Commentary

By the time you receive this issue, we will know election results. The effects on medical care, medical coverage, Medicare, and Medicaid will be profound. American medicine is integrally linked to Congress and the Supreme Court because on July 30, 1965, Lyndon Johnson signed Title 18 of the Social Security Act and created Medicare – a move that took medical care out of personal law and into public law.

In November, CMS will publish its “final rule” about documentation and reimbursement changes, site of service reimbursement, and several other impactful policy changes. We have an extended article from the AGA Partners in Value conference about these potential changes.

This month we highlight the medical home concept for IBD – an idea that is gaining traction. More intense colon cancer screening may be needed for families with nonhereditary colon cancer. An interesting article from JAMA suggests that obesity may play a role in colon cancer rates in young women.

Antibiotic resistance in H. pylori infections is reaching alarming levels and this information may alter our practice. We feature an “In Focus” section on endosopic treatment for obese patients. We also continue highlighting some popular and interesting discussion chains emanating from the AGA Community.

Please stay involved as leaders in health care economics, delivery, and politics. We need thoughtful discussions and we need to bring patient stories to our politicians. It often seems that our advocacy does little to alter the national debate but who better to speak for the people that entrust us with their care?

John I. Allen, MD, MBA, AGAF
Editor in Chief

By the time you receive this issue, we will know election results. The effects on medical care, medical coverage, Medicare, and Medicaid will be profound. American medicine is integrally linked to Congress and the Supreme Court because on July 30, 1965, Lyndon Johnson signed Title 18 of the Social Security Act and created Medicare – a move that took medical care out of personal law and into public law.

In November, CMS will publish its “final rule” about documentation and reimbursement changes, site of service reimbursement, and several other impactful policy changes. We have an extended article from the AGA Partners in Value conference about these potential changes.

This month we highlight the medical home concept for IBD – an idea that is gaining traction. More intense colon cancer screening may be needed for families with nonhereditary colon cancer. An interesting article from JAMA suggests that obesity may play a role in colon cancer rates in young women.

Antibiotic resistance in H. pylori infections is reaching alarming levels and this information may alter our practice. We feature an “In Focus” section on endosopic treatment for obese patients. We also continue highlighting some popular and interesting discussion chains emanating from the AGA Community.

Please stay involved as leaders in health care economics, delivery, and politics. We need thoughtful discussions and we need to bring patient stories to our politicians. It often seems that our advocacy does little to alter the national debate but who better to speak for the people that entrust us with their care?

John I. Allen, MD, MBA, AGAF
Editor in Chief

By the time you receive this issue, we will know election results. The effects on medical care, medical coverage, Medicare, and Medicaid will be profound. American medicine is integrally linked to Congress and the Supreme Court because on July 30, 1965, Lyndon Johnson signed Title 18 of the Social Security Act and created Medicare – a move that took medical care out of personal law and into public law.

In November, CMS will publish its “final rule” about documentation and reimbursement changes, site of service reimbursement, and several other impactful policy changes. We have an extended article from the AGA Partners in Value conference about these potential changes.

This month we highlight the medical home concept for IBD – an idea that is gaining traction. More intense colon cancer screening may be needed for families with nonhereditary colon cancer. An interesting article from JAMA suggests that obesity may play a role in colon cancer rates in young women.

Antibiotic resistance in H. pylori infections is reaching alarming levels and this information may alter our practice. We feature an “In Focus” section on endosopic treatment for obese patients. We also continue highlighting some popular and interesting discussion chains emanating from the AGA Community.

Please stay involved as leaders in health care economics, delivery, and politics. We need thoughtful discussions and we need to bring patient stories to our politicians. It often seems that our advocacy does little to alter the national debate but who better to speak for the people that entrust us with their care?

John I. Allen, MD, MBA, AGAF
Editor in Chief

The timing of the Food and Drug Administration’s Nov. 2 approval of the medication Dsuvia, a sublingual formulation of the synthetic opioid sufentanil, is interesting – to say the least. Dsuvia is a powerful pain medication, said to be 10 times more potent than fentanyl and 1,000 times more potent than morphine. The medication, developed by AcelRx Pharmaceuticals for use in medically supervised settings, has an indication for moderate to severe pain, and is packaged in single-dose applicators.

The chairperson of the FDA’s Anesthetic and Analgesics Drug Product Advisory Committee, Raeford E. Brown Jr., MD, a professor of pediatric anesthesia at the University of Kentucky, Lexington, could not be present Oct. 12 at the committee vote recommending approval. With the consumer advocacy group Public Citizen, Dr. Brown wrote a letter to FDA leaders detailing concerns about the new formulation of sufentanil.

“It is my observation,” Dr. Brown wrote, “that once the FDA approves an opioid compound, there are no safeguards as to the population that will be exposed, the postmarketing analysis of prescribing behavior, or the ongoing analysis of the risks of the drug to the general population relative to its benefit to the public health. Briefly stated, for all of the opioids that have been marketed in the last 10 years, there has not been sufficient demonstration of safety, nor has there been postmarketing assessment of who is taking the drug, how often prescribing is inappropriate, and whether there was ever a reason to risk the health of the general population by having one more opioid on the market.”

Dr. Brown went on to detail his concerns about sufentanil. In the intravenous formulation, the medication has been in use for more than two decades.

“It is so potent that abusers of this intravenous formulation often die when they inject the first dose; I have witnessed this in resuscitating physicians, medical students, technicians, and other health care providers, some successfully, as a part of my duties as a clinician in a major academic medical center. Because it is so potent, the dosing volume, whether in the IV formulation or the sublingual form, can be quite small. It is thus an extremely divertible drug, and I predict that we will encounter diversion, abuse, and death within the early months of its availability on the market.”

The letter finishes by criticizing the fact that the full Drug Safety and Risk Management Advisory Committee was not invited to the Oct. 12 meeting, and finally, about the ease of diversion among health care professionals – and anesthesiologists in particular.

Meanwhile, Scott Gottlieb, MD, commissioner of the FDA, posted a lengthy explanation on the organization’s website on Nov. 2, after the vote. In his statement on the agency’s approval of Dsuvia and the FDA’s future consideration of new opioids, Dr. Gottlieb explains: “To address concerns about the potential risks associated with Dsuvia, this product will have strong limitations on its use. It can’t be dispensed to patients for home use and should not be used for more than 72 hours. And it should only be administered by a health care provider using a single-dose applicator. That means it won’t be available at retail pharmacies for patients to take home. These measures to restrict the use of this product only within a supervised health care setting, and not for home use, are important steps to help prevent misuse and abuse of Dsuvia, as well reduce the potential for diversion. Because of the risks of addiction, abuse, and misuse with opioids, Dsuvia also is to be reserved for use in patients for whom alternative pain treatment options have not been tolerated, or are not expected to be tolerated, where existing treatment options have not provided adequate analgesia, or where these alternatives are not expected to provide adequate analgesia.”

In addition to the statement posted on the FDA’s website, Dr. Gottlieb made the approval of Dsuvia the topic of his weekly #SundayTweetorial on Nov. 4. In this venue, Dr. Gottlieb posts tweets on a single topic. On both Twitter and the FDA website, he noted that a major factor in the approval of Dsuvia was advantages it might convey for pain control to soldiers on the battlefield, where oral medications might take time to work and intravenous access might not be possible.

One tweet read: “Whether there’s a need for another powerful opioid in the throes of a massive crisis of addiction is a critical question. As a public health agency, we have an obligation to address this question for patients with pain, for the addiction crisis, for innovators, for all Americans.”

Another tweet stated, “While Dsuvia brings another highly potent opioid to market it fulfills a limited, unmet medical need in treating our nation’s soldiers on the battlefield. That’s why the Pentagon worked closely with the sponsor on developing Dsuvia. FDA committed to prioritize needs of our troops.”

Given our national overdose crisis, and issues of addiction with our soldiers and veterans, one has to wonder if the improvements afforded in pain control by Dsuvia will be worth the trade-off in possible deaths from misdirected use of a very potent agent. And while the new opioid may have been geared toward unmet military needs, Dsuvia will be available for use in civilian medical facilities as well.

There is some irony to the idea that a pharmaceutical company would continue to develop opioids when there is so much need for nonaddictive agents for pain control and so much pressure on physicians to limit access of opiates to pain patients. We are left to stand by and watch as yet another potent opioid preparation is introduced.
 

Dr. Miller is coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016), and assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore.

The timing of the Food and Drug Administration’s Nov. 2 approval of the medication Dsuvia, a sublingual formulation of the synthetic opioid sufentanil, is interesting – to say the least. Dsuvia is a powerful pain medication, said to be 10 times more potent than fentanyl and 1,000 times more potent than morphine. The medication, developed by AcelRx Pharmaceuticals for use in medically supervised settings, has an indication for moderate to severe pain, and is packaged in single-dose applicators.

The chairperson of the FDA’s Anesthetic and Analgesics Drug Product Advisory Committee, Raeford E. Brown Jr., MD, a professor of pediatric anesthesia at the University of Kentucky, Lexington, could not be present Oct. 12 at the committee vote recommending approval. With the consumer advocacy group Public Citizen, Dr. Brown wrote a letter to FDA leaders detailing concerns about the new formulation of sufentanil.

“It is my observation,” Dr. Brown wrote, “that once the FDA approves an opioid compound, there are no safeguards as to the population that will be exposed, the postmarketing analysis of prescribing behavior, or the ongoing analysis of the risks of the drug to the general population relative to its benefit to the public health. Briefly stated, for all of the opioids that have been marketed in the last 10 years, there has not been sufficient demonstration of safety, nor has there been postmarketing assessment of who is taking the drug, how often prescribing is inappropriate, and whether there was ever a reason to risk the health of the general population by having one more opioid on the market.”

Dr. Brown went on to detail his concerns about sufentanil. In the intravenous formulation, the medication has been in use for more than two decades.

“It is so potent that abusers of this intravenous formulation often die when they inject the first dose; I have witnessed this in resuscitating physicians, medical students, technicians, and other health care providers, some successfully, as a part of my duties as a clinician in a major academic medical center. Because it is so potent, the dosing volume, whether in the IV formulation or the sublingual form, can be quite small. It is thus an extremely divertible drug, and I predict that we will encounter diversion, abuse, and death within the early months of its availability on the market.”

The letter finishes by criticizing the fact that the full Drug Safety and Risk Management Advisory Committee was not invited to the Oct. 12 meeting, and finally, about the ease of diversion among health care professionals – and anesthesiologists in particular.

Meanwhile, Scott Gottlieb, MD, commissioner of the FDA, posted a lengthy explanation on the organization’s website on Nov. 2, after the vote. In his statement on the agency’s approval of Dsuvia and the FDA’s future consideration of new opioids, Dr. Gottlieb explains: “To address concerns about the potential risks associated with Dsuvia, this product will have strong limitations on its use. It can’t be dispensed to patients for home use and should not be used for more than 72 hours. And it should only be administered by a health care provider using a single-dose applicator. That means it won’t be available at retail pharmacies for patients to take home. These measures to restrict the use of this product only within a supervised health care setting, and not for home use, are important steps to help prevent misuse and abuse of Dsuvia, as well reduce the potential for diversion. Because of the risks of addiction, abuse, and misuse with opioids, Dsuvia also is to be reserved for use in patients for whom alternative pain treatment options have not been tolerated, or are not expected to be tolerated, where existing treatment options have not provided adequate analgesia, or where these alternatives are not expected to provide adequate analgesia.”

In addition to the statement posted on the FDA’s website, Dr. Gottlieb made the approval of Dsuvia the topic of his weekly #SundayTweetorial on Nov. 4. In this venue, Dr. Gottlieb posts tweets on a single topic. On both Twitter and the FDA website, he noted that a major factor in the approval of Dsuvia was advantages it might convey for pain control to soldiers on the battlefield, where oral medications might take time to work and intravenous access might not be possible.

One tweet read: “Whether there’s a need for another powerful opioid in the throes of a massive crisis of addiction is a critical question. As a public health agency, we have an obligation to address this question for patients with pain, for the addiction crisis, for innovators, for all Americans.”

Another tweet stated, “While Dsuvia brings another highly potent opioid to market it fulfills a limited, unmet medical need in treating our nation’s soldiers on the battlefield. That’s why the Pentagon worked closely with the sponsor on developing Dsuvia. FDA committed to prioritize needs of our troops.”

Given our national overdose crisis, and issues of addiction with our soldiers and veterans, one has to wonder if the improvements afforded in pain control by Dsuvia will be worth the trade-off in possible deaths from misdirected use of a very potent agent. And while the new opioid may have been geared toward unmet military needs, Dsuvia will be available for use in civilian medical facilities as well.

There is some irony to the idea that a pharmaceutical company would continue to develop opioids when there is so much need for nonaddictive agents for pain control and so much pressure on physicians to limit access of opiates to pain patients. We are left to stand by and watch as yet another potent opioid preparation is introduced.
 

Dr. Miller is coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016), and assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore.

The timing of the Food and Drug Administration’s Nov. 2 approval of the medication Dsuvia, a sublingual formulation of the synthetic opioid sufentanil, is interesting – to say the least. Dsuvia is a powerful pain medication, said to be 10 times more potent than fentanyl and 1,000 times more potent than morphine. The medication, developed by AcelRx Pharmaceuticals for use in medically supervised settings, has an indication for moderate to severe pain, and is packaged in single-dose applicators.

The chairperson of the FDA’s Anesthetic and Analgesics Drug Product Advisory Committee, Raeford E. Brown Jr., MD, a professor of pediatric anesthesia at the University of Kentucky, Lexington, could not be present Oct. 12 at the committee vote recommending approval. With the consumer advocacy group Public Citizen, Dr. Brown wrote a letter to FDA leaders detailing concerns about the new formulation of sufentanil.

