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How to work with specialists in value-based care
The typical primary care physician has a patient base that consumes $10 million of health care a year. Yet the PCP receives only 6%-7% of those payments, with the rest of the costs resulting largely from the PCP’s referrals or lack of PCP care management of that patient.
The average PCP makes 1,000 referrals a year. Often, the referee specialist or facility not only does not coordinate with the PCP’s patient-centered medical home, they make their own downstream referrals.
A revolution in your compensation is underway. Under MACRA and other accountable care models, providers across the continuum of care are now being held responsible for the overall costs of those patients, not just their charges.
This is still hard to grasp, isn’t it? I was recently talking to a preeminent primary care physician who was an active member of an accountable care organization board of directors. I was fairly excited about the new impact this highly professional community leader could have on patients, now that he was in the PCP-driven ACO, not to mention his shared savings payment opportunities.
I was on a roll until he said, “But Bo, I’m already as efficient in treating patients as I can get.” He was still fighting the barriers you all face to do the best he could under the circumstances for the patients in his office each day.
Later, however, on a better day for me, we were working together on a cardiac care white paper. The physician leader told me, “I get it now – the biggest value-adding impact I might have is for the patient I don’t ever see.”
The above statistics show just what an opportunity you have in the new value care.
You can legally control referrals and patient care coordination with specialists. They don’t have to be in your ACO. You don’t even need to be in an ACO to take advantage of high-value referrals under the Medicare Merit-based Incentive Payment System (MIPS) program under MACRA. But how?
Let’s start by assuming the specialist you need to refer to is not in your ACO. You might be able to do this without an ACO, but it’s hard to get the critical mass of primary care physicians. If you’re under the Medicare Shared Savings Program or Next Gen initiative, there are important Stark Law and antikickback liability waivers that would benefit you by being in an ACO.
Otherwise, you should consider a high-value referral affiliation agreement.
If a critical mass of primary care physicians can access data that create a short list of high-value specialists, they can put them on the high-value specialist list. Specialists do not need to get part of the shared savings pool or other financial incentives – just referrals because of their high-quality and high-efficiency care. A superstar specialist or acute care or post–acute care facility may ultimately be invited into the ACO as a full participant.
The specialist/facility basically agrees to coordinate all care with the medical home and comanage that care with you. The agreement specifies that they will observe the care protocols of the ACO for that disease state. The provider will share data and agree to be monitored.
What is a high-value specialist/facility? The current common approach is to look at the insurance companies’ top tiers, but they are often too weighted to allowed charges. It’s really about being care coordinators and about readmission and complication rates.
For example, some bundled-payment specialists are selected solely based on the surgeons’ and anesthesiologists’ complication rates. If fees are mentioned at all, they are well down the list.
Of course, if the specialist is in the ACO with the primary care physician, this can be done internally.
How do you find value-added protocols involving specialists? I was lucky to be on a multiyear grant program whereby I worked with many primary care physicians and specialists to create white papers setting out high-value, practical initiatives. There are also guides for internists and family physicians. A condition of the grant was that they all can be accessed free of charge; they’re available at www.tac-consortium.org/resources.
This is a new day. Primary care is being asked to lead health care delivery today and be paid to do it. You are being rewarded or punished financially now based on the overall costs of your patients. You must have specialists and facilities coordinate with you in this new health care model. We have attempted to provide a road map to assist you on your journey.
Mr. Bobbitt is head of the health law group at the Smith Anderson law firm in Raleigh, N.C. He is president of Value Health Partners, LLC, a health care strategic consulting company. He has years of experience assisting physicians form integrated delivery systems. He has spoken and written nationally to primary care physicians on the strategies and practicalities of forming or joining ACOs. This article is meant to be educational and does not constitute legal advice. For additional information, readers may contact the author at [email protected] or 919-821-6612.
The typical primary care physician has a patient base that consumes $10 million of health care a year. Yet the PCP receives only 6%-7% of those payments, with the rest of the costs resulting largely from the PCP’s referrals or lack of PCP care management of that patient.
The average PCP makes 1,000 referrals a year. Often, the referee specialist or facility not only does not coordinate with the PCP’s patient-centered medical home, they make their own downstream referrals.
A revolution in your compensation is underway. Under MACRA and other accountable care models, providers across the continuum of care are now being held responsible for the overall costs of those patients, not just their charges.
This is still hard to grasp, isn’t it? I was recently talking to a preeminent primary care physician who was an active member of an accountable care organization board of directors. I was fairly excited about the new impact this highly professional community leader could have on patients, now that he was in the PCP-driven ACO, not to mention his shared savings payment opportunities.
I was on a roll until he said, “But Bo, I’m already as efficient in treating patients as I can get.” He was still fighting the barriers you all face to do the best he could under the circumstances for the patients in his office each day.
Later, however, on a better day for me, we were working together on a cardiac care white paper. The physician leader told me, “I get it now – the biggest value-adding impact I might have is for the patient I don’t ever see.”
The above statistics show just what an opportunity you have in the new value care.
You can legally control referrals and patient care coordination with specialists. They don’t have to be in your ACO. You don’t even need to be in an ACO to take advantage of high-value referrals under the Medicare Merit-based Incentive Payment System (MIPS) program under MACRA. But how?
Let’s start by assuming the specialist you need to refer to is not in your ACO. You might be able to do this without an ACO, but it’s hard to get the critical mass of primary care physicians. If you’re under the Medicare Shared Savings Program or Next Gen initiative, there are important Stark Law and antikickback liability waivers that would benefit you by being in an ACO.
Otherwise, you should consider a high-value referral affiliation agreement.
If a critical mass of primary care physicians can access data that create a short list of high-value specialists, they can put them on the high-value specialist list. Specialists do not need to get part of the shared savings pool or other financial incentives – just referrals because of their high-quality and high-efficiency care. A superstar specialist or acute care or post–acute care facility may ultimately be invited into the ACO as a full participant.
The specialist/facility basically agrees to coordinate all care with the medical home and comanage that care with you. The agreement specifies that they will observe the care protocols of the ACO for that disease state. The provider will share data and agree to be monitored.
What is a high-value specialist/facility? The current common approach is to look at the insurance companies’ top tiers, but they are often too weighted to allowed charges. It’s really about being care coordinators and about readmission and complication rates.
For example, some bundled-payment specialists are selected solely based on the surgeons’ and anesthesiologists’ complication rates. If fees are mentioned at all, they are well down the list.
Of course, if the specialist is in the ACO with the primary care physician, this can be done internally.
How do you find value-added protocols involving specialists? I was lucky to be on a multiyear grant program whereby I worked with many primary care physicians and specialists to create white papers setting out high-value, practical initiatives. There are also guides for internists and family physicians. A condition of the grant was that they all can be accessed free of charge; they’re available at www.tac-consortium.org/resources.
This is a new day. Primary care is being asked to lead health care delivery today and be paid to do it. You are being rewarded or punished financially now based on the overall costs of your patients. You must have specialists and facilities coordinate with you in this new health care model. We have attempted to provide a road map to assist you on your journey.
Mr. Bobbitt is head of the health law group at the Smith Anderson law firm in Raleigh, N.C. He is president of Value Health Partners, LLC, a health care strategic consulting company. He has years of experience assisting physicians form integrated delivery systems. He has spoken and written nationally to primary care physicians on the strategies and practicalities of forming or joining ACOs. This article is meant to be educational and does not constitute legal advice. For additional information, readers may contact the author at [email protected] or 919-821-6612.
The typical primary care physician has a patient base that consumes $10 million of health care a year. Yet the PCP receives only 6%-7% of those payments, with the rest of the costs resulting largely from the PCP’s referrals or lack of PCP care management of that patient.
The average PCP makes 1,000 referrals a year. Often, the referee specialist or facility not only does not coordinate with the PCP’s patient-centered medical home, they make their own downstream referrals.
A revolution in your compensation is underway. Under MACRA and other accountable care models, providers across the continuum of care are now being held responsible for the overall costs of those patients, not just their charges.
This is still hard to grasp, isn’t it? I was recently talking to a preeminent primary care physician who was an active member of an accountable care organization board of directors. I was fairly excited about the new impact this highly professional community leader could have on patients, now that he was in the PCP-driven ACO, not to mention his shared savings payment opportunities.
I was on a roll until he said, “But Bo, I’m already as efficient in treating patients as I can get.” He was still fighting the barriers you all face to do the best he could under the circumstances for the patients in his office each day.
Later, however, on a better day for me, we were working together on a cardiac care white paper. The physician leader told me, “I get it now – the biggest value-adding impact I might have is for the patient I don’t ever see.”
The above statistics show just what an opportunity you have in the new value care.
You can legally control referrals and patient care coordination with specialists. They don’t have to be in your ACO. You don’t even need to be in an ACO to take advantage of high-value referrals under the Medicare Merit-based Incentive Payment System (MIPS) program under MACRA. But how?
Let’s start by assuming the specialist you need to refer to is not in your ACO. You might be able to do this without an ACO, but it’s hard to get the critical mass of primary care physicians. If you’re under the Medicare Shared Savings Program or Next Gen initiative, there are important Stark Law and antikickback liability waivers that would benefit you by being in an ACO.
Otherwise, you should consider a high-value referral affiliation agreement.
If a critical mass of primary care physicians can access data that create a short list of high-value specialists, they can put them on the high-value specialist list. Specialists do not need to get part of the shared savings pool or other financial incentives – just referrals because of their high-quality and high-efficiency care. A superstar specialist or acute care or post–acute care facility may ultimately be invited into the ACO as a full participant.
The specialist/facility basically agrees to coordinate all care with the medical home and comanage that care with you. The agreement specifies that they will observe the care protocols of the ACO for that disease state. The provider will share data and agree to be monitored.
What is a high-value specialist/facility? The current common approach is to look at the insurance companies’ top tiers, but they are often too weighted to allowed charges. It’s really about being care coordinators and about readmission and complication rates.
For example, some bundled-payment specialists are selected solely based on the surgeons’ and anesthesiologists’ complication rates. If fees are mentioned at all, they are well down the list.
Of course, if the specialist is in the ACO with the primary care physician, this can be done internally.
How do you find value-added protocols involving specialists? I was lucky to be on a multiyear grant program whereby I worked with many primary care physicians and specialists to create white papers setting out high-value, practical initiatives. There are also guides for internists and family physicians. A condition of the grant was that they all can be accessed free of charge; they’re available at www.tac-consortium.org/resources.
This is a new day. Primary care is being asked to lead health care delivery today and be paid to do it. You are being rewarded or punished financially now based on the overall costs of your patients. You must have specialists and facilities coordinate with you in this new health care model. We have attempted to provide a road map to assist you on your journey.
Mr. Bobbitt is head of the health law group at the Smith Anderson law firm in Raleigh, N.C. He is president of Value Health Partners, LLC, a health care strategic consulting company. He has years of experience assisting physicians form integrated delivery systems. He has spoken and written nationally to primary care physicians on the strategies and practicalities of forming or joining ACOs. This article is meant to be educational and does not constitute legal advice. For additional information, readers may contact the author at [email protected] or 919-821-6612.
