition live with its often-debilitating symptoms for 2-5 years before diagnosis. The girl in this article had been hospitalized several times before the correct diagnosis was made (at MGH, of course!).

The other piece in The New England Journal was about how Fee-For-Service payment was going to go away and be replaced by payment schemes based on relative value units and adherence to clinical guidelines for chronic disease. This piece specifically mentioned that treatment of (acute) illness would have far less value than managing chronic diseases.

I thought of the man who had been to the emergency room twice before I diagnosed him with scabies a few months ago. Doesn’t accurate diagnosis with new presenting symptoms count for anything anymore?

The first article in JAMA was a very broadly written piece about the future of quality measurements under Obamacare. The second article, written by a group of primary care doctors, was titled “A View From the Safety Net”. These doctors described the difficult choices they had to make between doing what mattered most to their underserved minority population or scoring better on quality measures dictated by outside authorities when they didn’t have enough staff or money to do both. The Obamacare article mentioned striving for patient-centered measures, but it remains to be seen how patient-centered we are going to be allowed to practice in the future.

Quality is still in the eye of the beholder. People in Government, insurance and academia prefer easily quantifiable data and still hold on to arbitrary or outdated numeric targets, even when the evidence to support them is controversial or refuted by science. They are often like the man under the streetlight.

Doctors on the frontlines, who live and breathe the complexity of health, disease and patients’ everyday socioeconomic challenges, know that for every clever metric someone can think up to measure quality, there are countless other factors that can render the quality parameters meaningless. What good does it do to prescribe the right medications for someone with chronic illness when the patient can’t afford them or keeps forgetting to take them?

In the same month my original post was published in 2009, for example, the American Diabetes Association revised its blood sugar targets for older diabetics. The evidence has shown that our usual targets were low enough to cause harm to many frail patients, yet doctors in this country are still given poor report cards if they practice with their patients’ safety and the new evidence in mind.

So, what is quality?

Quality is easing suffering and giving hope, not crunching numbers.

Quality is treating each patient in a sensitive, caring and competent manner.

Quality is serving the patient’s best interest with societal good in mind, not serving society with only an eye toward the individual patient.

Quality is having not only systems to promote safety and good practice, but people who care and invest their talents and abilities for the good of the patient.

Quality is diagnosing a rare disease like Addison’s early enough to give an adolescent girl her teenage years before they are gone.

Quality is making the diagnosis of a common disease like scabies in five minutes in a patient who has already cost himself weeks of discomfort and his insurance the dollar value of two emergency room visits and three prescriptions.

Quality is doing what matters to the patient. If we accept, even endorse, patients’ right to decide whether or not to be resuscitated if their hearts should stop, aren’t we then also allowed to listen to our patients and together with them formulate a care plan that they feel comfortable with for their chronic illness without fear of retribution by some Government or insurance reviewer for not following some more or less arbitrary guideline?

Quality is a word that lacks universal meaning. Every dictionary I have looked in has scores of definitions. It is a word people use for their own purposes.

We must be careful about letting others define the standards for our profession. If people with a more financial and less scientific and humanistic viewpoint set all the standards, technicians and computers will replace doctors.

The quality of a church service is, in my opinion, not adequately measured by how freshly painted the murals are, how well matched the choir uniforms are, how well-shaven the minister is or how clear his voice is when he puts his notes aside and speaks from the heart. If the Government were to set quality standards for churches, those things might be major quality indicators.

Fortunately, Church and State are separate in this country; health care and Government are no longer.

Health care, like religion, has a lot of intangibles, and even its substance is the source of many disagreements. I think that just like people go to church for different reasons, they seek health care for enough different reasons that our quality measures need to be very patient-centered, without losing sight of our “substance”, our foundation of science and humanity.

Quality is about addressing both the intangibles and the substance. Most of us know it when we experience it ourselves; the problem is building systems that guarantee it.

What if Physicians Worked for Free?

