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$11.38. What can you buy for that kind of money?
Not much, realistically: an entrée at a casual restaurant, a shirt on sale at Target, a few cases of Ramen noodles in college.
In my case, it was what (per the Internet) bought my time.
About a year ago, a friendly drug rep asked my secretary if he could bring a pizza for lunch. We don’t do rep lunches, but he’d overheard her telling me she’d forgotten lunch at home and was going to go out to McDonald’s.
He told her he wouldn’t stay to sell anything, so she said “Sure, thank you.” He got a small pizza, dropped it off for her, and left. She had a piece and took the rest home to her kids. I didn’t think much of it, although it was the only time in the last 2 years we’ve gotten anything besides samples from a rep.
I wasn’t planning on checking my Sunshine Act disclosure data, since I don’t see reps beyond signing for samples. But then I heard an old partner of mine had a plastic brain listed under his name ($18.36) by mistake when it had actually been given to another doc with a similar name.
So I logged in, and there it was. I’d accepted $11.38 in “food and beverage” (AKA, the pizza I never ate) from a drug company.
I can’t really dispute it, and it’s not that much money. I doubt anyone will think I’m for sale for such a pithy amount, and no reporter looking for a doctor bribery scandal is going to think it’s a story worth chasing.
I support disclosure. There are clearly many instances where the relationship between physicians and pharma has been abused for financial gains. Kickbacks and bribes are as old as society and will always be with us. Having outside scrutiny of our actions, at least in this instance, is likely good at keeping everyone honest. There will always be ways to cheat, but most of us aren’t looking for them.
But still, it irritates me that this seemingly innocent lunch for my secretary could be taken to mean something else.
So, the pizza I didn’t eat becomes an odd milestone in my medical career. I don’t remember when I had my first drug company lunch, but it was likely during my third year of medical school. But now, I, and anyone who wants to look it up, knows when my last one was an $11.38 pizza that I never had on Aug. 29, 2013.
Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.
$11.38. What can you buy for that kind of money?
Not much, realistically: an entrée at a casual restaurant, a shirt on sale at Target, a few cases of Ramen noodles in college.
In my case, it was what (per the Internet) bought my time.
About a year ago, a friendly drug rep asked my secretary if he could bring a pizza for lunch. We don’t do rep lunches, but he’d overheard her telling me she’d forgotten lunch at home and was going to go out to McDonald’s.
He told her he wouldn’t stay to sell anything, so she said “Sure, thank you.” He got a small pizza, dropped it off for her, and left. She had a piece and took the rest home to her kids. I didn’t think much of it, although it was the only time in the last 2 years we’ve gotten anything besides samples from a rep.
I wasn’t planning on checking my Sunshine Act disclosure data, since I don’t see reps beyond signing for samples. But then I heard an old partner of mine had a plastic brain listed under his name ($18.36) by mistake when it had actually been given to another doc with a similar name.
So I logged in, and there it was. I’d accepted $11.38 in “food and beverage” (AKA, the pizza I never ate) from a drug company.
I can’t really dispute it, and it’s not that much money. I doubt anyone will think I’m for sale for such a pithy amount, and no reporter looking for a doctor bribery scandal is going to think it’s a story worth chasing.
I support disclosure. There are clearly many instances where the relationship between physicians and pharma has been abused for financial gains. Kickbacks and bribes are as old as society and will always be with us. Having outside scrutiny of our actions, at least in this instance, is likely good at keeping everyone honest. There will always be ways to cheat, but most of us aren’t looking for them.
But still, it irritates me that this seemingly innocent lunch for my secretary could be taken to mean something else.
So, the pizza I didn’t eat becomes an odd milestone in my medical career. I don’t remember when I had my first drug company lunch, but it was likely during my third year of medical school. But now, I, and anyone who wants to look it up, knows when my last one was an $11.38 pizza that I never had on Aug. 29, 2013.
Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.
$11.38. What can you buy for that kind of money?
Not much, realistically: an entrée at a casual restaurant, a shirt on sale at Target, a few cases of Ramen noodles in college.
In my case, it was what (per the Internet) bought my time.
About a year ago, a friendly drug rep asked my secretary if he could bring a pizza for lunch. We don’t do rep lunches, but he’d overheard her telling me she’d forgotten lunch at home and was going to go out to McDonald’s.
He told her he wouldn’t stay to sell anything, so she said “Sure, thank you.” He got a small pizza, dropped it off for her, and left. She had a piece and took the rest home to her kids. I didn’t think much of it, although it was the only time in the last 2 years we’ve gotten anything besides samples from a rep.
I wasn’t planning on checking my Sunshine Act disclosure data, since I don’t see reps beyond signing for samples. But then I heard an old partner of mine had a plastic brain listed under his name ($18.36) by mistake when it had actually been given to another doc with a similar name.
So I logged in, and there it was. I’d accepted $11.38 in “food and beverage” (AKA, the pizza I never ate) from a drug company.
I can’t really dispute it, and it’s not that much money. I doubt anyone will think I’m for sale for such a pithy amount, and no reporter looking for a doctor bribery scandal is going to think it’s a story worth chasing.
I support disclosure. There are clearly many instances where the relationship between physicians and pharma has been abused for financial gains. Kickbacks and bribes are as old as society and will always be with us. Having outside scrutiny of our actions, at least in this instance, is likely good at keeping everyone honest. There will always be ways to cheat, but most of us aren’t looking for them.
But still, it irritates me that this seemingly innocent lunch for my secretary could be taken to mean something else.
So, the pizza I didn’t eat becomes an odd milestone in my medical career. I don’t remember when I had my first drug company lunch, but it was likely during my third year of medical school. But now, I, and anyone who wants to look it up, knows when my last one was an $11.38 pizza that I never had on Aug. 29, 2013.
Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.
