Internal medicine primarily affords us the skill to cope with disorders of chronicity that rarely disappear. For every pneumococcal pneumonia we eradicate, we have multiple patients with HIV who will be treated indefinitely. Diabetes, once a lethal disease, is now a chronic condition for most patients, and even with treatment the trajectory is usually one of progression.

One gratifying exception in my professional lifetime has been the introduction of gastric surgeries that reduce morbidity and seem to extend the life span of those who successfully undergo these procedures. The Roux-en-Y gastric bypass and sleeve gastrectomy have kept thousands of patients in better health for many years, giving them a second chance. For a subset, however, this second chance comes with a stumbling block of substance use – most notably alcohol – that exceeds their preoperative use.
 

Increased alcohol use after surgery

A group affiliated with the Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) recently reviewed the large central database to identify changes in alcohol consumption among patients who had undergone successful bariatric surgery. The VA regularly administers the Alcohol Use Disorders Identification Test-Consumption (AUDIT-C), a survey validated as a reliable estimate of individual alcohol consumption. It is inserted into the VA electronic health record where it can be readily retrieved. By matching these survey results with individuals who underwent bariatric surgery at the VA and survived at least 8 years post op, the authors were able to follow trends in alcohol consumption, beginning 2 years before surgery through 8 years after.

Using the same database, the authors identified a larger number of nonoperative control patients with slightly less obesity but otherwise matched for several elements of comorbidity, such as hypertension, certain psychiatric disorders, and personal habits, including alcohol consumption.

Alcohol use was categorized as none, minor social use, and “unhealthy” use. Among those with no or minor social use preoperatively, 4% converted to unhealthy use at 3 years and about 5% at 8 years, significantly more than in the nonoperative control group. Those who had gastric bypass had somewhat more conversion than did those who had sleeve gastrectomy, though not significantly so.

Patients with an alcohol concern preoperatively took an interesting course. Consumption declined from 2 years pre op to the year of surgery, suggesting that curtailing its use may have been a surgical precondition. Postoperatively, they returned to unhealthy drinking levels. Those who underwent the sleeve gastrectomy consumed about the same amount of alcohol as did their matched nonoperative controls, but those who underwent bypass increased their baseline unhealthy use beyond that of the controls.

Because total abstinence is often the recommendation for treating alcoholism, the research group assessed how adherent the excessive drinkers were to abstinence. In anticipation of surgery, the rates of abstinence increased until the year of surgery, but by 3 years post op, consumption was often up to unhealthy levels, though no more than that of control participants with preexisting drinking problems.
 

Smoking and illicit drug use

Although increased alcohol consumption has generated the most studies, some attention has been given to smoking and illicit drug use, which may also increase over time.

One small study looked at composite tobacco, alcohol, and drug use pre- and postoperatively over 2 years, using population data. The authors found a parallel pattern of users voluntarily reducing their substance use in anticipation of surgery but relapsing as the procedure made them more functional and perhaps more independent. Of the substances people resumed, alcohol by far involved the largest increase in use from the preoperative baseline.

These studies, as important as they are, reveal what happened more effectively than they disclose why it happened. The latter requires some clinical experience. Curtailing cigarettes and alcohol use preoperatively may have been done to stay in the good graces of the surgeon. Many patients may have seen this as their path to a second chance that they intended to maintain.

The incentive to proceed to surgical weight loss, which incurs a measure of risk and forces changes in long ingrained eating habits, involves avoiding future morbidity and promoting longevity. Thus, the postoperative behaviors that threaten the long-term goal need to become a component of ongoing follow-up.

The acquisition of adverse behaviors not present preoperatively seems more difficult to sort out, and obligates those of us following these patients to ask about changes in alcohol use and provide resources for them should they need intervention.

Dr. Plotzker is a retired endocrinologist with 40 years of experience treating patients in both private practice and hospital settings.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Internal medicine primarily affords us the skill to cope with disorders of chronicity that rarely disappear. For every pneumococcal pneumonia we eradicate, we have multiple patients with HIV who will be treated indefinitely. Diabetes, once a lethal disease, is now a chronic condition for most patients, and even with treatment the trajectory is usually one of progression.

One gratifying exception in my professional lifetime has been the introduction of gastric surgeries that reduce morbidity and seem to extend the life span of those who successfully undergo these procedures. The Roux-en-Y gastric bypass and sleeve gastrectomy have kept thousands of patients in better health for many years, giving them a second chance. For a subset, however, this second chance comes with a stumbling block of substance use – most notably alcohol – that exceeds their preoperative use.
 

Increased alcohol use after surgery

A group affiliated with the Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) recently reviewed the large central database to identify changes in alcohol consumption among patients who had undergone successful bariatric surgery. The VA regularly administers the Alcohol Use Disorders Identification Test-Consumption (AUDIT-C), a survey validated as a reliable estimate of individual alcohol consumption. It is inserted into the VA electronic health record where it can be readily retrieved. By matching these survey results with individuals who underwent bariatric surgery at the VA and survived at least 8 years post op, the authors were able to follow trends in alcohol consumption, beginning 2 years before surgery through 8 years after.

Using the same database, the authors identified a larger number of nonoperative control patients with slightly less obesity but otherwise matched for several elements of comorbidity, such as hypertension, certain psychiatric disorders, and personal habits, including alcohol consumption.

Alcohol use was categorized as none, minor social use, and “unhealthy” use. Among those with no or minor social use preoperatively, 4% converted to unhealthy use at 3 years and about 5% at 8 years, significantly more than in the nonoperative control group. Those who had gastric bypass had somewhat more conversion than did those who had sleeve gastrectomy, though not significantly so.

Patients with an alcohol concern preoperatively took an interesting course. Consumption declined from 2 years pre op to the year of surgery, suggesting that curtailing its use may have been a surgical precondition. Postoperatively, they returned to unhealthy drinking levels. Those who underwent the sleeve gastrectomy consumed about the same amount of alcohol as did their matched nonoperative controls, but those who underwent bypass increased their baseline unhealthy use beyond that of the controls.

Because total abstinence is often the recommendation for treating alcoholism, the research group assessed how adherent the excessive drinkers were to abstinence. In anticipation of surgery, the rates of abstinence increased until the year of surgery, but by 3 years post op, consumption was often up to unhealthy levels, though no more than that of control participants with preexisting drinking problems.
 

Smoking and illicit drug use

Although increased alcohol consumption has generated the most studies, some attention has been given to smoking and illicit drug use, which may also increase over time.

One small study looked at composite tobacco, alcohol, and drug use pre- and postoperatively over 2 years, using population data. The authors found a parallel pattern of users voluntarily reducing their substance use in anticipation of surgery but relapsing as the procedure made them more functional and perhaps more independent. Of the substances people resumed, alcohol by far involved the largest increase in use from the preoperative baseline.

These studies, as important as they are, reveal what happened more effectively than they disclose why it happened. The latter requires some clinical experience. Curtailing cigarettes and alcohol use preoperatively may have been done to stay in the good graces of the surgeon. Many patients may have seen this as their path to a second chance that they intended to maintain.

The incentive to proceed to surgical weight loss, which incurs a measure of risk and forces changes in long ingrained eating habits, involves avoiding future morbidity and promoting longevity. Thus, the postoperative behaviors that threaten the long-term goal need to become a component of ongoing follow-up.

The acquisition of adverse behaviors not present preoperatively seems more difficult to sort out, and obligates those of us following these patients to ask about changes in alcohol use and provide resources for them should they need intervention.

Dr. Plotzker is a retired endocrinologist with 40 years of experience treating patients in both private practice and hospital settings.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Internal medicine primarily affords us the skill to cope with disorders of chronicity that rarely disappear. For every pneumococcal pneumonia we eradicate, we have multiple patients with HIV who will be treated indefinitely. Diabetes, once a lethal disease, is now a chronic condition for most patients, and even with treatment the trajectory is usually one of progression.

One gratifying exception in my professional lifetime has been the introduction of gastric surgeries that reduce morbidity and seem to extend the life span of those who successfully undergo these procedures. The Roux-en-Y gastric bypass and sleeve gastrectomy have kept thousands of patients in better health for many years, giving them a second chance. For a subset, however, this second chance comes with a stumbling block of substance use – most notably alcohol – that exceeds their preoperative use.
 

Increased alcohol use after surgery

A group affiliated with the Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) recently reviewed the large central database to identify changes in alcohol consumption among patients who had undergone successful bariatric surgery. The VA regularly administers the Alcohol Use Disorders Identification Test-Consumption (AUDIT-C), a survey validated as a reliable estimate of individual alcohol consumption. It is inserted into the VA electronic health record where it can be readily retrieved. By matching these survey results with individuals who underwent bariatric surgery at the VA and survived at least 8 years post op, the authors were able to follow trends in alcohol consumption, beginning 2 years before surgery through 8 years after.

Using the same database, the authors identified a larger number of nonoperative control patients with slightly less obesity but otherwise matched for several elements of comorbidity, such as hypertension, certain psychiatric disorders, and personal habits, including alcohol consumption.

Alcohol use was categorized as none, minor social use, and “unhealthy” use. Among those with no or minor social use preoperatively, 4% converted to unhealthy use at 3 years and about 5% at 8 years, significantly more than in the nonoperative control group. Those who had gastric bypass had somewhat more conversion than did those who had sleeve gastrectomy, though not significantly so.

Patients with an alcohol concern preoperatively took an interesting course. Consumption declined from 2 years pre op to the year of surgery, suggesting that curtailing its use may have been a surgical precondition. Postoperatively, they returned to unhealthy drinking levels. Those who underwent the sleeve gastrectomy consumed about the same amount of alcohol as did their matched nonoperative controls, but those who underwent bypass increased their baseline unhealthy use beyond that of the controls.

Because total abstinence is often the recommendation for treating alcoholism, the research group assessed how adherent the excessive drinkers were to abstinence. In anticipation of surgery, the rates of abstinence increased until the year of surgery, but by 3 years post op, consumption was often up to unhealthy levels, though no more than that of control participants with preexisting drinking problems.
 

Smoking and illicit drug use

Although increased alcohol consumption has generated the most studies, some attention has been given to smoking and illicit drug use, which may also increase over time.

One small study looked at composite tobacco, alcohol, and drug use pre- and postoperatively over 2 years, using population data. The authors found a parallel pattern of users voluntarily reducing their substance use in anticipation of surgery but relapsing as the procedure made them more functional and perhaps more independent. Of the substances people resumed, alcohol by far involved the largest increase in use from the preoperative baseline.

These studies, as important as they are, reveal what happened more effectively than they disclose why it happened. The latter requires some clinical experience. Curtailing cigarettes and alcohol use preoperatively may have been done to stay in the good graces of the surgeon. Many patients may have seen this as their path to a second chance that they intended to maintain.

The incentive to proceed to surgical weight loss, which incurs a measure of risk and forces changes in long ingrained eating habits, involves avoiding future morbidity and promoting longevity. Thus, the postoperative behaviors that threaten the long-term goal need to become a component of ongoing follow-up.

The acquisition of adverse behaviors not present preoperatively seems more difficult to sort out, and obligates those of us following these patients to ask about changes in alcohol use and provide resources for them should they need intervention.

Dr. Plotzker is a retired endocrinologist with 40 years of experience treating patients in both private practice and hospital settings.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

A peripherally-acting substance that boosts energy expenditure and reduces fat mass has the potential to become an obesity treatment that doesn’t produce cardiovascular or psychiatric side effects, scientists say.

The agent, BIBO3304, is a selective antagonist of the neuropeptide Y1 receptor, which is elevated in the fat tissue of individuals with obesity, resulting in reduced fat accumulation. It was originally developed more than 25 years ago by scientists at Boehringer Ingelheim, who had thought that it would reduce appetite by targeting Y1 receptors in the brain. But when it didn’t cross the blood-brain barrier as an oral drug, the company abandoned it.

Now a series of experiments by Chenxu Yan, of the Garvan Institute of Medical Research, St. Vincent’s Hospital, Sydney, and colleagues have shown that “BIBO” works directly on Y1 receptors in the periphery to turn fat-storing white fat cells into heat-generating brown-like fat tissue, thereby enhancing energy expenditure.

The data were published online May 11 in Nature Communications.
 

Drug’s lack of effect on the brain turns out to be a positive

“Rather than just having the cells store fat, we change their characteristics so that most of the excess energy gets burned and produces heat instead of being stored as fat. BIBO programs the cell toward a more heat-producing cell rather than a fat-storing cell,” study coauthor Herbert Herzog, PhD, of the Garvan Institute, said in an interview.

Importantly, he said, the lack of effect on the brain that caused the drug’s initial developer to abandon it turns out to be a positive.

“As we looked at fat specifically, and we didn’t want to have any interference with the brain, this seems to work out as a real advantage … It has the desired effect of blocking fat accumulation but has the enormous benefit of not interfering with any brain function. That’s why so many of the obesity drugs that were on the market were taken off, because of the side effects they caused in the brain on mood and cardiovascular control. It’s a completely different ball game.”

The problem now, he said, is that because BIBO is off-patent, no pharmaceutical company is currently willing to invest in its development as a peripherally acting weight-loss drug, despite its potential advantages.

“We’re trying to find some interested party to help us get this to the clinical setting. We’re basic scientists. We need big money. We can do small-scale studies to get proof of principle. Hopefully, if that’s interesting, some bigger company will come along,” said Dr. Herzog.
 

Experiments in mice, human tissues demonstrate principle

In the series of studies, investigators fed genetically inbred mice a high-fat, high-sugar diet while giving BIBO to half of them. Over 8 weeks, the mice given BIBO had 40% less gain in fat mass compared to those overfed without the drug, despite them all eating the same amount.

Using a noninvasive infrared camera to measure skin surface temperature above brown adipose tissue, they found that the temperature was significantly increased with BIBO, independent of the weight of the brown fat.

This suggests that the thermogenesis of the brown fat is significantly contributing to whole-body energy expenditure. “With the drug, the mice have far greater energy expenditure measured by heat production,” Dr. Herzog explained.

In vitro experiments showed that Y1R blockade by BIBO induced “beigeing” of white fat deposits into more heat-producing brown fat. The body temperature increase is about 0.1-0.2ºC. “That’s a tiny amount, but it actually requires quite a lot of energy,” he said.

Experiments using fat tissue taken from obese and normal-weight humans showed the same thermogenesis with BIBO. “It’s such a fundamental process [that] you wouldn’t expect it to differ. The same mechanism is even found in flies and primitive worms,” he noted.
 

Neuropeptide Y receptor blockage: A treatment for many ills?

Previously, Dr. Herzog and colleagues found that blockade of the neuropeptide Y1 receptor also increases bone mass in mice.

“It’s a modest effect, but there’s nothing out there at the moment that really improves bone mass. If you can stop osteoporosis, that’s a benefit on its own,” he said.

Now they hope to study BIBO’s vasodilatory properties as a potential treatment for hypertension, if they get the funding.

Dr. Herzog is hopeful, as obesity, osteoporosis, and hypertension are all chronic conditions. “Having one drug that benefits them all would surely be of interest to clinicians and drug companies,” he observed.  

Dr. Yan and Dr. Herzog have reported no relevant financial relationships.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

A peripherally-acting substance that boosts energy expenditure and reduces fat mass has the potential to become an obesity treatment that doesn’t produce cardiovascular or psychiatric side effects, scientists say.

The agent, BIBO3304, is a selective antagonist of the neuropeptide Y1 receptor, which is elevated in the fat tissue of individuals with obesity, resulting in reduced fat accumulation. It was originally developed more than 25 years ago by scientists at Boehringer Ingelheim, who had thought that it would reduce appetite by targeting Y1 receptors in the brain. But when it didn’t cross the blood-brain barrier as an oral drug, the company abandoned it.

Now a series of experiments by Chenxu Yan, of the Garvan Institute of Medical Research, St. Vincent’s Hospital, Sydney, and colleagues have shown that “BIBO” works directly on Y1 receptors in the periphery to turn fat-storing white fat cells into heat-generating brown-like fat tissue, thereby enhancing energy expenditure.

The data were published online May 11 in Nature Communications.
 

Drug’s lack of effect on the brain turns out to be a positive

“Rather than just having the cells store fat, we change their characteristics so that most of the excess energy gets burned and produces heat instead of being stored as fat. BIBO programs the cell toward a more heat-producing cell rather than a fat-storing cell,” study coauthor Herbert Herzog, PhD, of the Garvan Institute, said in an interview.

Importantly, he said, the lack of effect on the brain that caused the drug’s initial developer to abandon it turns out to be a positive.

“As we looked at fat specifically, and we didn’t want to have any interference with the brain, this seems to work out as a real advantage … It has the desired effect of blocking fat accumulation but has the enormous benefit of not interfering with any brain function. That’s why so many of the obesity drugs that were on the market were taken off, because of the side effects they caused in the brain on mood and cardiovascular control. It’s a completely different ball game.”

