A Country Doctor Writes:

Some patients announce it very proudly, others with downturned eyes: There are a lot of people out there who don’t know how to, or simply choose not to, prepare meals for themselves or their families.

This is a serious health problem. And it is a confusing one. Because there are so many easy ways to get a meal on the table very quickly.

I have many non-cooking patients who don’t even buy frozen dinners they can pop in the oven or microwave, but instead buy pizza, drive-through burgers or subway sandwiches.

A sandwich is not a meal. It is a snack at best.

The reasons not to cook seem to fall into three categories:

1) It takes too long

2) It’s too hard

3) It’s too much work to cook for just one person

I love spending an entire day making Swedish Christmas food for my children and grandchildren. But most of the time I do some weekend cooking for the coming week and spend very little time on weeknights preparing my dinner. Most weeknights I don’t even use the stove, just my little toaster oven.

Weekend cooking might be a batch of vegetarian chili, a cheesy potato salad or a barley risotto.

Last night I bought two salmon fillets, placed both on the foil covered tray for my toaster oven and spiced them up in two different ways for two meals: Salt, pepper and streaks of paprika (to simulate grill lines) on one and salt, pepper, pesto and a layer of Parmesan on the other. I turned the toaster oven to broil for 13 minutes and by the time my Caesar salad was done (from bagged hearts of romaine, bottled dressing, store bought croutons and some more Parmesan), the salmon was done.

It takes more skill to drive to McDonald’s for a fish burger.

In the frozen fish section of my supermarket they have Gorton’s haddock in sauce – two for around $6. Plop one in the toaster oven at 350 degrees and set for 30 minutes.

Do something else, and come back to eat. And, one of my tricks is making a wild rice pilaf from a package that yields two or even three servings. I then put one of those servings in a Pyrex dish on top of the toaster oven with foil over. By the time my fish is done, the rice is warm, too. (The same method works for warming up the cheesy potato salad while my store bought frozen Swedish meatballs thaw on “broil” for ten minutes.)

How hard is that?

Many Americans have had a negative feeling about the word “social” because of their fears of too much government control, as in socialized medicine or even socialism.

As a Swede with a more neutral sense of the word, although I never identified with the socialist political party, I startled when the pandemic brought us the concept of social distancing. That felt like a complete oxymoron. How could keeping a six foot distance to other human beings be a social act?

But, of course, keeping your distance out of consideration for others is a socially responsible and appropriate thing to do. My ears were just not used to hearing the S-word in English.

Swedes don’t use the expression “socialized medicine”, because health care is viewed as a human right and people don’t imagine that a private system could provide care for all of society—notice the similarity between the words society, social and socialism. So they think it is a no-brainer that health care needs to be a service provided by the government for everyone. There is simply no concept of “desocialized” health care, or whatever you would call health care that was entirely privately run.

Socialmedicin, in Sweden, is a broader field than what Americans call Public Health. Its focus on the socioeconomic determinants of health is more obvious than what I usually hear in this country. Other “social” words in the Swedish welfare state vocabulary (and my mother tongue has a visually powerful custom of making one word out of two, as in healthcare versus health care) are:

Socialarbetare (social worker), Socialvård (welfare in its broadest sense) Socialnämnd (Social Board that oversees the welfare of minors, like DHHS here), Socialstyrelsen (National Board of Health and Welfare) Socialfall (Social case, as in the legitimate admission diagnosis “causa socialis” when I worked in Sweden and someone wasn’t safe at home and the hospital was their only option).

The pandemic has brought us one giant leap forward in our understanding that biochemical and sociopolitical factors can converge to cause disease and that both sets of factors are equally necessary to save us from it.

Rudolf Virchow, the father of modern pathology, is also considered the father of social medicine. Interestingly, pathology and social medicine have diverged since his lifetime and medicine has strayed far from his vision. In this century, the American Physician Paul Farmer and others are trying to bring these models together:

Because of contact with patients, physicians readily appreciate that large-scale social forces—racism, gender inequality, poverty, political violence and war, and sometimes the very policies that address them—often determine who falls ill and who has access to care. For practitioners of public health, the social determinants of disease are even harder to disregard.