Double the dose of antihypertensive meds?
A 50-year-old man returns for follow-up of hypertension. He is currently taking 20 mg of lisinopril. His blood pressure readings over the past month are 150/96, 155/98, 160/94, and 162/96. His renal function is normal, and he has been taking his lisinopril regularly.
What do you recommend?
A. Increase his lisinopril to 20 mg twice a day.
B. Switch to valsartan.
C. Add amlodipine.
But is there much benefit in doubling the dose of antihypertensive medications?
H.J. Gomez and colleagues studied the dose response of lisinopril in essential hypertension.2 Patients received very-low-dose (1.25 mg or 5 mg), moderate-dose (20 mg), or high-dose (80 mg) lisinopril. The difference in blood pressure reduction between 20 mg and 80 mg was modest (5 mm/3 mm less in those receiving 80 mg, compared with 20 mg). There was no clinical effect at 1.25 mg of lisinopril, but a relatively flat dose response above 20 mg.
A similar finding was reported by J.R. Benz and colleagues in regard to escalating doses of valsartan.3 The study looked at blood pressure in response to valsartan at doses of 80 mg and 160 mg, and in combination with hydrochlorothiazide. The difference in blood pressure between valsartan 160 mg and 80 mg was 3 mm/0.8 mm. The difference in blood pressure between patients taking 80 mg of valsartan and 25 mg hydrochlorothiazide, compared with those taking 80 mg of valsartan, was 12/6.
In a meta-analysis of 354 randomized trials of fixed-dose blood pressure medications, M.R. Law and colleagues found that cutting the doses in half only reduced effectiveness of lowering BP by 20%.4 The average reduction in systolic BP was 9.1 mm Hg, and reduction in diastolic BP was 5.5mm Hg – which only was reduced to 7.1 mm Hg/4.4 mm Hg when the doses of medications were cut in half. Side effects attributed to beta-blockers, calcium channel blockers, and diuretics were very dose related, whereas the side effects attributed to ACE inhibitors were not.
In another meta-analysis comparing monotherapy vs. combination therapy for lowering blood pressure, adding another drug lowered blood pressure fivefold more than doubling the dose of the initial antihypertensive drug.5
I think the right answer in this case would be to add amlodipine instead of doubling the dose of lisinopril or switching to valsartan as a single agent. The data are striking on how little effect there is in increasing antihypertensive medication doses. Adding another antihypertensive medication should be the standard practice when the first medication started does not achieve the desired goal.
Dr. Paauw is professor of medicine in the division of general internal medicine at the University of Washington, Seattle, and he serves as third-year medical student clerkship director at the University of Washington. Contact Dr. Paauw at [email protected].
References
1. JAMA. 2003 May 21;289(19):2560-72.
2. Br J Clin Pharm. 1989;28:415-20.
3. J Hum Hypertens. 1998 Dec;12(12):861-6.
4. BMJ. 2003 Jun 28;326(7404):1427.
5. Am J Med. 2009 Mar;122(3):290-300.
A 50-year-old man returns for follow-up of hypertension. He is currently taking 20 mg of lisinopril. His blood pressure readings over the past month are 150/96, 155/98, 160/94, and 162/96. His renal function is normal, and he has been taking his lisinopril regularly.
What do you recommend?
A. Increase his lisinopril to 20 mg twice a day.
B. Switch to valsartan.
C. Add amlodipine.
But is there much benefit in doubling the dose of antihypertensive medications?
H.J. Gomez and colleagues studied the dose response of lisinopril in essential hypertension.2 Patients received very-low-dose (1.25 mg or 5 mg), moderate-dose (20 mg), or high-dose (80 mg) lisinopril. The difference in blood pressure reduction between 20 mg and 80 mg was modest (5 mm/3 mm less in those receiving 80 mg, compared with 20 mg). There was no clinical effect at 1.25 mg of lisinopril, but a relatively flat dose response above 20 mg.
A similar finding was reported by J.R. Benz and colleagues in regard to escalating doses of valsartan.3 The study looked at blood pressure in response to valsartan at doses of 80 mg and 160 mg, and in combination with hydrochlorothiazide. The difference in blood pressure between valsartan 160 mg and 80 mg was 3 mm/0.8 mm. The difference in blood pressure between patients taking 80 mg of valsartan and 25 mg hydrochlorothiazide, compared with those taking 80 mg of valsartan, was 12/6.
In a meta-analysis of 354 randomized trials of fixed-dose blood pressure medications, M.R. Law and colleagues found that cutting the doses in half only reduced effectiveness of lowering BP by 20%.4 The average reduction in systolic BP was 9.1 mm Hg, and reduction in diastolic BP was 5.5mm Hg – which only was reduced to 7.1 mm Hg/4.4 mm Hg when the doses of medications were cut in half. Side effects attributed to beta-blockers, calcium channel blockers, and diuretics were very dose related, whereas the side effects attributed to ACE inhibitors were not.
In another meta-analysis comparing monotherapy vs. combination therapy for lowering blood pressure, adding another drug lowered blood pressure fivefold more than doubling the dose of the initial antihypertensive drug.5
I think the right answer in this case would be to add amlodipine instead of doubling the dose of lisinopril or switching to valsartan as a single agent. The data are striking on how little effect there is in increasing antihypertensive medication doses. Adding another antihypertensive medication should be the standard practice when the first medication started does not achieve the desired goal.
Dr. Paauw is professor of medicine in the division of general internal medicine at the University of Washington, Seattle, and he serves as third-year medical student clerkship director at the University of Washington. Contact Dr. Paauw at [email protected].
References
1. JAMA. 2003 May 21;289(19):2560-72.
2. Br J Clin Pharm. 1989;28:415-20.
3. J Hum Hypertens. 1998 Dec;12(12):861-6.
4. BMJ. 2003 Jun 28;326(7404):1427.
5. Am J Med. 2009 Mar;122(3):290-300.
A 50-year-old man returns for follow-up of hypertension. He is currently taking 20 mg of lisinopril. His blood pressure readings over the past month are 150/96, 155/98, 160/94, and 162/96. His renal function is normal, and he has been taking his lisinopril regularly.
What do you recommend?
A. Increase his lisinopril to 20 mg twice a day.
B. Switch to valsartan.
C. Add amlodipine.
But is there much benefit in doubling the dose of antihypertensive medications?
H.J. Gomez and colleagues studied the dose response of lisinopril in essential hypertension.2 Patients received very-low-dose (1.25 mg or 5 mg), moderate-dose (20 mg), or high-dose (80 mg) lisinopril. The difference in blood pressure reduction between 20 mg and 80 mg was modest (5 mm/3 mm less in those receiving 80 mg, compared with 20 mg). There was no clinical effect at 1.25 mg of lisinopril, but a relatively flat dose response above 20 mg.
A similar finding was reported by J.R. Benz and colleagues in regard to escalating doses of valsartan.3 The study looked at blood pressure in response to valsartan at doses of 80 mg and 160 mg, and in combination with hydrochlorothiazide. The difference in blood pressure between valsartan 160 mg and 80 mg was 3 mm/0.8 mm. The difference in blood pressure between patients taking 80 mg of valsartan and 25 mg hydrochlorothiazide, compared with those taking 80 mg of valsartan, was 12/6.
In a meta-analysis of 354 randomized trials of fixed-dose blood pressure medications, M.R. Law and colleagues found that cutting the doses in half only reduced effectiveness of lowering BP by 20%.4 The average reduction in systolic BP was 9.1 mm Hg, and reduction in diastolic BP was 5.5mm Hg – which only was reduced to 7.1 mm Hg/4.4 mm Hg when the doses of medications were cut in half. Side effects attributed to beta-blockers, calcium channel blockers, and diuretics were very dose related, whereas the side effects attributed to ACE inhibitors were not.
In another meta-analysis comparing monotherapy vs. combination therapy for lowering blood pressure, adding another drug lowered blood pressure fivefold more than doubling the dose of the initial antihypertensive drug.5
I think the right answer in this case would be to add amlodipine instead of doubling the dose of lisinopril or switching to valsartan as a single agent. The data are striking on how little effect there is in increasing antihypertensive medication doses. Adding another antihypertensive medication should be the standard practice when the first medication started does not achieve the desired goal.
Dr. Paauw is professor of medicine in the division of general internal medicine at the University of Washington, Seattle, and he serves as third-year medical student clerkship director at the University of Washington. Contact Dr. Paauw at [email protected].
References
1. JAMA. 2003 May 21;289(19):2560-72.
2. Br J Clin Pharm. 1989;28:415-20.
3. J Hum Hypertens. 1998 Dec;12(12):861-6.
4. BMJ. 2003 Jun 28;326(7404):1427.
5. Am J Med. 2009 Mar;122(3):290-300.
Can prenatal choline lead to prevention of Alzheimer’s?
As psychiatrists, we are the advocates for inserting the biological thread into the tapestry of understanding human behavior. Try as they may, other mental health professionals are not biologists at heart. Accordingly, psychiatrists bring important thoughtfulness to any consideration about mental health and wellness and about the treatment and prevention of problematic thoughts, feelings, and behaviors.
Throughout my career, my main focus has been on identifying strategies and treatments that can prevent mental illness. For example, I wrote a column about prevention for Clinical Psychiatry News from 2004 to 2011, and, as a member of the publication’s Editorial Advisory Board, I continue to try to steer our attention to biological aspects of prevention.
Recently, I have been seeing psychiatric articles on fetal health and mental health, and, because I am excited about the prospect of understanding fetal alcohol exposure, I feel the need to share. A recent article in the American Journal of Psychiatry was provocatively entitled, “Fetal origins of mental health: The developmental origins of health and disease hypothesis (2016. doi: 10.1176/appi.2016.16020138).
Disappointedly, the authors overlooked the biology of fetal alcohol exposure and focused on how psychosocial issues of maternal anxiety, depression, and anxiety could influence neurodevelopment, which could affect mental health outcomes after birth. Of course, I thought, “What about fetal alcohol exposure?” Meanwhile, a commentary in JAMA Psychiatry entitled “Prenatal nutritional deficiency and psychosis: Where do we go from here?” referred to prenatal choline supplementation along with other supplements (2017;74(4):349-50).
When I first stumbled upon the high prevalence of fetal alcohol exposure in low-income African American populations, it occurred to me that, since choline was involved with the psychopathology of fetal alcohol spectrum disorders and acetylcholine seemed to be involved in the psychopathology of Alzheimer’s disease, there might be a relationship between the two (Psychiatric Serv. 2015 May 1. doi: 10.1176/appi.ps.201400162). Such possible links are especially intriguing in light of the Alzheimer’s Association suggestion that Alzheimer’s disease is a “silent epidemic” among African Americans. The association notes that the prevalence among African Americans ranges from 14% to 100% higher than among whites. The problem – how to make the connection, if there were one, between the adults I was seeing and fetal alcohol exposure – proved difficult, because the time between fetal health and adult mental illness was huge. The time from fetal health and geriatric Alzheimer’s disease was even greater.
