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Yesterday, my secretary passed a message that someone from television had called with a question. Not knowing what to expect, but trying to be helpful, I returned the call that afternoon.
The fellow was nice enough, and explained he worked for a marketing company. A vitamin company had hired him to promote an over-the-counter supplement to treat Alzheimer’s disease, and he was looking for a neurologist to endorse it in an infomercial. He said I’d be compensated $5,000-$10,000 for the spot.
That’s a pretty decent chunk of change. I could use it. For a few seconds I hemmed and hawed, trying to think of a way to rationalize it. Then I realized ... I just couldn’t. I politely told him “No,” and got off the phone.
I know they’ll find someone to do it. But I just can’t. I’m sure they have some data to back it up, but crappy research papers are a dime a dozen.
I spend a lot of time explaining studies and data to those affected by this terrible disease. I’m trying to help them work their way through a maze of tests, treatments of limited benefit, and reasonable expectations.
Sadly, as with all tragic and incurable diseases, there’s no shortage of hucksters trying to take advantage of the desperate. Part of my job is to help people understand this. They bring in ads from magazines and newspaper promising miracle cures for a host of awful illnesses. I can’t stop them from buying it, but I want to do my best to warn them it’s a scam.
I can’t do that if I switch sides. Once I start plugging non–FDA-approved, non–clinically meaningful junk on late-night TV, I’ve joined the snake-oil salesmen of yesteryear.
I owe my patients better than that. They trust me to help them and to do what’s right.
Like everyone else, I don’t have a perfect reputation, but outside of my online reviews, I think I’m reasonably well thought of in the local community. A decent reputation takes years to build and one crappy decision to lose. I don’t want to do that either.
And under all that, I still have to believe in myself. That everyday I’m trying to do what’s right for people. Because if I’m not doing that, it’s time to hang up my reflex hammer. The first person I have to face every morning is in the mirror. I want to be able to look at him and still believe he’s doing the best he can for those who need his help.
Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.
Yesterday, my secretary passed a message that someone from television had called with a question. Not knowing what to expect, but trying to be helpful, I returned the call that afternoon.
The fellow was nice enough, and explained he worked for a marketing company. A vitamin company had hired him to promote an over-the-counter supplement to treat Alzheimer’s disease, and he was looking for a neurologist to endorse it in an infomercial. He said I’d be compensated $5,000-$10,000 for the spot.
That’s a pretty decent chunk of change. I could use it. For a few seconds I hemmed and hawed, trying to think of a way to rationalize it. Then I realized ... I just couldn’t. I politely told him “No,” and got off the phone.
I know they’ll find someone to do it. But I just can’t. I’m sure they have some data to back it up, but crappy research papers are a dime a dozen.
I spend a lot of time explaining studies and data to those affected by this terrible disease. I’m trying to help them work their way through a maze of tests, treatments of limited benefit, and reasonable expectations.
Sadly, as with all tragic and incurable diseases, there’s no shortage of hucksters trying to take advantage of the desperate. Part of my job is to help people understand this. They bring in ads from magazines and newspaper promising miracle cures for a host of awful illnesses. I can’t stop them from buying it, but I want to do my best to warn them it’s a scam.
I can’t do that if I switch sides. Once I start plugging non–FDA-approved, non–clinically meaningful junk on late-night TV, I’ve joined the snake-oil salesmen of yesteryear.
I owe my patients better than that. They trust me to help them and to do what’s right.
Like everyone else, I don’t have a perfect reputation, but outside of my online reviews, I think I’m reasonably well thought of in the local community. A decent reputation takes years to build and one crappy decision to lose. I don’t want to do that either.
And under all that, I still have to believe in myself. That everyday I’m trying to do what’s right for people. Because if I’m not doing that, it’s time to hang up my reflex hammer. The first person I have to face every morning is in the mirror. I want to be able to look at him and still believe he’s doing the best he can for those who need his help.
Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.
Yesterday, my secretary passed a message that someone from television had called with a question. Not knowing what to expect, but trying to be helpful, I returned the call that afternoon.
The fellow was nice enough, and explained he worked for a marketing company. A vitamin company had hired him to promote an over-the-counter supplement to treat Alzheimer’s disease, and he was looking for a neurologist to endorse it in an infomercial. He said I’d be compensated $5,000-$10,000 for the spot.
That’s a pretty decent chunk of change. I could use it. For a few seconds I hemmed and hawed, trying to think of a way to rationalize it. Then I realized ... I just couldn’t. I politely told him “No,” and got off the phone.
I know they’ll find someone to do it. But I just can’t. I’m sure they have some data to back it up, but crappy research papers are a dime a dozen.
I spend a lot of time explaining studies and data to those affected by this terrible disease. I’m trying to help them work their way through a maze of tests, treatments of limited benefit, and reasonable expectations.
Sadly, as with all tragic and incurable diseases, there’s no shortage of hucksters trying to take advantage of the desperate. Part of my job is to help people understand this. They bring in ads from magazines and newspaper promising miracle cures for a host of awful illnesses. I can’t stop them from buying it, but I want to do my best to warn them it’s a scam.
I can’t do that if I switch sides. Once I start plugging non–FDA-approved, non–clinically meaningful junk on late-night TV, I’ve joined the snake-oil salesmen of yesteryear.
I owe my patients better than that. They trust me to help them and to do what’s right.
Like everyone else, I don’t have a perfect reputation, but outside of my online reviews, I think I’m reasonably well thought of in the local community. A decent reputation takes years to build and one crappy decision to lose. I don’t want to do that either.
And under all that, I still have to believe in myself. That everyday I’m trying to do what’s right for people. Because if I’m not doing that, it’s time to hang up my reflex hammer. The first person I have to face every morning is in the mirror. I want to be able to look at him and still believe he’s doing the best he can for those who need his help.
Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.