The holy grail of modern medicine remains the search for a molecular basis of disease. While the practical yield of such circumscribed inquiry has been enormous, exclusive focus on molecular-level phenomena has contributed to the increasing “desocialization” of scientific inquiry: a tendency to ask only biological questions about what are in fact biosocial phenomena.

The time is more than ripe for us here in America to pay more serious attention to the biosocial and biopsychosocial determinants of health and disease.

I have made the argument that being the first contact for patients with new symptoms requires skill and experience. That is not something everybody agrees on.

One commenter on my blog expressed the opinion that it is easy to recognize the abnormal or serious and then it is just a matter of making a specialist referral.

That is a terribly inefficient model for health care delivery. It also exposes patients to the risks of delays in treatment, increased cost and inconvenience and the sometimes irreversible and disastrous consequences of knowledge gaps in the frontline provider.

UNNECESSARY SPECIALIST REFERRALS ARE COSTLY

Seeing a high charging, high earning specialist when the primary care provider can’t diagnose and manage the condition involves higher cost and, in many cases, a comprehensiveness that is based on the fact that the patient traveled 200 miles for their appointment. In such cases patents aren’t likely to come back for a two week recheck. Consequently, specialists tend to do more in what may be the only visit they have with a patient.

UNNECESSARY SPECIALIST REFERRALS CREATE TREATMENT DELAYS

For my patients, seeing a neurologist involves a one year wait for the out of state neurologist who does consultations almost 100 miles from my clinic, or a three to four month wait for an appointment more than 200 miles away in Bangor. The situation for rheumatology or dermatology is about the same.

Even if a primary care provider makes a correct referral, patients risk getting sicker and suffering needlessly because of these delays or, for them, nearly insurmountable barriers to travel.

And the days are gone when a rural medical provider could call city specialists several times a month and get free curbside consultations about tricky cases.

Rural America is almost like a different country in terms of the availability of specialist physicians, so less knowledge on the frontlines of medicine is a big deal here. Distance is an overlooked health disparity. I even have patients who hesitate traveling 20 miles to Caribou for an x-ray.

THE DANGER OF NOT KNOWING WHAT YOU DONT KNOW

The biggest concern with the you-can-always-refer mentality is that it actually takes good training and real life experience to know what constitutes an emergency when the clinical signs are subtle and similar to more trivial conditions.

In my own writing I have described the inexplicable phenomenon of clinical instinct and the newbie hubris of the Dunning-Kruger effect and also illustrated many common primary care triage situations:

A rash could be leukemia or idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura. A sore throat could be glossopharyngeal neuralgia or a retropharyngeal abscess. A blocked ear could be Ramsay-Hunt syndrome, a self-limited serous otitis or sudden sensorineural hearing loss with an abysmal prognosis if not treated immediately with high doses of steroids. A headache or sinus pain could be cancer, and a cough could be a pulmonary embolus or heart failure.

Why are so many people systematically belittling the skills that are needed to be a safe and effective primary care provider? In many other countries, primary care physicians are the backbone of their health care system.

Oh, I almost forgot, our system was never actually designed. It looks the way it does because of market forces, corporate strategies and all those kinds of things.

When a patient presents with a new symptom, we quickly and almost subconsciously create a hierarchy of diagnostic possibilities. I pride myself in my ability to effectively share my process of working through these types of clinical algorithms.

But sometimes I seem to get nonverbal clues of dissatisfaction or simply no reaction at all to my eloquent reasoning. And only then do I remember to ask the important questions, “do you have any thoughts on what’s causing this” and, most importantly, “what’s your biggest fear that this could be”.

It doesn’t matter how brilliant a diagnostician you are if a patient with less medical knowledge than you has a thought, fear or hunch that diseases and symptoms work in ways that don’t make sense to you.

An uncle may have had a burning sensation in his nose minutes before a stroke, so this symptom may seem like a much more obvious harbinger of disaster to your patient than it does to you. How would you know, if you didn’t ask, what the number one question is that your patient wants the answer to?

We are often so focused on our own thinking process, especially with our time pressures and the bureaucratic requirements of medical encounters these days, that we risk forgetting our patients may not think the way we do.