“It is my observation,” Dr. Brown wrote, “that once the FDA approves an opioid compound, there are no safeguards as to the population that will be exposed, the postmarketing analysis of prescribing behavior, or the ongoing analysis of the risks of the drug to the general population relative to its benefit to the public health. Briefly stated, for all of the opioids that have been marketed in the last 10 years, there has not been sufficient demonstration of safety, nor has there been postmarketing assessment of who is taking the drug, how often prescribing is inappropriate, and whether there was ever a reason to risk the health of the general population by having one more opioid on the market.”

Dr. Brown went on to detail his concerns about sufentanil. In the intravenous formulation, the medication has been in use for more than two decades.

“It is so potent that abusers of this intravenous formulation often die when they inject the first dose; I have witnessed this in resuscitating physicians, medical students, technicians, and other health care providers, some successfully, as a part of my duties as a clinician in a major academic medical center. Because it is so potent, the dosing volume, whether in the IV formulation or the sublingual form, can be quite small. It is thus an extremely divertible drug, and I predict that we will encounter diversion, abuse, and death within the early months of its availability on the market.”

The letter finishes by criticizing the fact that the full Drug Safety and Risk Management Advisory Committee was not invited to the Oct. 12 meeting, and finally, about the ease of diversion among health care professionals – and anesthesiologists in particular.

Meanwhile, Scott Gottlieb, MD, commissioner of the FDA, posted a lengthy explanation on the organization’s website on Nov. 2, after the vote. In his statement on the agency’s approval of Dsuvia and the FDA’s future consideration of new opioids, Dr. Gottlieb explains: “To address concerns about the potential risks associated with Dsuvia, this product will have strong limitations on its use. It can’t be dispensed to patients for home use and should not be used for more than 72 hours. And it should only be administered by a health care provider using a single-dose applicator. That means it won’t be available at retail pharmacies for patients to take home. These measures to restrict the use of this product only within a supervised health care setting, and not for home use, are important steps to help prevent misuse and abuse of Dsuvia, as well reduce the potential for diversion. Because of the risks of addiction, abuse, and misuse with opioids, Dsuvia also is to be reserved for use in patients for whom alternative pain treatment options have not been tolerated, or are not expected to be tolerated, where existing treatment options have not provided adequate analgesia, or where these alternatives are not expected to provide adequate analgesia.”

In addition to the statement posted on the FDA’s website, Dr. Gottlieb made the approval of Dsuvia the topic of his weekly #SundayTweetorial on Nov. 4. In this venue, Dr. Gottlieb posts tweets on a single topic. On both Twitter and the FDA website, he noted that a major factor in the approval of Dsuvia was advantages it might convey for pain control to soldiers on the battlefield, where oral medications might take time to work and intravenous access might not be possible.

One tweet read: “Whether there’s a need for another powerful opioid in the throes of a massive crisis of addiction is a critical question. As a public health agency, we have an obligation to address this question for patients with pain, for the addiction crisis, for innovators, for all Americans.”

Another tweet stated, “While Dsuvia brings another highly potent opioid to market it fulfills a limited, unmet medical need in treating our nation’s soldiers on the battlefield. That’s why the Pentagon worked closely with the sponsor on developing Dsuvia. FDA committed to prioritize needs of our troops.”

Given our national overdose crisis, and issues of addiction with our soldiers and veterans, one has to wonder if the improvements afforded in pain control by Dsuvia will be worth the trade-off in possible deaths from misdirected use of a very potent agent. And while the new opioid may have been geared toward unmet military needs, Dsuvia will be available for use in civilian medical facilities as well.

There is some irony to the idea that a pharmaceutical company would continue to develop opioids when there is so much need for nonaddictive agents for pain control and so much pressure on physicians to limit access of opiates to pain patients. We are left to stand by and watch as yet another potent opioid preparation is introduced.
 

Dr. Miller is coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016), and assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore.

The weather grows colder, the leaves are changing colors then falling, and it is time to gather close all we hold dear and to remember those who have gone before and those who have given for us—it is November. Across the world nations set aside a day to honor fallen heroes and wounded warriors. In Canada and Australia, it is Remembrance Day, in the US, it is Veterans Day, November 11.

War is older than recorded history, and every culture has experiences of violent conflict. Thus, every society has those men and women who have been harmed in body and mind and soul in mortal combat and yet survived and those who have perished on the battlefield or in its aftermath or wished they had.

The bloody, brutal human toll of organized strife has led many a society to recognize a moral obligation to develop a dedicated means of delivering medical care and social support to not just those who are serving actively but to those whose days in action are past. The utilitarian rationale for military medicine is clearly stated in the United States Army Medical Command mission, “Army Medicine provides sustained health services and research in support of the Total Force to enable readiness and conserve the fighting strength while caring for our Soldiers for Life and Families.”¹ It is a measure of the self-sacrifice of those who have sworn to defend their homeland and their healing brothers and sisters in arms that they deliberately make this commitment to each other and their fellow citizens. Yet we cannot easily extend this logic to the care of veterans. Why have diverse countries across millennia seen fit to carve out a special space for veteran health care? In this column, we will seek an answer in culture and history.

Related: Why VA Health Care Is Different

The Roman Empire, which relied heavily on its soldiers for the peace and prosperity of the empire was among the first political entities to recognize the need for military health care and to dedicate human and financial capital to subsidize care for veterans. Among the first hospitals in the world were built to care for Roman legions and the ancient medics like their modern counterparts advanced medical and especially surgical progress that benefited the public.²Today it is not only the US that has special systems of health care for veterans. The Australia Department of Veterans’ Affairs provides many of the same health and social service benefits as those of the US Department of Veterans Affairs (VA). Likewise, Veterans Affairs Canada (VAC) offers those who served and are eligible a variety of resources, including health care. Why does VAC provide health care for veterans?

Veterans Affairs Canada deeply values the contribution that Veterans have made to the development of our nation and we honour the sacrifices they have made.... In expressing Canada’s gratitude to them, we strive to exemplify many of the same principles which they represent–integrity, respect, service and commitment, accountability, and teamwork. ³

Many of these same motifs are repeated in the legislation that officially changed the November 11th commemoration from Armistice Day to Veterans Day. The holiday originated to mark the ending of the terrible First World War in which so many young men’s futures ended in the stench and mud of European trenches. Where Armistice Day celebrated the peace of the Treaty of Versailles and Memorial Day commemorates those in uniform who made the ultimate sacrifice; Veterans Day honors all veterans those still with us and those who have gone before. At the urging of veterans service organizations, as President, the great Army general Dwight D. Eisenhower declared in 1954 November 11 to be Veterans Day with these words:

On that day let us solemnly remember the sacrifices of all those who fought so valiantly, on the seas, in the air, and on foreign shores, to preserve our heritage of freedom, and let us reconsecrate ourselves to the task of promoting an enduring peace so that their efforts shall not have been in vain. ⁴

From these and other political proclamations, we can discern 4 ethical purposes that have motivated so many eras and states to maintain institutions to protect the health and promote the well-being of veterans. The first is gratitude, for those who lost something precious—be it health, function, soundness of mind, wholeness of limb, even life itself. The soldiers, airmen, sailors, marines, and others deserve not only our thanks, but also giving of our substance through taxes and the discharge of our democratic duties to support them through health care and housing, benefits, and burial.

Related: Am I My Brother’s/Sister’s Keeper?

The second purpose is that we owe all veterans a debt, a debt we can never fully repay, because no price can be placed on mental health, on freedom from pain and suffering, from being without a husband or a mother, and yet that is the price that many veterans paid. The least we can do is ensure that they have a health care system that understands the nature of their narratives and invests in the development of expertise particularity in psychophysical sequelae of war like traumatic brain injuries, amputations, posttraumatic stress disorder, and substance use.

The third purpose is that those who carried weapons, who were shot at, and who suffered so many other assaults outside the range of expected human experience fought to secure for all generations the 2 most precious qualities of civilization: freedom and peace. Once their work was done and the uniform hung in the closet and the medals put in a drawer, service men and women passed on to all of us—especially those who are committed to provide their medical care—that cause.

The fourth purpose is the simplest yet perhaps the most morally compelling—to remember the history of sacrifice. In my VA and in many others, unlike any private hospital on the planet, the walls are filled with military memorabilia. There is a memorial statute of a Medal of Honor winner for whom the facility is named in front of the main hospital with a giant American flag waiving proudly. All these symbols tell the veteran walking through the halls that this he or she is the primary ethical justification for this health care organization.

Related: The VA Cannot Be Privatized

These are the most powerful arguments to refute the many recent articles that question the very existence of the VA. Many of those authors, including one of my mentors, have ethical grounds for their calls for an end to a separate health care system for veterans.⁵ Believe me, after nearly 2 decades in the VA, I know firsthand we have much to improve in efficiency, responsiveness, and accountability. But is it really an ethical or even a scientific truth that veteran health care can be delivered more successfully by the private sector? That depends on the terms in which success is defined. Many of those who so blithely and at times irresponsibly proclaim that “we do not need a VA” display in the words of my own admired commander, “the reckless courage of noncombatants.” Solid health care research from independent sources suggests that the VA offers most community health care organizations a run for their money in terms of economies of scale and quality of outcomes in many areas.⁶ Yet this column contends that the measure of success for veteran health care is that the majority of VA and US Department of Defense health care professionals and administrators remain dedicated to these 4 core purposes. Success for these institutions is to seek and to strive through research, teaching, and clinical care to discover and deliver those therapies and medicaments with the most potential to preserve and enhance freedom of body and peace of mind that veterans deserve every day, not only on November 11.

The weather grows colder, the leaves are changing colors then falling, and it is time to gather close all we hold dear and to remember those who have gone before and those who have given for us—it is November. Across the world nations set aside a day to honor fallen heroes and wounded warriors. In Canada and Australia, it is Remembrance Day, in the US, it is Veterans Day, November 11.

War is older than recorded history, and every culture has experiences of violent conflict. Thus, every society has those men and women who have been harmed in body and mind and soul in mortal combat and yet survived and those who have perished on the battlefield or in its aftermath or wished they had.

The bloody, brutal human toll of organized strife has led many a society to recognize a moral obligation to develop a dedicated means of delivering medical care and social support to not just those who are serving actively but to those whose days in action are past. The utilitarian rationale for military medicine is clearly stated in the United States Army Medical Command mission, “Army Medicine provides sustained health services and research in support of the Total Force to enable readiness and conserve the fighting strength while caring for our Soldiers for Life and Families.”¹ It is a measure of the self-sacrifice of those who have sworn to defend their homeland and their healing brothers and sisters in arms that they deliberately make this commitment to each other and their fellow citizens. Yet we cannot easily extend this logic to the care of veterans. Why have diverse countries across millennia seen fit to carve out a special space for veteran health care? In this column, we will seek an answer in culture and history.

Related: Why VA Health Care Is Different

The Roman Empire, which relied heavily on its soldiers for the peace and prosperity of the empire was among the first political entities to recognize the need for military health care and to dedicate human and financial capital to subsidize care for veterans. Among the first hospitals in the world were built to care for Roman legions and the ancient medics like their modern counterparts advanced medical and especially surgical progress that benefited the public.²Today it is not only the US that has special systems of health care for veterans. The Australia Department of Veterans’ Affairs provides many of the same health and social service benefits as those of the US Department of Veterans Affairs (VA). Likewise, Veterans Affairs Canada (VAC) offers those who served and are eligible a variety of resources, including health care. Why does VAC provide health care for veterans?

Veterans Affairs Canada deeply values the contribution that Veterans have made to the development of our nation and we honour the sacrifices they have made.... In expressing Canada’s gratitude to them, we strive to exemplify many of the same principles which they represent–integrity, respect, service and commitment, accountability, and teamwork. ³

Many of these same motifs are repeated in the legislation that officially changed the November 11th commemoration from Armistice Day to Veterans Day. The holiday originated to mark the ending of the terrible First World War in which so many young men’s futures ended in the stench and mud of European trenches. Where Armistice Day celebrated the peace of the Treaty of Versailles and Memorial Day commemorates those in uniform who made the ultimate sacrifice; Veterans Day honors all veterans those still with us and those who have gone before. At the urging of veterans service organizations, as President, the great Army general Dwight D. Eisenhower declared in 1954 November 11 to be Veterans Day with these words:

On that day let us solemnly remember the sacrifices of all those who fought so valiantly, on the seas, in the air, and on foreign shores, to preserve our heritage of freedom, and let us reconsecrate ourselves to the task of promoting an enduring peace so that their efforts shall not have been in vain. ⁴

From these and other political proclamations, we can discern 4 ethical purposes that have motivated so many eras and states to maintain institutions to protect the health and promote the well-being of veterans. The first is gratitude, for those who lost something precious—be it health, function, soundness of mind, wholeness of limb, even life itself. The soldiers, airmen, sailors, marines, and others deserve not only our thanks, but also giving of our substance through taxes and the discharge of our democratic duties to support them through health care and housing, benefits, and burial.

Related: Am I My Brother’s/Sister’s Keeper?

The second purpose is that we owe all veterans a debt, a debt we can never fully repay, because no price can be placed on mental health, on freedom from pain and suffering, from being without a husband or a mother, and yet that is the price that many veterans paid. The least we can do is ensure that they have a health care system that understands the nature of their narratives and invests in the development of expertise particularity in psychophysical sequelae of war like traumatic brain injuries, amputations, posttraumatic stress disorder, and substance use.

The third purpose is that those who carried weapons, who were shot at, and who suffered so many other assaults outside the range of expected human experience fought to secure for all generations the 2 most precious qualities of civilization: freedom and peace. Once their work was done and the uniform hung in the closet and the medals put in a drawer, service men and women passed on to all of us—especially those who are committed to provide their medical care—that cause.

