Archive Page 194

Problem List Problems

In Family Medicine it has been common to keep a “Problem List” in patients’ paper charts. Usually placed on the left hand side, on top of the Medication List, it has given doctors like me an instant thumbnail sketch before considering the specifics of each patient’s visit for that day.

A typical Problem List would include diagnoses like diabetes, hypertension, high cholesterol or rheumatoid arthritis. It would list prior surgeries, like gallbladder surgery, hysterectomy and appendectomy, and medication allergies. Many of us also would list important tests done, such as a patient’s last colonoscopy or cardiac catheterization and make note of their Family History.

Because Problem Lists are brief and the page usually has a fair amount of empty space, they can usually be digested in a quick glance, almost subconsciously and without effort.

In fifteen seconds or less I could prepare myself before seeing a colleague’s diabetic patient with abdominal pain, loss of appetite and loose bowels by checking that she had had her appendix out and a hysterectomy but never had agreed to a colonoscopy. I can also note that she is allergic to contrast dye and that her mother died from colon cancer at age 62.

The Problem List can usually be read as I walk down the hall to the exam room – that’s how quick it is to use. Because of its placement to the left in the chart, it can also be seen regardless of what page the chart is opened to on the right side.

My office notes tend to start with the presenting problem, and technically I don’t need to go into the items that are listed on the Problem List, as they are already so prominently displayed on the very first page of the patient’s chart. I may choose to do that anyway, after the presenting complaint. Incidentally, some insurance companies pay better if we spell out what we already registered semi-automatically by just glancing at the Problem List.

Occasionally I have worked with or taken over after Internal Medicine doctors. They do many things the way Family Practitioners do, but their use of Problem Lists is often different. Some of my internist colleagues leave the Problem List blank. Instead, they treat each patient visit as an independent event with no connection to the other pages in the medical record. They introduce the patient as if seen for the first time and begin every office note with an often lengthy summary, such as:

This 65-year old nonsmoking married white female with a past medical history of Type 2 Diabetes, contrast dye allergy, hysterectomy and appendectomy has a family history of colon cancer in her mother, who died at 62, yet the patient has previously declined screening. She presents today with…

As I look at Electronic Medical Records (EMR’s), which will be more or less required by law in this country in the next few years, I see a new type of Problem List, and it makes me sad. EMR’s tend to “populate” their Problem Lists automatically with every single diagnosis the physician makes. Important things like diabetes may drown among diagnoses of ordinary and self-limited things like influenza, colds, ankle sprains, ringworm and poison ivy – things that are unlikely to affect the future care of the patient. They would never be included in the original kind of Problem List unless a patient were to have those conditions often enough to be noteworthy.

One of the things I see happening in medicine today is that physicians are more and more documenting to serve the needs of others. Our own needs for speed and clinical efficiency are not driving the technology. Those who wish to count, evaluate and analyze what happens in the exam room seem to have more of their needs met by the technology we have available today.

Most electronic systems make it easy to document hoards of clinical data by just pointing and clicking, but they lack the ability to prioritize the data. Systems that don’t give clinicians the opportunity to distinguish between important and not-so-important data risk creating information overload and could cause the health care information system to clog up. Intelligent Problem Lists could help keep things in order.

A Negative Stress Test

Doris Delaney came from the next town. She had just turned sixty and she was worried. For two years she had suffered from chest pain after hard physical work and for the past month her attacks had been a little more frequent.

Her father had died from a heart attack at age 47. Her two brothers had bypass operations before age fifty. Her blood pressure was higher than ideal, even on medication. I flipped through the medical records that had come over on the fax machine and saw that her last LDL cholesterol, on medication, was too high for a high-risk patient.

“I looked on the Internet and I talked to my sister, who is a nurse in Houston. I think I’ve got angina and I’m worried I’ve got a blockage in one of my coronary arteries”, she said in her thick Texas accent.

I found a two-year-old stress test among the faxed pages and mumbled “I see you had a stress test a while back”.