However, modern biologic science came through again. Maternal choline supplementation has been touted as a potential prenatal treatment for Down syndrome and Alzheimer’s disease (Curr Alzheimer Res. 2016;13[1]:97-106). Using mice that are genetically altered to show the development of Down syndrome and Alzheimer’s disease changes in the brain at 6 months, allowing researchers to seek prevention strategies for this pathophysiology, researchers have found that maternal choline supplementation protects against basal forebrain cholinergic neuron degeneration seen in these animals.
Thus, it would seem the problem of choline deficiency in pregnancy, most exacerbated by fetal alcohol exposure, is preventable by increasing the amount of choline available during pregnancy. So, it makes sense to increase the amount of choline in prenatal vitamins, as it appears that this biotechnical intervention not only would reduce the scourge of fetal alcohol spectrum disorders but also of Alzheimer’s disease (J Fam Med Dis Prev. 2016 Nov 29;2[6]:1-3).
Finally, the Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention has finally released a paper – “Fetal alcohol spectrum disorders listening session report” – from a session held in June 2013 that documents the extent of the problem in juvenile justice facilities.
Unfortunately, many of us have abdicated our role as biologists. We’ve got evidence showing the power of prenatal choline. It is time to stop counting all of the problems that stem from deficiency of choline during pregnancy and start doing something about it.
Dr. Bell is a staff psychiatrist at Jackson Park Hospital Family Medicine Clinic in Chicago, clinical psychiatrist emeritus in the department of psychiatry at the University of Illinois at Chicago, former president/CEO of Community Mental Health Council, and former director of the Institute for Juvenile Research (birthplace of child psychiatry), also in Chicago.
As psychiatrists, we are the advocates for inserting the biological thread into the tapestry of understanding human behavior. Try as they may, other mental health professionals are not biologists at heart. Accordingly, psychiatrists bring important thoughtfulness to any consideration about mental health and wellness and about the treatment and prevention of problematic thoughts, feelings, and behaviors.
Throughout my career, my main focus has been on identifying strategies and treatments that can prevent mental illness. For example, I wrote a column about prevention for Clinical Psychiatry News from 2004 to 2011, and, as a member of the publication’s Editorial Advisory Board, I continue to try to steer our attention to biological aspects of prevention.
Recently, I have been seeing psychiatric articles on fetal health and mental health, and, because I am excited about the prospect of understanding fetal alcohol exposure, I feel the need to share. A recent article in the American Journal of Psychiatry was provocatively entitled, “Fetal origins of mental health: The developmental origins of health and disease hypothesis (2016. doi: 10.1176/appi.2016.16020138).
Disappointedly, the authors overlooked the biology of fetal alcohol exposure and focused on how psychosocial issues of maternal anxiety, depression, and anxiety could influence neurodevelopment, which could affect mental health outcomes after birth. Of course, I thought, “What about fetal alcohol exposure?” Meanwhile, a commentary in JAMA Psychiatry entitled “Prenatal nutritional deficiency and psychosis: Where do we go from here?” referred to prenatal choline supplementation along with other supplements (2017;74(4):349-50).
When I first stumbled upon the high prevalence of fetal alcohol exposure in low-income African American populations, it occurred to me that, since choline was involved with the psychopathology of fetal alcohol spectrum disorders and acetylcholine seemed to be involved in the psychopathology of Alzheimer’s disease, there might be a relationship between the two (Psychiatric Serv. 2015 May 1. doi: 10.1176/appi.ps.201400162). Such possible links are especially intriguing in light of the Alzheimer’s Association suggestion that Alzheimer’s disease is a “silent epidemic” among African Americans. The association notes that the prevalence among African Americans ranges from 14% to 100% higher than among whites. The problem – how to make the connection, if there were one, between the adults I was seeing and fetal alcohol exposure – proved difficult, because the time between fetal health and adult mental illness was huge. The time from fetal health and geriatric Alzheimer’s disease was even greater.
However, modern biologic science came through again. Maternal choline supplementation has been touted as a potential prenatal treatment for Down syndrome and Alzheimer’s disease (Curr Alzheimer Res. 2016;13[1]:97-106). Using mice that are genetically altered to show the development of Down syndrome and Alzheimer’s disease changes in the brain at 6 months, allowing researchers to seek prevention strategies for this pathophysiology, researchers have found that maternal choline supplementation protects against basal forebrain cholinergic neuron degeneration seen in these animals.
Thus, it would seem the problem of choline deficiency in pregnancy, most exacerbated by fetal alcohol exposure, is preventable by increasing the amount of choline available during pregnancy. So, it makes sense to increase the amount of choline in prenatal vitamins, as it appears that this biotechnical intervention not only would reduce the scourge of fetal alcohol spectrum disorders but also of Alzheimer’s disease (J Fam Med Dis Prev. 2016 Nov 29;2[6]:1-3).
Finally, the Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention has finally released a paper – “Fetal alcohol spectrum disorders listening session report” – from a session held in June 2013 that documents the extent of the problem in juvenile justice facilities.
Unfortunately, many of us have abdicated our role as biologists. We’ve got evidence showing the power of prenatal choline. It is time to stop counting all of the problems that stem from deficiency of choline during pregnancy and start doing something about it.
Dr. Bell is a staff psychiatrist at Jackson Park Hospital Family Medicine Clinic in Chicago, clinical psychiatrist emeritus in the department of psychiatry at the University of Illinois at Chicago, former president/CEO of Community Mental Health Council, and former director of the Institute for Juvenile Research (birthplace of child psychiatry), also in Chicago.
As psychiatrists, we are the advocates for inserting the biological thread into the tapestry of understanding human behavior. Try as they may, other mental health professionals are not biologists at heart. Accordingly, psychiatrists bring important thoughtfulness to any consideration about mental health and wellness and about the treatment and prevention of problematic thoughts, feelings, and behaviors.
Throughout my career, my main focus has been on identifying strategies and treatments that can prevent mental illness. For example, I wrote a column about prevention for Clinical Psychiatry News from 2004 to 2011, and, as a member of the publication’s Editorial Advisory Board, I continue to try to steer our attention to biological aspects of prevention.
Recently, I have been seeing psychiatric articles on fetal health and mental health, and, because I am excited about the prospect of understanding fetal alcohol exposure, I feel the need to share. A recent article in the American Journal of Psychiatry was provocatively entitled, “Fetal origins of mental health: The developmental origins of health and disease hypothesis (2016. doi: 10.1176/appi.2016.16020138).
Disappointedly, the authors overlooked the biology of fetal alcohol exposure and focused on how psychosocial issues of maternal anxiety, depression, and anxiety could influence neurodevelopment, which could affect mental health outcomes after birth. Of course, I thought, “What about fetal alcohol exposure?” Meanwhile, a commentary in JAMA Psychiatry entitled “Prenatal nutritional deficiency and psychosis: Where do we go from here?” referred to prenatal choline supplementation along with other supplements (2017;74(4):349-50).
When I first stumbled upon the high prevalence of fetal alcohol exposure in low-income African American populations, it occurred to me that, since choline was involved with the psychopathology of fetal alcohol spectrum disorders and acetylcholine seemed to be involved in the psychopathology of Alzheimer’s disease, there might be a relationship between the two (Psychiatric Serv. 2015 May 1. doi: 10.1176/appi.ps.201400162). Such possible links are especially intriguing in light of the Alzheimer’s Association suggestion that Alzheimer’s disease is a “silent epidemic” among African Americans. The association notes that the prevalence among African Americans ranges from 14% to 100% higher than among whites. The problem – how to make the connection, if there were one, between the adults I was seeing and fetal alcohol exposure – proved difficult, because the time between fetal health and adult mental illness was huge. The time from fetal health and geriatric Alzheimer’s disease was even greater.
However, modern biologic science came through again. Maternal choline supplementation has been touted as a potential prenatal treatment for Down syndrome and Alzheimer’s disease (Curr Alzheimer Res. 2016;13[1]:97-106). Using mice that are genetically altered to show the development of Down syndrome and Alzheimer’s disease changes in the brain at 6 months, allowing researchers to seek prevention strategies for this pathophysiology, researchers have found that maternal choline supplementation protects against basal forebrain cholinergic neuron degeneration seen in these animals.
Thus, it would seem the problem of choline deficiency in pregnancy, most exacerbated by fetal alcohol exposure, is preventable by increasing the amount of choline available during pregnancy. So, it makes sense to increase the amount of choline in prenatal vitamins, as it appears that this biotechnical intervention not only would reduce the scourge of fetal alcohol spectrum disorders but also of Alzheimer’s disease (J Fam Med Dis Prev. 2016 Nov 29;2[6]:1-3).
Finally, the Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention has finally released a paper – “Fetal alcohol spectrum disorders listening session report” – from a session held in June 2013 that documents the extent of the problem in juvenile justice facilities.
Unfortunately, many of us have abdicated our role as biologists. We’ve got evidence showing the power of prenatal choline. It is time to stop counting all of the problems that stem from deficiency of choline during pregnancy and start doing something about it.
Dr. Bell is a staff psychiatrist at Jackson Park Hospital Family Medicine Clinic in Chicago, clinical psychiatrist emeritus in the department of psychiatry at the University of Illinois at Chicago, former president/CEO of Community Mental Health Council, and former director of the Institute for Juvenile Research (birthplace of child psychiatry), also in Chicago.
Idle hands
If you consider yourself a busy pediatrician and haven’t seen a Fidget Spinner, you are either a neonatologist or have been on maternity leave for the last 3 months. Because I no longer see patients, my introduction to Fidget Spinners came via my 10-year-old grandson, Peter. Last week, I was tasked with meeting him after school and accompanying him on his bike ride to our house. Instead of a hi-grampy-smile he shouted, “Look what Jonah gave me!”
Peter held in his hand a collection of stainless steel nuts, a bolt, and a pair of roller blade wheel bearings that had been epoxified together so that they would spin with the flick of a finger. This was a homemade Fidget. This wasn’t a “gadget,” a term that would imply to me that it might have some function. No, this was a Fidget, and its sole purpose was to keep the user’s hands busy, usually by spinning it.
Of course ,within days of my enlightening, I discovered articles about the Fidget tsunami in several national newspapers. The most complete chronology of the Fidget’s trajectory from its unheralded birth in the 1990s to its explosive entry on grade school scene in the last 6 months appeared in the New York Times. (Alex Williams. “How Fidget Spinners Became the Hula-Hoop for Generation Z.” May 6, 2017).