The fourth purpose is the simplest yet perhaps the most morally compelling—to remember the history of sacrifice. In my VA and in many others, unlike any private hospital on the planet, the walls are filled with military memorabilia. There is a memorial statute of a Medal of Honor winner for whom the facility is named in front of the main hospital with a giant American flag waiving proudly. All these symbols tell the veteran walking through the halls that this he or she is the primary ethical justification for this health care organization.

Related: The VA Cannot Be Privatized

These are the most powerful arguments to refute the many recent articles that question the very existence of the VA. Many of those authors, including one of my mentors, have ethical grounds for their calls for an end to a separate health care system for veterans.⁵ Believe me, after nearly 2 decades in the VA, I know firsthand we have much to improve in efficiency, responsiveness, and accountability. But is it really an ethical or even a scientific truth that veteran health care can be delivered more successfully by the private sector? That depends on the terms in which success is defined. Many of those who so blithely and at times irresponsibly proclaim that “we do not need a VA” display in the words of my own admired commander, “the reckless courage of noncombatants.” Solid health care research from independent sources suggests that the VA offers most community health care organizations a run for their money in terms of economies of scale and quality of outcomes in many areas.⁶ Yet this column contends that the measure of success for veteran health care is that the majority of VA and US Department of Defense health care professionals and administrators remain dedicated to these 4 core purposes. Success for these institutions is to seek and to strive through research, teaching, and clinical care to discover and deliver those therapies and medicaments with the most potential to preserve and enhance freedom of body and peace of mind that veterans deserve every day, not only on November 11.

The weather grows colder, the leaves are changing colors then falling, and it is time to gather close all we hold dear and to remember those who have gone before and those who have given for us—it is November. Across the world nations set aside a day to honor fallen heroes and wounded warriors. In Canada and Australia, it is Remembrance Day, in the US, it is Veterans Day, November 11.

War is older than recorded history, and every culture has experiences of violent conflict. Thus, every society has those men and women who have been harmed in body and mind and soul in mortal combat and yet survived and those who have perished on the battlefield or in its aftermath or wished they had.

The bloody, brutal human toll of organized strife has led many a society to recognize a moral obligation to develop a dedicated means of delivering medical care and social support to not just those who are serving actively but to those whose days in action are past. The utilitarian rationale for military medicine is clearly stated in the United States Army Medical Command mission, “Army Medicine provides sustained health services and research in support of the Total Force to enable readiness and conserve the fighting strength while caring for our Soldiers for Life and Families.”¹ It is a measure of the self-sacrifice of those who have sworn to defend their homeland and their healing brothers and sisters in arms that they deliberately make this commitment to each other and their fellow citizens. Yet we cannot easily extend this logic to the care of veterans. Why have diverse countries across millennia seen fit to carve out a special space for veteran health care? In this column, we will seek an answer in culture and history.

Related: Why VA Health Care Is Different

The Roman Empire, which relied heavily on its soldiers for the peace and prosperity of the empire was among the first political entities to recognize the need for military health care and to dedicate human and financial capital to subsidize care for veterans. Among the first hospitals in the world were built to care for Roman legions and the ancient medics like their modern counterparts advanced medical and especially surgical progress that benefited the public.²Today it is not only the US that has special systems of health care for veterans. The Australia Department of Veterans’ Affairs provides many of the same health and social service benefits as those of the US Department of Veterans Affairs (VA). Likewise, Veterans Affairs Canada (VAC) offers those who served and are eligible a variety of resources, including health care. Why does VAC provide health care for veterans?

Veterans Affairs Canada deeply values the contribution that Veterans have made to the development of our nation and we honour the sacrifices they have made.... In expressing Canada’s gratitude to them, we strive to exemplify many of the same principles which they represent–integrity, respect, service and commitment, accountability, and teamwork. ³

Many of these same motifs are repeated in the legislation that officially changed the November 11th commemoration from Armistice Day to Veterans Day. The holiday originated to mark the ending of the terrible First World War in which so many young men’s futures ended in the stench and mud of European trenches. Where Armistice Day celebrated the peace of the Treaty of Versailles and Memorial Day commemorates those in uniform who made the ultimate sacrifice; Veterans Day honors all veterans those still with us and those who have gone before. At the urging of veterans service organizations, as President, the great Army general Dwight D. Eisenhower declared in 1954 November 11 to be Veterans Day with these words:

On that day let us solemnly remember the sacrifices of all those who fought so valiantly, on the seas, in the air, and on foreign shores, to preserve our heritage of freedom, and let us reconsecrate ourselves to the task of promoting an enduring peace so that their efforts shall not have been in vain. ⁴

From these and other political proclamations, we can discern 4 ethical purposes that have motivated so many eras and states to maintain institutions to protect the health and promote the well-being of veterans. The first is gratitude, for those who lost something precious—be it health, function, soundness of mind, wholeness of limb, even life itself. The soldiers, airmen, sailors, marines, and others deserve not only our thanks, but also giving of our substance through taxes and the discharge of our democratic duties to support them through health care and housing, benefits, and burial.

Related: Am I My Brother’s/Sister’s Keeper?

The second purpose is that we owe all veterans a debt, a debt we can never fully repay, because no price can be placed on mental health, on freedom from pain and suffering, from being without a husband or a mother, and yet that is the price that many veterans paid. The least we can do is ensure that they have a health care system that understands the nature of their narratives and invests in the development of expertise particularity in psychophysical sequelae of war like traumatic brain injuries, amputations, posttraumatic stress disorder, and substance use.

The third purpose is that those who carried weapons, who were shot at, and who suffered so many other assaults outside the range of expected human experience fought to secure for all generations the 2 most precious qualities of civilization: freedom and peace. Once their work was done and the uniform hung in the closet and the medals put in a drawer, service men and women passed on to all of us—especially those who are committed to provide their medical care—that cause.

The fourth purpose is the simplest yet perhaps the most morally compelling—to remember the history of sacrifice. In my VA and in many others, unlike any private hospital on the planet, the walls are filled with military memorabilia. There is a memorial statute of a Medal of Honor winner for whom the facility is named in front of the main hospital with a giant American flag waiving proudly. All these symbols tell the veteran walking through the halls that this he or she is the primary ethical justification for this health care organization.

Related: The VA Cannot Be Privatized

These are the most powerful arguments to refute the many recent articles that question the very existence of the VA. Many of those authors, including one of my mentors, have ethical grounds for their calls for an end to a separate health care system for veterans.⁵ Believe me, after nearly 2 decades in the VA, I know firsthand we have much to improve in efficiency, responsiveness, and accountability. But is it really an ethical or even a scientific truth that veteran health care can be delivered more successfully by the private sector? That depends on the terms in which success is defined. Many of those who so blithely and at times irresponsibly proclaim that “we do not need a VA” display in the words of my own admired commander, “the reckless courage of noncombatants.” Solid health care research from independent sources suggests that the VA offers most community health care organizations a run for their money in terms of economies of scale and quality of outcomes in many areas.⁶ Yet this column contends that the measure of success for veteran health care is that the majority of VA and US Department of Defense health care professionals and administrators remain dedicated to these 4 core purposes. Success for these institutions is to seek and to strive through research, teaching, and clinical care to discover and deliver those therapies and medicaments with the most potential to preserve and enhance freedom of body and peace of mind that veterans deserve every day, not only on November 11.

In 1992, then-governor of Massachusetts William F. Weld signed a bill into law legalizing the use of marijuana for glaucoma, cancer therapy, and certain asthmatic disorders under a limited Department of Public Health (DPH) research program. In 1996, the legislature gave DPH the power to approve any Massachusetts patient to “possess and use pot” legally for relief of symptoms.¹ In my position as Health Policy Coordinator with DPH, those two acts were my introduction to the controversy of medical marijuana.

Since then, the popularity of—or rather, the shift in public sentiment regarding—marijuana (cannabis/cannabinoid) use has changed. There has been significant interest in the use of marijuana as an adjunct to treating chronic and/or debilitating medical conditions. There is also increasing interest in the potential therapeutic uses of marijuana and other cannabinoid compounds.

In recent years, we’ve seen significant momentum on this front. Point in fact, in fiscal year 2017, the National Institutes of Health supported projects on cannabinoid research totaling almost $140 million.² More than 30 US jurisdictions have passed legislation to legalize marijuana for medical use (while a few have legalized its use, period).³ All of which has prompted quite the debate not only among the public but also among health care providers.

A review of the history of cannabis use is very interesting—specifically, that the use of cannabis as a therapeutic modality predates recorded history. Cannabis was very popular in ancient China, India, and Greece as a medicine to alleviate pain or cure a variety of ailments.^4,5 In the early 1900s, cannabis was available OTC and commonly used for a variety of illnesses in the US. The first law regarding marijuana was enacted in 1619 at Jamestown Colony, Virginia; it “ordered” all farmers to grow Indian hempseed.⁶

But by 1906, cannabis was labeled as a poison in many states, and by the 1920s absolute prohibitions began. The Controlled Substances Act of 1970 outlawed cannabis for any use. Despite that ban, marijuana is the most common illegal drug used in the US today.⁷

Marijuana, not a completely benign substance, occupies a unique position in our society. On the one hand, it is a recreational compound, used to attain pleasant euphoria and a sense of relaxation. On the other, it has been used as a therapeutic compound, relieving nausea and anorexia from chemotherapy. In the former, it is viewed by many as a dangerous drug that can lead to madness (as depicted in the film Reefer Madness).⁸ In the latter, its use as an effective analgesic and appetite stimulant has been supported by people who have realized a therapeutic benefit.

The potential medicinal benefits of marijuana and its components have been the subject of research and ongoing heated debates. Decades of anecdotal evidence regarding the effectiveness of marijuana on the aforementioned symptoms have been documented. There are also numerous studies on marijuana as a therapeutic agent for multiple conditions, using the plant itself or extracts derived from it.^9-11

Continue to: Perhaps most interesting...

Perhaps most interesting, emerging data suggest that use and abuse of prescription drugs may be decreasing in states where medical cannabis is legal.¹² Two recent studies examining cannabis laws and prescription of opioids found that “medical cannabis laws are associated with significant reductions in opioid prescribing in the Medicare Part D population,” concluding that the potential for marijuana to decrease opioid use in the Medicaid population deserves consideration during policy discussions about marijuana reform and the opioid epidemic.^{13, 14}

The support for policy changes in states that have legalized marijuana for medical use suggests it is gaining greater acceptance in our society. The increase in jurisdictions that have approved marijuana for medical use requires that we, as health care providers, understand the implications for our practice and educate ourselves on the laws and regulations in our respective states.

Recent guidelines from the National Council of State Boards of Nursing (NCSBN) identify six principles of essential knowledge for NPs (that could apply to PAs, as well) who care for patients who qualify to participate in a Medical Marijuana Program (MMP). These include principles of safe and knowledgeable practice for clinicians when qualifying a patient for an MMP.³ Note that I said qualifying a patient and not prescribing marijuana. Federal law still classifies cannabis as a Schedule I controlled substance, thus prohibiting the actual prescription of marijuana, and prohibits pharmacies from dispensing cannabis. Quite a contradiction!

All of that said, it is incumbent upon each of us to understand the complexities of the MMP in our state. Each has its own specifications as to the qualifying conditions or symptoms, as well as the requirements to become an approved provider. And each is as diverse as the opinions on marijuana use.

Without doubt, the debate and dichotomy about medical marijuana will ensue for years. What we as health care providers must do is keep current on the laws and regulations not only in our state, but also at the federal level. As a primer on the status of MMPs and provider approval, I encourage all to review the NCSBN document.³

As always, you can share your thoughts with me via [email protected].

In 1992, then-governor of Massachusetts William F. Weld signed a bill into law legalizing the use of marijuana for glaucoma, cancer therapy, and certain asthmatic disorders under a limited Department of Public Health (DPH) research program. In 1996, the legislature gave DPH the power to approve any Massachusetts patient to “possess and use pot” legally for relief of symptoms.¹ In my position as Health Policy Coordinator with DPH, those two acts were my introduction to the controversy of medical marijuana.

Since then, the popularity of—or rather, the shift in public sentiment regarding—marijuana (cannabis/cannabinoid) use has changed. There has been significant interest in the use of marijuana as an adjunct to treating chronic and/or debilitating medical conditions. There is also increasing interest in the potential therapeutic uses of marijuana and other cannabinoid compounds.

In recent years, we’ve seen significant momentum on this front. Point in fact, in fiscal year 2017, the National Institutes of Health supported projects on cannabinoid research totaling almost $140 million.² More than 30 US jurisdictions have passed legislation to legalize marijuana for medical use (while a few have legalized its use, period).³ All of which has prompted quite the debate not only among the public but also among health care providers.

A review of the history of cannabis use is very interesting—specifically, that the use of cannabis as a therapeutic modality predates recorded history. Cannabis was very popular in ancient China, India, and Greece as a medicine to alleviate pain or cure a variety of ailments.^4,5 In the early 1900s, cannabis was available OTC and commonly used for a variety of illnesses in the US. The first law regarding marijuana was enacted in 1619 at Jamestown Colony, Virginia; it “ordered” all farmers to grow Indian hempseed.⁶

But by 1906, cannabis was labeled as a poison in many states, and by the 1920s absolute prohibitions began. The Controlled Substances Act of 1970 outlawed cannabis for any use. Despite that ban, marijuana is the most common illegal drug used in the US today.⁷

Marijuana, not a completely benign substance, occupies a unique position in our society. On the one hand, it is a recreational compound, used to attain pleasant euphoria and a sense of relaxation. On the other, it has been used as a therapeutic compound, relieving nausea and anorexia from chemotherapy. In the former, it is viewed by many as a dangerous drug that can lead to madness (as depicted in the film Reefer Madness).⁸ In the latter, its use as an effective analgesic and appetite stimulant has been supported by people who have realized a therapeutic benefit.