“Yes, and the lady doctor who gave me the stress test told me to go home and take it really easy until I saw my Family Doctor, but he said the test came out okay”, she explained.

The first page of the stress test report was the interpretation of the Sestamibi®, or nuclear scan, where a radioactive tracer injected into the bloodstream shows how evenly the blood is distributed between various parts of the heart muscle at rest and with exercise. “Probably normal” was the conclusion rendered by the offsite cardiologist who interpreted the images. 

The second page was the report of what the physician saw when Doris did her treadmill exercise test. It said she had chest pain for several minutes at the end of the test and changes on her electro­cardiogram that were fairly typical for ischemia, decreased blood flow to the heart muscle.

“I know what happened”, I told her.

“A hundred years ago we would diagnose somebody with heart disease by listening to their story. Someone with your symptoms was said to have angina pectoris”, I explained.

“When I was in medical school we did EKG stress tests, and they were pretty good at identifying patients with partially blocked arteries. The EKG waveform changes when the heart muscle is stressed, because electricity travels differently through it.

The modern nuclear scan measures something a little different, not whether the muscle is feeling the lack of blood flow but how much blood we see in the picture going to each part of the heart. We think the nuclear test is more sensitive than the EKG, but I don’t know that it always is.

In your case you have symptoms that are very suspicious for having blocked arteries, and one part of your stress test was abnormal. Now you are having chest pain more often, and I want you to see a cardiologist as soon as possible. I think they will want to do a catheterization to look at your coronary arteries.

Today I need to give you a prescription for nitroglycerin, change your cholesterol medication and start you on one more blood pressure medication. These three things can make a difference right away.”

I had her wait in the room for a few minutes while I called the cardiology office at Cityside Hospital and spoke with Dr. Bronwen Wilkes about getting a fast-track consultation. It’s all set; her appointment is Monday.

“You Don’t Know Me!”

Maria had seen my partner for a few years before switching to me last year. I was struck by her unusual accent and her ability to figure things out. 

On our second visit she told me in broken English that she was sure her blood pressure medication was making her sick. She had even been to the emergency room once with severe swelling of her tongue.

Maria didn’t know the word for what she had – angioedema caused by the enalapril she had been taking for many years – but she knew she had to stop the medication.

It took us a few visits to find a suitable alternative. I was hopeful I had finally got it right.

As I entered her exam room for today’s follow-up she smiled at me and said hello. I asked how she was doing as I sat down across from her with her chart in my lap. Her eyes turned dark and her smile dissolved.

“You don’t know me”, she said sternly.

Taken aback at first, I checked her facial expression again; it was serious, but not angry.

“I only know what you have told me and what’s in here”, I said, pointing to her chart.

She scoffed: “Other doctors’ words about me.”

“I’ll tell you something about me. I had five children, many have problems. My son is in prison, one daughter is on drugs, another won’t let me see my grandchildren and my husband is long gone”, she blurted out as she leaned forward in her chair.

“My mother had nine children, me the oldest”, she continued. “I only got five years of school. My mother, she needed me to take care of the babies, then I worked in a shoe factory. I teach myself English watching TV.”

I sat quietly as she spoke.

“My father was a drunk and my husband too. They both beat me. I always worked hard and my life was always hard. I say that’s why I have high blood pressure.”

In the silence that followed, her eyes met mine and they brightened a little again. I put her chart aside unopened and placed the blood pressure cuff around her arm.

A Cancelled Appointment

The call from one of the big city radiologists came out of the blue. A patient of mine at one of the boarding homes had seen a surgeon about an abnormal mammogram and a stereotactic biopsy was recommended. As the primary physician, I was the one who had to order the test. I was in the middle of something when I got called to the phone for Dr. Dinsmeyer’s call.

“This patient, Suzanne Brown, referred for a stereotactic biopsy…”, the radiologist began, “… I looked at the films and I don’t think she needs one. This is benign. I’d like to cancel the procedure.”