For a brief period of time, Fidget Spinners were touted by some “experts” as calming devices for both adults and children who have been labeled with ADHD. I assume this unsubstantiated benefit was in part based on the aphorism attributed to St. Jerome that “idle hands are the Devil’s workshop.” However, when Fidgets escaped from their niche for the distractable and inattentive and entered the mainstream, educators and school administrators quickly realized that, what might have been a cure for some students, can become an intolerable distraction for the entire classroom. Not surprisingly, hastily enacted rules and restrictions have only made the spinners even more popular, must-have items.
While Fidget Spinners are the latest rage for the grade-school crowd, the attraction between palm-sized objects and young children has probably existed since the first Neanderthal infant picked up a shiny stream-polished pebble or a dried seed pod that rattled. I suspect that, if you begin keeping a record, you will discover that, on an average day, at least half of your patients under the age of 4 years have arrived with some temporarily treasured object clutched in their hands – a smooth stone, a matchbox truck, or a Lego or Playmobil figure. These treasures are not to be confused with the plushy and soft security or transition objects that are primarily sleep associated.
What I’m talking about are the recently found items that fulfill a primordial need of little hands to hold something ... anything. For the most part, they are ephemeral and will be replaced in a day or a week with another palm-sized tactile companion.
This compulsion to hold something seems to persist longer in boys and becomes stronger when they are exposed to objects that spin, roll, or make noise. Even Peter, at age 10, invariably shows up at a restaurant with a fidgetable item in his hand to help him endure the interminable wait for his pasta or pizza to arrive at the table. As distracting as it may be to his fellow diners, it certainly beats the alternative of kicking his sister under the table.
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].
If you consider yourself a busy pediatrician and haven’t seen a Fidget Spinner, you are either a neonatologist or have been on maternity leave for the last 3 months. Because I no longer see patients, my introduction to Fidget Spinners came via my 10-year-old grandson, Peter. Last week, I was tasked with meeting him after school and accompanying him on his bike ride to our house. Instead of a hi-grampy-smile he shouted, “Look what Jonah gave me!”
Peter held in his hand a collection of stainless steel nuts, a bolt, and a pair of roller blade wheel bearings that had been epoxified together so that they would spin with the flick of a finger. This was a homemade Fidget. This wasn’t a “gadget,” a term that would imply to me that it might have some function. No, this was a Fidget, and its sole purpose was to keep the user’s hands busy, usually by spinning it.
Of course ,within days of my enlightening, I discovered articles about the Fidget tsunami in several national newspapers. The most complete chronology of the Fidget’s trajectory from its unheralded birth in the 1990s to its explosive entry on grade school scene in the last 6 months appeared in the New York Times. (Alex Williams. “How Fidget Spinners Became the Hula-Hoop for Generation Z.” May 6, 2017).
For a brief period of time, Fidget Spinners were touted by some “experts” as calming devices for both adults and children who have been labeled with ADHD. I assume this unsubstantiated benefit was in part based on the aphorism attributed to St. Jerome that “idle hands are the Devil’s workshop.” However, when Fidgets escaped from their niche for the distractable and inattentive and entered the mainstream, educators and school administrators quickly realized that, what might have been a cure for some students, can become an intolerable distraction for the entire classroom. Not surprisingly, hastily enacted rules and restrictions have only made the spinners even more popular, must-have items.
While Fidget Spinners are the latest rage for the grade-school crowd, the attraction between palm-sized objects and young children has probably existed since the first Neanderthal infant picked up a shiny stream-polished pebble or a dried seed pod that rattled. I suspect that, if you begin keeping a record, you will discover that, on an average day, at least half of your patients under the age of 4 years have arrived with some temporarily treasured object clutched in their hands – a smooth stone, a matchbox truck, or a Lego or Playmobil figure. These treasures are not to be confused with the plushy and soft security or transition objects that are primarily sleep associated.
What I’m talking about are the recently found items that fulfill a primordial need of little hands to hold something ... anything. For the most part, they are ephemeral and will be replaced in a day or a week with another palm-sized tactile companion.
This compulsion to hold something seems to persist longer in boys and becomes stronger when they are exposed to objects that spin, roll, or make noise. Even Peter, at age 10, invariably shows up at a restaurant with a fidgetable item in his hand to help him endure the interminable wait for his pasta or pizza to arrive at the table. As distracting as it may be to his fellow diners, it certainly beats the alternative of kicking his sister under the table.
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].
If you consider yourself a busy pediatrician and haven’t seen a Fidget Spinner, you are either a neonatologist or have been on maternity leave for the last 3 months. Because I no longer see patients, my introduction to Fidget Spinners came via my 10-year-old grandson, Peter. Last week, I was tasked with meeting him after school and accompanying him on his bike ride to our house. Instead of a hi-grampy-smile he shouted, “Look what Jonah gave me!”
Peter held in his hand a collection of stainless steel nuts, a bolt, and a pair of roller blade wheel bearings that had been epoxified together so that they would spin with the flick of a finger. This was a homemade Fidget. This wasn’t a “gadget,” a term that would imply to me that it might have some function. No, this was a Fidget, and its sole purpose was to keep the user’s hands busy, usually by spinning it.
Of course ,within days of my enlightening, I discovered articles about the Fidget tsunami in several national newspapers. The most complete chronology of the Fidget’s trajectory from its unheralded birth in the 1990s to its explosive entry on grade school scene in the last 6 months appeared in the New York Times. (Alex Williams. “How Fidget Spinners Became the Hula-Hoop for Generation Z.” May 6, 2017).
For a brief period of time, Fidget Spinners were touted by some “experts” as calming devices for both adults and children who have been labeled with ADHD. I assume this unsubstantiated benefit was in part based on the aphorism attributed to St. Jerome that “idle hands are the Devil’s workshop.” However, when Fidgets escaped from their niche for the distractable and inattentive and entered the mainstream, educators and school administrators quickly realized that, what might have been a cure for some students, can become an intolerable distraction for the entire classroom. Not surprisingly, hastily enacted rules and restrictions have only made the spinners even more popular, must-have items.
While Fidget Spinners are the latest rage for the grade-school crowd, the attraction between palm-sized objects and young children has probably existed since the first Neanderthal infant picked up a shiny stream-polished pebble or a dried seed pod that rattled. I suspect that, if you begin keeping a record, you will discover that, on an average day, at least half of your patients under the age of 4 years have arrived with some temporarily treasured object clutched in their hands – a smooth stone, a matchbox truck, or a Lego or Playmobil figure. These treasures are not to be confused with the plushy and soft security or transition objects that are primarily sleep associated.
What I’m talking about are the recently found items that fulfill a primordial need of little hands to hold something ... anything. For the most part, they are ephemeral and will be replaced in a day or a week with another palm-sized tactile companion.
This compulsion to hold something seems to persist longer in boys and becomes stronger when they are exposed to objects that spin, roll, or make noise. Even Peter, at age 10, invariably shows up at a restaurant with a fidgetable item in his hand to help him endure the interminable wait for his pasta or pizza to arrive at the table. As distracting as it may be to his fellow diners, it certainly beats the alternative of kicking his sister under the table.
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].
Changing ethics of pediatric health care: The last 50 years
The ethics of pediatric health care have changed radically in the past 50 years. “History,” they say, “is written by the victors.” So, if you are not careful, you will only get part of the story. Clinical ethicists learn to seek out, involve, and empower the voices of all stakeholders. To fully appreciate how much things have changed, you must learn more than one side of the story. Indeed, piecing together the history of medical ethics reminds me of the Indian story of five blind men describing an elephant, in which each can only describe a part of an ultimately much bigger animal.
If you ask philosophers about the history of medical ethics, they will point to events 50 years ago as the beginning of the modern era. In the 1960s, physicians tended to be paternalistic authoritarians. Some considered it best not to even tell a patient that he had cancer. There was minimal patient education provided. Medications were prescribed as orders for the patient to follow. Medical research had harmed volunteers, and new protections were needed.
In 1995, the American Academy of Pediatrics Section on Bioethics emphasized the importance of obtaining the child’s assent in addition to the parent’s consent.2 Most states have passed laws permitting minors to give consent for treatment for pregnancy, sexually transmitted diseases, drug addiction, and mental health care.
Technology alters ethics
At the same time, technology has been changing medicine. New life sustaining technologies in the 1960s – such as dialysis and ventilators – created new issues of extreme financial cost, allocation of scarce resources, and even the existential question of when life ends. In 1968, an ad hoc committee at Harvard created criteria for what is colloquially called “brain death.”3 Many landmark legal cases further developed the ethics of end-of-life care.
The boundaries were even less clear at the beginning of life. Technological advances in ventilators, improvements in nursing care by neonatal intensive care unit nurses, and the whole new subspecialty of neonatology progressively lowered the gestational age for survival. The distinction between clinical care and experimental care was again blurry as neonatologists sought to overcome previously unknown complications, like retinopathy of prematurity resulting from too much oxygen and bronchopulmonary dysplasia from the ventilator. Many babies survived with profound physical and neurological compromise. The ethical dilemmas were continuously present.
Change in the status of children
There is more to the story than philosophy, law, and technology. Pediatric ethics has been profoundly impacted by a change in the status of the children. One change from 50 years ago has been the social response to child abuse.4 Norms changed. Before, fathers pretty much could raise their children any way they saw fit, including corporal punishment. Neighbors didn’t intervene. The proverb was “spare the rod and spoil the child,” but abuse was not motivated by discipline. It was cruel, authoritarian, and demeaning. The landmark article describing the Battered Child Syndrome was published in 1962.5 By 1967, the local Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children had become nearly obsolete, but understaffed local government agencies were just beginning to respond. In 1974, federal action produced the Child Abuse Prevention and Treatment Act.6 Medical personnel became mandatory reporters, developed expertise, and, in 2009, child abuse became a boarded subspecialty in pediatrics.
Then, in 1971, a documentary “Who Should Survive?” explored the ethical decision making for babies with birth defects.7 The harms of institutionalization became recognized. The benefits of early intervention and special education have been established. Support for an Individual Education Plan has progressed through successive laws beginning in 1975 until the Individuals with Disabilities Education Improvement Act of 2004.
This is just another example of how ethics develops from a philosophical ideal to a change in social status, followed by consciousness raising, civil rights legislation, enabling legislation, funding, and program development and implementation.
It takes a village of philosophers, activists, lawyers, legislators, physicians, and other experts to implement ethics. There are also countervailing forces. The mainstreaming of children with disabilities is one factor in the movement of children into private schools and the pressure for a voucher system, as advocated by the new Secretary of Education, Betty DeVos.
There also has been a change in the status of children as future providers. Historically, children were relied upon to provide for the parents in their old age. With decreases in infant mortality, the availability of birth control, and legalized abortions, smaller families became the social norm. Worldwide, there has been a marked drop in fertility rates in developed nations. Governmental programs such as Social Security, particularly with the introduction of Medicare in 1965, meant that the elderly were less dependent on their descendants. China found that acceptance of the One Child policy was heavily dependent on convincing parents that the State would provide for them in their old age. The modern political state has assumed duties previously performed by the family.