The problem now, he said, is that because BIBO is off-patent, no pharmaceutical company is currently willing to invest in its development as a peripherally acting weight-loss drug, despite its potential advantages.

“We’re trying to find some interested party to help us get this to the clinical setting. We’re basic scientists. We need big money. We can do small-scale studies to get proof of principle. Hopefully, if that’s interesting, some bigger company will come along,” said Dr. Herzog.
 

Experiments in mice, human tissues demonstrate principle

In the series of studies, investigators fed genetically inbred mice a high-fat, high-sugar diet while giving BIBO to half of them. Over 8 weeks, the mice given BIBO had 40% less gain in fat mass compared to those overfed without the drug, despite them all eating the same amount.

Using a noninvasive infrared camera to measure skin surface temperature above brown adipose tissue, they found that the temperature was significantly increased with BIBO, independent of the weight of the brown fat.

This suggests that the thermogenesis of the brown fat is significantly contributing to whole-body energy expenditure. “With the drug, the mice have far greater energy expenditure measured by heat production,” Dr. Herzog explained.

In vitro experiments showed that Y1R blockade by BIBO induced “beigeing” of white fat deposits into more heat-producing brown fat. The body temperature increase is about 0.1-0.2ºC. “That’s a tiny amount, but it actually requires quite a lot of energy,” he said.

Experiments using fat tissue taken from obese and normal-weight humans showed the same thermogenesis with BIBO. “It’s such a fundamental process [that] you wouldn’t expect it to differ. The same mechanism is even found in flies and primitive worms,” he noted.
 

Neuropeptide Y receptor blockage: A treatment for many ills?

Previously, Dr. Herzog and colleagues found that blockade of the neuropeptide Y1 receptor also increases bone mass in mice.

“It’s a modest effect, but there’s nothing out there at the moment that really improves bone mass. If you can stop osteoporosis, that’s a benefit on its own,” he said.

Now they hope to study BIBO’s vasodilatory properties as a potential treatment for hypertension, if they get the funding.

Dr. Herzog is hopeful, as obesity, osteoporosis, and hypertension are all chronic conditions. “Having one drug that benefits them all would surely be of interest to clinicians and drug companies,” he observed.  

Dr. Yan and Dr. Herzog have reported no relevant financial relationships.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

A peripherally-acting substance that boosts energy expenditure and reduces fat mass has the potential to become an obesity treatment that doesn’t produce cardiovascular or psychiatric side effects, scientists say.

The agent, BIBO3304, is a selective antagonist of the neuropeptide Y1 receptor, which is elevated in the fat tissue of individuals with obesity, resulting in reduced fat accumulation. It was originally developed more than 25 years ago by scientists at Boehringer Ingelheim, who had thought that it would reduce appetite by targeting Y1 receptors in the brain. But when it didn’t cross the blood-brain barrier as an oral drug, the company abandoned it.

Now a series of experiments by Chenxu Yan, of the Garvan Institute of Medical Research, St. Vincent’s Hospital, Sydney, and colleagues have shown that “BIBO” works directly on Y1 receptors in the periphery to turn fat-storing white fat cells into heat-generating brown-like fat tissue, thereby enhancing energy expenditure.

The data were published online May 11 in Nature Communications.
 

Drug’s lack of effect on the brain turns out to be a positive

“Rather than just having the cells store fat, we change their characteristics so that most of the excess energy gets burned and produces heat instead of being stored as fat. BIBO programs the cell toward a more heat-producing cell rather than a fat-storing cell,” study coauthor Herbert Herzog, PhD, of the Garvan Institute, said in an interview.

Importantly, he said, the lack of effect on the brain that caused the drug’s initial developer to abandon it turns out to be a positive.

“As we looked at fat specifically, and we didn’t want to have any interference with the brain, this seems to work out as a real advantage … It has the desired effect of blocking fat accumulation but has the enormous benefit of not interfering with any brain function. That’s why so many of the obesity drugs that were on the market were taken off, because of the side effects they caused in the brain on mood and cardiovascular control. It’s a completely different ball game.”

The problem now, he said, is that because BIBO is off-patent, no pharmaceutical company is currently willing to invest in its development as a peripherally acting weight-loss drug, despite its potential advantages.

“We’re trying to find some interested party to help us get this to the clinical setting. We’re basic scientists. We need big money. We can do small-scale studies to get proof of principle. Hopefully, if that’s interesting, some bigger company will come along,” said Dr. Herzog.
 

Experiments in mice, human tissues demonstrate principle

In the series of studies, investigators fed genetically inbred mice a high-fat, high-sugar diet while giving BIBO to half of them. Over 8 weeks, the mice given BIBO had 40% less gain in fat mass compared to those overfed without the drug, despite them all eating the same amount.

Using a noninvasive infrared camera to measure skin surface temperature above brown adipose tissue, they found that the temperature was significantly increased with BIBO, independent of the weight of the brown fat.

This suggests that the thermogenesis of the brown fat is significantly contributing to whole-body energy expenditure. “With the drug, the mice have far greater energy expenditure measured by heat production,” Dr. Herzog explained.

In vitro experiments showed that Y1R blockade by BIBO induced “beigeing” of white fat deposits into more heat-producing brown fat. The body temperature increase is about 0.1-0.2ºC. “That’s a tiny amount, but it actually requires quite a lot of energy,” he said.

Experiments using fat tissue taken from obese and normal-weight humans showed the same thermogenesis with BIBO. “It’s such a fundamental process [that] you wouldn’t expect it to differ. The same mechanism is even found in flies and primitive worms,” he noted.
 

Neuropeptide Y receptor blockage: A treatment for many ills?

Previously, Dr. Herzog and colleagues found that blockade of the neuropeptide Y1 receptor also increases bone mass in mice.

“It’s a modest effect, but there’s nothing out there at the moment that really improves bone mass. If you can stop osteoporosis, that’s a benefit on its own,” he said.

Now they hope to study BIBO’s vasodilatory properties as a potential treatment for hypertension, if they get the funding.

Dr. Herzog is hopeful, as obesity, osteoporosis, and hypertension are all chronic conditions. “Having one drug that benefits them all would surely be of interest to clinicians and drug companies,” he observed.  

Dr. Yan and Dr. Herzog have reported no relevant financial relationships.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

The Food and Drug Administration has approved the adjuvant use of nivolumab (Opdivo) in patients with resected esophageal or gastroesophageal junction (GEJ) cancer who have received neoadjuvant chemoradiotherapy and have residual pathological disease following surgery.

The approval addresses an unmet need among these patients, who have a high risk of recurrence but for whom surveillance is the only current management option after the above-described standard treatment, according to experts.

The FDA’s approval is based on results from the CheckMate 577 study, which showed a significant improvement in disease-free survival compared with placebo.

This was described as “a practice-changing trial in the treatment of esophageal cancer” by David H. Ilson, MD, PhD, Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center, New York, in an editorial in The New England Journal of Medicine that accompanied the published study results.

“The trial shows the first true advance in the adjuvant therapy of esophageal cancer in recent years,” wrote Dr. Ilson.

In the randomized, double-blind, phase 3 trial, patients with resected stage II or III esophageal or GEJ cancer were randomly assigned in a 2:1 ratio to receive nivolumab (at a dose of 240 mg every 2 weeks for 16 weeks, followed by a dose of 480 mg every 4 weeks) or placebo. The maximum duration of the intervention period was 1 year.

All of these patients had received neoadjuvant chemoradiotherapy and had residual pathological disease, as noted in the new indication. Patients were enrolled regardless of programmed death ligand 1 (PD-L1) expression.

For the primary endpoint of disease-free survival, the median was 22.4 months for the nivolumab group (n = 532) versus 11.0 months for the placebo group (n = 262; hazard ratio [HR] for disease recurrence or death, 0.69; 96.4% confidence interval [CI], 0.56-0.86; P < .001).

The median follow-up was 24.4 months.

Disease-free survival favored nivolumab across multiple preplanned subgroups.

However, as Dr. Ilson noted in the editorial, the efficacy of nivolumab varied, with more benefit seen for patients with squamous cell cancer (HR, 0.61) than for those with adenocarcinoma (HR, 0.75). Patients with esophageal tumors also had greater benefit (HR, 0.61) than did those with GEJ tumors (HR, 0.87).

There was benefit in patients with node-negative disease (HR, 0.74) and node-positive disease (HR, 0.67) and benefit in patients with tumors that were PD-L1–negative (HR, 0.73) and PD-L1–positive (HR, 0.75).

There were fewer distant recurrences in the nivolumab group than in the placebo group (29% vs. 39%) and fewer locoregional recurrences (12% vs. 17%).

No new safety signals were observed, and 9% of the nivolumab patients discontinued the drug because of treatment-related adverse events versus 3% of placebo patients. In addition, a 1-year course of adjuvant nivolumab did not negatively impact patient-reported quality of life, the trialists reported.

Grade 3 or 4 adverse events of any cause were more frequent in the nivolumab group versus the placebo group (34% vs. 32%) as were those related to the intervention (13% vs. 6%).

Although overall survival data are not mature, “the doubling of median disease-free survival will almost certainly translate into an overall survival benefit,” Dr. Ilson wrote.

Notably, the trial’s original co-primary endpoint was overall survival, but was dropped to a secondary endpoint after enrollment “challenges.”

When the now-published data were first presented at the 2020 annual meeting of the European Society for Medical Oncology, the invited discussant, Andrés Cervantes, MD, PhD, University of Valencia, Spain, raised several issues with the trial.

Preoperative chemoradiation is not “universally accepted” as the standard of care in this setting, said Dr. Cervantes, president-elect of ESMO.

Dr. Ilson acknowledged as much. “A debate is ongoing about whether chemotherapy alone or combined chemoradiotherapy is the preferred treatment for esophageal cancer before surgery,” he wrote.

In addition, Dr. Cervantes noted that disease-free survival is not currently validated as a major endpoint in gastroesophageal cancers, and the median follow-up was short.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

The Food and Drug Administration has approved the adjuvant use of nivolumab (Opdivo) in patients with resected esophageal or gastroesophageal junction (GEJ) cancer who have received neoadjuvant chemoradiotherapy and have residual pathological disease following surgery.

The approval addresses an unmet need among these patients, who have a high risk of recurrence but for whom surveillance is the only current management option after the above-described standard treatment, according to experts.

The FDA’s approval is based on results from the CheckMate 577 study, which showed a significant improvement in disease-free survival compared with placebo.

This was described as “a practice-changing trial in the treatment of esophageal cancer” by David H. Ilson, MD, PhD, Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center, New York, in an editorial in The New England Journal of Medicine that accompanied the published study results.

“The trial shows the first true advance in the adjuvant therapy of esophageal cancer in recent years,” wrote Dr. Ilson.

In the randomized, double-blind, phase 3 trial, patients with resected stage II or III esophageal or GEJ cancer were randomly assigned in a 2:1 ratio to receive nivolumab (at a dose of 240 mg every 2 weeks for 16 weeks, followed by a dose of 480 mg every 4 weeks) or placebo. The maximum duration of the intervention period was 1 year.

All of these patients had received neoadjuvant chemoradiotherapy and had residual pathological disease, as noted in the new indication. Patients were enrolled regardless of programmed death ligand 1 (PD-L1) expression.

For the primary endpoint of disease-free survival, the median was 22.4 months for the nivolumab group (n = 532) versus 11.0 months for the placebo group (n = 262; hazard ratio [HR] for disease recurrence or death, 0.69; 96.4% confidence interval [CI], 0.56-0.86; P < .001).

The median follow-up was 24.4 months.

Disease-free survival favored nivolumab across multiple preplanned subgroups.

However, as Dr. Ilson noted in the editorial, the efficacy of nivolumab varied, with more benefit seen for patients with squamous cell cancer (HR, 0.61) than for those with adenocarcinoma (HR, 0.75). Patients with esophageal tumors also had greater benefit (HR, 0.61) than did those with GEJ tumors (HR, 0.87).

There was benefit in patients with node-negative disease (HR, 0.74) and node-positive disease (HR, 0.67) and benefit in patients with tumors that were PD-L1–negative (HR, 0.73) and PD-L1–positive (HR, 0.75).

There were fewer distant recurrences in the nivolumab group than in the placebo group (29% vs. 39%) and fewer locoregional recurrences (12% vs. 17%).

No new safety signals were observed, and 9% of the nivolumab patients discontinued the drug because of treatment-related adverse events versus 3% of placebo patients. In addition, a 1-year course of adjuvant nivolumab did not negatively impact patient-reported quality of life, the trialists reported.

Grade 3 or 4 adverse events of any cause were more frequent in the nivolumab group versus the placebo group (34% vs. 32%) as were those related to the intervention (13% vs. 6%).

Although overall survival data are not mature, “the doubling of median disease-free survival will almost certainly translate into an overall survival benefit,” Dr. Ilson wrote.

Notably, the trial’s original co-primary endpoint was overall survival, but was dropped to a secondary endpoint after enrollment “challenges.”

When the now-published data were first presented at the 2020 annual meeting of the European Society for Medical Oncology, the invited discussant, Andrés Cervantes, MD, PhD, University of Valencia, Spain, raised several issues with the trial.

Preoperative chemoradiation is not “universally accepted” as the standard of care in this setting, said Dr. Cervantes, president-elect of ESMO.

Dr. Ilson acknowledged as much. “A debate is ongoing about whether chemotherapy alone or combined chemoradiotherapy is the preferred treatment for esophageal cancer before surgery,” he wrote.

In addition, Dr. Cervantes noted that disease-free survival is not currently validated as a major endpoint in gastroesophageal cancers, and the median follow-up was short.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

The Food and Drug Administration has approved the adjuvant use of nivolumab (Opdivo) in patients with resected esophageal or gastroesophageal junction (GEJ) cancer who have received neoadjuvant chemoradiotherapy and have residual pathological disease following surgery.

The approval addresses an unmet need among these patients, who have a high risk of recurrence but for whom surveillance is the only current management option after the above-described standard treatment, according to experts.

The FDA’s approval is based on results from the CheckMate 577 study, which showed a significant improvement in disease-free survival compared with placebo.

This was described as “a practice-changing trial in the treatment of esophageal cancer” by David H. Ilson, MD, PhD, Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center, New York, in an editorial in The New England Journal of Medicine that accompanied the published study results.

“The trial shows the first true advance in the adjuvant therapy of esophageal cancer in recent years,” wrote Dr. Ilson.

In the randomized, double-blind, phase 3 trial, patients with resected stage II or III esophageal or GEJ cancer were randomly assigned in a 2:1 ratio to receive nivolumab (at a dose of 240 mg every 2 weeks for 16 weeks, followed by a dose of 480 mg every 4 weeks) or placebo. The maximum duration of the intervention period was 1 year.

All of these patients had received neoadjuvant chemoradiotherapy and had residual pathological disease, as noted in the new indication. Patients were enrolled regardless of programmed death ligand 1 (PD-L1) expression.

For the primary endpoint of disease-free survival, the median was 22.4 months for the nivolumab group (n = 532) versus 11.0 months for the placebo group (n = 262; hazard ratio [HR] for disease recurrence or death, 0.69; 96.4% confidence interval [CI], 0.56-0.86; P < .001).

The median follow-up was 24.4 months.

Disease-free survival favored nivolumab across multiple preplanned subgroups.

However, as Dr. Ilson noted in the editorial, the efficacy of nivolumab varied, with more benefit seen for patients with squamous cell cancer (HR, 0.61) than for those with adenocarcinoma (HR, 0.75). Patients with esophageal tumors also had greater benefit (HR, 0.61) than did those with GEJ tumors (HR, 0.87).

There was benefit in patients with node-negative disease (HR, 0.74) and node-positive disease (HR, 0.67) and benefit in patients with tumors that were PD-L1–negative (HR, 0.73) and PD-L1–positive (HR, 0.75).

There were fewer distant recurrences in the nivolumab group than in the placebo group (29% vs. 39%) and fewer locoregional recurrences (12% vs. 17%).

No new safety signals were observed, and 9% of the nivolumab patients discontinued the drug because of treatment-related adverse events versus 3% of placebo patients. In addition, a 1-year course of adjuvant nivolumab did not negatively impact patient-reported quality of life, the trialists reported.

Grade 3 or 4 adverse events of any cause were more frequent in the nivolumab group versus the placebo group (34% vs. 32%) as were those related to the intervention (13% vs. 6%).

Although overall survival data are not mature, “the doubling of median disease-free survival will almost certainly translate into an overall survival benefit,” Dr. Ilson wrote.

Notably, the trial’s original co-primary endpoint was overall survival, but was dropped to a secondary endpoint after enrollment “challenges.”

When the now-published data were first presented at the 2020 annual meeting of the European Society for Medical Oncology, the invited discussant, Andrés Cervantes, MD, PhD, University of Valencia, Spain, raised several issues with the trial.

Preoperative chemoradiation is not “universally accepted” as the standard of care in this setting, said Dr. Cervantes, president-elect of ESMO.

Dr. Ilson acknowledged as much. “A debate is ongoing about whether chemotherapy alone or combined chemoradiotherapy is the preferred treatment for esophageal cancer before surgery,” he wrote.