Today I am going to write about how the US could save up to 10% on its healthcare bill.

The US spends more on health care than any other nation, $8,500 per person per year. Multiply that by 300 million people and try to grasp the vast sum of $2,5 trillion.

A lot of changes are taking place with the intent to save healthcare dollars. So far, many of those changes have involved creating new layers of middlemen, whose paychecks will come out of the same healthcare budget as MRI’s, prescription medicines and physician salaries.

Every so often physician salaries come into focus as a place where money might be saved. Some people even picture physician pay as a major driver of healthcare costs.

Now, I am just a country doctor, and I don’t have an MBA or any financial background. But I used to be pretty good at math, and I’d like to think I still am.

If the 2.5 trillion dollars this country spends on healthcare is paid to or prescribed by our 850,000 physicians, then each doctor controls 3 million dollars from our nation’s healthcare budget.

Of course, physicians aren’t the only providers or prescribers. I don’t have a figure for how much money is controlled by our 100,000 Nurse Practitioners and 70, 000 Physician Assistants. I also don’t know what portion of our 50,000 chiropractors’ work falls inside the traditional healthcare budget, but let me assume each physician on average controls only 2-2.5 million dollars worth of products or services…

Then, if every physician took a $200,000 pay cut, we could reduce our healthcare spending by up to 10%!

This would be a 50% pay cut for many surgeons, and would actually make the average primary care doctor have to pay Uncle Sam for the privilege of working. I suspect most wouldn’t.

Is 10% too much to pay the providers of the intellectual and procedural services that are still necessary for $3,000 MRIs and $200/month prescriptions to be used for the right reasons and produce the right outcomes for patients?

Would a symphony fire the conductor to save less than 10%? And would we still want to hear the music if they did?

Sources:

http://www.cdc.gov/nchs/fastats/hexpense.htm

http://www.ahrq.gov/research/findings/factsheets/primary/pcwork2/index.html

http://www.bls.gov/ooh/healthcare/chiropractors.htm

A Samurai Physician’s Teachings

Every now and then the title of a book influences your thinking even before you read the first page.

That was the case for me with Thomas Moore’s “Care of the Soul” and with “Shadow Syndromes” by Ratley and Johnson. The titles of those two books jolted my mind into thinking about the human condition in ways I hadn’t done before and the contents of the books only echoed the thoughts the titles had provoked the instant I saw them.

This time, it wasn’t the title, “Cultivating Chi”, but the subtitle, “A Samurai Physician’s Teachings on the Way of Health“. The book was written by Kaibara Ekiken (1630-1714) in the last year of his life, and is a new translation and review by William Scott Wilson. The original version of the book was called the Yojokun.

The images of a samurai – a self-disciplined warrior, somehow both noble master and devoted servant – juxtaposed with the idea of “physician” were a novel constellation to me. I can’t say I was able to predict exactly what the book contained, but I had an idea, and found the book in many ways inspiring.

The translator, in his foreword, points out the ancient sources of Ekiken’s inspiration during his long life as a physician. Perhaps the most notable of them was “The Yellow Emperor’s Classic on Medicine”, from around 2500 B.C., which Ekiken himself lamented people weren’t reading in the original Chinese in the early 1700’s, but in Japanese translation. One of his favorite quotes was:

“Listen, treating a disease that has already developed, or trying to bring order to disruptions that have already begun, is like digging a well after you’ve become thirsty, or making weapons after the battle is over. Wouldn’t it already be too late?”

Ekiken’s own words, in 1714, really describe Disease Prevention the way we now see it:

“The first principle of the Way of Nurturing Life is avoiding overexposure to things that can damage your body. These can be divided into two categories: inner desires and negative external influences.

Inner desires encompass the desires for food, drink, sex, sleep, and excessive talking as well as the desires of the seven emotions – joy, anger, anxiety, yearning, sorrow, fear and astonishment. (I see in this a reference to archetypal or somatic medicine.)