More recent changes
Pediatric health care is strongly impacted by public health measures. Infant mortality has been reduced by improved nutrition and public health, not medication and surgery. Mass immunization programs were viewed as an appropriate function of civic government.
The introduction of polio vaccine in the 1950s made a large impact. Families lined up at any opportunity to get the vaccine. Polio went from hundreds of thousands of cases of paralysis each summer down to zero cases of wild polio transmitted within the western hemisphere. Measles cases went from 450,000 cases a year in the early 1960s down to zero, until a fraudulent link to autism led to a significant number of parents not immunizing their children. Vaccine refusal, previously a rare ethical issue related to religious liberty, became corrupted by efforts at boutique medicine and alternative facts. In modern America, the ethics of individualism and personal rights have eclipsed civic responsibility. With herd immunity compromised, a blip up to 100 cases of measles per year was histrionically described as a huge epidemic. That spin shows ignorance of the historical record, but the risk was enough for the liberal state of California in 2015 to ban philosophical exemptions to vaccination with one of the strictest state laws in the nation.
Ethics is about values. So, as I look at the changes over 50 years, the areas that have failed to make progress are illuminating. Mental health care for children has not made the same progress achieved with vaccines and cancer therapy. My most recent clinical ethics case involved a teenager who had made a suicidal gesture by taking a handful of pills. The nurses were caught between caring for their patient and meeting the demands of an upset, authoritarian parent in a world where customer satisfaction is critical. I spent much of the night exploring hospital policy and state law. I solicited and listened to widely disparate interpretations of law, medical ethics, and hospital policy from the floor nurse, the nursing supervisor, the nursing staff on the adult inpatient psychiatric unit, three ED docs, a social worker, a government agency, and a judge’s representative. The physician of 1967 was captain of the ship and would not recognize the chaotic teamwork of modern medicine. The exercise showed me how little progress we have made in mental health care for adolescents during my 25 years of practice.
It also reminded me that I have the luxury to debate ethical minutia like vaccine hesitancy and adolescent consent in a world with Syrian refugee camps and starvation in South Sudan. Mahatma Gandhi said, “There are people in the world so hungry that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread.” That, unfortunately, has not changed in 50 years.
Dr. Powell is a pediatric hospitalist and clinical ethics consultant living in St. Louis. Email him at [email protected].
References
1. www.hhs.gov/ohrp/regulations-and-policy/belmont-report/
2. Pediatrics 1995;95:314-7.
3. JAMA. 1968;205(6):337-40.
4. Family Law Quarterly. 2008 Fall;42(3):449-63.
5. JAMA. 1962;181(1):17-24.
6. National Child Abuse and Neglect Training and Publications Project (2014). The Child Abuse Prevention and Treatment Act: 40 years of safeguarding America’s children. Washington: U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, Children’s Bureau.
7. Kennedy Inst Ethics J. 2006 Sep;16(3):205-24.
The ethics of pediatric health care have changed radically in the past 50 years. “History,” they say, “is written by the victors.” So, if you are not careful, you will only get part of the story. Clinical ethicists learn to seek out, involve, and empower the voices of all stakeholders. To fully appreciate how much things have changed, you must learn more than one side of the story. Indeed, piecing together the history of medical ethics reminds me of the Indian story of five blind men describing an elephant, in which each can only describe a part of an ultimately much bigger animal.
If you ask philosophers about the history of medical ethics, they will point to events 50 years ago as the beginning of the modern era. In the 1960s, physicians tended to be paternalistic authoritarians. Some considered it best not to even tell a patient that he had cancer. There was minimal patient education provided. Medications were prescribed as orders for the patient to follow. Medical research had harmed volunteers, and new protections were needed.
In 1995, the American Academy of Pediatrics Section on Bioethics emphasized the importance of obtaining the child’s assent in addition to the parent’s consent.2 Most states have passed laws permitting minors to give consent for treatment for pregnancy, sexually transmitted diseases, drug addiction, and mental health care.
Technology alters ethics
At the same time, technology has been changing medicine. New life sustaining technologies in the 1960s – such as dialysis and ventilators – created new issues of extreme financial cost, allocation of scarce resources, and even the existential question of when life ends. In 1968, an ad hoc committee at Harvard created criteria for what is colloquially called “brain death.”3 Many landmark legal cases further developed the ethics of end-of-life care.
The boundaries were even less clear at the beginning of life. Technological advances in ventilators, improvements in nursing care by neonatal intensive care unit nurses, and the whole new subspecialty of neonatology progressively lowered the gestational age for survival. The distinction between clinical care and experimental care was again blurry as neonatologists sought to overcome previously unknown complications, like retinopathy of prematurity resulting from too much oxygen and bronchopulmonary dysplasia from the ventilator. Many babies survived with profound physical and neurological compromise. The ethical dilemmas were continuously present.
Change in the status of children
There is more to the story than philosophy, law, and technology. Pediatric ethics has been profoundly impacted by a change in the status of the children. One change from 50 years ago has been the social response to child abuse.4 Norms changed. Before, fathers pretty much could raise their children any way they saw fit, including corporal punishment. Neighbors didn’t intervene. The proverb was “spare the rod and spoil the child,” but abuse was not motivated by discipline. It was cruel, authoritarian, and demeaning. The landmark article describing the Battered Child Syndrome was published in 1962.5 By 1967, the local Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children had become nearly obsolete, but understaffed local government agencies were just beginning to respond. In 1974, federal action produced the Child Abuse Prevention and Treatment Act.6 Medical personnel became mandatory reporters, developed expertise, and, in 2009, child abuse became a boarded subspecialty in pediatrics.
Then, in 1971, a documentary “Who Should Survive?” explored the ethical decision making for babies with birth defects.7 The harms of institutionalization became recognized. The benefits of early intervention and special education have been established. Support for an Individual Education Plan has progressed through successive laws beginning in 1975 until the Individuals with Disabilities Education Improvement Act of 2004.
This is just another example of how ethics develops from a philosophical ideal to a change in social status, followed by consciousness raising, civil rights legislation, enabling legislation, funding, and program development and implementation.
It takes a village of philosophers, activists, lawyers, legislators, physicians, and other experts to implement ethics. There are also countervailing forces. The mainstreaming of children with disabilities is one factor in the movement of children into private schools and the pressure for a voucher system, as advocated by the new Secretary of Education, Betty DeVos.
There also has been a change in the status of children as future providers. Historically, children were relied upon to provide for the parents in their old age. With decreases in infant mortality, the availability of birth control, and legalized abortions, smaller families became the social norm. Worldwide, there has been a marked drop in fertility rates in developed nations. Governmental programs such as Social Security, particularly with the introduction of Medicare in 1965, meant that the elderly were less dependent on their descendants. China found that acceptance of the One Child policy was heavily dependent on convincing parents that the State would provide for them in their old age. The modern political state has assumed duties previously performed by the family.
More recent changes
Pediatric health care is strongly impacted by public health measures. Infant mortality has been reduced by improved nutrition and public health, not medication and surgery. Mass immunization programs were viewed as an appropriate function of civic government.
The introduction of polio vaccine in the 1950s made a large impact. Families lined up at any opportunity to get the vaccine. Polio went from hundreds of thousands of cases of paralysis each summer down to zero cases of wild polio transmitted within the western hemisphere. Measles cases went from 450,000 cases a year in the early 1960s down to zero, until a fraudulent link to autism led to a significant number of parents not immunizing their children. Vaccine refusal, previously a rare ethical issue related to religious liberty, became corrupted by efforts at boutique medicine and alternative facts. In modern America, the ethics of individualism and personal rights have eclipsed civic responsibility. With herd immunity compromised, a blip up to 100 cases of measles per year was histrionically described as a huge epidemic. That spin shows ignorance of the historical record, but the risk was enough for the liberal state of California in 2015 to ban philosophical exemptions to vaccination with one of the strictest state laws in the nation.
Ethics is about values. So, as I look at the changes over 50 years, the areas that have failed to make progress are illuminating. Mental health care for children has not made the same progress achieved with vaccines and cancer therapy. My most recent clinical ethics case involved a teenager who had made a suicidal gesture by taking a handful of pills. The nurses were caught between caring for their patient and meeting the demands of an upset, authoritarian parent in a world where customer satisfaction is critical. I spent much of the night exploring hospital policy and state law. I solicited and listened to widely disparate interpretations of law, medical ethics, and hospital policy from the floor nurse, the nursing supervisor, the nursing staff on the adult inpatient psychiatric unit, three ED docs, a social worker, a government agency, and a judge’s representative. The physician of 1967 was captain of the ship and would not recognize the chaotic teamwork of modern medicine. The exercise showed me how little progress we have made in mental health care for adolescents during my 25 years of practice.
It also reminded me that I have the luxury to debate ethical minutia like vaccine hesitancy and adolescent consent in a world with Syrian refugee camps and starvation in South Sudan. Mahatma Gandhi said, “There are people in the world so hungry that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread.” That, unfortunately, has not changed in 50 years.
Dr. Powell is a pediatric hospitalist and clinical ethics consultant living in St. Louis. Email him at [email protected].
References
1. www.hhs.gov/ohrp/regulations-and-policy/belmont-report/
2. Pediatrics 1995;95:314-7.
3. JAMA. 1968;205(6):337-40.
4. Family Law Quarterly. 2008 Fall;42(3):449-63.
5. JAMA. 1962;181(1):17-24.
6. National Child Abuse and Neglect Training and Publications Project (2014). The Child Abuse Prevention and Treatment Act: 40 years of safeguarding America’s children. Washington: U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, Children’s Bureau.
7. Kennedy Inst Ethics J. 2006 Sep;16(3):205-24.
The ethics of pediatric health care have changed radically in the past 50 years. “History,” they say, “is written by the victors.” So, if you are not careful, you will only get part of the story. Clinical ethicists learn to seek out, involve, and empower the voices of all stakeholders. To fully appreciate how much things have changed, you must learn more than one side of the story. Indeed, piecing together the history of medical ethics reminds me of the Indian story of five blind men describing an elephant, in which each can only describe a part of an ultimately much bigger animal.
If you ask philosophers about the history of medical ethics, they will point to events 50 years ago as the beginning of the modern era. In the 1960s, physicians tended to be paternalistic authoritarians. Some considered it best not to even tell a patient that he had cancer. There was minimal patient education provided. Medications were prescribed as orders for the patient to follow. Medical research had harmed volunteers, and new protections were needed.
In 1995, the American Academy of Pediatrics Section on Bioethics emphasized the importance of obtaining the child’s assent in addition to the parent’s consent.2 Most states have passed laws permitting minors to give consent for treatment for pregnancy, sexually transmitted diseases, drug addiction, and mental health care.
Technology alters ethics
At the same time, technology has been changing medicine. New life sustaining technologies in the 1960s – such as dialysis and ventilators – created new issues of extreme financial cost, allocation of scarce resources, and even the existential question of when life ends. In 1968, an ad hoc committee at Harvard created criteria for what is colloquially called “brain death.”3 Many landmark legal cases further developed the ethics of end-of-life care.