In addition, Dr. Cervantes noted that disease-free survival is not currently validated as a major endpoint in gastroesophageal cancers, and the median follow-up was short.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

A functioning healthcare system requires trust on many levels. In its simplest form, this is the trust between an individual patient and their physician that allows for candor, autonomy, informed decisions, and compassionate care. Trust is a central component of medical education, as trainees gradually earn the trust of their supervisors to achieve autonomy. And, on a much larger scale, societal trust in science, the facts, and the medical system influences individual and group decisions that can have far-reaching consequences.

Defining trust is challenging. Trust is relational, an often subconscious decision “by one individual to depend on another,” but it can also be as broad as trust in an institution or a national system.¹ Trust also requires vulnerability—trusting another person or system means ceding some level of personal control and accepting risk. Thus, to ask patients and society to trust in physicians, the healthcare system, or public health institutions, though essential, is no small request.

Physicians and the medical system at large have not always behaved in ways that warrant trust. Medical research on vulnerable populations (historically marginalized communities, prisoners, residents of institutions) has occurred within living memory. Systemic racism within medicine has led to marked disparities in access and outcomes between White and minoritized communities.² These disparities have been accentuated by the pandemic. Black and Brown patients have higher infection rates and higher mortality rates but less access to healthcare.³ Vaccine distribution, which has been complicated by historic earned distrust from Black and Brown communities, revealed systemic racism. For example, many early mass vaccination sites, such as Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles, could only be easily reached by car. Online appointment scheduling platforms were opaque and required access to technology.⁴

Public trust in institutions has been eroding over the past several decades, but healthcare has unfortunately seen the largest decline.⁵ Individual healthcare decisions have also been increasingly politicized; the net result is the creation of laws, such as those limiting discussions of firearm safety or banning gender-affirming treatments for transgender children, that influence patient-physician interactions. This combination of erosion of trust and politicization of medical decisions has been harshly highlighted by the global pandemic, complicating public health policy and doctor-patient discussions. Public health measures such as masking and vaccination have become polarized.⁶ Further, there is diminishing trust in medical recommendations, brought about by the current media landscape and by frequent modifications to public health recommendations. Science and medicine are constantly changing, and knowledge in these fields is ultimately provisional. Unfortunately, when new data are published that contradict prior information or report new or dramatic findings, it can appear that the medical system was somehow obscuring the truth in the past, rather than simply advancing its knowledge in the present.

How do we build trust? How do we function in a healthcare system where trust has been eroded? Trust is ultimately a fragile thing. The process of earning it is not swift or straightforward, but it can be lost in a moment.

In partnership with the ABIM Foundation, the Journal of Hospital Medicine will explore the concept of trust in all facets of healthcare and medical education, including understanding the drivers of trust in a multitude of settings and in different relationships (patient-clinician, clinician-trainee, clinician- or trainee-organization, health system-community), interventions to build trust, and the enablers of those interventions. To this end, we are seeking articles that explore or evaluate trust. These include original research, brief reports, perspectives, and Leadership & Professional Development articles. Articles focusing on trust should be submitted by December 31, 2021.

A functioning healthcare system requires trust on many levels. In its simplest form, this is the trust between an individual patient and their physician that allows for candor, autonomy, informed decisions, and compassionate care. Trust is a central component of medical education, as trainees gradually earn the trust of their supervisors to achieve autonomy. And, on a much larger scale, societal trust in science, the facts, and the medical system influences individual and group decisions that can have far-reaching consequences.

Defining trust is challenging. Trust is relational, an often subconscious decision “by one individual to depend on another,” but it can also be as broad as trust in an institution or a national system.¹ Trust also requires vulnerability—trusting another person or system means ceding some level of personal control and accepting risk. Thus, to ask patients and society to trust in physicians, the healthcare system, or public health institutions, though essential, is no small request.

Physicians and the medical system at large have not always behaved in ways that warrant trust. Medical research on vulnerable populations (historically marginalized communities, prisoners, residents of institutions) has occurred within living memory. Systemic racism within medicine has led to marked disparities in access and outcomes between White and minoritized communities.² These disparities have been accentuated by the pandemic. Black and Brown patients have higher infection rates and higher mortality rates but less access to healthcare.³ Vaccine distribution, which has been complicated by historic earned distrust from Black and Brown communities, revealed systemic racism. For example, many early mass vaccination sites, such as Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles, could only be easily reached by car. Online appointment scheduling platforms were opaque and required access to technology.⁴

Public trust in institutions has been eroding over the past several decades, but healthcare has unfortunately seen the largest decline.⁵ Individual healthcare decisions have also been increasingly politicized; the net result is the creation of laws, such as those limiting discussions of firearm safety or banning gender-affirming treatments for transgender children, that influence patient-physician interactions. This combination of erosion of trust and politicization of medical decisions has been harshly highlighted by the global pandemic, complicating public health policy and doctor-patient discussions. Public health measures such as masking and vaccination have become polarized.⁶ Further, there is diminishing trust in medical recommendations, brought about by the current media landscape and by frequent modifications to public health recommendations. Science and medicine are constantly changing, and knowledge in these fields is ultimately provisional. Unfortunately, when new data are published that contradict prior information or report new or dramatic findings, it can appear that the medical system was somehow obscuring the truth in the past, rather than simply advancing its knowledge in the present.

How do we build trust? How do we function in a healthcare system where trust has been eroded? Trust is ultimately a fragile thing. The process of earning it is not swift or straightforward, but it can be lost in a moment.

In partnership with the ABIM Foundation, the Journal of Hospital Medicine will explore the concept of trust in all facets of healthcare and medical education, including understanding the drivers of trust in a multitude of settings and in different relationships (patient-clinician, clinician-trainee, clinician- or trainee-organization, health system-community), interventions to build trust, and the enablers of those interventions. To this end, we are seeking articles that explore or evaluate trust. These include original research, brief reports, perspectives, and Leadership & Professional Development articles. Articles focusing on trust should be submitted by December 31, 2021.

A functioning healthcare system requires trust on many levels. In its simplest form, this is the trust between an individual patient and their physician that allows for candor, autonomy, informed decisions, and compassionate care. Trust is a central component of medical education, as trainees gradually earn the trust of their supervisors to achieve autonomy. And, on a much larger scale, societal trust in science, the facts, and the medical system influences individual and group decisions that can have far-reaching consequences.

Defining trust is challenging. Trust is relational, an often subconscious decision “by one individual to depend on another,” but it can also be as broad as trust in an institution or a national system.¹ Trust also requires vulnerability—trusting another person or system means ceding some level of personal control and accepting risk. Thus, to ask patients and society to trust in physicians, the healthcare system, or public health institutions, though essential, is no small request.

Physicians and the medical system at large have not always behaved in ways that warrant trust. Medical research on vulnerable populations (historically marginalized communities, prisoners, residents of institutions) has occurred within living memory. Systemic racism within medicine has led to marked disparities in access and outcomes between White and minoritized communities.² These disparities have been accentuated by the pandemic. Black and Brown patients have higher infection rates and higher mortality rates but less access to healthcare.³ Vaccine distribution, which has been complicated by historic earned distrust from Black and Brown communities, revealed systemic racism. For example, many early mass vaccination sites, such as Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles, could only be easily reached by car. Online appointment scheduling platforms were opaque and required access to technology.⁴

Public trust in institutions has been eroding over the past several decades, but healthcare has unfortunately seen the largest decline.⁵ Individual healthcare decisions have also been increasingly politicized; the net result is the creation of laws, such as those limiting discussions of firearm safety or banning gender-affirming treatments for transgender children, that influence patient-physician interactions. This combination of erosion of trust and politicization of medical decisions has been harshly highlighted by the global pandemic, complicating public health policy and doctor-patient discussions. Public health measures such as masking and vaccination have become polarized.⁶ Further, there is diminishing trust in medical recommendations, brought about by the current media landscape and by frequent modifications to public health recommendations. Science and medicine are constantly changing, and knowledge in these fields is ultimately provisional. Unfortunately, when new data are published that contradict prior information or report new or dramatic findings, it can appear that the medical system was somehow obscuring the truth in the past, rather than simply advancing its knowledge in the present.

How do we build trust? How do we function in a healthcare system where trust has been eroded? Trust is ultimately a fragile thing. The process of earning it is not swift or straightforward, but it can be lost in a moment.

In partnership with the ABIM Foundation, the Journal of Hospital Medicine will explore the concept of trust in all facets of healthcare and medical education, including understanding the drivers of trust in a multitude of settings and in different relationships (patient-clinician, clinician-trainee, clinician- or trainee-organization, health system-community), interventions to build trust, and the enablers of those interventions. To this end, we are seeking articles that explore or evaluate trust. These include original research, brief reports, perspectives, and Leadership & Professional Development articles. Articles focusing on trust should be submitted by December 31, 2021.

The greatest relative benefit from omecamtiv mecarbil, a member of the novel myotropic drug class that improves cardiac performance, is produced in heart failure patients with the lowest left ventricular ejection fraction (LVEF), a new analysis of the recently published phase 3 GALACTIC-HF trial has found.

The findings reinforce the potential for this drug to be helpful in the management of the most advanced stages of heart failure with reduced ejection fraction (HFrEF), reported John R. Teerlink, MD, director of heart failure at San Francisco Veterans Affairs Medical Center, at the annual scientific sessions of the American College of Cardiology.

The phase 3 multinational GALACTIC-HF trial, published earlier this year, linked omecamtiv mecarbil with an 8% reduction in the risk of a heart failure–related events or cardiovascular death, relative to placebo, which was the primary outcome. For entry, HFrEF patients were required to have a LVEF of 35% or less.

Drilling down on ejection fraction

The new analysis divided participants into quartiles of baseline LVEF and then compared relative outcomes and safety.

In the lowest quartile, defined by a LVEF of 22% or lower, the reduction in risk of events reached 17% (hazard ratio, 0.83; 95% confidence interval, 0.73-0.95) for omecamtiv mecarbil relative to placebo. In the highest, defined by a LVEF of 33% or greater, the benefit fell short of significance (HR 0.99; 95% CI, 0.84-1.16). Across quartiles, LVEF was the “strongest modifier of the treatment effect,” emerging in this analysis as a statistically significant (P = .004) continuous variable.

The comparison by LVEF quartiles also provided an opportunity to show that omecamtiv mecarbil was as safe and well tolerated in those with the most advanced disease as in those less sick. At the lowest levels of LVEF, like the higher levels, omecamtiv mecarbil did not produce any adverse effects on blood pressure, heart rate, potassium homeostasis, or renal function.

In GALACTIC-HF, 8,256 HFrEF patients with LVEF 35% or less were randomized to omecamtiv mecarbil or placebo. The primary composite outcome of hospitalization or urgent visit for heart failure or death from cardiovascular causes was evaluated after a median of 21.8 months on therapy.

When incidence rate per 100 patient years was graphed against the range of LVEF, the relative advantage of omecamtiv mecarbil became visible just below an LVEF of 30%, climbing steadily even to the lowest LVEF, which reached 10%.

Perhaps relevant to the reduction in events, there were also greater relative reductions in NT-proBNP (NT-proB-type natriuretic peptide) for omecamtiv mecarbil at lower relative to higher LVEF. Although omecamtiv mecarbil is not associated with any direct vascular, electrophysiologic, or neurohormonal effects, according to Dr. Teerlink, the indirect effects of selective binding to cardiac myosin has been associated with lower NT-proBNP and other biomarkers of cardiac remodeling in prior clinical studies.

Although Dr. Teerlink acknowledged that relatively few patients in GALACTIC-HF received an angiotensin-receptor neprilysin inhibitor (ARNI) or a sodium glucose cotransporter-2 (SGLT2) inhibitor, he said there is “every reason to believe that omecamtiv mecarbil would be complementary to these therapies.” He said the mechanism of action of omecamtiv mecarbil, which improves systolic function, has no overlap with these drugs.

Importantly, there is a particular need for new treatment options in patients with advanced LVEF, according to Dr. Teerlink, who cited evidence, for example, that “the beneficial effect of [the ARNI] sacubitril valsartan, while still significant, decreases in patients with LVEF less than 35%.”

Overall, based on these results, “we believe that omecamtiv mecarbil represents a novel therapy that holds the promise of improving clinical outcomes in patients with severely reduced ejection fraction, which are the very patients that are most challenging for us to treat,” Dr. Teerlink said.
 

Omecamtiv mecarbil may ‘buy you some time’

Ileana Piña, MD, clinical professor of medicine, Central Michigan University, Mount Pleasant, Mich., agreed. She said that omecamtiv mecarbil, if approved, will be an option for the type of HFrEF patients who are being considered for heart transplant or mechanical-assist devices.

“We are very loath to use inotropes in this population, because we know that ultimately the inotrope is not going to do well,” said Dr. Piña, calling these therapies a “Band-Aid.” Based on the evidence from GALACTIC-HF, she thinks that omecamtiv mecarbil will be more versatile.

“This drug does not increase myocardial oxygen demand as do the inotropes, and it can be given in the outpatient setting if need be, so I see this as a real advance,” Dr. Piña said. Although Dr. Piña acknowledged that omecamtiv mecarbil did not reduce mortality in the GALACTIC-HF trial, “at least it will buy you some time.”

Dr. Teerlink has financial relationships with multiple pharmaceutical companies, including Amgen, Cytogenetics, and Servier, which provided funding for the GALACTIC-HF trial. Dr. Piña reports no potential conflicts of interest.

The greatest relative benefit from omecamtiv mecarbil, a member of the novel myotropic drug class that improves cardiac performance, is produced in heart failure patients with the lowest left ventricular ejection fraction (LVEF), a new analysis of the recently published phase 3 GALACTIC-HF trial has found.

The findings reinforce the potential for this drug to be helpful in the management of the most advanced stages of heart failure with reduced ejection fraction (HFrEF), reported John R. Teerlink, MD, director of heart failure at San Francisco Veterans Affairs Medical Center, at the annual scientific sessions of the American College of Cardiology.

The phase 3 multinational GALACTIC-HF trial, published earlier this year, linked omecamtiv mecarbil with an 8% reduction in the risk of a heart failure–related events or cardiovascular death, relative to placebo, which was the primary outcome. For entry, HFrEF patients were required to have a LVEF of 35% or less.

Drilling down on ejection fraction

The new analysis divided participants into quartiles of baseline LVEF and then compared relative outcomes and safety.

In the lowest quartile, defined by a LVEF of 22% or lower, the reduction in risk of events reached 17% (hazard ratio, 0.83; 95% confidence interval, 0.73-0.95) for omecamtiv mecarbil relative to placebo. In the highest, defined by a LVEF of 33% or greater, the benefit fell short of significance (HR 0.99; 95% CI, 0.84-1.16). Across quartiles, LVEF was the “strongest modifier of the treatment effect,” emerging in this analysis as a statistically significant (P = .004) continuous variable.

The comparison by LVEF quartiles also provided an opportunity to show that omecamtiv mecarbil was as safe and well tolerated in those with the most advanced disease as in those less sick. At the lowest levels of LVEF, like the higher levels, omecamtiv mecarbil did not produce any adverse effects on blood pressure, heart rate, potassium homeostasis, or renal function.

In GALACTIC-HF, 8,256 HFrEF patients with LVEF 35% or less were randomized to omecamtiv mecarbil or placebo. The primary composite outcome of hospitalization or urgent visit for heart failure or death from cardiovascular causes was evaluated after a median of 21.8 months on therapy.

When incidence rate per 100 patient years was graphed against the range of LVEF, the relative advantage of omecamtiv mecarbil became visible just below an LVEF of 30%, climbing steadily even to the lowest LVEF, which reached 10%.

Perhaps relevant to the reduction in events, there were also greater relative reductions in NT-proBNP (NT-proB-type natriuretic peptide) for omecamtiv mecarbil at lower relative to higher LVEF. Although omecamtiv mecarbil is not associated with any direct vascular, electrophysiologic, or neurohormonal effects, according to Dr. Teerlink, the indirect effects of selective binding to cardiac myosin has been associated with lower NT-proBNP and other biomarkers of cardiac remodeling in prior clinical studies.

Although Dr. Teerlink acknowledged that relatively few patients in GALACTIC-HF received an angiotensin-receptor neprilysin inhibitor (ARNI) or a sodium glucose cotransporter-2 (SGLT2) inhibitor, he said there is “every reason to believe that omecamtiv mecarbil would be complementary to these therapies.” He said the mechanism of action of omecamtiv mecarbil, which improves systolic function, has no overlap with these drugs.

Importantly, there is a particular need for new treatment options in patients with advanced LVEF, according to Dr. Teerlink, who cited evidence, for example, that “the beneficial effect of [the ARNI] sacubitril valsartan, while still significant, decreases in patients with LVEF less than 35%.”

Overall, based on these results, “we believe that omecamtiv mecarbil represents a novel therapy that holds the promise of improving clinical outcomes in patients with severely reduced ejection fraction, which are the very patients that are most challenging for us to treat,” Dr. Teerlink said.
 