I explained that I was just the middleman, and had ordered the test based on the surgeon’s recommendation. The whole exchange didn’t take two minutes, and I went back to what I was doing, feeling terrible about Suzanne travelling to the city for nothing. She doesn’t get around all that easily in her wheelchair.

Yesterday at the boarding home as I began my rounds, I found out that Suzanne was on her way to the city for her breast biopsy.

My heart sank. I had thought Suzanne was at the breast clinic when Dr. Dinsmeyer called. If the appointment wasn’t until yesterday, did the breast clinic assume I would contact the boarding home about the cancellation?

Just then the breast clinic called. “We have a Suzanne Brown here, but her procedure has been cancelled.”

“Let me talk to her”, I said. Very carefully, I explained to Suzanne what had happened when Dr. Dinsmeyer called me. I apologized for the confusion and her inconvenience, adding that she did get some good news after all from a full-time breast radiologist about her mammogram findings.

She seemed okay with that, and I was left more with my own concerns about how errors in communication like this might be avoided in the future.

Today I had most of the afternoon blocked off for one of my least favorite things to do as a doctor, a deposition in a case where a patient of mine is suing another community member for injuries from a car accident a year and a half ago. Two city lawyers and a court stenographer were scheduled to grill me for three hours in our combined lunch and conference room.

I waited and waited, wondering if the attorneys had underestimated how long it takes to drive down here from the city on winter roads. Twenty minutes into our scheduled appointment, Autumn called my patient’s attorney’s office to see if they were delayed.

“It’s been cancelled”, she announced after a brief phone call, “last week – they just forgot to tell us!”

A Terminal Case

When 87-year old Hildegard Mott was discharged from the hospital for the last time she was given less than six months to live. Her aortic stenosis was severe enough to cause chest pain at the slightest exertion, yet if she took nitroglycerin she invariably passed out. Sometimes she would pass out even without taking nitro.

She was given a prescription for liquid morphine to take if her chest pain became unbearable and Hospice nurses started to visit her a couple of times a week in her modest but spotless trailer in the Rainbow Hills trailer park just outside town.

The hardest part about coming home was that Sumner, her husband, friend and soul mate, wasn’t there. He had died from a stroke just before Hildegard ended up in the hospital. 

My house calls were special for both of us. She treated me like a son and never failed to tell me about her Scandinavian grandparents. Her own two sons live far away and I live an ocean away from my own mother. She told me of her symptoms and her worries. She knew her remaining days were limited; I had to certify a number less than the cutoff for Hospice services. Ironically, it was the hospitalists’ idea to sign her up for Hospice, but I ended up certifying her prognosis.

She often spoke of Sumner in present tense. “I know he is here”, she often said. “He comforts me when I am sad and calms me when my anxiety builds up. He helps me remember where I put things.”

She seemed to hold her own as far as her symptoms went, but her days were long and her nights were lonely.

“I don’t know why I am still alive”, she would say. “If God wants me, I’d be happy to go.”

“He must still have plans for you here”, was my usual reply.

Many months went by and Hildegard had very little chest pain. She almost never took morphine and she seemed to know exactly how to pace herself. She always looked for the bright spots in everything that happened and lived her life in one-day increments.

Hospice finally terminated her case and she saw fewer interruptions in her solitude. She was weaker, there was no question about that, even though the more dramatic manifestations of her condition were less noticeable. She decided to look for placement in a nursing home.

That was four years ago. Hildegard settled in quickly at Leisure Ledges, and I visited her there now and then. Her favorite visits were the ones when I brought samplings of traditional Swedish foods. She always had visitors in her room because of her positive demeanor and kind interest in others.

Last Saturday night, almost five years after the hospital doctors pronounced her terminal, 92-year old Hildegard died in her sleep.


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

Top 25 Doctor Blogs Award

Doctor Blogs

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Mailbox

contact @ acountrydoctorwrites.com
Bookmark and Share
© A Country Doctor Writes, LLC 2008-2022 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given.