The boundaries were even less clear at the beginning of life. Technological advances in ventilators, improvements in nursing care by neonatal intensive care unit nurses, and the whole new subspecialty of neonatology progressively lowered the gestational age for survival. The distinction between clinical care and experimental care was again blurry as neonatologists sought to overcome previously unknown complications, like retinopathy of prematurity resulting from too much oxygen and bronchopulmonary dysplasia from the ventilator. Many babies survived with profound physical and neurological compromise. The ethical dilemmas were continuously present.
Change in the status of children
There is more to the story than philosophy, law, and technology. Pediatric ethics has been profoundly impacted by a change in the status of the children. One change from 50 years ago has been the social response to child abuse.4 Norms changed. Before, fathers pretty much could raise their children any way they saw fit, including corporal punishment. Neighbors didn’t intervene. The proverb was “spare the rod and spoil the child,” but abuse was not motivated by discipline. It was cruel, authoritarian, and demeaning. The landmark article describing the Battered Child Syndrome was published in 1962.5 By 1967, the local Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children had become nearly obsolete, but understaffed local government agencies were just beginning to respond. In 1974, federal action produced the Child Abuse Prevention and Treatment Act.6 Medical personnel became mandatory reporters, developed expertise, and, in 2009, child abuse became a boarded subspecialty in pediatrics.
Then, in 1971, a documentary “Who Should Survive?” explored the ethical decision making for babies with birth defects.7 The harms of institutionalization became recognized. The benefits of early intervention and special education have been established. Support for an Individual Education Plan has progressed through successive laws beginning in 1975 until the Individuals with Disabilities Education Improvement Act of 2004.
This is just another example of how ethics develops from a philosophical ideal to a change in social status, followed by consciousness raising, civil rights legislation, enabling legislation, funding, and program development and implementation.
It takes a village of philosophers, activists, lawyers, legislators, physicians, and other experts to implement ethics. There are also countervailing forces. The mainstreaming of children with disabilities is one factor in the movement of children into private schools and the pressure for a voucher system, as advocated by the new Secretary of Education, Betty DeVos.
There also has been a change in the status of children as future providers. Historically, children were relied upon to provide for the parents in their old age. With decreases in infant mortality, the availability of birth control, and legalized abortions, smaller families became the social norm. Worldwide, there has been a marked drop in fertility rates in developed nations. Governmental programs such as Social Security, particularly with the introduction of Medicare in 1965, meant that the elderly were less dependent on their descendants. China found that acceptance of the One Child policy was heavily dependent on convincing parents that the State would provide for them in their old age. The modern political state has assumed duties previously performed by the family.
More recent changes
Pediatric health care is strongly impacted by public health measures. Infant mortality has been reduced by improved nutrition and public health, not medication and surgery. Mass immunization programs were viewed as an appropriate function of civic government.
The introduction of polio vaccine in the 1950s made a large impact. Families lined up at any opportunity to get the vaccine. Polio went from hundreds of thousands of cases of paralysis each summer down to zero cases of wild polio transmitted within the western hemisphere. Measles cases went from 450,000 cases a year in the early 1960s down to zero, until a fraudulent link to autism led to a significant number of parents not immunizing their children. Vaccine refusal, previously a rare ethical issue related to religious liberty, became corrupted by efforts at boutique medicine and alternative facts. In modern America, the ethics of individualism and personal rights have eclipsed civic responsibility. With herd immunity compromised, a blip up to 100 cases of measles per year was histrionically described as a huge epidemic. That spin shows ignorance of the historical record, but the risk was enough for the liberal state of California in 2015 to ban philosophical exemptions to vaccination with one of the strictest state laws in the nation.
Ethics is about values. So, as I look at the changes over 50 years, the areas that have failed to make progress are illuminating. Mental health care for children has not made the same progress achieved with vaccines and cancer therapy. My most recent clinical ethics case involved a teenager who had made a suicidal gesture by taking a handful of pills. The nurses were caught between caring for their patient and meeting the demands of an upset, authoritarian parent in a world where customer satisfaction is critical. I spent much of the night exploring hospital policy and state law. I solicited and listened to widely disparate interpretations of law, medical ethics, and hospital policy from the floor nurse, the nursing supervisor, the nursing staff on the adult inpatient psychiatric unit, three ED docs, a social worker, a government agency, and a judge’s representative. The physician of 1967 was captain of the ship and would not recognize the chaotic teamwork of modern medicine. The exercise showed me how little progress we have made in mental health care for adolescents during my 25 years of practice.
It also reminded me that I have the luxury to debate ethical minutia like vaccine hesitancy and adolescent consent in a world with Syrian refugee camps and starvation in South Sudan. Mahatma Gandhi said, “There are people in the world so hungry that God cannot appear to them except in the form of bread.” That, unfortunately, has not changed in 50 years.
Dr. Powell is a pediatric hospitalist and clinical ethics consultant living in St. Louis. Email him at [email protected].
References
1. www.hhs.gov/ohrp/regulations-and-policy/belmont-report/
2. Pediatrics 1995;95:314-7.
3. JAMA. 1968;205(6):337-40.
4. Family Law Quarterly. 2008 Fall;42(3):449-63.
5. JAMA. 1962;181(1):17-24.
6. National Child Abuse and Neglect Training and Publications Project (2014). The Child Abuse Prevention and Treatment Act: 40 years of safeguarding America’s children. Washington: U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, Children’s Bureau.
7. Kennedy Inst Ethics J. 2006 Sep;16(3):205-24.
Determining patients’ decisional capacity
Question: Mrs. Wong, age 80 years, has vascular dementia, and for the last 2 years has lived in a nursing home. She is forgetful and disoriented to time, person, and place, and totally dependent on others for all of her daily living needs. But she remains verbal and recognizes family members.
Recently, her glomerular filtration rate declined to less than 10% normal, and she has developed symptoms of uremia, i.e., nausea, vomiting, and intractable hiccups. The nephrologist has diagnosed end-stage renal failure and recommends hemodialysis, which will improve her renal symptoms and may extend her life by 1-2 years. But it will do nothing for her underlying dementia, which is progressive and irreversible.
Should she undergo hemodialysis? Choose the best single answer:
A. Mrs. Wong definitely lacks the capacity to decide whether to undergo hemodialysis.
B. A court-appointed guardian should make the decision.
C. Hemodialysis is futile and is medically contraindicated, inhumane, and unethical.
D. Hemodialysis is a life-extending form of comfort care, and therefore cannot be withheld.
E. The choice is hers if she understands the procedure and the consequences of her decision.
Answer: E. The terms competence and capacity are often used interchangeably in the health care context, although there are distinctions. Technically, a patient remains competent until a court says otherwise. On the other hand, the determination of medical decision-making capacity can be made by the attending physician and does not ordinarily require a court hearing.
Medical capacity can be determined by the use of the four-point test, which asks whether:
1. The patient understands the nature of the intervention.
2. The patient understands the consequences of the decision (especially refusal of treatment).
3. The patient is able to communicate his/her wishes.
4. Those wishes are compatible with the patient’s known values.
Courts tend to rule in favor of a finding of capacity. In one case, the court found no evidence that the patient’s “forgetfulness and confusion cause, or relate in any way to, impairment of her ability to understand that, in rejecting the amputation, she is, in effect, choosing death over life.”1
In another, the court opined, “However humble the background, sad and deprived the way of life, each individual should have the choice as to what is done to his body, if he is capable of understanding the consequences. This patient, although suffering from an organic brain disease, in the court’s opinion understands the consequences of his refusal. … I find that he has sufficient capacity and competence to consent to or refuse the proposed surgery.”2
Sometimes capacity is truly lacking. In a Tennessee case, Mary Northern, an elderly woman, refused amputation, denying that gangrene had caused her feet to be “dead, black, shriveled, rotting, and stinking.”3 Instead, she believed that they were merely blackened by soot or dust.
The court declared her incompetent, because she was “incapable of recognizing facts which would be obvious to a person of normal perception.” The court said that if she had acknowledged that her legs were gangrenous but refused amputation because she preferred death to the loss of her feet, she would have been considered competent to refuse surgery.
When the patient lacks capacity, a surrogate steps in. This may be a person previously designated by the patient as having durable power of attorney for health care decisions, and he/she is obligated to give voice to what the patient would have wanted. This is called substituted judgment.
Often, no surrogate has been formally mentioned, and a family member assumes the role; rarely, a court-appointed guardian takes over. When there is no knowledge of the patient’s wishes, the decision is then made in the patient’s best interests.
That a surrogate can make life and death decisions was first enunciated in the seminal case of Karen Ann Quinlan, where the New Jersey Supreme Court famously wrote, “The sad truth, however, is that she is grossly incompetent, and we cannot discern her supposed choice based on the testimony of her previous conversations with friends, where such testimony is without sufficient probative weight. Nevertheless, we have concluded that Karen’s right of privacy may be asserted on her behalf by her guardian under the peculiar circumstances here present.”4
The U.S. Supreme Court in Cruzan v. Director Missouri Department of Health has similarly held that an “incompetent person is not able to make an informed and voluntary choice to exercise a hypothetical right to refuse treatment or any other right. Such a ‘right’ must be exercised for her, if at all, by some sort of surrogate.”5 The court also opined that a state – in this case, Missouri – may apply a clear and convincing evidentiary standard in proceedings where a guardian seeks to discontinue nutrition and hydration.
Clear and convincing evidence is said to exist where there is a finding of high probability, based on evidence “so clear as to leave no substantial doubt” and “sufficiently strong to command the unhesitating assent of every reasonable mind.”
However, where a patient’s wishes are not clear and convincing, a court will be reluctant to order cessation of treatment, as in the landmark case of Wendland v. Wendland, where the California Supreme Court unanimously disallowed the discontinuation of a patient’s tube feedings.6
The patient, Robert Wendland, had regained consciousness after 14 months in a coma, but was left hemiparetic and incontinent, and could not feed by mouth or dress, bathe, and communicate consistently. He did not have an advance directive, but had made statements to the effect he would not want to live in a vegetative state.
His wife, Rose, refused to authorize reinsertion of his dislodged feeding tube, believing that Robert would not have wanted it replaced. The patient’s daughter and brother, as well as the hospital’s ethics committee, county ombudsman, and a court-appointed counsel, all agreed with the decision.
But the patient’s mother, Florence, went to court to block the action. The court determined that Robert’s statements were not clear and convincing, because they did not address his current condition, were not sufficiently specific, and were not necessarily intended to direct his medical care. Further, the patient’s spouse had failed to provide sufficient evidence that her decision was in her husband’s best interests.
Issues surrounding treatment at the end of life can be difficult and elusive. Even where there is an advance medical directive, statements made by patients in the document do not always comport with their eventual treatment decisions.