Omecamtiv mecarbil may ‘buy you some time’

Ileana Piña, MD, clinical professor of medicine, Central Michigan University, Mount Pleasant, Mich., agreed. She said that omecamtiv mecarbil, if approved, will be an option for the type of HFrEF patients who are being considered for heart transplant or mechanical-assist devices.

“We are very loath to use inotropes in this population, because we know that ultimately the inotrope is not going to do well,” said Dr. Piña, calling these therapies a “Band-Aid.” Based on the evidence from GALACTIC-HF, she thinks that omecamtiv mecarbil will be more versatile.

“This drug does not increase myocardial oxygen demand as do the inotropes, and it can be given in the outpatient setting if need be, so I see this as a real advance,” Dr. Piña said. Although Dr. Piña acknowledged that omecamtiv mecarbil did not reduce mortality in the GALACTIC-HF trial, “at least it will buy you some time.”

Dr. Teerlink has financial relationships with multiple pharmaceutical companies, including Amgen, Cytogenetics, and Servier, which provided funding for the GALACTIC-HF trial. Dr. Piña reports no potential conflicts of interest.

The greatest relative benefit from omecamtiv mecarbil, a member of the novel myotropic drug class that improves cardiac performance, is produced in heart failure patients with the lowest left ventricular ejection fraction (LVEF), a new analysis of the recently published phase 3 GALACTIC-HF trial has found.

The findings reinforce the potential for this drug to be helpful in the management of the most advanced stages of heart failure with reduced ejection fraction (HFrEF), reported John R. Teerlink, MD, director of heart failure at San Francisco Veterans Affairs Medical Center, at the annual scientific sessions of the American College of Cardiology.

The phase 3 multinational GALACTIC-HF trial, published earlier this year, linked omecamtiv mecarbil with an 8% reduction in the risk of a heart failure–related events or cardiovascular death, relative to placebo, which was the primary outcome. For entry, HFrEF patients were required to have a LVEF of 35% or less.

Drilling down on ejection fraction

The new analysis divided participants into quartiles of baseline LVEF and then compared relative outcomes and safety.

In the lowest quartile, defined by a LVEF of 22% or lower, the reduction in risk of events reached 17% (hazard ratio, 0.83; 95% confidence interval, 0.73-0.95) for omecamtiv mecarbil relative to placebo. In the highest, defined by a LVEF of 33% or greater, the benefit fell short of significance (HR 0.99; 95% CI, 0.84-1.16). Across quartiles, LVEF was the “strongest modifier of the treatment effect,” emerging in this analysis as a statistically significant (P = .004) continuous variable.

The comparison by LVEF quartiles also provided an opportunity to show that omecamtiv mecarbil was as safe and well tolerated in those with the most advanced disease as in those less sick. At the lowest levels of LVEF, like the higher levels, omecamtiv mecarbil did not produce any adverse effects on blood pressure, heart rate, potassium homeostasis, or renal function.

In GALACTIC-HF, 8,256 HFrEF patients with LVEF 35% or less were randomized to omecamtiv mecarbil or placebo. The primary composite outcome of hospitalization or urgent visit for heart failure or death from cardiovascular causes was evaluated after a median of 21.8 months on therapy.

When incidence rate per 100 patient years was graphed against the range of LVEF, the relative advantage of omecamtiv mecarbil became visible just below an LVEF of 30%, climbing steadily even to the lowest LVEF, which reached 10%.

Perhaps relevant to the reduction in events, there were also greater relative reductions in NT-proBNP (NT-proB-type natriuretic peptide) for omecamtiv mecarbil at lower relative to higher LVEF. Although omecamtiv mecarbil is not associated with any direct vascular, electrophysiologic, or neurohormonal effects, according to Dr. Teerlink, the indirect effects of selective binding to cardiac myosin has been associated with lower NT-proBNP and other biomarkers of cardiac remodeling in prior clinical studies.

Although Dr. Teerlink acknowledged that relatively few patients in GALACTIC-HF received an angiotensin-receptor neprilysin inhibitor (ARNI) or a sodium glucose cotransporter-2 (SGLT2) inhibitor, he said there is “every reason to believe that omecamtiv mecarbil would be complementary to these therapies.” He said the mechanism of action of omecamtiv mecarbil, which improves systolic function, has no overlap with these drugs.

Importantly, there is a particular need for new treatment options in patients with advanced LVEF, according to Dr. Teerlink, who cited evidence, for example, that “the beneficial effect of [the ARNI] sacubitril valsartan, while still significant, decreases in patients with LVEF less than 35%.”

Overall, based on these results, “we believe that omecamtiv mecarbil represents a novel therapy that holds the promise of improving clinical outcomes in patients with severely reduced ejection fraction, which are the very patients that are most challenging for us to treat,” Dr. Teerlink said.
 

Omecamtiv mecarbil may ‘buy you some time’

Ileana Piña, MD, clinical professor of medicine, Central Michigan University, Mount Pleasant, Mich., agreed. She said that omecamtiv mecarbil, if approved, will be an option for the type of HFrEF patients who are being considered for heart transplant or mechanical-assist devices.

“We are very loath to use inotropes in this population, because we know that ultimately the inotrope is not going to do well,” said Dr. Piña, calling these therapies a “Band-Aid.” Based on the evidence from GALACTIC-HF, she thinks that omecamtiv mecarbil will be more versatile.

“This drug does not increase myocardial oxygen demand as do the inotropes, and it can be given in the outpatient setting if need be, so I see this as a real advance,” Dr. Piña said. Although Dr. Piña acknowledged that omecamtiv mecarbil did not reduce mortality in the GALACTIC-HF trial, “at least it will buy you some time.”

Dr. Teerlink has financial relationships with multiple pharmaceutical companies, including Amgen, Cytogenetics, and Servier, which provided funding for the GALACTIC-HF trial. Dr. Piña reports no potential conflicts of interest.

Dermatomyositis (DM) is an autoimmune condition characterized by skin and muscle inflammation with an estimated incidence of 9 cases per 1 million people. The incidence of amyopathic DM, which includes antimelanoma differentiation–associated gene 5 (anti-MDA5) DM, is approximately 2 cases per 1 million people.¹ Classic cutaneous manifestations of DM include a heliotrope rash, Gottron papules, and the shawl sign. Features of anti-MDA5 DM include cutaneous ulcerations, most commonly overlying Gottron papules on the elbows and digits, as well as painful palmar macules and papules. We describe 2 patients with anti-MDA5 DM who presented with an ulcerative heliotrope rash. Although heliotrope rash is classic for DM and cutaneous ulcerations are a hallmark of the anti-MDA5 subtype of DM, overlap of these cutaneous manifestations is not commonly reported. Furthermore, ulcerations of the lateral canthi were associated with rapidly progressive interstitial lung disease (ILD).

Case Reports

Patient 1
A woman in her 30s presented with diffuse arthralgias, bilateral eyelid edema, fatigue, and a progressive diffuse exanthem of 3 months’ duration. A review of systems was notable for the absence of myalgias. Physical examination revealed periorbital poikilodermatous patches with erythematous-to-violaceous plaques along the eyelid margins, violaceous papules on the dorsal knuckles, and edematous eroded plaques on the palmar fingertips. The patient was found to have a positive antinuclear antibody titer of 1:320 (reference range, <1:80) with a speckled pattern. A computed tomography (CT) scan of the chest showed patchy bilateral ground-glass opacities that were concerning for ILD. The cutaneous erosions, absence of myalgias, considerable proximal weakness, radiographic evidence of ILD, and positive antinuclear antibody test were clinically suggestive of anti-MDA5 DM. Further workup confirmed this diagnosis with positive reactivity to MDA5 by line immunoassay. The patient was treated with intravenous corticosteroids and was discharged after a 17-day hospitalization; however, she presented 2 months later to outpatient dermatology for progression of the cutaneous ulcerations, at which time an ulcerative heliotrope rash (Figure 1) was identified. Despite compliance with oral corticosteroids (1 mg/kg/d), she was hospitalized 1 month later for progressive respiratory insufficiency. A chest CT showed ground-glass linear opacities centrally located in all lobes of both lungs, consistent with rapidly progressive ILD. Over the course of her 5-day hospitalization, she was treated with corticosteroids, intravenous immunoglobulin (IVIG), and mycophenolate mofetil. The patient responded well to these therapies, leading to resolution of the respiratory symptoms, and she was discharged with plans to continue this regimen as an outpatient.

Patient 2
A woman in her late 30s with a history of known anti-MDA5 DM confirmed by line immunoassay 1 year prior presented to the emergency department with shortness of breath due to progressive ILD and a worsening exanthem. Dermatology was consulted to provide treatment recommendations. The treatment team was concerned for infection or anti-MDA5 DM disease progression. Physical examination revealed an ulcerative heliotrope rash (Figure 2) in addition to cutaneous findings classic for anti-MDA5 DM. Despite interventions, including high-dose corticosteroids, rituximab, IVIG, and plasma exchange, the ILD continued to progress, and the patient and her family elected to de-escalate aggressive medical care and pursue comfort care. The patient later died in in patient hospice.

Comment

Clinical Presentation of Anti-MDA5 DM
Dermatomyositis classically presents with cutaneous manifestations including a heliotropic erythematous rash and Gottron papules as well as accompanying muscle weakness.² However, a subtype known as amyopathic DM, which includes anti-MDA5 DM, usually presents without muscle involvement.³ Clinical muscle weakness has been reported in cases of anti-MDA5 DM, though it is less likely in these patients.⁴ The characteristic cutaneous phenotype of anti-MDA5 DM was described by Fiorentino et al⁵ in 2011 through a seminal retrospective study. Kurtzman and Vleugels⁶ provided validation of the clinical features of anti-MDA5 DM in their 2018 review. The classic cutaneous phenotype of anti-MDA5 DM consists of tender palmar papules and/or skin ulcerations that commonly develop over Gottron papules on the knuckles and digits, lateral nail folds, and elbows.^7-10 A meta-analysis of 1500 patients with anti-MDA5 DM found a statistically significant association with alopecia, Gottron sign or papules, mechanic’s hands, and V rash (P<.05), as well as skin ulcers, panniculitis, arthritis/arthralgia, pneumomediastinum, and rapidly progressive ILD (RP-ILD)(P≤.01).⁴ Rapidly progressive ILD is highly associated with anti-MDA5 DM.^6,11

While a heliotrope rash is classic for DM, and ulcerations are a hallmark of the anti-MDA5 DM subtype, overlap of these cutaneous manifestations is not commonly reported. In both cases presented here, ulcerations of the lateral canthi were associated with progression of ILD.

Diagnosis of Anti-MDA5 DM
Anti-MDA5 DM is defined by the presence of the anti-MDA5 antibody in the serum, named for its reactivity against the RNA helicase encoded by MDA5, within the clinical context of cutaneous signs of DM as described above.¹²

As described by Rider et al,¹³ a thorough laboratory analysis, including complete blood cell count, serum electrolytes, calcium, magnesium, phosphorus, and thyroid-stimulating hormone, is necessary to rule out conditions with similar presentations. Additionally, serum analysis for elevated muscle enzymes (creatinine phosphokinase, aldolase, lactate dehydrogenase, alanine aminotransferase, and aspartate aminotransferase) is necessary to assess for subclinical muscle involvement. Serologic evidence of myositis usually denotes an alternative diagnosis.¹³ Antinuclear antibodies and myositis-specific antibody positivity are much less frequent in the anti-MDA5 DM subtype than in other forms of DM.⁶

Anti-MDA5 antibody titer, ferritin, and IL-18 can be trended and may be useful in the evaluation of the response to treatment and ILD status in patients with anti-MDA5 DM.^14,15 Elevated alveolar-arterial gradient, serum ferritin, serum chitotriosidase, and serum chitinase-3-like protein 1 (YKL-40) have each been associated with poorer prognosis of anti-MDA5 DM. The aforementioned serologies therefore may be helpful in determination of risk stratification and treatment aggressiveness.^16-19

Because of its strong association with RP-ILD, screening for pulmonary disease is necessary in all patients with confirmed or strongly suspected anti-MDA5 DM. Screening can be performed with pulmonary function testing; however, high-resolution chest CT is the gold standard for diagnosis of ILD.²⁰

Finally, all patients with a new diagnosis of DM should be evaluated for underlying malignancy through cancer screenings, given the propensity for DM to present as a paraneoplastic process.²¹ However, reports have indicated that the anti-MDA5 DM subtype may have a reduced risk for or an inverse relationship with underlying malignancy.⁵

Treatment Options for Anti-MDA5 DM
Early and aggressive therapy should be considered in the treatment of anti-MDA5 DM because of its association with RP-ILD. No treatment protocol is well established; thus, an individualized therapeutic approach may be guided by symptom severity and the clinical, radiographic, or functional evidence of ILD.⁶ High-dose systemic corticosteroids are first line, either in combination with or as a bridge to corticosteroid-sparing agents for immunosuppression. Many steroid-sparing medications have been employed with varying success. Mycophenolate mofetil is a reasonable first-line corticosteroid-sparing immunosuppressant agent, given its added benefit of attenuating ILD progression.⁶ A combination of high-dose corticosteroids, cyclosporine, and cyclophosphamide is utilized by some initially in the treatment of anti-MDA5 with ILD.^22,23 While others have used combinations of these immunomodulatory agents with mycophenolate mofetil, IVIG, rituximab, azathioprine, tofacitinib, and polymyxin B, direct hemoperfusion has been added, leading to successful remission.^23-28

Conclusion

We present 2 patients with anti-MDA5 DM who demonstrated a rare cutaneous manifestation of an ulcerative heliotrope rash. In both cases, this cutaneous finding was associated with the development of RP-ILD. Because of the strong association with and rapid progression of ILD seen in anti-MDA5 DM, early identification and aggressive treatment of this subtype are imperative. The clinician should recognize nonacral locations of cutaneous ulcerations, including an ulcerated heliotrope rash, to optimize diagnosis and management.

Dermatomyositis (DM) is an autoimmune condition characterized by skin and muscle inflammation with an estimated incidence of 9 cases per 1 million people. The incidence of amyopathic DM, which includes antimelanoma differentiation–associated gene 5 (anti-MDA5) DM, is approximately 2 cases per 1 million people.¹ Classic cutaneous manifestations of DM include a heliotrope rash, Gottron papules, and the shawl sign. Features of anti-MDA5 DM include cutaneous ulcerations, most commonly overlying Gottron papules on the elbows and digits, as well as painful palmar macules and papules. We describe 2 patients with anti-MDA5 DM who presented with an ulcerative heliotrope rash. Although heliotrope rash is classic for DM and cutaneous ulcerations are a hallmark of the anti-MDA5 subtype of DM, overlap of these cutaneous manifestations is not commonly reported. Furthermore, ulcerations of the lateral canthi were associated with rapidly progressive interstitial lung disease (ILD).

Case Reports

Patient 1
A woman in her 30s presented with diffuse arthralgias, bilateral eyelid edema, fatigue, and a progressive diffuse exanthem of 3 months’ duration. A review of systems was notable for the absence of myalgias. Physical examination revealed periorbital poikilodermatous patches with erythematous-to-violaceous plaques along the eyelid margins, violaceous papules on the dorsal knuckles, and edematous eroded plaques on the palmar fingertips. The patient was found to have a positive antinuclear antibody titer of 1:320 (reference range, <1:80) with a speckled pattern. A computed tomography (CT) scan of the chest showed patchy bilateral ground-glass opacities that were concerning for ILD. The cutaneous erosions, absence of myalgias, considerable proximal weakness, radiographic evidence of ILD, and positive antinuclear antibody test were clinically suggestive of anti-MDA5 DM. Further workup confirmed this diagnosis with positive reactivity to MDA5 by line immunoassay. The patient was treated with intravenous corticosteroids and was discharged after a 17-day hospitalization; however, she presented 2 months later to outpatient dermatology for progression of the cutaneous ulcerations, at which time an ulcerative heliotrope rash (Figure 1) was identified. Despite compliance with oral corticosteroids (1 mg/kg/d), she was hospitalized 1 month later for progressive respiratory insufficiency. A chest CT showed ground-glass linear opacities centrally located in all lobes of both lungs, consistent with rapidly progressive ILD. Over the course of her 5-day hospitalization, she was treated with corticosteroids, intravenous immunoglobulin (IVIG), and mycophenolate mofetil. The patient responded well to these therapies, leading to resolution of the respiratory symptoms, and she was discharged with plans to continue this regimen as an outpatient.

Patient 2
A woman in her late 30s with a history of known anti-MDA5 DM confirmed by line immunoassay 1 year prior presented to the emergency department with shortness of breath due to progressive ILD and a worsening exanthem. Dermatology was consulted to provide treatment recommendations. The treatment team was concerned for infection or anti-MDA5 DM disease progression. Physical examination revealed an ulcerative heliotrope rash (Figure 2) in addition to cutaneous findings classic for anti-MDA5 DM. Despite interventions, including high-dose corticosteroids, rituximab, IVIG, and plasma exchange, the ILD continued to progress, and the patient and her family elected to de-escalate aggressive medical care and pursue comfort care. The patient later died in in patient hospice.