The potential medicinal benefits of marijuana and its components have been the subject of research and ongoing heated debates. Decades of anecdotal evidence regarding the effectiveness of marijuana on the aforementioned symptoms have been documented. There are also numerous studies on marijuana as a therapeutic agent for multiple conditions, using the plant itself or extracts derived from it.^9-11

Continue to: Perhaps most interesting...

Perhaps most interesting, emerging data suggest that use and abuse of prescription drugs may be decreasing in states where medical cannabis is legal.¹² Two recent studies examining cannabis laws and prescription of opioids found that “medical cannabis laws are associated with significant reductions in opioid prescribing in the Medicare Part D population,” concluding that the potential for marijuana to decrease opioid use in the Medicaid population deserves consideration during policy discussions about marijuana reform and the opioid epidemic.^{13, 14}

The support for policy changes in states that have legalized marijuana for medical use suggests it is gaining greater acceptance in our society. The increase in jurisdictions that have approved marijuana for medical use requires that we, as health care providers, understand the implications for our practice and educate ourselves on the laws and regulations in our respective states.

Recent guidelines from the National Council of State Boards of Nursing (NCSBN) identify six principles of essential knowledge for NPs (that could apply to PAs, as well) who care for patients who qualify to participate in a Medical Marijuana Program (MMP). These include principles of safe and knowledgeable practice for clinicians when qualifying a patient for an MMP.³ Note that I said qualifying a patient and not prescribing marijuana. Federal law still classifies cannabis as a Schedule I controlled substance, thus prohibiting the actual prescription of marijuana, and prohibits pharmacies from dispensing cannabis. Quite a contradiction!

All of that said, it is incumbent upon each of us to understand the complexities of the MMP in our state. Each has its own specifications as to the qualifying conditions or symptoms, as well as the requirements to become an approved provider. And each is as diverse as the opinions on marijuana use.

Without doubt, the debate and dichotomy about medical marijuana will ensue for years. What we as health care providers must do is keep current on the laws and regulations not only in our state, but also at the federal level. As a primer on the status of MMPs and provider approval, I encourage all to review the NCSBN document.³

As always, you can share your thoughts with me via [email protected].

In 1992, then-governor of Massachusetts William F. Weld signed a bill into law legalizing the use of marijuana for glaucoma, cancer therapy, and certain asthmatic disorders under a limited Department of Public Health (DPH) research program. In 1996, the legislature gave DPH the power to approve any Massachusetts patient to “possess and use pot” legally for relief of symptoms.¹ In my position as Health Policy Coordinator with DPH, those two acts were my introduction to the controversy of medical marijuana.

Since then, the popularity of—or rather, the shift in public sentiment regarding—marijuana (cannabis/cannabinoid) use has changed. There has been significant interest in the use of marijuana as an adjunct to treating chronic and/or debilitating medical conditions. There is also increasing interest in the potential therapeutic uses of marijuana and other cannabinoid compounds.

In recent years, we’ve seen significant momentum on this front. Point in fact, in fiscal year 2017, the National Institutes of Health supported projects on cannabinoid research totaling almost $140 million.² More than 30 US jurisdictions have passed legislation to legalize marijuana for medical use (while a few have legalized its use, period).³ All of which has prompted quite the debate not only among the public but also among health care providers.

A review of the history of cannabis use is very interesting—specifically, that the use of cannabis as a therapeutic modality predates recorded history. Cannabis was very popular in ancient China, India, and Greece as a medicine to alleviate pain or cure a variety of ailments.^4,5 In the early 1900s, cannabis was available OTC and commonly used for a variety of illnesses in the US. The first law regarding marijuana was enacted in 1619 at Jamestown Colony, Virginia; it “ordered” all farmers to grow Indian hempseed.⁶

But by 1906, cannabis was labeled as a poison in many states, and by the 1920s absolute prohibitions began. The Controlled Substances Act of 1970 outlawed cannabis for any use. Despite that ban, marijuana is the most common illegal drug used in the US today.⁷

Marijuana, not a completely benign substance, occupies a unique position in our society. On the one hand, it is a recreational compound, used to attain pleasant euphoria and a sense of relaxation. On the other, it has been used as a therapeutic compound, relieving nausea and anorexia from chemotherapy. In the former, it is viewed by many as a dangerous drug that can lead to madness (as depicted in the film Reefer Madness).⁸ In the latter, its use as an effective analgesic and appetite stimulant has been supported by people who have realized a therapeutic benefit.

The potential medicinal benefits of marijuana and its components have been the subject of research and ongoing heated debates. Decades of anecdotal evidence regarding the effectiveness of marijuana on the aforementioned symptoms have been documented. There are also numerous studies on marijuana as a therapeutic agent for multiple conditions, using the plant itself or extracts derived from it.^9-11

Continue to: Perhaps most interesting...

Perhaps most interesting, emerging data suggest that use and abuse of prescription drugs may be decreasing in states where medical cannabis is legal.¹² Two recent studies examining cannabis laws and prescription of opioids found that “medical cannabis laws are associated with significant reductions in opioid prescribing in the Medicare Part D population,” concluding that the potential for marijuana to decrease opioid use in the Medicaid population deserves consideration during policy discussions about marijuana reform and the opioid epidemic.^{13, 14}

The support for policy changes in states that have legalized marijuana for medical use suggests it is gaining greater acceptance in our society. The increase in jurisdictions that have approved marijuana for medical use requires that we, as health care providers, understand the implications for our practice and educate ourselves on the laws and regulations in our respective states.

Recent guidelines from the National Council of State Boards of Nursing (NCSBN) identify six principles of essential knowledge for NPs (that could apply to PAs, as well) who care for patients who qualify to participate in a Medical Marijuana Program (MMP). These include principles of safe and knowledgeable practice for clinicians when qualifying a patient for an MMP.³ Note that I said qualifying a patient and not prescribing marijuana. Federal law still classifies cannabis as a Schedule I controlled substance, thus prohibiting the actual prescription of marijuana, and prohibits pharmacies from dispensing cannabis. Quite a contradiction!

All of that said, it is incumbent upon each of us to understand the complexities of the MMP in our state. Each has its own specifications as to the qualifying conditions or symptoms, as well as the requirements to become an approved provider. And each is as diverse as the opinions on marijuana use.

Without doubt, the debate and dichotomy about medical marijuana will ensue for years. What we as health care providers must do is keep current on the laws and regulations not only in our state, but also at the federal level. As a primer on the status of MMPs and provider approval, I encourage all to review the NCSBN document.³

As always, you can share your thoughts with me via [email protected].

“I’m fine. How are your kids?”

Thinkstock

“They’re doing great, but we miss you. It hasn’t been the same at that group since you retired.”

I thanked her for her kind words. But the truth is that there were certainly physicians remaining at that practice who were at least as skillful and probably more caring than I had been. However, they were being increasingly challenged by an organization that struggled with how to be customer friendly and patient centered although it claimed to be both.

It must have been 8 years since I first met this young woman. She had just delivered her first child and was finishing her last year of family practice residency. In the nearly a decade since I had last spoken to her, she had worked in a couple primary care practices and was now the administrator of a rehabilitation facility. She described the all too common scenario of spending hours at home trying to complete her charting when she was doing primary care. Now she spends a good chunk of her time on the phone arguing with insurance companies trying to get coverage for her aging patients.

As she told me how frustrated she was with her current job and how pessimistic she was about the future of health care in this country, I realized that it wasn’t me that she really missed. I, and my old practice, are just examples of what primary care used to be.

As I walked home from the grocery store after our encounter, I wondered how deeply I shared her pessimism. We mostly talked about how bad things have gotten now. But we didn’t talk much about where we thought the state of health care in the Unite States was headed.

Are you an optimist or a pessimist? To what degree will your answer to be colored by your career trajectory? Would you tell a young person that you think our health care system is so messed up that you would discourage them from becoming a physician because the work environment is becoming increasingly toxic?

Or would you acknowledge that health care in this country is going through a difficult time, but the potential reward of knowing that every day you have helped, or at least tried to help, someone is worth riding out storm?

For a moment, step back from your narrow focus as a health care provider. What would you tell a 40-something father of two children who is worried about what health care is going to look like when he is as old as his parents are now?

If you have come down on the positive side of this coin, where are the solutions going to come from? Is technology going to come up with the answers? Is a nationwide electronic medical record system that allows all providers to communicate seamlessly with each other a realistic possibility? Will physicians and patients eventually adapt to and accept a new reality in which health care providers are primarily technicians following algorithms generated by a team of scientists and payers?

Or will we continue to muddle along and hope that our system will get over the hiccups and arrive at some political solution? I am eager to hear what you think. ... and feel.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

“I’m fine. How are your kids?”

Thinkstock

“They’re doing great, but we miss you. It hasn’t been the same at that group since you retired.”

I thanked her for her kind words. But the truth is that there were certainly physicians remaining at that practice who were at least as skillful and probably more caring than I had been. However, they were being increasingly challenged by an organization that struggled with how to be customer friendly and patient centered although it claimed to be both.

It must have been 8 years since I first met this young woman. She had just delivered her first child and was finishing her last year of family practice residency. In the nearly a decade since I had last spoken to her, she had worked in a couple primary care practices and was now the administrator of a rehabilitation facility. She described the all too common scenario of spending hours at home trying to complete her charting when she was doing primary care. Now she spends a good chunk of her time on the phone arguing with insurance companies trying to get coverage for her aging patients.

As she told me how frustrated she was with her current job and how pessimistic she was about the future of health care in this country, I realized that it wasn’t me that she really missed. I, and my old practice, are just examples of what primary care used to be.

As I walked home from the grocery store after our encounter, I wondered how deeply I shared her pessimism. We mostly talked about how bad things have gotten now. But we didn’t talk much about where we thought the state of health care in the Unite States was headed.

Are you an optimist or a pessimist? To what degree will your answer to be colored by your career trajectory? Would you tell a young person that you think our health care system is so messed up that you would discourage them from becoming a physician because the work environment is becoming increasingly toxic?

Or would you acknowledge that health care in this country is going through a difficult time, but the potential reward of knowing that every day you have helped, or at least tried to help, someone is worth riding out storm?

For a moment, step back from your narrow focus as a health care provider. What would you tell a 40-something father of two children who is worried about what health care is going to look like when he is as old as his parents are now?

If you have come down on the positive side of this coin, where are the solutions going to come from? Is technology going to come up with the answers? Is a nationwide electronic medical record system that allows all providers to communicate seamlessly with each other a realistic possibility? Will physicians and patients eventually adapt to and accept a new reality in which health care providers are primarily technicians following algorithms generated by a team of scientists and payers?

Or will we continue to muddle along and hope that our system will get over the hiccups and arrive at some political solution? I am eager to hear what you think. ... and feel.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

“I’m fine. How are your kids?”

Thinkstock

“They’re doing great, but we miss you. It hasn’t been the same at that group since you retired.”

I thanked her for her kind words. But the truth is that there were certainly physicians remaining at that practice who were at least as skillful and probably more caring than I had been. However, they were being increasingly challenged by an organization that struggled with how to be customer friendly and patient centered although it claimed to be both.

It must have been 8 years since I first met this young woman. She had just delivered her first child and was finishing her last year of family practice residency. In the nearly a decade since I had last spoken to her, she had worked in a couple primary care practices and was now the administrator of a rehabilitation facility. She described the all too common scenario of spending hours at home trying to complete her charting when she was doing primary care. Now she spends a good chunk of her time on the phone arguing with insurance companies trying to get coverage for her aging patients.

As she told me how frustrated she was with her current job and how pessimistic she was about the future of health care in this country, I realized that it wasn’t me that she really missed. I, and my old practice, are just examples of what primary care used to be.

As I walked home from the grocery store after our encounter, I wondered how deeply I shared her pessimism. We mostly talked about how bad things have gotten now. But we didn’t talk much about where we thought the state of health care in the Unite States was headed.

Are you an optimist or a pessimist? To what degree will your answer to be colored by your career trajectory? Would you tell a young person that you think our health care system is so messed up that you would discourage them from becoming a physician because the work environment is becoming increasingly toxic?

Or would you acknowledge that health care in this country is going through a difficult time, but the potential reward of knowing that every day you have helped, or at least tried to help, someone is worth riding out storm?

For a moment, step back from your narrow focus as a health care provider. What would you tell a 40-something father of two children who is worried about what health care is going to look like when he is as old as his parents are now?

If you have come down on the positive side of this coin, where are the solutions going to come from? Is technology going to come up with the answers? Is a nationwide electronic medical record system that allows all providers to communicate seamlessly with each other a realistic possibility? Will physicians and patients eventually adapt to and accept a new reality in which health care providers are primarily technicians following algorithms generated by a team of scientists and payers?

Or will we continue to muddle along and hope that our system will get over the hiccups and arrive at some political solution? I am eager to hear what you think. ... and feel.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

Unless you decide to start a second career as an expert witness, giving a deposition is a challenge you should avoid at all costs. I have given a few depositions myself, as both a defendant and a witness, and I have reviewed a dozen or more as a consultant for a local law firm. It is an unnatural and artificial format for transferring information. You will survive the depositions rigid and arbitrary rules only by listening to and following your lawyer’s coaching both before and during the deposition. Hopefully you never will be deposed. However, it may be instructive to consider the deposition’s unsettling format as a way to improve your communication skills with patients, parents, and nonphysicians.

belchonock/Thinkstock

First, in a deposition every word you utter is recorded. There are no second chances to edit or clarify what you have said. Your words must be carefully chosen. Several times each year I encounter the parent of a former patient in the grocery store who quotes to me some advice they claim I gave them 2 or 3 decades ago. Although I can imagine that I might have voiced the message they are remembering, sometimes I have to cringe at the bluntness and the crude choice of words they are attributing to me. Obviously, I got away with my fast and loose handling of the English language most of the time and am flattered that it was memorable. But I wonder how often I offended a family with my shoot-from-the-hip advice.