The negative external influences comprise the four dispositions of Nature: wind, cold, heat and humidity.

If you restrain the inner desires, they will diminish.

If you are aware of the negative external influences and their effects, you can keep them at bay.

Following both of these rules of thumb, you will avoid damaging your health, be free from disease, and be able to maintain and even increase your natural life span.”

On the topic of Restraint, the Yellow Emperor text states:

In the remote past, those who understood the Way followed the patterns of yin and yang, harmonized these with nurturing practices, put limits on their eating and drinking, and did not recklessly overexert themselves. Thus, body and spirit interacted well, they lived out their naturally given years, and only left this world after a hundred years or more.

People these days are not like his. They drink wine as though it were berry juice, make arbitrary what should be constant, get drunk and indulge in sex, deplete their pure essence because of desire, and thus suffer a loss of their fundamental health….Thus they fizzle out after fifty years or so.”

During the Ming dynasty, a prominent physician wrote:

“Premature death due to the hundred diseases is mostly connected to eating and drinking.” 

That quote still carries relevance today.

Interestingly, Ekiken sees medications, herbs, acupuncture and all the available treatments of his time as a last resort because they are unbalanced interventions to counter the imbalance of the body. Almost a hundred years later, Samuel Hahnemann coined the word allopathy for this type of treatment.

Ekiken wrote at length about what distinguishes a mediocre physician from a good one. For example, he describes the good physician as less in a hurry to prescribe medications. One of his many aphorisms seems uncannily relevant to today’s emphasis of guidelines over individualized treatment:

“A good doctor gives medicine in response to the condition of the situation…This is not a matter of adhering to one absolute method. It is rather like a good general who fights his battles well by observing his enemies closely and responding to their changes. His methods are not determined beforehand. He observes the moment and is in accord with what is right.”

Quoting Confucius, he ends his description of a good doctor:

“A good doctor warms up the old and understands the new”.

May all of us remember and respect the wisdom of the 2500 B.C. text, now almost 5000 years old, as it speaks of “avoiding overexposure to things that can damage your body”. It reminds me of all the lectures I have attended on diabetes and heart disease where the speaker devotes exactly one sentence to this topic, and then spends the rest of the time talking about all the interesting drugs we have to counteract the effects of our exposure to harmful or excessive foodstuffs.

A little samurai discipline and restraint could help most of us…

Doctoring in the Here and Now

I used to be a stickler for time. One of my first blog posts was about how it felt to go to work without my wristwatch.

I also used to be very particular about knowing the purpose of each visit, partly to help me manage my time, and partly to help me feel prepared and in control of the visit.

I often questioned why my colleagues’ patients would sometimes end up in my schedule for issues that seemed to me safe to wait until the patient’s own provider was available.

Over the last five years I have relaxed about these peeves of mine. I have become more accepting of the fact that patients don’t think in terms of how many minutes they have assigned to them as well as the fact that many patients can’t or choose not to tell the front desk staff why they want to see me on a given day.

Thinking about the way I used to be, I was more efficient than my employer expected me to be, but I don’t believe I quite lived up to my full potential as a healer. There were already then systems in place that made sure the housekeeping aspects of health care weren’t missed for very long if I were to digress in the visit – we had our chronic disease registries and recall systems for pap smears, mammograms and immunizations.

Lately, I have come to think more and more about the physician’s duty to ease suffering. So much of modern medicine is about population and disease management, and there are so many pressures on our time and attention that physicians seem to have little left to offer patients who are suffering, physically or emotionally.

But the systems to manage the measurable aspects of medicine are there, backed up by even more computer power, and we physicians may just need to step back from the numbers long enough in every encounter with each fellow human being to allow us to be open and see our patients as individuals. We need to listen actively to hear their unique agendas. We have teams behind us now to help manage the housekeeping details; we have health coaches and case managers and more nurses than we used to. But since only we have the title “Doctor”, we need to have our senses open to those things only we get to hear.