Of course, sometimes things work the opposite way: The patient may think they just have something simple, like the woman I saw with throat pain who ended up getting a cardiac stent for a major coronary blockage.

So it isn’t always obvious when we need to ask the “biggest fear” question. That’s a judgment call that requires paying attention: Watch your patient’s facial expressions and body language, listen carefully to their words and the character of their voice.

Basically, start by ignoring what the listed chief complaint is, ask an open ended question and then shut up and let the patient speak uninterrupted so you can listen and observe.

I have learned a few things about prescribing medications during my 42 years as a physician. Some are old lessons, and some are more recent. I thought I’d share some random examples.

First: I don’t like to have to use medications, but when they seem necessary, I choose, present and prescribe them with great care.

CHOOSING MEDICATIONS

Medications are like people. They have personalities. With so many choices for any given diagnosis or symptom, I consider their mechanism of action, possible beneficial additional effects and their risk of unwanted side effects when selecting which one to prescribe. To some degree that goes against today’s dogma.

Blood pressure medications, for example, have what I call an A-list and a B-list. The A-list contains drugs with a proven track record of not only reducing blood pressure, but also actual heart attack and stroke risk. Why we choose from the B-list, the drugs that don’t decrease cardiovascular risk or actually increase it, is a little beyond this simple country doctor’s ability to understand.

ACE inhibitors like lisinopril and diuretics like hydrochlorothiazide are the two recommended first choices in this country. But the A-list also contains amlodipine, a calcium channel blocker and, further down, metoprolol, a beta blocker. I make those less favored A-listers my initial choice in two scenarios:

Amlodipine is my choice when I see a hypertensive patient who prefers a set-it-and-forget-it treatment plan. No bloodwork is required after starting it to monitor for kidney or electrolyte problems, so even if the patient doesn’t come back for a year or more, there is no real risk involved.

Metoprolol, which blocks the effect of the stress hormone adrenaline on the cardiovascular system, is what I talked my own doctor into prescribing for me. That was back in the day, when I was a hard working, somewhat Type A personality with high blood pressure. With the passage of time, life experience, weight loss and my transformative relationship with my Arabian horses, my blood pressure normalized and I didn’t need medication anymore.

Years ago, we all selected blood pressure medications according to the “phenotype” (appearance or general impression) of the patient: metoprolol if intense, hydrochlorothiazide if swollen, nifedipine if cold-handed, lisinopril If naturally hypokalemic (low potassium).

Antidepressants definitely have their personalities, even within a given class, like serotonergic drugs. Fluoxetine is a bit energizing. Sertraline is a bit calming but, in my experience, can bring out an unwanted sensitivity in some “thin-skinned” men. Escitalopram is relatively side effect free and therapeutic in even low doses. Paroxetine is a potent bubble wrap that stops suffering for people stuck in difficult situations but it also dampens positive emotions. It is the hardest one of its class to get off, even with very slow tapering.

The now too popular “atypical antipsychotics” also have differences within the class. Aripiprazole is the least sedating while quetiapine is the most. It is even used primarily for sleep in some situations. But it has greater risk for QT-prolongation and sometimes provokes frightening demonic nightmares in people without psychosis in the first place. Olanzapine is also very sedating and puts on more weight than most drugs in the class, but I haven’t seen it cause psychosis.

SWITCHING STRATEGIES

I often scratch my head when colleagues taper a patient off one drug and start another member of the same class from scratch. I don’t do that. If I need to switch someone from fluoxetine because its energizing effect bothers them to, say, escitalopram, I move directly from one day to the next to a roughly equipotent dose of the other drug. (I hardly ever use escitalopram’s predecessor, citalopram, because it has too many side effects and was fraudulently marketed as relatively side effect free.)

Even switching from a serotonergic drug to a serotonin-norepinephrine drug like duloxetine, I just ballpark it and slide right over to a similar dose (Low, medium or high) and haven’t seen any ill effects of this time saving strategy.