In a similar vein, I found that one of the benefits of having medical students shadow me around the office was that their presence forced me to listen to myself. Did I really say that? How sloppy had I gotten in my explanations to parents and patients? Having another pair of ears in the office can be like having a court stenographer at your deposition.

The situation can be particularly insidious when a parent asks what you take to be a rhetorical question or more likely makes a statement that is incorrect, but you fail to correct it because it is off topic and you are in a hurry to get to the next exam room. If in a deposition the plaintiff’s lawyer prefaces a question with “We all know that sugar makes children hyper,” before you leap over his preface and give your answer you should respond that you are unaware of any scientific evidence that supports his assertion. But if a parent offhandedly mentions that his child was on a “sugar high” you might not take the time to disagree because the parent’s observation had no significance to the history he was relating. However, the parent could interpret from your silence that you believe sugar causes hyperactivity.

Of course the volume of old wives tales, urban legends, and chat room myths that float by you in the office every day makes it impractical to counter every bit of misinformation we hear. But the rules of deposition should remind us that our failure to disagree might sometimes be interpreted as an agreement.

One of the more difficult concepts challenging the deposed physician is avoiding the too much information trap. Your answers in a deposition should be simple and to the point. Physicians are trained to teach. How often are we clouding the answers the patients want by trying to impress them with our breadth of knowledge and command of scientific language?

Although you may have a scribe helping you craft your electronic medical records, hopefully he or she won’t be a court stenographer. And even more fortunately, most patients and parents aren’t listening to every word you say. But from time to time, it helps to pretend you are being deposed. Or at least take a moment to listen to what you have been saying.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

Unless you decide to start a second career as an expert witness, giving a deposition is a challenge you should avoid at all costs. I have given a few depositions myself, as both a defendant and a witness, and I have reviewed a dozen or more as a consultant for a local law firm. It is an unnatural and artificial format for transferring information. You will survive the depositions rigid and arbitrary rules only by listening to and following your lawyer’s coaching both before and during the deposition. Hopefully you never will be deposed. However, it may be instructive to consider the deposition’s unsettling format as a way to improve your communication skills with patients, parents, and nonphysicians.

belchonock/Thinkstock

First, in a deposition every word you utter is recorded. There are no second chances to edit or clarify what you have said. Your words must be carefully chosen. Several times each year I encounter the parent of a former patient in the grocery store who quotes to me some advice they claim I gave them 2 or 3 decades ago. Although I can imagine that I might have voiced the message they are remembering, sometimes I have to cringe at the bluntness and the crude choice of words they are attributing to me. Obviously, I got away with my fast and loose handling of the English language most of the time and am flattered that it was memorable. But I wonder how often I offended a family with my shoot-from-the-hip advice.

In a similar vein, I found that one of the benefits of having medical students shadow me around the office was that their presence forced me to listen to myself. Did I really say that? How sloppy had I gotten in my explanations to parents and patients? Having another pair of ears in the office can be like having a court stenographer at your deposition.

The situation can be particularly insidious when a parent asks what you take to be a rhetorical question or more likely makes a statement that is incorrect, but you fail to correct it because it is off topic and you are in a hurry to get to the next exam room. If in a deposition the plaintiff’s lawyer prefaces a question with “We all know that sugar makes children hyper,” before you leap over his preface and give your answer you should respond that you are unaware of any scientific evidence that supports his assertion. But if a parent offhandedly mentions that his child was on a “sugar high” you might not take the time to disagree because the parent’s observation had no significance to the history he was relating. However, the parent could interpret from your silence that you believe sugar causes hyperactivity.

Of course the volume of old wives tales, urban legends, and chat room myths that float by you in the office every day makes it impractical to counter every bit of misinformation we hear. But the rules of deposition should remind us that our failure to disagree might sometimes be interpreted as an agreement.

One of the more difficult concepts challenging the deposed physician is avoiding the too much information trap. Your answers in a deposition should be simple and to the point. Physicians are trained to teach. How often are we clouding the answers the patients want by trying to impress them with our breadth of knowledge and command of scientific language?

Although you may have a scribe helping you craft your electronic medical records, hopefully he or she won’t be a court stenographer. And even more fortunately, most patients and parents aren’t listening to every word you say. But from time to time, it helps to pretend you are being deposed. Or at least take a moment to listen to what you have been saying.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

Unless you decide to start a second career as an expert witness, giving a deposition is a challenge you should avoid at all costs. I have given a few depositions myself, as both a defendant and a witness, and I have reviewed a dozen or more as a consultant for a local law firm. It is an unnatural and artificial format for transferring information. You will survive the depositions rigid and arbitrary rules only by listening to and following your lawyer’s coaching both before and during the deposition. Hopefully you never will be deposed. However, it may be instructive to consider the deposition’s unsettling format as a way to improve your communication skills with patients, parents, and nonphysicians.

belchonock/Thinkstock

First, in a deposition every word you utter is recorded. There are no second chances to edit or clarify what you have said. Your words must be carefully chosen. Several times each year I encounter the parent of a former patient in the grocery store who quotes to me some advice they claim I gave them 2 or 3 decades ago. Although I can imagine that I might have voiced the message they are remembering, sometimes I have to cringe at the bluntness and the crude choice of words they are attributing to me. Obviously, I got away with my fast and loose handling of the English language most of the time and am flattered that it was memorable. But I wonder how often I offended a family with my shoot-from-the-hip advice.

In a similar vein, I found that one of the benefits of having medical students shadow me around the office was that their presence forced me to listen to myself. Did I really say that? How sloppy had I gotten in my explanations to parents and patients? Having another pair of ears in the office can be like having a court stenographer at your deposition.

The situation can be particularly insidious when a parent asks what you take to be a rhetorical question or more likely makes a statement that is incorrect, but you fail to correct it because it is off topic and you are in a hurry to get to the next exam room. If in a deposition the plaintiff’s lawyer prefaces a question with “We all know that sugar makes children hyper,” before you leap over his preface and give your answer you should respond that you are unaware of any scientific evidence that supports his assertion. But if a parent offhandedly mentions that his child was on a “sugar high” you might not take the time to disagree because the parent’s observation had no significance to the history he was relating. However, the parent could interpret from your silence that you believe sugar causes hyperactivity.

Of course the volume of old wives tales, urban legends, and chat room myths that float by you in the office every day makes it impractical to counter every bit of misinformation we hear. But the rules of deposition should remind us that our failure to disagree might sometimes be interpreted as an agreement.

One of the more difficult concepts challenging the deposed physician is avoiding the too much information trap. Your answers in a deposition should be simple and to the point. Physicians are trained to teach. How often are we clouding the answers the patients want by trying to impress them with our breadth of knowledge and command of scientific language?

Although you may have a scribe helping you craft your electronic medical records, hopefully he or she won’t be a court stenographer. And even more fortunately, most patients and parents aren’t listening to every word you say. But from time to time, it helps to pretend you are being deposed. Or at least take a moment to listen to what you have been saying.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

The evening James Wu (not his real name) learned he had leukemia, he asked his nurse to please get his doctor. There was something important he had to ask her.

“I have this mole. On my back.” He squirmed anxiously. “Doctor, is it dangerous?”

James did have something dangerous – though it had nothing to do with a skin blemish he’d had his whole life. Earlier that day, I had pulled up a chair and told him we had final results from the bone marrow biopsy I had done the day before. It was unfortunately what we suspected. James had cancer. It was a type of cancer called acute lymphoblastic leukemia, a cancer of the blood.

James had said nothing. He looked down, shocked, and crestfallen. Even though we had planted the seeds early that this was likely cancer, the confirmation is always heartbreaking. It closes the door on optimism, shutting out the slim hope that it could be something else. Anything else.

I could have said more. But I waited.

I stopped talking because my experiences have mirrored what the data shows: Once a patient hears “cancer,” they often stop listening. We could go on, spelling out the next steps and treatment options. But patients usually don’t retain it. The details don’t mean anything right now.

Instead, I usually just hint at what’s to come. Most importantly, I reassure them that we are with them now, every step of the way. This will be a road we’ll walk together.

It was silent for a while. Finally, James spoke.

“OK,” he said. “So … it’s not something in my diet?”

“No. It’s a leukemia.”

“It cannot be related to stress?”

“No. You did nothing to cause this.”

For most, it’s a process. After dropping the diagnostic bomb, treatment is another conversation. Prognosis another. If I have the luxury of continuity, I try to carve the information into chunks, giving patients time to process each piece.

This felt especially salient for James, who was in his mid-30s and had never even been in a hospital before, much less dealt with a serious diagnosis. His grandparents had died of “old age,” and no one in his family had been sick. He had never interacted with the health care system in a meaningful way. Even words like chemotherapy seemed beyond him, existing in a different world from the one he lived in. Cancer was abstract.

“Would I be awake during chemotherapy?”

“Yes. Completely.”

James had a wife, a 2-year-old, and a full-time job. Watching his daughter aimlessly wander around the hospital room, I wondered, were they planning on having more children? We could get the fertility specialist to see him before starting chemotherapy.

I looked at his nightstand, where his laptop was open to data-packed spreadsheets, and I wondered what his work meant for him. Would he want to continue working through his treatment? We could have our social worker write a letter to his employer.

There would be time for all of that. Later.

I said that, for tonight, there would be nothing else. Tomorrow, we would do an ultrasound of his heart and arrange for a special IV to administer chemotherapy. Then, I would come back, and we would talk about the treatment, and what it all means, in a lot more detail.

I asked James if he had any questions right now. As expected, he said no. Until a few hours later, when I was called about his very important question.

That day, looking into the terrified face of a previously healthy 30-something-year-old, I could see the future. I could see the month-long hospital stay. The chemotherapy would kill his immune system, he would get fevers, and bacteria would grow in his bloodstream. He’d get short of breath and we’d find fungus growing in his lungs. He’d take an antifungal and it would make him hallucinate. Maybe he’d spend a few days in the ICU, requiring a large catheter in his neck just to maintain his blood pressure. He would bleed; we would transfuse him with blood. He would get so many bone marrow biopsies and lumbar punctures that his skin would be marked, and he would tell each proceduralist where to go. It would be months of treatment. And then miraculously, it would go into remission. He would celebrate; his wife would cry. Maybe he’d get a bone marrow transplant; we’d find out his brother was a match, and he’d fly in from thousands of miles away. He would get graft-versus-host disease, and his skin would harden. And even after all of that, even if his bone marrow was clear of disease, he would not say he was “cured.” He would live in fear of this because he would know how likely it was to relapse. Maybe in a few months, maybe in a few years. Every cough would be a catastrophe. Every ache a fear of the worst. He would become intimately familiar with words like minimal residual disease and neutropenia, frequent the message boards, and always have a bag packed in case he needed to come back to the hospital. Everything else, from that moment on, would come in second place.

There, then, with his toddler playfully tugging at his hospital gown, I said none of that.

Instead, I examined his back. I told him his mole looked fine.

“Wow,” he breathed a long sigh of relief. “Thank you, doctor. That’s good news.”

Certain details of this story were modified slightly to protect privacy.
 

Dr. Yurkiewicz is a fellow in hematology and oncology at Stanford (Calif.) University. Follow her on Twitter @ilanayurkiewicz.

The evening James Wu (not his real name) learned he had leukemia, he asked his nurse to please get his doctor. There was something important he had to ask her.

“I have this mole. On my back.” He squirmed anxiously. “Doctor, is it dangerous?”

James did have something dangerous – though it had nothing to do with a skin blemish he’d had his whole life. Earlier that day, I had pulled up a chair and told him we had final results from the bone marrow biopsy I had done the day before. It was unfortunately what we suspected. James had cancer. It was a type of cancer called acute lymphoblastic leukemia, a cancer of the blood.

James had said nothing. He looked down, shocked, and crestfallen. Even though we had planted the seeds early that this was likely cancer, the confirmation is always heartbreaking. It closes the door on optimism, shutting out the slim hope that it could be something else. Anything else.

I could have said more. But I waited.

I stopped talking because my experiences have mirrored what the data shows: Once a patient hears “cancer,” they often stop listening. We could go on, spelling out the next steps and treatment options. But patients usually don’t retain it. The details don’t mean anything right now.

Instead, I usually just hint at what’s to come. Most importantly, I reassure them that we are with them now, every step of the way. This will be a road we’ll walk together.

It was silent for a while. Finally, James spoke.

“OK,” he said. “So … it’s not something in my diet?”

“No. It’s a leukemia.”

“It cannot be related to stress?”

“No. You did nothing to cause this.”

For most, it’s a process. After dropping the diagnostic bomb, treatment is another conversation. Prognosis another. If I have the luxury of continuity, I try to carve the information into chunks, giving patients time to process each piece.

This felt especially salient for James, who was in his mid-30s and had never even been in a hospital before, much less dealt with a serious diagnosis. His grandparents had died of “old age,” and no one in his family had been sick. He had never interacted with the health care system in a meaningful way. Even words like chemotherapy seemed beyond him, existing in a different world from the one he lived in. Cancer was abstract.

“Would I be awake during chemotherapy?”

“Yes. Completely.”

James had a wife, a 2-year-old, and a full-time job. Watching his daughter aimlessly wander around the hospital room, I wondered, were they planning on having more children? We could get the fertility specialist to see him before starting chemotherapy.

I looked at his nightstand, where his laptop was open to data-packed spreadsheets, and I wondered what his work meant for him. Would he want to continue working through his treatment? We could have our social worker write a letter to his employer.

There would be time for all of that. Later.

I said that, for tonight, there would be nothing else. Tomorrow, we would do an ultrasound of his heart and arrange for a special IV to administer chemotherapy. Then, I would come back, and we would talk about the treatment, and what it all means, in a lot more detail.