Comment

Clinical Presentation of Anti-MDA5 DM
Dermatomyositis classically presents with cutaneous manifestations including a heliotropic erythematous rash and Gottron papules as well as accompanying muscle weakness.² However, a subtype known as amyopathic DM, which includes anti-MDA5 DM, usually presents without muscle involvement.³ Clinical muscle weakness has been reported in cases of anti-MDA5 DM, though it is less likely in these patients.⁴ The characteristic cutaneous phenotype of anti-MDA5 DM was described by Fiorentino et al⁵ in 2011 through a seminal retrospective study. Kurtzman and Vleugels⁶ provided validation of the clinical features of anti-MDA5 DM in their 2018 review. The classic cutaneous phenotype of anti-MDA5 DM consists of tender palmar papules and/or skin ulcerations that commonly develop over Gottron papules on the knuckles and digits, lateral nail folds, and elbows.^7-10 A meta-analysis of 1500 patients with anti-MDA5 DM found a statistically significant association with alopecia, Gottron sign or papules, mechanic’s hands, and V rash (P<.05), as well as skin ulcers, panniculitis, arthritis/arthralgia, pneumomediastinum, and rapidly progressive ILD (RP-ILD)(P≤.01).⁴ Rapidly progressive ILD is highly associated with anti-MDA5 DM.^6,11

While a heliotrope rash is classic for DM, and ulcerations are a hallmark of the anti-MDA5 DM subtype, overlap of these cutaneous manifestations is not commonly reported. In both cases presented here, ulcerations of the lateral canthi were associated with progression of ILD.

Diagnosis of Anti-MDA5 DM
Anti-MDA5 DM is defined by the presence of the anti-MDA5 antibody in the serum, named for its reactivity against the RNA helicase encoded by MDA5, within the clinical context of cutaneous signs of DM as described above.¹²

As described by Rider et al,¹³ a thorough laboratory analysis, including complete blood cell count, serum electrolytes, calcium, magnesium, phosphorus, and thyroid-stimulating hormone, is necessary to rule out conditions with similar presentations. Additionally, serum analysis for elevated muscle enzymes (creatinine phosphokinase, aldolase, lactate dehydrogenase, alanine aminotransferase, and aspartate aminotransferase) is necessary to assess for subclinical muscle involvement. Serologic evidence of myositis usually denotes an alternative diagnosis.¹³ Antinuclear antibodies and myositis-specific antibody positivity are much less frequent in the anti-MDA5 DM subtype than in other forms of DM.⁶

Anti-MDA5 antibody titer, ferritin, and IL-18 can be trended and may be useful in the evaluation of the response to treatment and ILD status in patients with anti-MDA5 DM.^14,15 Elevated alveolar-arterial gradient, serum ferritin, serum chitotriosidase, and serum chitinase-3-like protein 1 (YKL-40) have each been associated with poorer prognosis of anti-MDA5 DM. The aforementioned serologies therefore may be helpful in determination of risk stratification and treatment aggressiveness.^16-19

Because of its strong association with RP-ILD, screening for pulmonary disease is necessary in all patients with confirmed or strongly suspected anti-MDA5 DM. Screening can be performed with pulmonary function testing; however, high-resolution chest CT is the gold standard for diagnosis of ILD.²⁰

Finally, all patients with a new diagnosis of DM should be evaluated for underlying malignancy through cancer screenings, given the propensity for DM to present as a paraneoplastic process.²¹ However, reports have indicated that the anti-MDA5 DM subtype may have a reduced risk for or an inverse relationship with underlying malignancy.⁵

Treatment Options for Anti-MDA5 DM
Early and aggressive therapy should be considered in the treatment of anti-MDA5 DM because of its association with RP-ILD. No treatment protocol is well established; thus, an individualized therapeutic approach may be guided by symptom severity and the clinical, radiographic, or functional evidence of ILD.⁶ High-dose systemic corticosteroids are first line, either in combination with or as a bridge to corticosteroid-sparing agents for immunosuppression. Many steroid-sparing medications have been employed with varying success. Mycophenolate mofetil is a reasonable first-line corticosteroid-sparing immunosuppressant agent, given its added benefit of attenuating ILD progression.⁶ A combination of high-dose corticosteroids, cyclosporine, and cyclophosphamide is utilized by some initially in the treatment of anti-MDA5 with ILD.^22,23 While others have used combinations of these immunomodulatory agents with mycophenolate mofetil, IVIG, rituximab, azathioprine, tofacitinib, and polymyxin B, direct hemoperfusion has been added, leading to successful remission.^23-28

Conclusion

We present 2 patients with anti-MDA5 DM who demonstrated a rare cutaneous manifestation of an ulcerative heliotrope rash. In both cases, this cutaneous finding was associated with the development of RP-ILD. Because of the strong association with and rapid progression of ILD seen in anti-MDA5 DM, early identification and aggressive treatment of this subtype are imperative. The clinician should recognize nonacral locations of cutaneous ulcerations, including an ulcerated heliotrope rash, to optimize diagnosis and management.

Dermatomyositis (DM) is an autoimmune condition characterized by skin and muscle inflammation with an estimated incidence of 9 cases per 1 million people. The incidence of amyopathic DM, which includes antimelanoma differentiation–associated gene 5 (anti-MDA5) DM, is approximately 2 cases per 1 million people.¹ Classic cutaneous manifestations of DM include a heliotrope rash, Gottron papules, and the shawl sign. Features of anti-MDA5 DM include cutaneous ulcerations, most commonly overlying Gottron papules on the elbows and digits, as well as painful palmar macules and papules. We describe 2 patients with anti-MDA5 DM who presented with an ulcerative heliotrope rash. Although heliotrope rash is classic for DM and cutaneous ulcerations are a hallmark of the anti-MDA5 subtype of DM, overlap of these cutaneous manifestations is not commonly reported. Furthermore, ulcerations of the lateral canthi were associated with rapidly progressive interstitial lung disease (ILD).

Case Reports

Patient 1
A woman in her 30s presented with diffuse arthralgias, bilateral eyelid edema, fatigue, and a progressive diffuse exanthem of 3 months’ duration. A review of systems was notable for the absence of myalgias. Physical examination revealed periorbital poikilodermatous patches with erythematous-to-violaceous plaques along the eyelid margins, violaceous papules on the dorsal knuckles, and edematous eroded plaques on the palmar fingertips. The patient was found to have a positive antinuclear antibody titer of 1:320 (reference range, <1:80) with a speckled pattern. A computed tomography (CT) scan of the chest showed patchy bilateral ground-glass opacities that were concerning for ILD. The cutaneous erosions, absence of myalgias, considerable proximal weakness, radiographic evidence of ILD, and positive antinuclear antibody test were clinically suggestive of anti-MDA5 DM. Further workup confirmed this diagnosis with positive reactivity to MDA5 by line immunoassay. The patient was treated with intravenous corticosteroids and was discharged after a 17-day hospitalization; however, she presented 2 months later to outpatient dermatology for progression of the cutaneous ulcerations, at which time an ulcerative heliotrope rash (Figure 1) was identified. Despite compliance with oral corticosteroids (1 mg/kg/d), she was hospitalized 1 month later for progressive respiratory insufficiency. A chest CT showed ground-glass linear opacities centrally located in all lobes of both lungs, consistent with rapidly progressive ILD. Over the course of her 5-day hospitalization, she was treated with corticosteroids, intravenous immunoglobulin (IVIG), and mycophenolate mofetil. The patient responded well to these therapies, leading to resolution of the respiratory symptoms, and she was discharged with plans to continue this regimen as an outpatient.

Patient 2
A woman in her late 30s with a history of known anti-MDA5 DM confirmed by line immunoassay 1 year prior presented to the emergency department with shortness of breath due to progressive ILD and a worsening exanthem. Dermatology was consulted to provide treatment recommendations. The treatment team was concerned for infection or anti-MDA5 DM disease progression. Physical examination revealed an ulcerative heliotrope rash (Figure 2) in addition to cutaneous findings classic for anti-MDA5 DM. Despite interventions, including high-dose corticosteroids, rituximab, IVIG, and plasma exchange, the ILD continued to progress, and the patient and her family elected to de-escalate aggressive medical care and pursue comfort care. The patient later died in in patient hospice.

Comment

Clinical Presentation of Anti-MDA5 DM
Dermatomyositis classically presents with cutaneous manifestations including a heliotropic erythematous rash and Gottron papules as well as accompanying muscle weakness.² However, a subtype known as amyopathic DM, which includes anti-MDA5 DM, usually presents without muscle involvement.³ Clinical muscle weakness has been reported in cases of anti-MDA5 DM, though it is less likely in these patients.⁴ The characteristic cutaneous phenotype of anti-MDA5 DM was described by Fiorentino et al⁵ in 2011 through a seminal retrospective study. Kurtzman and Vleugels⁶ provided validation of the clinical features of anti-MDA5 DM in their 2018 review. The classic cutaneous phenotype of anti-MDA5 DM consists of tender palmar papules and/or skin ulcerations that commonly develop over Gottron papules on the knuckles and digits, lateral nail folds, and elbows.^7-10 A meta-analysis of 1500 patients with anti-MDA5 DM found a statistically significant association with alopecia, Gottron sign or papules, mechanic’s hands, and V rash (P<.05), as well as skin ulcers, panniculitis, arthritis/arthralgia, pneumomediastinum, and rapidly progressive ILD (RP-ILD)(P≤.01).⁴ Rapidly progressive ILD is highly associated with anti-MDA5 DM.^6,11

While a heliotrope rash is classic for DM, and ulcerations are a hallmark of the anti-MDA5 DM subtype, overlap of these cutaneous manifestations is not commonly reported. In both cases presented here, ulcerations of the lateral canthi were associated with progression of ILD.

Diagnosis of Anti-MDA5 DM
Anti-MDA5 DM is defined by the presence of the anti-MDA5 antibody in the serum, named for its reactivity against the RNA helicase encoded by MDA5, within the clinical context of cutaneous signs of DM as described above.¹²

As described by Rider et al,¹³ a thorough laboratory analysis, including complete blood cell count, serum electrolytes, calcium, magnesium, phosphorus, and thyroid-stimulating hormone, is necessary to rule out conditions with similar presentations. Additionally, serum analysis for elevated muscle enzymes (creatinine phosphokinase, aldolase, lactate dehydrogenase, alanine aminotransferase, and aspartate aminotransferase) is necessary to assess for subclinical muscle involvement. Serologic evidence of myositis usually denotes an alternative diagnosis.¹³ Antinuclear antibodies and myositis-specific antibody positivity are much less frequent in the anti-MDA5 DM subtype than in other forms of DM.⁶

Anti-MDA5 antibody titer, ferritin, and IL-18 can be trended and may be useful in the evaluation of the response to treatment and ILD status in patients with anti-MDA5 DM.^14,15 Elevated alveolar-arterial gradient, serum ferritin, serum chitotriosidase, and serum chitinase-3-like protein 1 (YKL-40) have each been associated with poorer prognosis of anti-MDA5 DM. The aforementioned serologies therefore may be helpful in determination of risk stratification and treatment aggressiveness.^16-19

Because of its strong association with RP-ILD, screening for pulmonary disease is necessary in all patients with confirmed or strongly suspected anti-MDA5 DM. Screening can be performed with pulmonary function testing; however, high-resolution chest CT is the gold standard for diagnosis of ILD.²⁰

Finally, all patients with a new diagnosis of DM should be evaluated for underlying malignancy through cancer screenings, given the propensity for DM to present as a paraneoplastic process.²¹ However, reports have indicated that the anti-MDA5 DM subtype may have a reduced risk for or an inverse relationship with underlying malignancy.⁵

Treatment Options for Anti-MDA5 DM
Early and aggressive therapy should be considered in the treatment of anti-MDA5 DM because of its association with RP-ILD. No treatment protocol is well established; thus, an individualized therapeutic approach may be guided by symptom severity and the clinical, radiographic, or functional evidence of ILD.⁶ High-dose systemic corticosteroids are first line, either in combination with or as a bridge to corticosteroid-sparing agents for immunosuppression. Many steroid-sparing medications have been employed with varying success. Mycophenolate mofetil is a reasonable first-line corticosteroid-sparing immunosuppressant agent, given its added benefit of attenuating ILD progression.⁶ A combination of high-dose corticosteroids, cyclosporine, and cyclophosphamide is utilized by some initially in the treatment of anti-MDA5 with ILD.^22,23 While others have used combinations of these immunomodulatory agents with mycophenolate mofetil, IVIG, rituximab, azathioprine, tofacitinib, and polymyxin B, direct hemoperfusion has been added, leading to successful remission.^23-28

Conclusion

We present 2 patients with anti-MDA5 DM who demonstrated a rare cutaneous manifestation of an ulcerative heliotrope rash. In both cases, this cutaneous finding was associated with the development of RP-ILD. Because of the strong association with and rapid progression of ILD seen in anti-MDA5 DM, early identification and aggressive treatment of this subtype are imperative. The clinician should recognize nonacral locations of cutaneous ulcerations, including an ulcerated heliotrope rash, to optimize diagnosis and management.

Approaching the nursing unit, I heard the anxiety in my masked colleagues’ voices. I was starting another rotation on our COVID unit; this week I was trying to develop my emotional awareness in an effort to help with the stress of the job and, just as importantly, take in the moments of positive emotions when they arose. I was making a conscious effort to take in all I saw and felt in the same way I approached my patient examinations: my mind quiet, receptive, and curious.

Seeing my nursing teammates covered with personal protective equipment, I felt a little reverence at the purpose they bring to work. Thinking of our patients, isolated and scared in noisy, ventilated rooms, there was compassion welling up in my chest. Thinking about my role on the team, I felt humbled by the challenges of treating this new disease and meeting the needs of staff and patient.

A few years ago, a period of frustration and disaffectedness had led me to apply my diagnostic eye to myself: I was burning out. Developing a mindfulness practice has transformed my experience at work. Now, the pandemic pushed me to go beyond a few minutes of quieting the mind before work. I was developing my emotional awareness. A growing body of research suggests that emotional awareness helps temper the negative experiences and savor the good. This week on the COVID unit was an opportunity to put this idea to the test.

Across the hall from the desk was Ms. A, 85-year-old woman who always clutched her rosary. My Spanish is not great, but I understood her prayer when I entered the room. She had tested positive for COVID about 7 days before – so had all the people in her multigenerational home. Over the din of the negative-pressure machine, with damp eyes she kept saying she wanted to go home. I felt my body soften and, in my chest, it felt as if my heart moved towards her which is the manifestation of compassion. “I will do my best to get you there soon,” I said in an effort to comfort her.

We often resist strong emotions, especially at work, because they can increase stress in situations where we need to be in control. In high-emotion situations, our brain’s warning centers alert both body and brain. This has helped our ancestors to action over the millennia, but in the hospital, these responses hurt more than help. Our bodies amplifying the emotion, our mind races for solutions and we can feel overwhelmed.

Simply recognizing the emotion and naming it puts the brakes on this process. fMRI data demonstrate that naming the emotions moves the brain activity away from the emotion centers to the appraisal centers in the frontal lobe. Just the perspective to see the emotional process calms it down.

Name it to tame it – this is what those in the field call this act. “This is sadness,” I said to myself as I left Ms. A’s room.

Down the hall was Mr. D; he was an 81-year-old former Vietnamese refugee. He had come in 3 days prior to my coming on service. While he didn’t talk, even with an interpreter, he ate well and had looked comfortable for days on 50% O₂.

Ms. A’s O₂ needs crept up each day as did her anxiety, the plaintive tenor of her prayers and inquiries about going home. I got a priest to visit, not for last rites but just for some support. Over the phone, I updated the family on the prognosis.

A couple of days later, she needed 95% O₂ and with PO₂ was only 70. I told her family it seemed she was losing her battle with the virus. I said we could see how she did on 60% – that’s the max she could get at home with hospice. I called them after 2 hours on 60% to tell them she was up eating and despite slight increased resp rate, she looked okay. “Can you guarantee that she would not make it if she stayed in the hospital? “

My body vibrating with uncertainty – an emotional mix of fear and sadness – I said, “I am sorry, but this is such a new disease, I can’t say that for certain.” On the call, family members voiced different opinions, but in the end, they were unable to give up hope, so we agreed to keep her in hospital.

Down the hall, Mr. D had stopped eating and his sats dropped as did his blood pressure. A nurse exited his room; despite the mask and steamed-up glasses, I could read her body language. “That poor man is dying,” she said. I told her I agreed and called the family with the news and to offer them a chance to visit and to talk about home hospice.

“He has not seen any of us in 10 months,” said his daughter over the phone, “We would love to visit and talk about bringing him home on hospice.” The next morning four of his nine kids showed up with a quart of jook, an Asian rice porridge, for him and pastries for the staff.