In a telling study, the authors found that only two-thirds of the time were decisions consistent.7 One-third of patients changed their preferences in the face of actual illness, usually in favor of treatments rejected in advance. Surrogate agreement was only 58%, and surrogates tended to overestimate their loved one’s desire for treatment.
The designation of who may be the legitimate alternative decision maker is another contentious issue, with laws varying widely from state to state.8
All of this may have in part prompted Singapore’s newly enacted Mental Capacity Act,9 which permits a surrogate to make wide-ranging decisions on behalf of an incapacitated person, to specifically exclude decisions regarding life-sustaining treatment and any measure that the physician “reasonably believes is necessary to prevent a serious deterioration” in the patient’s condition.
The decisional responsibility resides in the treating physician, who is obligated by law to make an effort to assist the patient to come to a decision, failing which it is made in the patient’s best interests.
Dr. Tan is emeritus professor of medicine and former adjunct professor of law at the University of Hawaii, Honolulu. This article is meant to be educational and does not constitute medical, ethical, or legal advice. For additional information, readers may contact the author at [email protected].
References
1. Lane v. Candura, 6 Mass. App. 377 (1978).
2. Matter of Roosevelt Hospital, N.Y.L.J. 13 Jan 1977 p. 7 (Sup. Ct., New York Co.).
3. State Dept Human Resources v. Northern, 563 SW 2d 197 (Tenn. Ct. App., 1978).
4. In the matter of Karen Quinlan, 355 A.2d 647 (N.J., 1976).
5. Cruzan v. Director Missouri Department of Health, 110 S. Ct. 2841 (1990).
6. Wendland v. Wendland, 28 P.3d 151 (Cal., 2001).
7. J Clin Ethics. 1998 Fall;9(3):258-62.
8. N Engl J Med. 2017 Apr 13;376(15):1478-82.
9. Singapore’s Mental Capacity Act (Chapter 177A).
Question: Mrs. Wong, age 80 years, has vascular dementia, and for the last 2 years has lived in a nursing home. She is forgetful and disoriented to time, person, and place, and totally dependent on others for all of her daily living needs. But she remains verbal and recognizes family members.
Recently, her glomerular filtration rate declined to less than 10% normal, and she has developed symptoms of uremia, i.e., nausea, vomiting, and intractable hiccups. The nephrologist has diagnosed end-stage renal failure and recommends hemodialysis, which will improve her renal symptoms and may extend her life by 1-2 years. But it will do nothing for her underlying dementia, which is progressive and irreversible.
Should she undergo hemodialysis? Choose the best single answer:
A. Mrs. Wong definitely lacks the capacity to decide whether to undergo hemodialysis.
B. A court-appointed guardian should make the decision.
C. Hemodialysis is futile and is medically contraindicated, inhumane, and unethical.
D. Hemodialysis is a life-extending form of comfort care, and therefore cannot be withheld.
E. The choice is hers if she understands the procedure and the consequences of her decision.
Answer: E. The terms competence and capacity are often used interchangeably in the health care context, although there are distinctions. Technically, a patient remains competent until a court says otherwise. On the other hand, the determination of medical decision-making capacity can be made by the attending physician and does not ordinarily require a court hearing.
Medical capacity can be determined by the use of the four-point test, which asks whether:
1. The patient understands the nature of the intervention.
2. The patient understands the consequences of the decision (especially refusal of treatment).
3. The patient is able to communicate his/her wishes.
4. Those wishes are compatible with the patient’s known values.
Courts tend to rule in favor of a finding of capacity. In one case, the court found no evidence that the patient’s “forgetfulness and confusion cause, or relate in any way to, impairment of her ability to understand that, in rejecting the amputation, she is, in effect, choosing death over life.”1
In another, the court opined, “However humble the background, sad and deprived the way of life, each individual should have the choice as to what is done to his body, if he is capable of understanding the consequences. This patient, although suffering from an organic brain disease, in the court’s opinion understands the consequences of his refusal. … I find that he has sufficient capacity and competence to consent to or refuse the proposed surgery.”2
Sometimes capacity is truly lacking. In a Tennessee case, Mary Northern, an elderly woman, refused amputation, denying that gangrene had caused her feet to be “dead, black, shriveled, rotting, and stinking.”3 Instead, she believed that they were merely blackened by soot or dust.
The court declared her incompetent, because she was “incapable of recognizing facts which would be obvious to a person of normal perception.” The court said that if she had acknowledged that her legs were gangrenous but refused amputation because she preferred death to the loss of her feet, she would have been considered competent to refuse surgery.
When the patient lacks capacity, a surrogate steps in. This may be a person previously designated by the patient as having durable power of attorney for health care decisions, and he/she is obligated to give voice to what the patient would have wanted. This is called substituted judgment.
Often, no surrogate has been formally mentioned, and a family member assumes the role; rarely, a court-appointed guardian takes over. When there is no knowledge of the patient’s wishes, the decision is then made in the patient’s best interests.
That a surrogate can make life and death decisions was first enunciated in the seminal case of Karen Ann Quinlan, where the New Jersey Supreme Court famously wrote, “The sad truth, however, is that she is grossly incompetent, and we cannot discern her supposed choice based on the testimony of her previous conversations with friends, where such testimony is without sufficient probative weight. Nevertheless, we have concluded that Karen’s right of privacy may be asserted on her behalf by her guardian under the peculiar circumstances here present.”4
The U.S. Supreme Court in Cruzan v. Director Missouri Department of Health has similarly held that an “incompetent person is not able to make an informed and voluntary choice to exercise a hypothetical right to refuse treatment or any other right. Such a ‘right’ must be exercised for her, if at all, by some sort of surrogate.”5 The court also opined that a state – in this case, Missouri – may apply a clear and convincing evidentiary standard in proceedings where a guardian seeks to discontinue nutrition and hydration.
Clear and convincing evidence is said to exist where there is a finding of high probability, based on evidence “so clear as to leave no substantial doubt” and “sufficiently strong to command the unhesitating assent of every reasonable mind.”
However, where a patient’s wishes are not clear and convincing, a court will be reluctant to order cessation of treatment, as in the landmark case of Wendland v. Wendland, where the California Supreme Court unanimously disallowed the discontinuation of a patient’s tube feedings.6
The patient, Robert Wendland, had regained consciousness after 14 months in a coma, but was left hemiparetic and incontinent, and could not feed by mouth or dress, bathe, and communicate consistently. He did not have an advance directive, but had made statements to the effect he would not want to live in a vegetative state.
His wife, Rose, refused to authorize reinsertion of his dislodged feeding tube, believing that Robert would not have wanted it replaced. The patient’s daughter and brother, as well as the hospital’s ethics committee, county ombudsman, and a court-appointed counsel, all agreed with the decision.
But the patient’s mother, Florence, went to court to block the action. The court determined that Robert’s statements were not clear and convincing, because they did not address his current condition, were not sufficiently specific, and were not necessarily intended to direct his medical care. Further, the patient’s spouse had failed to provide sufficient evidence that her decision was in her husband’s best interests.
Issues surrounding treatment at the end of life can be difficult and elusive. Even where there is an advance medical directive, statements made by patients in the document do not always comport with their eventual treatment decisions.
In a telling study, the authors found that only two-thirds of the time were decisions consistent.7 One-third of patients changed their preferences in the face of actual illness, usually in favor of treatments rejected in advance. Surrogate agreement was only 58%, and surrogates tended to overestimate their loved one’s desire for treatment.
The designation of who may be the legitimate alternative decision maker is another contentious issue, with laws varying widely from state to state.8
All of this may have in part prompted Singapore’s newly enacted Mental Capacity Act,9 which permits a surrogate to make wide-ranging decisions on behalf of an incapacitated person, to specifically exclude decisions regarding life-sustaining treatment and any measure that the physician “reasonably believes is necessary to prevent a serious deterioration” in the patient’s condition.
The decisional responsibility resides in the treating physician, who is obligated by law to make an effort to assist the patient to come to a decision, failing which it is made in the patient’s best interests.
Dr. Tan is emeritus professor of medicine and former adjunct professor of law at the University of Hawaii, Honolulu. This article is meant to be educational and does not constitute medical, ethical, or legal advice. For additional information, readers may contact the author at [email protected].
References
1. Lane v. Candura, 6 Mass. App. 377 (1978).
2. Matter of Roosevelt Hospital, N.Y.L.J. 13 Jan 1977 p. 7 (Sup. Ct., New York Co.).
3. State Dept Human Resources v. Northern, 563 SW 2d 197 (Tenn. Ct. App., 1978).
4. In the matter of Karen Quinlan, 355 A.2d 647 (N.J., 1976).
5. Cruzan v. Director Missouri Department of Health, 110 S. Ct. 2841 (1990).
6. Wendland v. Wendland, 28 P.3d 151 (Cal., 2001).
7. J Clin Ethics. 1998 Fall;9(3):258-62.
8. N Engl J Med. 2017 Apr 13;376(15):1478-82.
9. Singapore’s Mental Capacity Act (Chapter 177A).
Question: Mrs. Wong, age 80 years, has vascular dementia, and for the last 2 years has lived in a nursing home. She is forgetful and disoriented to time, person, and place, and totally dependent on others for all of her daily living needs. But she remains verbal and recognizes family members.
Recently, her glomerular filtration rate declined to less than 10% normal, and she has developed symptoms of uremia, i.e., nausea, vomiting, and intractable hiccups. The nephrologist has diagnosed end-stage renal failure and recommends hemodialysis, which will improve her renal symptoms and may extend her life by 1-2 years. But it will do nothing for her underlying dementia, which is progressive and irreversible.
Should she undergo hemodialysis? Choose the best single answer:
A. Mrs. Wong definitely lacks the capacity to decide whether to undergo hemodialysis.
B. A court-appointed guardian should make the decision.
C. Hemodialysis is futile and is medically contraindicated, inhumane, and unethical.
D. Hemodialysis is a life-extending form of comfort care, and therefore cannot be withheld.
E. The choice is hers if she understands the procedure and the consequences of her decision.
Answer: E. The terms competence and capacity are often used interchangeably in the health care context, although there are distinctions. Technically, a patient remains competent until a court says otherwise. On the other hand, the determination of medical decision-making capacity can be made by the attending physician and does not ordinarily require a court hearing.
Medical capacity can be determined by the use of the four-point test, which asks whether:
1. The patient understands the nature of the intervention.
2. The patient understands the consequences of the decision (especially refusal of treatment).
3. The patient is able to communicate his/her wishes.
4. Those wishes are compatible with the patient’s known values.
Courts tend to rule in favor of a finding of capacity. In one case, the court found no evidence that the patient’s “forgetfulness and confusion cause, or relate in any way to, impairment of her ability to understand that, in rejecting the amputation, she is, in effect, choosing death over life.”1
In another, the court opined, “However humble the background, sad and deprived the way of life, each individual should have the choice as to what is done to his body, if he is capable of understanding the consequences. This patient, although suffering from an organic brain disease, in the court’s opinion understands the consequences of his refusal. … I find that he has sufficient capacity and competence to consent to or refuse the proposed surgery.”2
Sometimes capacity is truly lacking. In a Tennessee case, Mary Northern, an elderly woman, refused amputation, denying that gangrene had caused her feet to be “dead, black, shriveled, rotting, and stinking.”3 Instead, she believed that they were merely blackened by soot or dust.