I asked James if he had any questions right now. As expected, he said no. Until a few hours later, when I was called about his very important question.

That day, looking into the terrified face of a previously healthy 30-something-year-old, I could see the future. I could see the month-long hospital stay. The chemotherapy would kill his immune system, he would get fevers, and bacteria would grow in his bloodstream. He’d get short of breath and we’d find fungus growing in his lungs. He’d take an antifungal and it would make him hallucinate. Maybe he’d spend a few days in the ICU, requiring a large catheter in his neck just to maintain his blood pressure. He would bleed; we would transfuse him with blood. He would get so many bone marrow biopsies and lumbar punctures that his skin would be marked, and he would tell each proceduralist where to go. It would be months of treatment. And then miraculously, it would go into remission. He would celebrate; his wife would cry. Maybe he’d get a bone marrow transplant; we’d find out his brother was a match, and he’d fly in from thousands of miles away. He would get graft-versus-host disease, and his skin would harden. And even after all of that, even if his bone marrow was clear of disease, he would not say he was “cured.” He would live in fear of this because he would know how likely it was to relapse. Maybe in a few months, maybe in a few years. Every cough would be a catastrophe. Every ache a fear of the worst. He would become intimately familiar with words like minimal residual disease and neutropenia, frequent the message boards, and always have a bag packed in case he needed to come back to the hospital. Everything else, from that moment on, would come in second place.

There, then, with his toddler playfully tugging at his hospital gown, I said none of that.

Instead, I examined his back. I told him his mole looked fine.

“Wow,” he breathed a long sigh of relief. “Thank you, doctor. That’s good news.”

Certain details of this story were modified slightly to protect privacy.
 

Dr. Yurkiewicz is a fellow in hematology and oncology at Stanford (Calif.) University. Follow her on Twitter @ilanayurkiewicz.

The evening James Wu (not his real name) learned he had leukemia, he asked his nurse to please get his doctor. There was something important he had to ask her.

“I have this mole. On my back.” He squirmed anxiously. “Doctor, is it dangerous?”

James did have something dangerous – though it had nothing to do with a skin blemish he’d had his whole life. Earlier that day, I had pulled up a chair and told him we had final results from the bone marrow biopsy I had done the day before. It was unfortunately what we suspected. James had cancer. It was a type of cancer called acute lymphoblastic leukemia, a cancer of the blood.

James had said nothing. He looked down, shocked, and crestfallen. Even though we had planted the seeds early that this was likely cancer, the confirmation is always heartbreaking. It closes the door on optimism, shutting out the slim hope that it could be something else. Anything else.

I could have said more. But I waited.

I stopped talking because my experiences have mirrored what the data shows: Once a patient hears “cancer,” they often stop listening. We could go on, spelling out the next steps and treatment options. But patients usually don’t retain it. The details don’t mean anything right now.

Instead, I usually just hint at what’s to come. Most importantly, I reassure them that we are with them now, every step of the way. This will be a road we’ll walk together.

It was silent for a while. Finally, James spoke.

“OK,” he said. “So … it’s not something in my diet?”

“No. It’s a leukemia.”

“It cannot be related to stress?”

“No. You did nothing to cause this.”

For most, it’s a process. After dropping the diagnostic bomb, treatment is another conversation. Prognosis another. If I have the luxury of continuity, I try to carve the information into chunks, giving patients time to process each piece.

This felt especially salient for James, who was in his mid-30s and had never even been in a hospital before, much less dealt with a serious diagnosis. His grandparents had died of “old age,” and no one in his family had been sick. He had never interacted with the health care system in a meaningful way. Even words like chemotherapy seemed beyond him, existing in a different world from the one he lived in. Cancer was abstract.

“Would I be awake during chemotherapy?”

“Yes. Completely.”

James had a wife, a 2-year-old, and a full-time job. Watching his daughter aimlessly wander around the hospital room, I wondered, were they planning on having more children? We could get the fertility specialist to see him before starting chemotherapy.

I looked at his nightstand, where his laptop was open to data-packed spreadsheets, and I wondered what his work meant for him. Would he want to continue working through his treatment? We could have our social worker write a letter to his employer.

There would be time for all of that. Later.

I said that, for tonight, there would be nothing else. Tomorrow, we would do an ultrasound of his heart and arrange for a special IV to administer chemotherapy. Then, I would come back, and we would talk about the treatment, and what it all means, in a lot more detail.

I asked James if he had any questions right now. As expected, he said no. Until a few hours later, when I was called about his very important question.

That day, looking into the terrified face of a previously healthy 30-something-year-old, I could see the future. I could see the month-long hospital stay. The chemotherapy would kill his immune system, he would get fevers, and bacteria would grow in his bloodstream. He’d get short of breath and we’d find fungus growing in his lungs. He’d take an antifungal and it would make him hallucinate. Maybe he’d spend a few days in the ICU, requiring a large catheter in his neck just to maintain his blood pressure. He would bleed; we would transfuse him with blood. He would get so many bone marrow biopsies and lumbar punctures that his skin would be marked, and he would tell each proceduralist where to go. It would be months of treatment. And then miraculously, it would go into remission. He would celebrate; his wife would cry. Maybe he’d get a bone marrow transplant; we’d find out his brother was a match, and he’d fly in from thousands of miles away. He would get graft-versus-host disease, and his skin would harden. And even after all of that, even if his bone marrow was clear of disease, he would not say he was “cured.” He would live in fear of this because he would know how likely it was to relapse. Maybe in a few months, maybe in a few years. Every cough would be a catastrophe. Every ache a fear of the worst. He would become intimately familiar with words like minimal residual disease and neutropenia, frequent the message boards, and always have a bag packed in case he needed to come back to the hospital. Everything else, from that moment on, would come in second place.

There, then, with his toddler playfully tugging at his hospital gown, I said none of that.

Instead, I examined his back. I told him his mole looked fine.

“Wow,” he breathed a long sigh of relief. “Thank you, doctor. That’s good news.”

Certain details of this story were modified slightly to protect privacy.
 

Dr. Yurkiewicz is a fellow in hematology and oncology at Stanford (Calif.) University. Follow her on Twitter @ilanayurkiewicz.

Mary, age 38, was hospitalized for acute cholecystitis requiring laparoscopic surgery. Her hospital course was uneventful. At the time of discharge, I, her inpatient doctor, prescribed 15 hydrocodone tablets for postoperative pain. I never saw her again. Did she struggle to stop taking the hydrocodone I prescribed?

Heather is a 50-year-old patient in my addiction medicine clinic who developed opioid use disorder while being treated for chronic pain. After much hardship and to her credit, she is now in long-term remission. Did her opioid use disorder start with an opioid prescription for an accepted indication?

The issues Mary and Heather face seem unrelated, but these 2 patients may be at different time points in the progression of the same disease. As a hospitalist, I want to optimize the chances that patients taking opioids for acute pain will be able to stop taking them.

CHRONIC USE VS OPIOID USE DISORDER

There is a distinction between chronic use of opioids and opioid use disorder. The latter is also known as addiction.

Patients who take opioids daily do not necessarily have opioid use disorder, even if they have physiologic dependence on them. Physiologic opioid dependence is commonly confused with opioid use disorder, but it is the expected result of regularly taking these drugs.

Opioid use disorder is a chronic disease of the brain characterized by loss of control over opioid use, resulting in harm. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, fifth edition, excludes physiologic dependence on opioids (tolerance and withdrawal) from its criteria for opioid use disorder if the patient is taking opioids solely under medical supervision.¹ To be diagnosed with opioid use disorder, patients need to do only 2 of the following within 12 months:

• Take more of the drug than intended
• Want or try to cut down without success
• Spend a lot of time in getting, using, or recovering from the drug
• Crave the drug
• Fail to meet commitments due to the drug
• Continue to use the drug, even though it causes social or relationship problems
• Give up or reduce other activities because of the drug
• Use the drug even when it isn’t safe
• Continue to use even when it causes physical or psychological problems
• Develop tolerance (but, as noted, not if taking the drug as directed under a doctor’s supervision)
• Experience withdrawal (again, but not if taking the drug under medical supervision).

WHY DO SOME PATIENTS STRUGGLE TO STOP TAKING OPIOIDS?

Studying opioid use disorder as an outcome in large groups of patients is complicated by imperfect medical documentation. However, using pharmacy claims data, researchers can accurately describe opioid prescription patterns in large groups of patients over time. This means we can count how many patients keep taking prescribed opioids but not how many become addicted.

In a country where nearly 40% of adults are prescribed an opioid annually, the question is not why people start taking opioids, but why some have to struggle to stop.² Several recent studies used pharmacy claims data to identify factors that may predict chronic opioid use in patients prescribed opioids for acute pain. The findings suggest that we can better treat acute pain to prevent chronic opioid use.

We don’t yet know how to protect patients like Mary from opioid use disorder, but the following 3 studies have already changed my practice.

HIGHER TOTAL DOSE MEANS HIGHER RISK

[Shah A, Hayes CJ, Martin BC. Characteristics of initial prescription episodes and likelihood of long-term opioid use—United States, 2006–2015. MMWR Morb Mortal Wkly Rep 2017; 66(10):265–269.]

Shah et al³ reported a study of nearly 1.3 million opioid-naive patients who received opioid prescriptions. Of those prescribed at least 1 day of opioids, 6% were still taking them 1 year later, and 2.9% were still taking them 3 years later.

Opioid exposure in acute pain was measured in total “morphine milligram equivalents” (MME), ie, the cumulative amount of opioids prescribed in the treatment episode, standardized across different types of opioids. We usually think of exposure in terms of how many milligrams a patient takes per day, which correlates with mortality in chronic opioid use.⁴ But this study showed a linear relationship between total MME prescribed for acute pain and ongoing opioid use in opioid-naive patients. By itself, the difference between daily and total MME made the article revelatory.

But the study went further, asking how much is too much: ie, What is the cutoff MME above which the patient is at risk of chronic opioid use? The relationship between acute opioid dose and chronic use is linear and starts early. Shah et al suggested that a total threshold of 700 MME predicts chronic opioid use—140 hydrocodone tablets, or 1 month of regular use.³

Many doctors worry that specific opioids such as oxycodone, hydromorphone, and fentanyl may be more habit-forming. Surprisingly, this study showed that these drugs were associated with rates of chronic use similar to those of other opioids when they controlled for potency.

Bottom line. Total opioid use in acute pain was the best predictor of chronic opioid use, and it showed that chronicity begins earlier than thought.

[Barnett ML, Olenski AR, Jena AB. Opioid-prescribing patterns of emergency physicians and risk of long-term use. N Engl J Med 2017; 376(7):663–673.]

Barnett et al⁵ analyzed opioid prescribing for acute pain in the emergency department, using Medicare pharmacy data from 377,629 previously opioid-naive patients. They categorized the emergency providers into quartiles based on the frequency of opioid prescribing.

The relative risk of ongoing opioid use 1 year after being treated by a “high-intensity” prescriber (ie, one in the top quartile) was 30% greater than in similar patients seen by a low-intensity prescriber (ie, one in the bottom quartile). In addition, those who were treated by high-intensity prescribers were more likely to have a serious fall.

In designing the study, the authors assumed that patients visiting an emergency department had their doctor assigned randomly. They controlled for many patient variables that might have confounded the results, such as age, sex, race, depression, medical comorbidities, and geographic region. Were the higher rates of ongoing opioid use in the high-intensity-prescriber group due to the higher prescribing rates of their emergency providers, or did the providers counsel patients differently? This is not known.

Bottom line. Different doctors manage similar patients differently when it comes to pain, and those who prescribe more opioids for acute pain put their patients at risk of chronic opioid use and falls. I don’t want to be a high-intensity opioid prescriber.

SURGERY AND CHRONIC OPIOID USE

[Brummett CM, Waljee JF, Goesling J, et al. New persistent opioid use after minor and major surgical procedures in US adults. JAMA Surg 2017; 152(6):e170504.]

Brummett et al⁶ examined ongoing opioid use after surgery in 36,177 opioid-naive patients and in a nonsurgical control group. After 3 months, 6% of the patients who underwent surgery remained on opioids, compared with only 0.4% of the nonsurgical controls. Whether the surgery was major or minor did not affect the rate of postoperative opioid use.

Risk factors for ongoing opioid use were preexisting addiction to anything (including tobacco), mood disorders, and preoperative pain disorders. These risk factors have previously been reported in nonsurgical patients.⁷

Brummett et al speculated that patients are counseled about postoperative opioids in a way that leads them to overestimate the safety and efficacy of these drugs for treating other common pain conditions.⁶ 

Bottom line. Patients with mental health comorbidities have a hard time stopping opioids. The remarkable finding in this study was the similarity between major and minor surgery in terms of chronic opioid use. If postoperative opioids treat only the pain caused by the surgery, major surgery should be associated with greater opioid use. The similarity suggests that a mechanism other than postoperative pain confers risk of chronic opioid use.

THINKING ABOUT OPIOIDS

Collectively, these articles describe elements of acute pain treatment that correlate with chronic ongoing opioid use: a higher cumulative dose,³ being seen by a physician who prescribes a lot of opioids,⁵ undergoing surgery,⁶ and psychiatric comorbidity.⁶ They made me wonder if opioid use for acute pain acts as an inoculation, analogous to inoculating a Petri dish with bacteria.  The likelihood of chronic opioid use arises from the inoculum dose, the host response, and the context of inoculation. 

These articles do not show how patients taking opioids chronically for pain become addicted. Stumbo et al⁸ interviewed 283 opioid-dependent patients and identified 5 pathways to opioid use disorder, 3 of which were related to pain control: inadequately controlled chronic pain, exposure to opioids during acute pain episodes, and chronic pain in patients who already had substance use disorders. Brat et al⁹ recently estimated the risk of opioid use disorder after receiving opioids postoperatively to be less than 1%, but it increased dramatically with duration of opioid treatment.