PRESENTING A PRESCRIPTION

I love to tell stories, so I usually talk a bout the history of the medication I am suggesting for my patient. I think it helps the patient understand that I know the medication I am recommending very intimately. There’s probably nothing more frightening than being prescribed a treatment the doctor doesn’t seem to know much about. And only a minority of patients are impressed with descriptions of molecular structure, unless it is when I say things like “the muscle relaxant cyclobenzaprine is related to the antidepressant amitriptyline that is FDA approved for nerve pain, so it can do more than relax your muscles”.

I also talk about how the medication works, what it does and doesn’t do and what the common side effects are. And this is something I started doing recently: Instead of saying “up to 10% of people get a cough from lisinopril, I’ve started saying “one possible side effect is a tickle in the throat kind of cough, but 90% of people have no such problems from it”.

The placebo effect, or the power of suggestion, has often been ignored, but we know very well that treatments prescribed with confidence by an empathic physician produce better results than prescriptions presented as “well, we might try this”.

DOSING MEDICATIONS

“Start low, go slow” is a sound principle. It helps to know how long a medication generally takes to work. It also helps to know what the most commonly used dose is and what the dose-response curve looks like. For example, the blood pressure medication hydrochlorothiazide at 50 mg per day is marginally more powerful than 25 mg, but with much greater risk of causing low potassium. Many people don’t seem to know that the typical step in dosing medications is a doubling: Lisinopril comes in 2.5, 5, 10, 20 and 40 mg – so does anybody really believe we also need a 30 mg dose? I only have one patient on that strength pill.

MEDICATIONS THAT DIDN’T WORK

I sigh internally when I hear that a patient has tried many medications that “didn’t work”. I then have to probe just how much they took, for how long and whether there was any effect at all.

A typical example is when a patient takes the necessarily low starting dose of a medication and stops it before they reach the target dose needed to expect any result. The details can be hard to nail down, but it is sometimes well worth finding out when faced with a patient who claims to have failed everything.

Another common scenario is when a 10 day course of an antibiotic only partly relieves the symptoms of an infection. That’s not a treatment failure – the patient just needed another round of it.

Sometimes we get important information hearing about medications that didn’t work. If an antidepressant makes a person feel agitated, it could possibly mean their depression is bipolar rather than unipolar.

In some cases, the sheer number of medications that didn’t work can make us question our diagnosis. With hypertension, that raises the possibility of what we call secondary hypertension. In those cases, we have to start looking for the single cause of the treatment resistance, such as renal artery stenosis, pheochromocytoma, aldosteronism, alcoholism, thyroid disease, sleep apnea and many others. With psychiatric symptoms, such as anxiety, I have seen how life circumstances such as a bad marriage or overbearing in-laws can make medications completely ineffective.

WHEN NOT TO PRESCRIBE, OR AT LEAST LIMIT PRESCRIBING

Sometimes we are quick to prescribe pharmaceuticals because that seems like the most practical thing we can do to help our patient. Getting an anxious or depressed patient an appointment with a therapist takes time, for example.

One of the more profound lessons of my generation of doctors is how the fluoxetine cohort of antidepressants changed the natural history of depression by sometimes or perhaps even often causing permanent brain changes in patients who take them.

As I mentioned, paroxetine can be particularly hard or even impossible to stop. But the entire class has been associated with this SSRI discontinuation syndrome.

There is a growing anti-SSRI movement and increasing controversy about the use of this class of drugs. There are scientific papers, blogs, best selling books, medical practices and clinics offering patients help in quitting antidepressants.

In my own practice, I have become much more conservative when treating depressed patients. The other day, for example, I saw a woman already taking duloxetine for chronic pain and long-standing depression. She was feeling more depressed because of the isolation the pandemic has brought her, separated from her family across the border. She had poor sleep, poor appetite and cried out of the blue, she told me.

I lowered my voice, leaned forward and said, “There is no medication that can take away the pain we feel when life itself changes the way it has. We need to find new ways to carry on, and a good therapist can be like a coach to help us see what we can do, so we don’t get stuck but start moving forward. Our counselor has an opening on Monday and I can prescribe you medication to help you sleep better. Then, next week we can touch base and see how you’re doing. Are you okay with that?”

She wiped her tears and nodded. I was not about to escalate her antidepressant the way I might have considered 10 years ago.