They left the room smiling an hour later. “He ate all the jook and he smiled! Yes, let’s work on home with hospice.” That night his blood pressure was better, and we were able to move him to 8 liters oxymizer; the staff was excited by his improvement, too.

The next day Ms. A was less responsive with sats in the 80’s on 100% FiO₂, but she still had this great sense of warmth and dignity about her. When I entered the room, Spanish Catholic hymns were playing, two of her kids stood leaning over the bed and on an iPod, there was a chorus of tears. 20 family members were all crying on a Zoom call. Together this made the most beautiful soundtrack to an end of life I have ever heard. I tried hard not to join the chorus as we talked about turning off the oxygen to help limit her suffering.

We added a bolus of morphine to her drip and removed the oxygen. She looked more beautiful and peaceful without it. Briefly, she closed her eyes then opened them, her breathing calmer. And with the hymns and the chorus of family crying she lived another 20 minutes in the loving presence of her big family.

Leaving the room, I was flooded with “woulda, coulda, shouldas” that accompany work with so much uncertainty and high stakes. “Maybe I should have tried convalescent plasma. Maybe I should have told them she must go home,” and so on my mind went on looking for solutions when there were none. I turned to my body – my chest ached, and I whispered to myself: “This is how sadness feels.”

By thinking about how the emotion feels in the body, we move the mind away from problem solving that can end up leading to unhealthy ruminations. Such thoughts in times of high emotions lead to that pressurized, tightness feeling we get when overwhelmed. Taking in the universal sensations of the emotions is calming and connects us with these deep human experiences in healthy ways. At the same time, the racing and ruminations stop.

Meanwhile, down the hall, Mr. D’s family arrived in great spirits armed with more food for patient and staff. He was to go home later that day with hospice. When they saw him up in the chair without the oxygen, they said: “It is a miracle, Dr. Hass! He is going home on hospice but having beat COVID! We can’t thank you enough!”

“Don’t thank me! He was cured by love and jook! What a lesson for us all. Sometimes there is no better medicine than food from home and love!” With the explosive expansiveness of joy, we shared some “elbow bumps” and took some pictures before he was wheeled home.

Back at the nurse’s station, there were tears. Sometimes life is so full of emotion that it is hard to give it a name – joy? grief? Our bodies almost pulsing, our minds searching for words, it is as if an ancient process is marking a time and place in our souls. “This is what it is to be a human being living with love and creating meaning,” the experience seems to be telling us.

This is awesome work. In fact, awe was what we were feeling then – that sense of wonder we have in the presence of something beautiful or vast that we cannot easily comprehend. Taking in these moments of awe at the power and depth of the human experience is critical to keep us humble, engaged, and emotionally involved.

Cultivating emotional awareness is a simple technique to maintain equanimity as we do the emotionally turbulent work of caring for vulnerable and seriously ill members of our community. It uses the same techniques of attention and diagnosis we use on those we care for. It is a practice that can be seamlessly incorporated into our workday with no time added. Recognizing it, naming it, and feeling it will give us the resilience to handle the challenges this amazing work inevitably brings.

Dr. Hass is a hospitalist at Sutter East Bay Medical Group in Oakland, Calif. He is a member of the clinical faculty at the University of California, Berkeley–UC San Francisco joint medical program, and an adviser on health and health care at the Greater Good Science Center at UC Berkeley.

Approaching the nursing unit, I heard the anxiety in my masked colleagues’ voices. I was starting another rotation on our COVID unit; this week I was trying to develop my emotional awareness in an effort to help with the stress of the job and, just as importantly, take in the moments of positive emotions when they arose. I was making a conscious effort to take in all I saw and felt in the same way I approached my patient examinations: my mind quiet, receptive, and curious.

Seeing my nursing teammates covered with personal protective equipment, I felt a little reverence at the purpose they bring to work. Thinking of our patients, isolated and scared in noisy, ventilated rooms, there was compassion welling up in my chest. Thinking about my role on the team, I felt humbled by the challenges of treating this new disease and meeting the needs of staff and patient.

A few years ago, a period of frustration and disaffectedness had led me to apply my diagnostic eye to myself: I was burning out. Developing a mindfulness practice has transformed my experience at work. Now, the pandemic pushed me to go beyond a few minutes of quieting the mind before work. I was developing my emotional awareness. A growing body of research suggests that emotional awareness helps temper the negative experiences and savor the good. This week on the COVID unit was an opportunity to put this idea to the test.

Across the hall from the desk was Ms. A, 85-year-old woman who always clutched her rosary. My Spanish is not great, but I understood her prayer when I entered the room. She had tested positive for COVID about 7 days before – so had all the people in her multigenerational home. Over the din of the negative-pressure machine, with damp eyes she kept saying she wanted to go home. I felt my body soften and, in my chest, it felt as if my heart moved towards her which is the manifestation of compassion. “I will do my best to get you there soon,” I said in an effort to comfort her.

We often resist strong emotions, especially at work, because they can increase stress in situations where we need to be in control. In high-emotion situations, our brain’s warning centers alert both body and brain. This has helped our ancestors to action over the millennia, but in the hospital, these responses hurt more than help. Our bodies amplifying the emotion, our mind races for solutions and we can feel overwhelmed.

Simply recognizing the emotion and naming it puts the brakes on this process. fMRI data demonstrate that naming the emotions moves the brain activity away from the emotion centers to the appraisal centers in the frontal lobe. Just the perspective to see the emotional process calms it down.

Name it to tame it – this is what those in the field call this act. “This is sadness,” I said to myself as I left Ms. A’s room.

Down the hall was Mr. D; he was an 81-year-old former Vietnamese refugee. He had come in 3 days prior to my coming on service. While he didn’t talk, even with an interpreter, he ate well and had looked comfortable for days on 50% O₂.

Ms. A’s O₂ needs crept up each day as did her anxiety, the plaintive tenor of her prayers and inquiries about going home. I got a priest to visit, not for last rites but just for some support. Over the phone, I updated the family on the prognosis.

A couple of days later, she needed 95% O₂ and with PO₂ was only 70. I told her family it seemed she was losing her battle with the virus. I said we could see how she did on 60% – that’s the max she could get at home with hospice. I called them after 2 hours on 60% to tell them she was up eating and despite slight increased resp rate, she looked okay. “Can you guarantee that she would not make it if she stayed in the hospital? “

My body vibrating with uncertainty – an emotional mix of fear and sadness – I said, “I am sorry, but this is such a new disease, I can’t say that for certain.” On the call, family members voiced different opinions, but in the end, they were unable to give up hope, so we agreed to keep her in hospital.

Down the hall, Mr. D had stopped eating and his sats dropped as did his blood pressure. A nurse exited his room; despite the mask and steamed-up glasses, I could read her body language. “That poor man is dying,” she said. I told her I agreed and called the family with the news and to offer them a chance to visit and to talk about home hospice.

“He has not seen any of us in 10 months,” said his daughter over the phone, “We would love to visit and talk about bringing him home on hospice.” The next morning four of his nine kids showed up with a quart of jook, an Asian rice porridge, for him and pastries for the staff.

They left the room smiling an hour later. “He ate all the jook and he smiled! Yes, let’s work on home with hospice.” That night his blood pressure was better, and we were able to move him to 8 liters oxymizer; the staff was excited by his improvement, too.

The next day Ms. A was less responsive with sats in the 80’s on 100% FiO₂, but she still had this great sense of warmth and dignity about her. When I entered the room, Spanish Catholic hymns were playing, two of her kids stood leaning over the bed and on an iPod, there was a chorus of tears. 20 family members were all crying on a Zoom call. Together this made the most beautiful soundtrack to an end of life I have ever heard. I tried hard not to join the chorus as we talked about turning off the oxygen to help limit her suffering.

We added a bolus of morphine to her drip and removed the oxygen. She looked more beautiful and peaceful without it. Briefly, she closed her eyes then opened them, her breathing calmer. And with the hymns and the chorus of family crying she lived another 20 minutes in the loving presence of her big family.

Leaving the room, I was flooded with “woulda, coulda, shouldas” that accompany work with so much uncertainty and high stakes. “Maybe I should have tried convalescent plasma. Maybe I should have told them she must go home,” and so on my mind went on looking for solutions when there were none. I turned to my body – my chest ached, and I whispered to myself: “This is how sadness feels.”

By thinking about how the emotion feels in the body, we move the mind away from problem solving that can end up leading to unhealthy ruminations. Such thoughts in times of high emotions lead to that pressurized, tightness feeling we get when overwhelmed. Taking in the universal sensations of the emotions is calming and connects us with these deep human experiences in healthy ways. At the same time, the racing and ruminations stop.

Meanwhile, down the hall, Mr. D’s family arrived in great spirits armed with more food for patient and staff. He was to go home later that day with hospice. When they saw him up in the chair without the oxygen, they said: “It is a miracle, Dr. Hass! He is going home on hospice but having beat COVID! We can’t thank you enough!”

“Don’t thank me! He was cured by love and jook! What a lesson for us all. Sometimes there is no better medicine than food from home and love!” With the explosive expansiveness of joy, we shared some “elbow bumps” and took some pictures before he was wheeled home.

Back at the nurse’s station, there were tears. Sometimes life is so full of emotion that it is hard to give it a name – joy? grief? Our bodies almost pulsing, our minds searching for words, it is as if an ancient process is marking a time and place in our souls. “This is what it is to be a human being living with love and creating meaning,” the experience seems to be telling us.

This is awesome work. In fact, awe was what we were feeling then – that sense of wonder we have in the presence of something beautiful or vast that we cannot easily comprehend. Taking in these moments of awe at the power and depth of the human experience is critical to keep us humble, engaged, and emotionally involved.

Cultivating emotional awareness is a simple technique to maintain equanimity as we do the emotionally turbulent work of caring for vulnerable and seriously ill members of our community. It uses the same techniques of attention and diagnosis we use on those we care for. It is a practice that can be seamlessly incorporated into our workday with no time added. Recognizing it, naming it, and feeling it will give us the resilience to handle the challenges this amazing work inevitably brings.

Dr. Hass is a hospitalist at Sutter East Bay Medical Group in Oakland, Calif. He is a member of the clinical faculty at the University of California, Berkeley–UC San Francisco joint medical program, and an adviser on health and health care at the Greater Good Science Center at UC Berkeley.

Approaching the nursing unit, I heard the anxiety in my masked colleagues’ voices. I was starting another rotation on our COVID unit; this week I was trying to develop my emotional awareness in an effort to help with the stress of the job and, just as importantly, take in the moments of positive emotions when they arose. I was making a conscious effort to take in all I saw and felt in the same way I approached my patient examinations: my mind quiet, receptive, and curious.

Seeing my nursing teammates covered with personal protective equipment, I felt a little reverence at the purpose they bring to work. Thinking of our patients, isolated and scared in noisy, ventilated rooms, there was compassion welling up in my chest. Thinking about my role on the team, I felt humbled by the challenges of treating this new disease and meeting the needs of staff and patient.

A few years ago, a period of frustration and disaffectedness had led me to apply my diagnostic eye to myself: I was burning out. Developing a mindfulness practice has transformed my experience at work. Now, the pandemic pushed me to go beyond a few minutes of quieting the mind before work. I was developing my emotional awareness. A growing body of research suggests that emotional awareness helps temper the negative experiences and savor the good. This week on the COVID unit was an opportunity to put this idea to the test.

Across the hall from the desk was Ms. A, 85-year-old woman who always clutched her rosary. My Spanish is not great, but I understood her prayer when I entered the room. She had tested positive for COVID about 7 days before – so had all the people in her multigenerational home. Over the din of the negative-pressure machine, with damp eyes she kept saying she wanted to go home. I felt my body soften and, in my chest, it felt as if my heart moved towards her which is the manifestation of compassion. “I will do my best to get you there soon,” I said in an effort to comfort her.

We often resist strong emotions, especially at work, because they can increase stress in situations where we need to be in control. In high-emotion situations, our brain’s warning centers alert both body and brain. This has helped our ancestors to action over the millennia, but in the hospital, these responses hurt more than help. Our bodies amplifying the emotion, our mind races for solutions and we can feel overwhelmed.

Simply recognizing the emotion and naming it puts the brakes on this process. fMRI data demonstrate that naming the emotions moves the brain activity away from the emotion centers to the appraisal centers in the frontal lobe. Just the perspective to see the emotional process calms it down.

Name it to tame it – this is what those in the field call this act. “This is sadness,” I said to myself as I left Ms. A’s room.

Down the hall was Mr. D; he was an 81-year-old former Vietnamese refugee. He had come in 3 days prior to my coming on service. While he didn’t talk, even with an interpreter, he ate well and had looked comfortable for days on 50% O₂.

Ms. A’s O₂ needs crept up each day as did her anxiety, the plaintive tenor of her prayers and inquiries about going home. I got a priest to visit, not for last rites but just for some support. Over the phone, I updated the family on the prognosis.

A couple of days later, she needed 95% O₂ and with PO₂ was only 70. I told her family it seemed she was losing her battle with the virus. I said we could see how she did on 60% – that’s the max she could get at home with hospice. I called them after 2 hours on 60% to tell them she was up eating and despite slight increased resp rate, she looked okay. “Can you guarantee that she would not make it if she stayed in the hospital? “

My body vibrating with uncertainty – an emotional mix of fear and sadness – I said, “I am sorry, but this is such a new disease, I can’t say that for certain.” On the call, family members voiced different opinions, but in the end, they were unable to give up hope, so we agreed to keep her in hospital.

Down the hall, Mr. D had stopped eating and his sats dropped as did his blood pressure. A nurse exited his room; despite the mask and steamed-up glasses, I could read her body language. “That poor man is dying,” she said. I told her I agreed and called the family with the news and to offer them a chance to visit and to talk about home hospice.

“He has not seen any of us in 10 months,” said his daughter over the phone, “We would love to visit and talk about bringing him home on hospice.” The next morning four of his nine kids showed up with a quart of jook, an Asian rice porridge, for him and pastries for the staff.

They left the room smiling an hour later. “He ate all the jook and he smiled! Yes, let’s work on home with hospice.” That night his blood pressure was better, and we were able to move him to 8 liters oxymizer; the staff was excited by his improvement, too.

The next day Ms. A was less responsive with sats in the 80’s on 100% FiO₂, but she still had this great sense of warmth and dignity about her. When I entered the room, Spanish Catholic hymns were playing, two of her kids stood leaning over the bed and on an iPod, there was a chorus of tears. 20 family members were all crying on a Zoom call. Together this made the most beautiful soundtrack to an end of life I have ever heard. I tried hard not to join the chorus as we talked about turning off the oxygen to help limit her suffering.

We added a bolus of morphine to her drip and removed the oxygen. She looked more beautiful and peaceful without it. Briefly, she closed her eyes then opened them, her breathing calmer. And with the hymns and the chorus of family crying she lived another 20 minutes in the loving presence of her big family.

Leaving the room, I was flooded with “woulda, coulda, shouldas” that accompany work with so much uncertainty and high stakes. “Maybe I should have tried convalescent plasma. Maybe I should have told them she must go home,” and so on my mind went on looking for solutions when there were none. I turned to my body – my chest ached, and I whispered to myself: “This is how sadness feels.”

By thinking about how the emotion feels in the body, we move the mind away from problem solving that can end up leading to unhealthy ruminations. Such thoughts in times of high emotions lead to that pressurized, tightness feeling we get when overwhelmed. Taking in the universal sensations of the emotions is calming and connects us with these deep human experiences in healthy ways. At the same time, the racing and ruminations stop.

Meanwhile, down the hall, Mr. D’s family arrived in great spirits armed with more food for patient and staff. He was to go home later that day with hospice. When they saw him up in the chair without the oxygen, they said: “It is a miracle, Dr. Hass! He is going home on hospice but having beat COVID! We can’t thank you enough!”

“Don’t thank me! He was cured by love and jook! What a lesson for us all. Sometimes there is no better medicine than food from home and love!” With the explosive expansiveness of joy, we shared some “elbow bumps” and took some pictures before he was wheeled home.

Back at the nurse’s station, there were tears. Sometimes life is so full of emotion that it is hard to give it a name – joy? grief? Our bodies almost pulsing, our minds searching for words, it is as if an ancient process is marking a time and place in our souls. “This is what it is to be a human being living with love and creating meaning,” the experience seems to be telling us.

This is awesome work. In fact, awe was what we were feeling then – that sense of wonder we have in the presence of something beautiful or vast that we cannot easily comprehend. Taking in these moments of awe at the power and depth of the human experience is critical to keep us humble, engaged, and emotionally involved.

Cultivating emotional awareness is a simple technique to maintain equanimity as we do the emotionally turbulent work of caring for vulnerable and seriously ill members of our community. It uses the same techniques of attention and diagnosis we use on those we care for. It is a practice that can be seamlessly incorporated into our workday with no time added. Recognizing it, naming it, and feeling it will give us the resilience to handle the challenges this amazing work inevitably brings.