A patient who fills an opioid prescription does not necessarily have chronic pain. Nor do all patients with chronic pain require an opioid prescription. These studies did not establish whether the patients had a pain syndrome. In practice, we call our patients who chronically take opioids our “chronic pain patients.” But 40% of Americans have chronic pain, while only 5% take opioids daily for pain.^11,12

We assume that those taking opioids have the most severe pain. But Brummett et al suggested that continued opioid use is predicted less by pain and more by psychiatric comorbidity.⁶ More than half of the opioid prescriptions in the United States are written for patients with serious mental illness, who represent one-sixth of that population.¹¹ Maybe chronic opioid use for pain has more to do with vulnerability to opioids and less to do with a pain syndrome.

I now think about daily opioid use in much the same way as I think about daily prednisone use. Patients on daily prednisone have a characteristic set of medical risks from the prednisone itself, regardless of its indication. Yet we do not consider these patients addicted to prednisone. Opioid use may be similar.

Like most doctors, I am troubled by the continued rise in the opioid overdose rate.¹³ Yet addiction and death from overdose are not the only risks that patients on chronic opioids face; they also have higher rates of falls, cardiovascular death, pneumonia, death from chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, and motor vehicle crashes.^14–17 Patients on chronic opioids for pain have greater mental health comorbidity and worse function.¹⁸

Most concerning, chronic opioid treatment for pain lacks proof of benefit. In fact, a recent study disproved the benefit of opioids for chronic pain compared with nonopioid options.¹⁹ When I meet with patients who are taking chronic opioids for pain, I often can’t identify why the drugs were started or ought to be continued, and I anticipate a bad outcome. Yet the patient is afraid to stop the drug. For these reasons, chronic opioid use for pain strikes me as worth considering separately from opioid use disorder.

The studies described above have had a powerful effect on my clinical care as a hospitalist.

I now talk to all patients starting opioids about how hard it can be to stop. Some patients are defensive at first, believing this does not apply to them. But I politely continue.

People with depression and anxiety can have a harder time stopping opioids. Addiction is both a risk with ongoing opioid use and a possible outcome of acute opioid use.⁸ But one can struggle to stop opioids without being addicted or depressed. Even the healthiest person may wish to continue opioids past the point of benefit.

I am careful not to invalidate the patient’s experience of pain. It is challenging for patients to find the balance between current discomfort and a possible future adverse effect. In these conversations, I imagine how I would want a loved one counseled on their pain control. This centers me as I choose my words and my tone.

I now monitor the total amount of opioid I prescribe for acute pain in addition to the daily dose. I give my patients as few opioids as reasonable, and advise them to take the minimum dose required for tolerable comfort. I offer nonopioid options as the preferred choice, presenting them as effective and safe. I do this irrespective of the indication for opioids.

I limit opioids in all patients, not just those with comorbidities. I include in my shared decision-making process the risk of chronic opioid use when I prescribe opioids for acute pain, carefully distinguishing it from opioid use disorder. Instead of excess opioids, I give patients my office phone number to call in case they struggle. I rarely get calls. But I find patients would rather have access to a doctor than extra pills. And offering them my contact information lets me limit opioids while letting them know that I am committed to their comfort and health.

As an addiction medicine doctor, I consult on patients not taking their opioids as prescribed. Caring for these patients is intellectually and emotionally draining; they suffer daily, and the opioids they take provide a modicum of relief at a high cost. The publications I have discussed here provide insight into how a troubled relationship with opioids begins. I remind myself that these patients have an iatrogenic condition. Their behaviors that we label “aberrant” may reflect an adverse reaction to medications prescribed to them for acute pain.

Mary, my patient with postoperative pain after cholecystectomy, may over time develop opioid use disorder as Heather did. That progression may have begun with the hydrocodone I prescribed and the counseling I gave her, and it may proceed to chronic opioid use and then opioid use disorder.

I am looking closely at the care I give for acute pain in light of these innovative studies. But even more so, they have increased the compassion with which I care for patients like Heather, those harmed by prescribed opioids.

Mary, age 38, was hospitalized for acute cholecystitis requiring laparoscopic surgery. Her hospital course was uneventful. At the time of discharge, I, her inpatient doctor, prescribed 15 hydrocodone tablets for postoperative pain. I never saw her again. Did she struggle to stop taking the hydrocodone I prescribed?

Heather is a 50-year-old patient in my addiction medicine clinic who developed opioid use disorder while being treated for chronic pain. After much hardship and to her credit, she is now in long-term remission. Did her opioid use disorder start with an opioid prescription for an accepted indication?

The issues Mary and Heather face seem unrelated, but these 2 patients may be at different time points in the progression of the same disease. As a hospitalist, I want to optimize the chances that patients taking opioids for acute pain will be able to stop taking them.

CHRONIC USE VS OPIOID USE DISORDER

There is a distinction between chronic use of opioids and opioid use disorder. The latter is also known as addiction.

Patients who take opioids daily do not necessarily have opioid use disorder, even if they have physiologic dependence on them. Physiologic opioid dependence is commonly confused with opioid use disorder, but it is the expected result of regularly taking these drugs.

Opioid use disorder is a chronic disease of the brain characterized by loss of control over opioid use, resulting in harm. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, fifth edition, excludes physiologic dependence on opioids (tolerance and withdrawal) from its criteria for opioid use disorder if the patient is taking opioids solely under medical supervision.¹ To be diagnosed with opioid use disorder, patients need to do only 2 of the following within 12 months:

• Take more of the drug than intended
• Want or try to cut down without success
• Spend a lot of time in getting, using, or recovering from the drug
• Crave the drug
• Fail to meet commitments due to the drug
• Continue to use the drug, even though it causes social or relationship problems
• Give up or reduce other activities because of the drug
• Use the drug even when it isn’t safe
• Continue to use even when it causes physical or psychological problems
• Develop tolerance (but, as noted, not if taking the drug as directed under a doctor’s supervision)
• Experience withdrawal (again, but not if taking the drug under medical supervision).

WHY DO SOME PATIENTS STRUGGLE TO STOP TAKING OPIOIDS?

Studying opioid use disorder as an outcome in large groups of patients is complicated by imperfect medical documentation. However, using pharmacy claims data, researchers can accurately describe opioid prescription patterns in large groups of patients over time. This means we can count how many patients keep taking prescribed opioids but not how many become addicted.

In a country where nearly 40% of adults are prescribed an opioid annually, the question is not why people start taking opioids, but why some have to struggle to stop.² Several recent studies used pharmacy claims data to identify factors that may predict chronic opioid use in patients prescribed opioids for acute pain. The findings suggest that we can better treat acute pain to prevent chronic opioid use.

We don’t yet know how to protect patients like Mary from opioid use disorder, but the following 3 studies have already changed my practice.

HIGHER TOTAL DOSE MEANS HIGHER RISK

[Shah A, Hayes CJ, Martin BC. Characteristics of initial prescription episodes and likelihood of long-term opioid use—United States, 2006–2015. MMWR Morb Mortal Wkly Rep 2017; 66(10):265–269.]

Shah et al³ reported a study of nearly 1.3 million opioid-naive patients who received opioid prescriptions. Of those prescribed at least 1 day of opioids, 6% were still taking them 1 year later, and 2.9% were still taking them 3 years later.

Opioid exposure in acute pain was measured in total “morphine milligram equivalents” (MME), ie, the cumulative amount of opioids prescribed in the treatment episode, standardized across different types of opioids. We usually think of exposure in terms of how many milligrams a patient takes per day, which correlates with mortality in chronic opioid use.⁴ But this study showed a linear relationship between total MME prescribed for acute pain and ongoing opioid use in opioid-naive patients. By itself, the difference between daily and total MME made the article revelatory.

But the study went further, asking how much is too much: ie, What is the cutoff MME above which the patient is at risk of chronic opioid use? The relationship between acute opioid dose and chronic use is linear and starts early. Shah et al suggested that a total threshold of 700 MME predicts chronic opioid use—140 hydrocodone tablets, or 1 month of regular use.³

Many doctors worry that specific opioids such as oxycodone, hydromorphone, and fentanyl may be more habit-forming. Surprisingly, this study showed that these drugs were associated with rates of chronic use similar to those of other opioids when they controlled for potency.

Bottom line. Total opioid use in acute pain was the best predictor of chronic opioid use, and it showed that chronicity begins earlier than thought.

[Barnett ML, Olenski AR, Jena AB. Opioid-prescribing patterns of emergency physicians and risk of long-term use. N Engl J Med 2017; 376(7):663–673.]

Barnett et al⁵ analyzed opioid prescribing for acute pain in the emergency department, using Medicare pharmacy data from 377,629 previously opioid-naive patients. They categorized the emergency providers into quartiles based on the frequency of opioid prescribing.

The relative risk of ongoing opioid use 1 year after being treated by a “high-intensity” prescriber (ie, one in the top quartile) was 30% greater than in similar patients seen by a low-intensity prescriber (ie, one in the bottom quartile). In addition, those who were treated by high-intensity prescribers were more likely to have a serious fall.

In designing the study, the authors assumed that patients visiting an emergency department had their doctor assigned randomly. They controlled for many patient variables that might have confounded the results, such as age, sex, race, depression, medical comorbidities, and geographic region. Were the higher rates of ongoing opioid use in the high-intensity-prescriber group due to the higher prescribing rates of their emergency providers, or did the providers counsel patients differently? This is not known.

Bottom line. Different doctors manage similar patients differently when it comes to pain, and those who prescribe more opioids for acute pain put their patients at risk of chronic opioid use and falls. I don’t want to be a high-intensity opioid prescriber.

SURGERY AND CHRONIC OPIOID USE

[Brummett CM, Waljee JF, Goesling J, et al. New persistent opioid use after minor and major surgical procedures in US adults. JAMA Surg 2017; 152(6):e170504.]

Brummett et al⁶ examined ongoing opioid use after surgery in 36,177 opioid-naive patients and in a nonsurgical control group. After 3 months, 6% of the patients who underwent surgery remained on opioids, compared with only 0.4% of the nonsurgical controls. Whether the surgery was major or minor did not affect the rate of postoperative opioid use.

Risk factors for ongoing opioid use were preexisting addiction to anything (including tobacco), mood disorders, and preoperative pain disorders. These risk factors have previously been reported in nonsurgical patients.⁷

Brummett et al speculated that patients are counseled about postoperative opioids in a way that leads them to overestimate the safety and efficacy of these drugs for treating other common pain conditions.⁶ 

Bottom line. Patients with mental health comorbidities have a hard time stopping opioids. The remarkable finding in this study was the similarity between major and minor surgery in terms of chronic opioid use. If postoperative opioids treat only the pain caused by the surgery, major surgery should be associated with greater opioid use. The similarity suggests that a mechanism other than postoperative pain confers risk of chronic opioid use.

THINKING ABOUT OPIOIDS

Collectively, these articles describe elements of acute pain treatment that correlate with chronic ongoing opioid use: a higher cumulative dose,³ being seen by a physician who prescribes a lot of opioids,⁵ undergoing surgery,⁶ and psychiatric comorbidity.⁶ They made me wonder if opioid use for acute pain acts as an inoculation, analogous to inoculating a Petri dish with bacteria.  The likelihood of chronic opioid use arises from the inoculum dose, the host response, and the context of inoculation. 

These articles do not show how patients taking opioids chronically for pain become addicted. Stumbo et al⁸ interviewed 283 opioid-dependent patients and identified 5 pathways to opioid use disorder, 3 of which were related to pain control: inadequately controlled chronic pain, exposure to opioids during acute pain episodes, and chronic pain in patients who already had substance use disorders. Brat et al⁹ recently estimated the risk of opioid use disorder after receiving opioids postoperatively to be less than 1%, but it increased dramatically with duration of opioid treatment.

A patient who fills an opioid prescription does not necessarily have chronic pain. Nor do all patients with chronic pain require an opioid prescription. These studies did not establish whether the patients had a pain syndrome. In practice, we call our patients who chronically take opioids our “chronic pain patients.” But 40% of Americans have chronic pain, while only 5% take opioids daily for pain.^11,12

We assume that those taking opioids have the most severe pain. But Brummett et al suggested that continued opioid use is predicted less by pain and more by psychiatric comorbidity.⁶ More than half of the opioid prescriptions in the United States are written for patients with serious mental illness, who represent one-sixth of that population.¹¹ Maybe chronic opioid use for pain has more to do with vulnerability to opioids and less to do with a pain syndrome.

I now think about daily opioid use in much the same way as I think about daily prednisone use. Patients on daily prednisone have a characteristic set of medical risks from the prednisone itself, regardless of its indication. Yet we do not consider these patients addicted to prednisone. Opioid use may be similar.

Like most doctors, I am troubled by the continued rise in the opioid overdose rate.¹³ Yet addiction and death from overdose are not the only risks that patients on chronic opioids face; they also have higher rates of falls, cardiovascular death, pneumonia, death from chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, and motor vehicle crashes.^14–17 Patients on chronic opioids for pain have greater mental health comorbidity and worse function.¹⁸

Most concerning, chronic opioid treatment for pain lacks proof of benefit. In fact, a recent study disproved the benefit of opioids for chronic pain compared with nonopioid options.¹⁹ When I meet with patients who are taking chronic opioids for pain, I often can’t identify why the drugs were started or ought to be continued, and I anticipate a bad outcome. Yet the patient is afraid to stop the drug. For these reasons, chronic opioid use for pain strikes me as worth considering separately from opioid use disorder.

The studies described above have had a powerful effect on my clinical care as a hospitalist.

I now talk to all patients starting opioids about how hard it can be to stop. Some patients are defensive at first, believing this does not apply to them. But I politely continue.