My wife, reflecting on her years delivering primary health care, always says: “I never had just a Diabetes visit. There was always something else.”

The sad truth is that the health of a nation is more dependent on public health, socioeconomics and the prevailing attitude among the majority of the population. The quality of medical care matters very little. For example, a healthy diet together with an active lifestyle is at least as good a weapon against heart disease as all the cholesterol pills and interventional cardiology that money can buy. It doesn’t take a medical degree to change the attitude of a nation, and trying to do it on a case-by-case basis with each patient at $7 a minute is not effective population management – not that I don’t try every single day.

So, what is the role of the physician in today’s health care system? I believe we are the ones who can best help patients make sense of their symptoms and also understand what the health care system can and cannot do for them.

With common human experiences given names that make them seem like diseases, and with our nation’s increasing confusion about even common ailments and preventive measures in spite of the glut of information out there, physicians can bring wisdom and empathy to a system that provides neither. Since we are closer to the mysteries of birth, disease and death than most people, we need to be there for our patients to turn to when the angst of life afflicts them.

I believe the new systems we have all been required to put in place to meet all the public mandates are actually blessings in disguise. If we are wise, we can meet our quality and productivity metrics through the use of the technology at our disposal and at the same time rediscover and cultivate the ancient art of doctoring. Because the phones at my clinic as well as every other doctor’s office keep ringing, not with patients asking to have diabetes follow-ups, but with patients who have a new concern, a new fear, or the courage – just today, or they will lose their momentum – to finally tell someone their deepest fear.

Pausing, as I do every time before knocking on the exam room door, I clear my mind and I am ready:

“Hi, I am D—. What can I do for you today?”

Absolute Risk

Gladys Peppercorn was in to see me the other day, very concerned about a letter she had received from one of the Cityside gastroenterologists.

In very formal words, the letter said the GI office had tried several times to reach her in order to schedule her next upper endoscopy to monitor her Barrett’s esophagus and would she please call them back to schedule the procedure so they could monitor her for her increased cancer risk.

“You know me, I don’t want any unnecessary procedures”, Gladys said as I read the letter she handed me. She had only gone for the test two years ago because she had experienced heartburn for years, and at that time certain foods had been a little difficult to swallow. Her test really came out okay except for the Barrett’s esophagus. Her biggest problem with swallowing was some age-related stiffness of her esophagus.

Gladys’ age was not apparent when I looked up from reading the letter. Ninety years old in just a couple of weeks, she looked radiant, healthy and on top of the world in her purple silk blouse and khaki slacks.

“I do hear you, and I’m going to do some math with you”, I said as I pulled my chair over next to hers and minimized the EMR on my tablet computer and opened UpToDate, the medical database from Boston many doctors use as a reference.

“Okay, here are the numbers”, I began as we both peered at the small screen.

“Having Barrett’s increases your risk of esophageal cancer 30-fold”, I said, pointing at the website. Her eyebrows rose slightly. I continued:

“That would be like me saying that wearing purple increases your risk of getting hit by lightning 30-fold. Would that stop you from wearing this blouse?”

“No, it’s my favorite color”, she smiled.

“And thirty times nothing is nothing!” I concluded. She agreed.

“Look here”, I pointed. “Studies have shown between 1.2 and 4.3 cancer cases per 1000 person years in people with your condition. Let’s exaggerate and call it 5 cases per 1000 patient years. That means that out of a hundred people like you, in the next ten years only five would get cancer and 95 would not.”

She nodded slowly.

“So you have at least a 95% chance that you will not get esophageal cancer in the next ten years, probably more in the order of 96-98%.” I continued: “And then you have to weigh that risk against the risk of anesthesia or the procedure itself causing you harm in some way.”

“I know I don’t want the procedure!” Gladys smiled and rose from her chair. I quickly got up, too. She stretched her hand out toward me and thanked me.

“I always feel better after talking to you”, she said.

I shook her hand and thought that she probably used to wear white lace gloves on warm days like this when she was young.


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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