Dr. Hass is a hospitalist at Sutter East Bay Medical Group in Oakland, Calif. He is a member of the clinical faculty at the University of California, Berkeley–UC San Francisco joint medical program, and an adviser on health and health care at the Greater Good Science Center at UC Berkeley.

As manifestations of overt racism and macroaggressions have gained increased visibility, there is a need for discussion of another expression of racism: microaggressions. Although racism classically is viewed as blatant structural, attitudinal, and behavioral prejudice, experts pose that the face of racism has evolved into a more covert insidious form. This form of racism was originally coined racial microaggressions by psychiatrist Chester M. Pierce, MD, 50 years ago.^1,2 Since that time, microaggressions have further expanded to describe “brief and commonplace daily verbal, behavioral, and environmental indignities, whether intentional or unintentional, that communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative racial, gender, sexual-orientation, and religious slights and insults to the target person or group.” ³ This article aims to define and depict examples of microaggressions in medicine, discuss the resulting harmful effects, and offer strategies to minimize and counter these negative ramifications.

What are microaggressions?

Microaggressions are behaviors that stem from implicit bias and occur at an interpersonal level. Implicit bias refers to unconscious stereotypes, assumptions, and beliefs held about an individual’s identity. One of the earliest microaggressions—invisibility—was characterized by Ralph Ellison in his novel Invisible Man. Ellison states, “I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me . . . When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination—indeed, everything and anything except me.”⁴ This concept of invisibility is a primary microaggression faced by people of color.

In medicine, microaggressions and implicit bias may be encountered throughout medical training and clinical practice in interactions with colleagues, superiors, patients, and patients’ families.^5,6 Examples of microaggressions in medicine include demeaning comments, nonverbal disrespect, generalizations of social identity, assumption of nonphysician status, role- or credential-questioning behavior, explicit epithets, rejection of care, questioning or inquiries of ethnic/racial origin, and sexual harassment.⁷

An example of microaggressions in medicine was fully displayed when physician Tamika Cross described her experience of being turned away from helping an unresponsive passenger during a flight emergency.

[T]he flight attendant yells “call overhead for a physician on board.” I raised my hand to grab her attention. She said to me “oh no sweetie put [your] hand down, we are looking for actual physicians or nurses or some type of medical personnel, we don’t have time to talk to you” . . . Another “seasoned” white male approaches the row and says he is a physician as well. She says to me “thanks for your help but he can help us, and he has his credentials.”⁸

What are the effects of microaggressions?

Although microaggressions may be unconscious and unintentional by the offender, the negative ramifications are notable. Recent studies report that women and underrepresented minority (URM) medical students, residents, and physicians experience microaggressions and implicit bias at a higher prevalence and frequency compared with their male and non-URM counterparts.^7,9 Repetitive microaggressions are harmful to the health and safety of women and URM medical students, residents, physicians, other providers, and patients. The Table provides example scenarios of microaggressions in medicine categorized according to Berk.¹⁰

Microaggressions negatively impact physical, mental, and emotional well-being. Current data support that medical students and residents who experience microaggressions are more likely to report associated symptoms of burnout, depression, and suicidal thoughts.^11,12 Subjection to persistent bias can lead to minority status stress and racial battle fatigue, creating feelings of invisibility, isolation, exclusion, and loneliness for those impacted.^13,14

In the book Black Man in a White Coat: A Doctor’s Reflections on Race and Medicine, Damon Tweedy, MD, reflects on race in medicine. Tweedy notes his experience as a medical student when a professor mistakenly assumed he was a maintenance worker in the classroom. Tweedy describes how he internalized the exchange and, despite his success throughout the course of his medical training, combatted feelings of anxiety, self-doubt, and implied inferiority.¹⁵

Although microaggressions are harmful to one’s health, they also undermine the learning and teaching experience for students, residents, and faculty, and they detract from the larger goal of providing care for patients.¹¹ Frequent devaluing and questioning of an individual’s contributions, qualifications, and credentials based on identity can lower productivity and problem-solving abilities. These behaviors cultivate an unwelcome and hostile work/learning environment that is stressful and polarizing for the recipient.

Despite the heavy burden of microaggressions, most students, residents, and faculty physicians do not report incidents to their institutions and feel that training, resources, and policies to respond to bias adequately are lacking.⁷ As a result of implicit bias and microaggressions, women and URM medical students and providers are unable to focus solely on the practice of medicine. They are tasked with the additional burden of shouldering the emotional and cognitive complexities that microaggressions produce.¹⁶

What are strategies to reduce microaggressions in medicine?

To minimize the harmful effects of microaggressions, intervention strategies must be implemented that reduce the likelihood of the occurrence of microaggressions and challenge the stereotypes that undergird implicit bias. These strategies include cultivating allies, followed by demanding structural accountability. Allies are members of the majority group who collectively collaborate with members of the nonmajority group to effect change through the promotion of diversity, equity, and inclusion efforts.¹⁷ Cultivating allies involves building a network of collaboration among these groups and emphasizes education. Education is critical for allies to address microaggressions at the interpersonal level. This process of education involves personal reflection and self-awareness in exploring one’s biases, fears, and assumptions. Integral to this step is broadening one’s acceptance of different cultures, racial/ethnic groups, and identities. There must be a willingness to engage in difficult or uncomfortable conversations and a readiness to actively listen to concerns rather than perpetuating further harm through avoidance and dismissive or defensive behavior.¹⁸

Demanding structural accountability facilitates deconstruction of bias and microaggression at the larger systemic level. This strategy involves implicit bias and antiracism training, development of retention plans, and identification of mentors for women and URM providers and students. Implicit bias and microaggression training and policies should be incorporated into medical education and resident curriculums. Similarly, educational resources and training must be made available to practicing physicians, faculty, and other providers through their institutions and places of employment. Equipping students and providers with the tools needed when microaggressions are witnessed or experienced demonstrates systemic-level accountability and communicates the importance of the issue. Furthermore, the development of retention plans and identification of mentors provide a support system and foster a culture of inclusion where recipients of microaggressions feel protected and valued. Increased feelings of inclusivity and belonging help bridge the gap created through microaggressions and implicit bias.

Final Thoughts

Despite an often covert nature, the detrimental effects of microaggressions are tangible and far reaching. As providers, we must strive to understand all categories of racism and expose the many ways prejudice manifests within medical training and clinical practice. It is our obligation to undertake the challenge of “making the ‘invisible’ visible” as we confront microaggressions and implicit bias to promote a safer and more inclusive medical community and workforce.¹⁹

As manifestations of overt racism and macroaggressions have gained increased visibility, there is a need for discussion of another expression of racism: microaggressions. Although racism classically is viewed as blatant structural, attitudinal, and behavioral prejudice, experts pose that the face of racism has evolved into a more covert insidious form. This form of racism was originally coined racial microaggressions by psychiatrist Chester M. Pierce, MD, 50 years ago.^1,2 Since that time, microaggressions have further expanded to describe “brief and commonplace daily verbal, behavioral, and environmental indignities, whether intentional or unintentional, that communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative racial, gender, sexual-orientation, and religious slights and insults to the target person or group.” ³ This article aims to define and depict examples of microaggressions in medicine, discuss the resulting harmful effects, and offer strategies to minimize and counter these negative ramifications.

What are microaggressions?

Microaggressions are behaviors that stem from implicit bias and occur at an interpersonal level. Implicit bias refers to unconscious stereotypes, assumptions, and beliefs held about an individual’s identity. One of the earliest microaggressions—invisibility—was characterized by Ralph Ellison in his novel Invisible Man. Ellison states, “I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me . . . When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination—indeed, everything and anything except me.”⁴ This concept of invisibility is a primary microaggression faced by people of color.

In medicine, microaggressions and implicit bias may be encountered throughout medical training and clinical practice in interactions with colleagues, superiors, patients, and patients’ families.^5,6 Examples of microaggressions in medicine include demeaning comments, nonverbal disrespect, generalizations of social identity, assumption of nonphysician status, role- or credential-questioning behavior, explicit epithets, rejection of care, questioning or inquiries of ethnic/racial origin, and sexual harassment.⁷

An example of microaggressions in medicine was fully displayed when physician Tamika Cross described her experience of being turned away from helping an unresponsive passenger during a flight emergency.

[T]he flight attendant yells “call overhead for a physician on board.” I raised my hand to grab her attention. She said to me “oh no sweetie put [your] hand down, we are looking for actual physicians or nurses or some type of medical personnel, we don’t have time to talk to you” . . . Another “seasoned” white male approaches the row and says he is a physician as well. She says to me “thanks for your help but he can help us, and he has his credentials.”⁸

What are the effects of microaggressions?

Although microaggressions may be unconscious and unintentional by the offender, the negative ramifications are notable. Recent studies report that women and underrepresented minority (URM) medical students, residents, and physicians experience microaggressions and implicit bias at a higher prevalence and frequency compared with their male and non-URM counterparts.^7,9 Repetitive microaggressions are harmful to the health and safety of women and URM medical students, residents, physicians, other providers, and patients. The Table provides example scenarios of microaggressions in medicine categorized according to Berk.¹⁰

Microaggressions negatively impact physical, mental, and emotional well-being. Current data support that medical students and residents who experience microaggressions are more likely to report associated symptoms of burnout, depression, and suicidal thoughts.^11,12 Subjection to persistent bias can lead to minority status stress and racial battle fatigue, creating feelings of invisibility, isolation, exclusion, and loneliness for those impacted.^13,14

In the book Black Man in a White Coat: A Doctor’s Reflections on Race and Medicine, Damon Tweedy, MD, reflects on race in medicine. Tweedy notes his experience as a medical student when a professor mistakenly assumed he was a maintenance worker in the classroom. Tweedy describes how he internalized the exchange and, despite his success throughout the course of his medical training, combatted feelings of anxiety, self-doubt, and implied inferiority.¹⁵

Although microaggressions are harmful to one’s health, they also undermine the learning and teaching experience for students, residents, and faculty, and they detract from the larger goal of providing care for patients.¹¹ Frequent devaluing and questioning of an individual’s contributions, qualifications, and credentials based on identity can lower productivity and problem-solving abilities. These behaviors cultivate an unwelcome and hostile work/learning environment that is stressful and polarizing for the recipient.

Despite the heavy burden of microaggressions, most students, residents, and faculty physicians do not report incidents to their institutions and feel that training, resources, and policies to respond to bias adequately are lacking.⁷ As a result of implicit bias and microaggressions, women and URM medical students and providers are unable to focus solely on the practice of medicine. They are tasked with the additional burden of shouldering the emotional and cognitive complexities that microaggressions produce.¹⁶

What are strategies to reduce microaggressions in medicine?

To minimize the harmful effects of microaggressions, intervention strategies must be implemented that reduce the likelihood of the occurrence of microaggressions and challenge the stereotypes that undergird implicit bias. These strategies include cultivating allies, followed by demanding structural accountability. Allies are members of the majority group who collectively collaborate with members of the nonmajority group to effect change through the promotion of diversity, equity, and inclusion efforts.¹⁷ Cultivating allies involves building a network of collaboration among these groups and emphasizes education. Education is critical for allies to address microaggressions at the interpersonal level. This process of education involves personal reflection and self-awareness in exploring one’s biases, fears, and assumptions. Integral to this step is broadening one’s acceptance of different cultures, racial/ethnic groups, and identities. There must be a willingness to engage in difficult or uncomfortable conversations and a readiness to actively listen to concerns rather than perpetuating further harm through avoidance and dismissive or defensive behavior.¹⁸

Demanding structural accountability facilitates deconstruction of bias and microaggression at the larger systemic level. This strategy involves implicit bias and antiracism training, development of retention plans, and identification of mentors for women and URM providers and students. Implicit bias and microaggression training and policies should be incorporated into medical education and resident curriculums. Similarly, educational resources and training must be made available to practicing physicians, faculty, and other providers through their institutions and places of employment. Equipping students and providers with the tools needed when microaggressions are witnessed or experienced demonstrates systemic-level accountability and communicates the importance of the issue. Furthermore, the development of retention plans and identification of mentors provide a support system and foster a culture of inclusion where recipients of microaggressions feel protected and valued. Increased feelings of inclusivity and belonging help bridge the gap created through microaggressions and implicit bias.

Final Thoughts

Despite an often covert nature, the detrimental effects of microaggressions are tangible and far reaching. As providers, we must strive to understand all categories of racism and expose the many ways prejudice manifests within medical training and clinical practice. It is our obligation to undertake the challenge of “making the ‘invisible’ visible” as we confront microaggressions and implicit bias to promote a safer and more inclusive medical community and workforce.¹⁹

As manifestations of overt racism and macroaggressions have gained increased visibility, there is a need for discussion of another expression of racism: microaggressions. Although racism classically is viewed as blatant structural, attitudinal, and behavioral prejudice, experts pose that the face of racism has evolved into a more covert insidious form. This form of racism was originally coined racial microaggressions by psychiatrist Chester M. Pierce, MD, 50 years ago.^1,2 Since that time, microaggressions have further expanded to describe “brief and commonplace daily verbal, behavioral, and environmental indignities, whether intentional or unintentional, that communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative racial, gender, sexual-orientation, and religious slights and insults to the target person or group.” ³ This article aims to define and depict examples of microaggressions in medicine, discuss the resulting harmful effects, and offer strategies to minimize and counter these negative ramifications.

What are microaggressions?

Microaggressions are behaviors that stem from implicit bias and occur at an interpersonal level. Implicit bias refers to unconscious stereotypes, assumptions, and beliefs held about an individual’s identity. One of the earliest microaggressions—invisibility—was characterized by Ralph Ellison in his novel Invisible Man. Ellison states, “I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me . . . When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination—indeed, everything and anything except me.”⁴ This concept of invisibility is a primary microaggression faced by people of color.

In medicine, microaggressions and implicit bias may be encountered throughout medical training and clinical practice in interactions with colleagues, superiors, patients, and patients’ families.^5,6 Examples of microaggressions in medicine include demeaning comments, nonverbal disrespect, generalizations of social identity, assumption of nonphysician status, role- or credential-questioning behavior, explicit epithets, rejection of care, questioning or inquiries of ethnic/racial origin, and sexual harassment.⁷

An example of microaggressions in medicine was fully displayed when physician Tamika Cross described her experience of being turned away from helping an unresponsive passenger during a flight emergency.

[T]he flight attendant yells “call overhead for a physician on board.” I raised my hand to grab her attention. She said to me “oh no sweetie put [your] hand down, we are looking for actual physicians or nurses or some type of medical personnel, we don’t have time to talk to you” . . . Another “seasoned” white male approaches the row and says he is a physician as well. She says to me “thanks for your help but he can help us, and he has his credentials.”⁸

What are the effects of microaggressions?

Although microaggressions may be unconscious and unintentional by the offender, the negative ramifications are notable. Recent studies report that women and underrepresented minority (URM) medical students, residents, and physicians experience microaggressions and implicit bias at a higher prevalence and frequency compared with their male and non-URM counterparts.^7,9 Repetitive microaggressions are harmful to the health and safety of women and URM medical students, residents, physicians, other providers, and patients. The Table provides example scenarios of microaggressions in medicine categorized according to Berk.¹⁰

Microaggressions negatively impact physical, mental, and emotional well-being. Current data support that medical students and residents who experience microaggressions are more likely to report associated symptoms of burnout, depression, and suicidal thoughts.^11,12 Subjection to persistent bias can lead to minority status stress and racial battle fatigue, creating feelings of invisibility, isolation, exclusion, and loneliness for those impacted.^13,14

In the book Black Man in a White Coat: A Doctor’s Reflections on Race and Medicine, Damon Tweedy, MD, reflects on race in medicine. Tweedy notes his experience as a medical student when a professor mistakenly assumed he was a maintenance worker in the classroom. Tweedy describes how he internalized the exchange and, despite his success throughout the course of his medical training, combatted feelings of anxiety, self-doubt, and implied inferiority.¹⁵

Although microaggressions are harmful to one’s health, they also undermine the learning and teaching experience for students, residents, and faculty, and they detract from the larger goal of providing care for patients.¹¹ Frequent devaluing and questioning of an individual’s contributions, qualifications, and credentials based on identity can lower productivity and problem-solving abilities. These behaviors cultivate an unwelcome and hostile work/learning environment that is stressful and polarizing for the recipient.

Despite the heavy burden of microaggressions, most students, residents, and faculty physicians do not report incidents to their institutions and feel that training, resources, and policies to respond to bias adequately are lacking.⁷ As a result of implicit bias and microaggressions, women and URM medical students and providers are unable to focus solely on the practice of medicine. They are tasked with the additional burden of shouldering the emotional and cognitive complexities that microaggressions produce.¹⁶

What are strategies to reduce microaggressions in medicine?