People with depression and anxiety can have a harder time stopping opioids. Addiction is both a risk with ongoing opioid use and a possible outcome of acute opioid use.⁸ But one can struggle to stop opioids without being addicted or depressed. Even the healthiest person may wish to continue opioids past the point of benefit.

I am careful not to invalidate the patient’s experience of pain. It is challenging for patients to find the balance between current discomfort and a possible future adverse effect. In these conversations, I imagine how I would want a loved one counseled on their pain control. This centers me as I choose my words and my tone.

I now monitor the total amount of opioid I prescribe for acute pain in addition to the daily dose. I give my patients as few opioids as reasonable, and advise them to take the minimum dose required for tolerable comfort. I offer nonopioid options as the preferred choice, presenting them as effective and safe. I do this irrespective of the indication for opioids.

I limit opioids in all patients, not just those with comorbidities. I include in my shared decision-making process the risk of chronic opioid use when I prescribe opioids for acute pain, carefully distinguishing it from opioid use disorder. Instead of excess opioids, I give patients my office phone number to call in case they struggle. I rarely get calls. But I find patients would rather have access to a doctor than extra pills. And offering them my contact information lets me limit opioids while letting them know that I am committed to their comfort and health.

As an addiction medicine doctor, I consult on patients not taking their opioids as prescribed. Caring for these patients is intellectually and emotionally draining; they suffer daily, and the opioids they take provide a modicum of relief at a high cost. The publications I have discussed here provide insight into how a troubled relationship with opioids begins. I remind myself that these patients have an iatrogenic condition. Their behaviors that we label “aberrant” may reflect an adverse reaction to medications prescribed to them for acute pain.

Mary, my patient with postoperative pain after cholecystectomy, may over time develop opioid use disorder as Heather did. That progression may have begun with the hydrocodone I prescribed and the counseling I gave her, and it may proceed to chronic opioid use and then opioid use disorder.

I am looking closely at the care I give for acute pain in light of these innovative studies. But even more so, they have increased the compassion with which I care for patients like Heather, those harmed by prescribed opioids.

Mary, age 38, was hospitalized for acute cholecystitis requiring laparoscopic surgery. Her hospital course was uneventful. At the time of discharge, I, her inpatient doctor, prescribed 15 hydrocodone tablets for postoperative pain. I never saw her again. Did she struggle to stop taking the hydrocodone I prescribed?

Heather is a 50-year-old patient in my addiction medicine clinic who developed opioid use disorder while being treated for chronic pain. After much hardship and to her credit, she is now in long-term remission. Did her opioid use disorder start with an opioid prescription for an accepted indication?

The issues Mary and Heather face seem unrelated, but these 2 patients may be at different time points in the progression of the same disease. As a hospitalist, I want to optimize the chances that patients taking opioids for acute pain will be able to stop taking them.

CHRONIC USE VS OPIOID USE DISORDER

There is a distinction between chronic use of opioids and opioid use disorder. The latter is also known as addiction.

Patients who take opioids daily do not necessarily have opioid use disorder, even if they have physiologic dependence on them. Physiologic opioid dependence is commonly confused with opioid use disorder, but it is the expected result of regularly taking these drugs.

Opioid use disorder is a chronic disease of the brain characterized by loss of control over opioid use, resulting in harm. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, fifth edition, excludes physiologic dependence on opioids (tolerance and withdrawal) from its criteria for opioid use disorder if the patient is taking opioids solely under medical supervision.¹ To be diagnosed with opioid use disorder, patients need to do only 2 of the following within 12 months:

• Take more of the drug than intended
• Want or try to cut down without success
• Spend a lot of time in getting, using, or recovering from the drug
• Crave the drug
• Fail to meet commitments due to the drug
• Continue to use the drug, even though it causes social or relationship problems
• Give up or reduce other activities because of the drug
• Use the drug even when it isn’t safe
• Continue to use even when it causes physical or psychological problems
• Develop tolerance (but, as noted, not if taking the drug as directed under a doctor’s supervision)
• Experience withdrawal (again, but not if taking the drug under medical supervision).

WHY DO SOME PATIENTS STRUGGLE TO STOP TAKING OPIOIDS?

Studying opioid use disorder as an outcome in large groups of patients is complicated by imperfect medical documentation. However, using pharmacy claims data, researchers can accurately describe opioid prescription patterns in large groups of patients over time. This means we can count how many patients keep taking prescribed opioids but not how many become addicted.

In a country where nearly 40% of adults are prescribed an opioid annually, the question is not why people start taking opioids, but why some have to struggle to stop.² Several recent studies used pharmacy claims data to identify factors that may predict chronic opioid use in patients prescribed opioids for acute pain. The findings suggest that we can better treat acute pain to prevent chronic opioid use.

We don’t yet know how to protect patients like Mary from opioid use disorder, but the following 3 studies have already changed my practice.

HIGHER TOTAL DOSE MEANS HIGHER RISK

[Shah A, Hayes CJ, Martin BC. Characteristics of initial prescription episodes and likelihood of long-term opioid use—United States, 2006–2015. MMWR Morb Mortal Wkly Rep 2017; 66(10):265–269.]

Shah et al³ reported a study of nearly 1.3 million opioid-naive patients who received opioid prescriptions. Of those prescribed at least 1 day of opioids, 6% were still taking them 1 year later, and 2.9% were still taking them 3 years later.

Opioid exposure in acute pain was measured in total “morphine milligram equivalents” (MME), ie, the cumulative amount of opioids prescribed in the treatment episode, standardized across different types of opioids. We usually think of exposure in terms of how many milligrams a patient takes per day, which correlates with mortality in chronic opioid use.⁴ But this study showed a linear relationship between total MME prescribed for acute pain and ongoing opioid use in opioid-naive patients. By itself, the difference between daily and total MME made the article revelatory.

But the study went further, asking how much is too much: ie, What is the cutoff MME above which the patient is at risk of chronic opioid use? The relationship between acute opioid dose and chronic use is linear and starts early. Shah et al suggested that a total threshold of 700 MME predicts chronic opioid use—140 hydrocodone tablets, or 1 month of regular use.³

Many doctors worry that specific opioids such as oxycodone, hydromorphone, and fentanyl may be more habit-forming. Surprisingly, this study showed that these drugs were associated with rates of chronic use similar to those of other opioids when they controlled for potency.

Bottom line. Total opioid use in acute pain was the best predictor of chronic opioid use, and it showed that chronicity begins earlier than thought.

[Barnett ML, Olenski AR, Jena AB. Opioid-prescribing patterns of emergency physicians and risk of long-term use. N Engl J Med 2017; 376(7):663–673.]

Barnett et al⁵ analyzed opioid prescribing for acute pain in the emergency department, using Medicare pharmacy data from 377,629 previously opioid-naive patients. They categorized the emergency providers into quartiles based on the frequency of opioid prescribing.

The relative risk of ongoing opioid use 1 year after being treated by a “high-intensity” prescriber (ie, one in the top quartile) was 30% greater than in similar patients seen by a low-intensity prescriber (ie, one in the bottom quartile). In addition, those who were treated by high-intensity prescribers were more likely to have a serious fall.

In designing the study, the authors assumed that patients visiting an emergency department had their doctor assigned randomly. They controlled for many patient variables that might have confounded the results, such as age, sex, race, depression, medical comorbidities, and geographic region. Were the higher rates of ongoing opioid use in the high-intensity-prescriber group due to the higher prescribing rates of their emergency providers, or did the providers counsel patients differently? This is not known.

Bottom line. Different doctors manage similar patients differently when it comes to pain, and those who prescribe more opioids for acute pain put their patients at risk of chronic opioid use and falls. I don’t want to be a high-intensity opioid prescriber.

SURGERY AND CHRONIC OPIOID USE

[Brummett CM, Waljee JF, Goesling J, et al. New persistent opioid use after minor and major surgical procedures in US adults. JAMA Surg 2017; 152(6):e170504.]

Brummett et al⁶ examined ongoing opioid use after surgery in 36,177 opioid-naive patients and in a nonsurgical control group. After 3 months, 6% of the patients who underwent surgery remained on opioids, compared with only 0.4% of the nonsurgical controls. Whether the surgery was major or minor did not affect the rate of postoperative opioid use.

Risk factors for ongoing opioid use were preexisting addiction to anything (including tobacco), mood disorders, and preoperative pain disorders. These risk factors have previously been reported in nonsurgical patients.⁷

Brummett et al speculated that patients are counseled about postoperative opioids in a way that leads them to overestimate the safety and efficacy of these drugs for treating other common pain conditions.⁶ 

Bottom line. Patients with mental health comorbidities have a hard time stopping opioids. The remarkable finding in this study was the similarity between major and minor surgery in terms of chronic opioid use. If postoperative opioids treat only the pain caused by the surgery, major surgery should be associated with greater opioid use. The similarity suggests that a mechanism other than postoperative pain confers risk of chronic opioid use.

THINKING ABOUT OPIOIDS

Collectively, these articles describe elements of acute pain treatment that correlate with chronic ongoing opioid use: a higher cumulative dose,³ being seen by a physician who prescribes a lot of opioids,⁵ undergoing surgery,⁶ and psychiatric comorbidity.⁶ They made me wonder if opioid use for acute pain acts as an inoculation, analogous to inoculating a Petri dish with bacteria.  The likelihood of chronic opioid use arises from the inoculum dose, the host response, and the context of inoculation. 

These articles do not show how patients taking opioids chronically for pain become addicted. Stumbo et al⁸ interviewed 283 opioid-dependent patients and identified 5 pathways to opioid use disorder, 3 of which were related to pain control: inadequately controlled chronic pain, exposure to opioids during acute pain episodes, and chronic pain in patients who already had substance use disorders. Brat et al⁹ recently estimated the risk of opioid use disorder after receiving opioids postoperatively to be less than 1%, but it increased dramatically with duration of opioid treatment.

A patient who fills an opioid prescription does not necessarily have chronic pain. Nor do all patients with chronic pain require an opioid prescription. These studies did not establish whether the patients had a pain syndrome. In practice, we call our patients who chronically take opioids our “chronic pain patients.” But 40% of Americans have chronic pain, while only 5% take opioids daily for pain.^11,12

We assume that those taking opioids have the most severe pain. But Brummett et al suggested that continued opioid use is predicted less by pain and more by psychiatric comorbidity.⁶ More than half of the opioid prescriptions in the United States are written for patients with serious mental illness, who represent one-sixth of that population.¹¹ Maybe chronic opioid use for pain has more to do with vulnerability to opioids and less to do with a pain syndrome.

I now think about daily opioid use in much the same way as I think about daily prednisone use. Patients on daily prednisone have a characteristic set of medical risks from the prednisone itself, regardless of its indication. Yet we do not consider these patients addicted to prednisone. Opioid use may be similar.

Like most doctors, I am troubled by the continued rise in the opioid overdose rate.¹³ Yet addiction and death from overdose are not the only risks that patients on chronic opioids face; they also have higher rates of falls, cardiovascular death, pneumonia, death from chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, and motor vehicle crashes.^14–17 Patients on chronic opioids for pain have greater mental health comorbidity and worse function.¹⁸

Most concerning, chronic opioid treatment for pain lacks proof of benefit. In fact, a recent study disproved the benefit of opioids for chronic pain compared with nonopioid options.¹⁹ When I meet with patients who are taking chronic opioids for pain, I often can’t identify why the drugs were started or ought to be continued, and I anticipate a bad outcome. Yet the patient is afraid to stop the drug. For these reasons, chronic opioid use for pain strikes me as worth considering separately from opioid use disorder.

The studies described above have had a powerful effect on my clinical care as a hospitalist.

I now talk to all patients starting opioids about how hard it can be to stop. Some patients are defensive at first, believing this does not apply to them. But I politely continue.

People with depression and anxiety can have a harder time stopping opioids. Addiction is both a risk with ongoing opioid use and a possible outcome of acute opioid use.⁸ But one can struggle to stop opioids without being addicted or depressed. Even the healthiest person may wish to continue opioids past the point of benefit.

I am careful not to invalidate the patient’s experience of pain. It is challenging for patients to find the balance between current discomfort and a possible future adverse effect. In these conversations, I imagine how I would want a loved one counseled on their pain control. This centers me as I choose my words and my tone.

I now monitor the total amount of opioid I prescribe for acute pain in addition to the daily dose. I give my patients as few opioids as reasonable, and advise them to take the minimum dose required for tolerable comfort. I offer nonopioid options as the preferred choice, presenting them as effective and safe. I do this irrespective of the indication for opioids.

I limit opioids in all patients, not just those with comorbidities. I include in my shared decision-making process the risk of chronic opioid use when I prescribe opioids for acute pain, carefully distinguishing it from opioid use disorder. Instead of excess opioids, I give patients my office phone number to call in case they struggle. I rarely get calls. But I find patients would rather have access to a doctor than extra pills. And offering them my contact information lets me limit opioids while letting them know that I am committed to their comfort and health.

As an addiction medicine doctor, I consult on patients not taking their opioids as prescribed. Caring for these patients is intellectually and emotionally draining; they suffer daily, and the opioids they take provide a modicum of relief at a high cost. The publications I have discussed here provide insight into how a troubled relationship with opioids begins. I remind myself that these patients have an iatrogenic condition. Their behaviors that we label “aberrant” may reflect an adverse reaction to medications prescribed to them for acute pain.

Mary, my patient with postoperative pain after cholecystectomy, may over time develop opioid use disorder as Heather did. That progression may have begun with the hydrocodone I prescribed and the counseling I gave her, and it may proceed to chronic opioid use and then opioid use disorder.

I am looking closely at the care I give for acute pain in light of these innovative studies. But even more so, they have increased the compassion with which I care for patients like Heather, those harmed by prescribed opioids.