To minimize the harmful effects of microaggressions, intervention strategies must be implemented that reduce the likelihood of the occurrence of microaggressions and challenge the stereotypes that undergird implicit bias. These strategies include cultivating allies, followed by demanding structural accountability. Allies are members of the majority group who collectively collaborate with members of the nonmajority group to effect change through the promotion of diversity, equity, and inclusion efforts.¹⁷ Cultivating allies involves building a network of collaboration among these groups and emphasizes education. Education is critical for allies to address microaggressions at the interpersonal level. This process of education involves personal reflection and self-awareness in exploring one’s biases, fears, and assumptions. Integral to this step is broadening one’s acceptance of different cultures, racial/ethnic groups, and identities. There must be a willingness to engage in difficult or uncomfortable conversations and a readiness to actively listen to concerns rather than perpetuating further harm through avoidance and dismissive or defensive behavior.¹⁸

Demanding structural accountability facilitates deconstruction of bias and microaggression at the larger systemic level. This strategy involves implicit bias and antiracism training, development of retention plans, and identification of mentors for women and URM providers and students. Implicit bias and microaggression training and policies should be incorporated into medical education and resident curriculums. Similarly, educational resources and training must be made available to practicing physicians, faculty, and other providers through their institutions and places of employment. Equipping students and providers with the tools needed when microaggressions are witnessed or experienced demonstrates systemic-level accountability and communicates the importance of the issue. Furthermore, the development of retention plans and identification of mentors provide a support system and foster a culture of inclusion where recipients of microaggressions feel protected and valued. Increased feelings of inclusivity and belonging help bridge the gap created through microaggressions and implicit bias.

Final Thoughts

Despite an often covert nature, the detrimental effects of microaggressions are tangible and far reaching. As providers, we must strive to understand all categories of racism and expose the many ways prejudice manifests within medical training and clinical practice. It is our obligation to undertake the challenge of “making the ‘invisible’ visible” as we confront microaggressions and implicit bias to promote a safer and more inclusive medical community and workforce.¹⁹

Depression and psychosis are significantly associated with neuronal loss and gliosis – but not with Lewy body scores – in Parkinson’s disease, data from analyses of the brains of 175 patients suggest.

ipopba/Getty Images

Previous research has suggested a link between neuronal loss and depression in Parkinson’s disease (PD) but the impact of Lewy bodies has not been well studied, Nicole Mercado Fischer, MPH, of Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, and colleagues wrote.

Evaluating Lewy body scores and neuronal loss/gliosis in the substantia nigra pars compacta (SN) and locus coeruleus (LC) could increase understanding of pathophysiology in PD, they said.

In a study published in the American Journal of Geriatric Psychiatry, the researchers analyzed the brains of 175 individuals with a primary diagnosis of PD.

A total of 98 participants had diagnoses of psychosis, 88 had depression, and 55 had anxiety. The average age of onset for PD was 62.4 years; 67.4% of the subjects were male, and 97.8% were White. The mean duration of illness was 16 years, and the average age at death was 78 years.

Psychosis was significantly associated with severe neuronal loss and gliosis in both the LC and SN (P = .048 and P = .042, respectively). Depression was significantly associated with severe neuronal loss in the SN (P = .042) but not in the LC. Anxiety was not associated with severe neuronal loss in either brain region. These results remained significant after a multivariate analysis, the researchers noted. However, Lewy body scores were not associated with any neuropsychiatric symptom, and severity of neuronal loss and gliosis was not correlated with Lewy body scores.

The study findings were limited by several factors, including the retrospective design and inability to collect pathology data for all patients, the researchers noted. Also, in some cases, the collection of clinical data and observation of brain tissue pathology took place years apart, and the researchers did not assess medication records.

However, the results were strengthened by the large sample size and “further support the notion that in vivo clinical symptoms of PD are either not caused by Lewy body pathology or that the relationship is confounded by the time of autopsy,” they said. Future directions for research include examining the underlying neuropsychiatric symptoms in PD “by looking at pathology in functional subregions and eventually by using new functional imaging techniques in vivo.”

The researchers had no financial conflicts to disclose. Two coauthors were supported in part by the National Institutes of Health.

Depression and psychosis are significantly associated with neuronal loss and gliosis – but not with Lewy body scores – in Parkinson’s disease, data from analyses of the brains of 175 patients suggest.

ipopba/Getty Images

Previous research has suggested a link between neuronal loss and depression in Parkinson’s disease (PD) but the impact of Lewy bodies has not been well studied, Nicole Mercado Fischer, MPH, of Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, and colleagues wrote.

Evaluating Lewy body scores and neuronal loss/gliosis in the substantia nigra pars compacta (SN) and locus coeruleus (LC) could increase understanding of pathophysiology in PD, they said.

In a study published in the American Journal of Geriatric Psychiatry, the researchers analyzed the brains of 175 individuals with a primary diagnosis of PD.

A total of 98 participants had diagnoses of psychosis, 88 had depression, and 55 had anxiety. The average age of onset for PD was 62.4 years; 67.4% of the subjects were male, and 97.8% were White. The mean duration of illness was 16 years, and the average age at death was 78 years.

Psychosis was significantly associated with severe neuronal loss and gliosis in both the LC and SN (P = .048 and P = .042, respectively). Depression was significantly associated with severe neuronal loss in the SN (P = .042) but not in the LC. Anxiety was not associated with severe neuronal loss in either brain region. These results remained significant after a multivariate analysis, the researchers noted. However, Lewy body scores were not associated with any neuropsychiatric symptom, and severity of neuronal loss and gliosis was not correlated with Lewy body scores.

The study findings were limited by several factors, including the retrospective design and inability to collect pathology data for all patients, the researchers noted. Also, in some cases, the collection of clinical data and observation of brain tissue pathology took place years apart, and the researchers did not assess medication records.

However, the results were strengthened by the large sample size and “further support the notion that in vivo clinical symptoms of PD are either not caused by Lewy body pathology or that the relationship is confounded by the time of autopsy,” they said. Future directions for research include examining the underlying neuropsychiatric symptoms in PD “by looking at pathology in functional subregions and eventually by using new functional imaging techniques in vivo.”

The researchers had no financial conflicts to disclose. Two coauthors were supported in part by the National Institutes of Health.

Depression and psychosis are significantly associated with neuronal loss and gliosis – but not with Lewy body scores – in Parkinson’s disease, data from analyses of the brains of 175 patients suggest.

ipopba/Getty Images

Previous research has suggested a link between neuronal loss and depression in Parkinson’s disease (PD) but the impact of Lewy bodies has not been well studied, Nicole Mercado Fischer, MPH, of Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, and colleagues wrote.

Evaluating Lewy body scores and neuronal loss/gliosis in the substantia nigra pars compacta (SN) and locus coeruleus (LC) could increase understanding of pathophysiology in PD, they said.

In a study published in the American Journal of Geriatric Psychiatry, the researchers analyzed the brains of 175 individuals with a primary diagnosis of PD.

A total of 98 participants had diagnoses of psychosis, 88 had depression, and 55 had anxiety. The average age of onset for PD was 62.4 years; 67.4% of the subjects were male, and 97.8% were White. The mean duration of illness was 16 years, and the average age at death was 78 years.

Psychosis was significantly associated with severe neuronal loss and gliosis in both the LC and SN (P = .048 and P = .042, respectively). Depression was significantly associated with severe neuronal loss in the SN (P = .042) but not in the LC. Anxiety was not associated with severe neuronal loss in either brain region. These results remained significant after a multivariate analysis, the researchers noted. However, Lewy body scores were not associated with any neuropsychiatric symptom, and severity of neuronal loss and gliosis was not correlated with Lewy body scores.

The study findings were limited by several factors, including the retrospective design and inability to collect pathology data for all patients, the researchers noted. Also, in some cases, the collection of clinical data and observation of brain tissue pathology took place years apart, and the researchers did not assess medication records.

However, the results were strengthened by the large sample size and “further support the notion that in vivo clinical symptoms of PD are either not caused by Lewy body pathology or that the relationship is confounded by the time of autopsy,” they said. Future directions for research include examining the underlying neuropsychiatric symptoms in PD “by looking at pathology in functional subregions and eventually by using new functional imaging techniques in vivo.”

The researchers had no financial conflicts to disclose. Two coauthors were supported in part by the National Institutes of Health.

Adults with cerebral palsy, especially those with intellectual disabilities, are significantly more likely to be diagnosed with a psychiatric disorder, compared with the general population, a review of seven datasets shows.

The body of literature on psychiatric issues in children with cerebral palsy (CP) is increasing, but population-based studies of psychiatric issues in adults with CP have been limited in number and in scope. Most of those studies focus mainly on anxiety and depression, rather than on other issues such as psychosis or schizophrenia, Carly A. McMorris, PhD, of the University of Calgary (Alta.) and colleagues wrote.

In a retrospective, cross-sectional study published in Research in Developmental Disabilities, the researchers reviewed information from five health data sets, one registry, and census data for adults aged 18-64 years with a CP diagnosis living in Ontario, including those with and without diagnosed intellectual disabilities (ID) and a comparison group of individuals in the general population. The researchers examined the proportion of individuals with a psychiatric disorder in each of four groups: total CP, CP without ID, CP with ID, and the general population.

The study participants included 9,388 individuals with CP, 4,767 individuals with CP and ID, and a general population of 2,757,744 individuals. About half of the participants were male, and at least 85% lived in urban areas.

Overall, the total CP group was 1.4 times more likely to receive any psychiatric diagnosis, compared with the general population group, over a 2-year period (33.7 % vs. 24.7%). Also, the CP group was more than twice as likely to be diagnosed with a psychotic disorder, schizophrenia, personality disorder, or bipolar disorder, compared with the general population. Individuals with CP were significantly more likely to suffer from mood or affective disorders, and depression and anxiety disorders, compared with the general population, but less likely to suffer from substance use disorders.

When the data were assessed by ID status, disorders such as psychotic disorders, bipolar disorders, and schizophrenia were six times more common among individuals with CP and ID, compared with the general population (adjusted prevalence ratios, 6.26 and 6.46, respectively).

Individuals with CP and ID also had a notably higher prevalence of bipolar disorder (confidence interval, 2.06-2.89) and personality disorder, compared with the general population (aPR, 2.44 and 4.22, respectively), but this subgroup also was less likely than the general population to engage in substance use (aPR, 0.44).

The study findings were limited by several factors, including the absence of universal definitions for some of the conditions studied, potential misclassification of ID, the inclusion of data on specific psychiatric diagnoses but not elevated symptoms, and by the challenges of diagnosing psychiatric disorders in individuals with ID, the researchers noted.

However, “the present study contributes important information to the existing literature, highlighting that psychiatric issues are common in adults with CP, similar to what has been reported in children and youth,” they said. “Further research is needed to determine the validity and reliability of mental health assessment measures for this population, the efficacy of evidence-based psychotherapeutic approaches ... and the underlying causes or mechanisms of psychiatric issues in individuals with CP.”

The findings also highlight the need for health care clinicians to screen for psychiatric issues in CP patients, they said.

The study was supported in part by the Province of Ontario research grants and the Institute for Clinical Evaluative Sciences, funded by an annual grant from the Ontario Ministry of Health and Long-Term Care. The researchers had no disclosures.

Adults with cerebral palsy, especially those with intellectual disabilities, are significantly more likely to be diagnosed with a psychiatric disorder, compared with the general population, a review of seven datasets shows.

The body of literature on psychiatric issues in children with cerebral palsy (CP) is increasing, but population-based studies of psychiatric issues in adults with CP have been limited in number and in scope. Most of those studies focus mainly on anxiety and depression, rather than on other issues such as psychosis or schizophrenia, Carly A. McMorris, PhD, of the University of Calgary (Alta.) and colleagues wrote.

In a retrospective, cross-sectional study published in Research in Developmental Disabilities, the researchers reviewed information from five health data sets, one registry, and census data for adults aged 18-64 years with a CP diagnosis living in Ontario, including those with and without diagnosed intellectual disabilities (ID) and a comparison group of individuals in the general population. The researchers examined the proportion of individuals with a psychiatric disorder in each of four groups: total CP, CP without ID, CP with ID, and the general population.

The study participants included 9,388 individuals with CP, 4,767 individuals with CP and ID, and a general population of 2,757,744 individuals. About half of the participants were male, and at least 85% lived in urban areas.

Overall, the total CP group was 1.4 times more likely to receive any psychiatric diagnosis, compared with the general population group, over a 2-year period (33.7 % vs. 24.7%). Also, the CP group was more than twice as likely to be diagnosed with a psychotic disorder, schizophrenia, personality disorder, or bipolar disorder, compared with the general population. Individuals with CP were significantly more likely to suffer from mood or affective disorders, and depression and anxiety disorders, compared with the general population, but less likely to suffer from substance use disorders.

When the data were assessed by ID status, disorders such as psychotic disorders, bipolar disorders, and schizophrenia were six times more common among individuals with CP and ID, compared with the general population (adjusted prevalence ratios, 6.26 and 6.46, respectively).

Individuals with CP and ID also had a notably higher prevalence of bipolar disorder (confidence interval, 2.06-2.89) and personality disorder, compared with the general population (aPR, 2.44 and 4.22, respectively), but this subgroup also was less likely than the general population to engage in substance use (aPR, 0.44).

The study findings were limited by several factors, including the absence of universal definitions for some of the conditions studied, potential misclassification of ID, the inclusion of data on specific psychiatric diagnoses but not elevated symptoms, and by the challenges of diagnosing psychiatric disorders in individuals with ID, the researchers noted.

However, “the present study contributes important information to the existing literature, highlighting that psychiatric issues are common in adults with CP, similar to what has been reported in children and youth,” they said. “Further research is needed to determine the validity and reliability of mental health assessment measures for this population, the efficacy of evidence-based psychotherapeutic approaches ... and the underlying causes or mechanisms of psychiatric issues in individuals with CP.”

The findings also highlight the need for health care clinicians to screen for psychiatric issues in CP patients, they said.

The study was supported in part by the Province of Ontario research grants and the Institute for Clinical Evaluative Sciences, funded by an annual grant from the Ontario Ministry of Health and Long-Term Care. The researchers had no disclosures.

Adults with cerebral palsy, especially those with intellectual disabilities, are significantly more likely to be diagnosed with a psychiatric disorder, compared with the general population, a review of seven datasets shows.

The body of literature on psychiatric issues in children with cerebral palsy (CP) is increasing, but population-based studies of psychiatric issues in adults with CP have been limited in number and in scope. Most of those studies focus mainly on anxiety and depression, rather than on other issues such as psychosis or schizophrenia, Carly A. McMorris, PhD, of the University of Calgary (Alta.) and colleagues wrote.

In a retrospective, cross-sectional study published in Research in Developmental Disabilities, the researchers reviewed information from five health data sets, one registry, and census data for adults aged 18-64 years with a CP diagnosis living in Ontario, including those with and without diagnosed intellectual disabilities (ID) and a comparison group of individuals in the general population. The researchers examined the proportion of individuals with a psychiatric disorder in each of four groups: total CP, CP without ID, CP with ID, and the general population.

The study participants included 9,388 individuals with CP, 4,767 individuals with CP and ID, and a general population of 2,757,744 individuals. About half of the participants were male, and at least 85% lived in urban areas.

Overall, the total CP group was 1.4 times more likely to receive any psychiatric diagnosis, compared with the general population group, over a 2-year period (33.7 % vs. 24.7%). Also, the CP group was more than twice as likely to be diagnosed with a psychotic disorder, schizophrenia, personality disorder, or bipolar disorder, compared with the general population. Individuals with CP were significantly more likely to suffer from mood or affective disorders, and depression and anxiety disorders, compared with the general population, but less likely to suffer from substance use disorders.

When the data were assessed by ID status, disorders such as psychotic disorders, bipolar disorders, and schizophrenia were six times more common among individuals with CP and ID, compared with the general population (adjusted prevalence ratios, 6.26 and 6.46, respectively).

Individuals with CP and ID also had a notably higher prevalence of bipolar disorder (confidence interval, 2.06-2.89) and personality disorder, compared with the general population (aPR, 2.44 and 4.22, respectively), but this subgroup also was less likely than the general population to engage in substance use (aPR, 0.44).

The study findings were limited by several factors, including the absence of universal definitions for some of the conditions studied, potential misclassification of ID, the inclusion of data on specific psychiatric diagnoses but not elevated symptoms, and by the challenges of diagnosing psychiatric disorders in individuals with ID, the researchers noted.

However, “the present study contributes important information to the existing literature, highlighting that psychiatric issues are common in adults with CP, similar to what has been reported in children and youth,” they said. “Further research is needed to determine the validity and reliability of mental health assessment measures for this population, the efficacy of evidence-based psychotherapeutic approaches ... and the underlying causes or mechanisms of psychiatric issues in individuals with CP.”

The findings also highlight the need for health care clinicians to screen for psychiatric issues in CP patients, they said.

The study was supported in part by the Province of Ontario research grants and the Institute for Clinical Evaluative Sciences, funded by an annual grant from the Ontario Ministry of Health and Long-Term Care. The researchers had no disclosures.