The court declared her incompetent, because she was “incapable of recognizing facts which would be obvious to a person of normal perception.” The court said that if she had acknowledged that her legs were gangrenous but refused amputation because she preferred death to the loss of her feet, she would have been considered competent to refuse surgery.
When the patient lacks capacity, a surrogate steps in. This may be a person previously designated by the patient as having durable power of attorney for health care decisions, and he/she is obligated to give voice to what the patient would have wanted. This is called substituted judgment.
Often, no surrogate has been formally mentioned, and a family member assumes the role; rarely, a court-appointed guardian takes over. When there is no knowledge of the patient’s wishes, the decision is then made in the patient’s best interests.
That a surrogate can make life and death decisions was first enunciated in the seminal case of Karen Ann Quinlan, where the New Jersey Supreme Court famously wrote, “The sad truth, however, is that she is grossly incompetent, and we cannot discern her supposed choice based on the testimony of her previous conversations with friends, where such testimony is without sufficient probative weight. Nevertheless, we have concluded that Karen’s right of privacy may be asserted on her behalf by her guardian under the peculiar circumstances here present.”4
The U.S. Supreme Court in Cruzan v. Director Missouri Department of Health has similarly held that an “incompetent person is not able to make an informed and voluntary choice to exercise a hypothetical right to refuse treatment or any other right. Such a ‘right’ must be exercised for her, if at all, by some sort of surrogate.”5 The court also opined that a state – in this case, Missouri – may apply a clear and convincing evidentiary standard in proceedings where a guardian seeks to discontinue nutrition and hydration.
Clear and convincing evidence is said to exist where there is a finding of high probability, based on evidence “so clear as to leave no substantial doubt” and “sufficiently strong to command the unhesitating assent of every reasonable mind.”
However, where a patient’s wishes are not clear and convincing, a court will be reluctant to order cessation of treatment, as in the landmark case of Wendland v. Wendland, where the California Supreme Court unanimously disallowed the discontinuation of a patient’s tube feedings.6
The patient, Robert Wendland, had regained consciousness after 14 months in a coma, but was left hemiparetic and incontinent, and could not feed by mouth or dress, bathe, and communicate consistently. He did not have an advance directive, but had made statements to the effect he would not want to live in a vegetative state.
His wife, Rose, refused to authorize reinsertion of his dislodged feeding tube, believing that Robert would not have wanted it replaced. The patient’s daughter and brother, as well as the hospital’s ethics committee, county ombudsman, and a court-appointed counsel, all agreed with the decision.
But the patient’s mother, Florence, went to court to block the action. The court determined that Robert’s statements were not clear and convincing, because they did not address his current condition, were not sufficiently specific, and were not necessarily intended to direct his medical care. Further, the patient’s spouse had failed to provide sufficient evidence that her decision was in her husband’s best interests.
Issues surrounding treatment at the end of life can be difficult and elusive. Even where there is an advance medical directive, statements made by patients in the document do not always comport with their eventual treatment decisions.
In a telling study, the authors found that only two-thirds of the time were decisions consistent.7 One-third of patients changed their preferences in the face of actual illness, usually in favor of treatments rejected in advance. Surrogate agreement was only 58%, and surrogates tended to overestimate their loved one’s desire for treatment.
The designation of who may be the legitimate alternative decision maker is another contentious issue, with laws varying widely from state to state.8
All of this may have in part prompted Singapore’s newly enacted Mental Capacity Act,9 which permits a surrogate to make wide-ranging decisions on behalf of an incapacitated person, to specifically exclude decisions regarding life-sustaining treatment and any measure that the physician “reasonably believes is necessary to prevent a serious deterioration” in the patient’s condition.
The decisional responsibility resides in the treating physician, who is obligated by law to make an effort to assist the patient to come to a decision, failing which it is made in the patient’s best interests.
Dr. Tan is emeritus professor of medicine and former adjunct professor of law at the University of Hawaii, Honolulu. This article is meant to be educational and does not constitute medical, ethical, or legal advice. For additional information, readers may contact the author at [email protected].
References
1. Lane v. Candura, 6 Mass. App. 377 (1978).
2. Matter of Roosevelt Hospital, N.Y.L.J. 13 Jan 1977 p. 7 (Sup. Ct., New York Co.).
3. State Dept Human Resources v. Northern, 563 SW 2d 197 (Tenn. Ct. App., 1978).
4. In the matter of Karen Quinlan, 355 A.2d 647 (N.J., 1976).
5. Cruzan v. Director Missouri Department of Health, 110 S. Ct. 2841 (1990).
6. Wendland v. Wendland, 28 P.3d 151 (Cal., 2001).
7. J Clin Ethics. 1998 Fall;9(3):258-62.
8. N Engl J Med. 2017 Apr 13;376(15):1478-82.
9. Singapore’s Mental Capacity Act (Chapter 177A).
Tubed out
I’m a little concerned about my grandchildren. I worry that when they are in their twenties, no one will want them as trivia teammates. Or when they are hanging out with other 40-something couples, they will fade into the wallpaper when the conversation turns to, “Remember that episode of Big Bang Theory when ... .”
The 5½-year-old and the 8-year-old have grown up in a household that has never had a TV, and the 10- and 12-year-old are surviving with a cable connection so basic that it barely gets more than a few shopping channels and the local school board meetings.
Our children were just too busy doing things to watch much TV. Now as adults they have been paying attention to what they have heard and read about the potential negative influence that TV may have on their own children, and imposed restrictions far more severe than those under which they were raised. It has been interesting to watch how their children are responding to these TV-deprived environments.
For the most part, there has been no whining or begging to turn on the TV. The younger two have no other option and don’t realize what they are missing. The older two, who watched some Sesame Street as toddlers, have been similarly disinterested, although my 10-year-old grandson enjoys watching some sports when the opportunity arises.
So what do my grandchildren do with the 28 hours each week that their peers are spending in front of a TV (“Television and Children,” University of Michigan Medical School/Michigan Medicine website)? The two older girls are voracious readers. One spends hours drawing, and with her younger sister, always has a craft project or two going. The older two are skillful board and card game players, and they play musical instruments. All four are involved in at least one sport per season, and when asked, they would prefer to be playing something outside. And they go to bed at a healthy hour.
In a recent article in AAP News (“How to provide evidence-based pediatric care for the digital age,” May 2017), Michael O. Rich, MD, a member of the American Academy of Pediatrics Council on Communications and Media, writes, “Our traditional advice to limit screen time and restrict content is no longer relevant and often unheard by families.” I agree that for many years that AAP advice had been too focused on content. However, seeing my grandchildren thrive in an environment of what many might consider an extreme screen time restriction has further reinforced my previous observations that the critical issue with screen time is that it replaces health-promoting active alternatives. Even screen time that requires some interaction relegates the child to the role of a sedentary spectator.
Although Dr. Rich is to be commended for suggesting that we look at evidence-based studies as we decide how to counsel parents about screen time, I am always skeptical about the validity of short-term “evidence.” I fear that some of the evidence-based studies are being used to excuse or rationalize an already unhealthy situation. At some point we need to step back and take the longer look. Would you rather see your grandchildren hunched over a screen or couched in front of a television watching other people doing things, or would you prefer that they be physically active doers and creators themselves?
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.”
I’m a little concerned about my grandchildren. I worry that when they are in their twenties, no one will want them as trivia teammates. Or when they are hanging out with other 40-something couples, they will fade into the wallpaper when the conversation turns to, “Remember that episode of Big Bang Theory when ... .”
The 5½-year-old and the 8-year-old have grown up in a household that has never had a TV, and the 10- and 12-year-old are surviving with a cable connection so basic that it barely gets more than a few shopping channels and the local school board meetings.
Our children were just too busy doing things to watch much TV. Now as adults they have been paying attention to what they have heard and read about the potential negative influence that TV may have on their own children, and imposed restrictions far more severe than those under which they were raised. It has been interesting to watch how their children are responding to these TV-deprived environments.
For the most part, there has been no whining or begging to turn on the TV. The younger two have no other option and don’t realize what they are missing. The older two, who watched some Sesame Street as toddlers, have been similarly disinterested, although my 10-year-old grandson enjoys watching some sports when the opportunity arises.
So what do my grandchildren do with the 28 hours each week that their peers are spending in front of a TV (“Television and Children,” University of Michigan Medical School/Michigan Medicine website)? The two older girls are voracious readers. One spends hours drawing, and with her younger sister, always has a craft project or two going. The older two are skillful board and card game players, and they play musical instruments. All four are involved in at least one sport per season, and when asked, they would prefer to be playing something outside. And they go to bed at a healthy hour.
In a recent article in AAP News (“How to provide evidence-based pediatric care for the digital age,” May 2017), Michael O. Rich, MD, a member of the American Academy of Pediatrics Council on Communications and Media, writes, “Our traditional advice to limit screen time and restrict content is no longer relevant and often unheard by families.” I agree that for many years that AAP advice had been too focused on content. However, seeing my grandchildren thrive in an environment of what many might consider an extreme screen time restriction has further reinforced my previous observations that the critical issue with screen time is that it replaces health-promoting active alternatives. Even screen time that requires some interaction relegates the child to the role of a sedentary spectator.
Although Dr. Rich is to be commended for suggesting that we look at evidence-based studies as we decide how to counsel parents about screen time, I am always skeptical about the validity of short-term “evidence.” I fear that some of the evidence-based studies are being used to excuse or rationalize an already unhealthy situation. At some point we need to step back and take the longer look. Would you rather see your grandchildren hunched over a screen or couched in front of a television watching other people doing things, or would you prefer that they be physically active doers and creators themselves?
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.”
I’m a little concerned about my grandchildren. I worry that when they are in their twenties, no one will want them as trivia teammates. Or when they are hanging out with other 40-something couples, they will fade into the wallpaper when the conversation turns to, “Remember that episode of Big Bang Theory when ... .”
The 5½-year-old and the 8-year-old have grown up in a household that has never had a TV, and the 10- and 12-year-old are surviving with a cable connection so basic that it barely gets more than a few shopping channels and the local school board meetings.
Our children were just too busy doing things to watch much TV. Now as adults they have been paying attention to what they have heard and read about the potential negative influence that TV may have on their own children, and imposed restrictions far more severe than those under which they were raised. It has been interesting to watch how their children are responding to these TV-deprived environments.
For the most part, there has been no whining or begging to turn on the TV. The younger two have no other option and don’t realize what they are missing. The older two, who watched some Sesame Street as toddlers, have been similarly disinterested, although my 10-year-old grandson enjoys watching some sports when the opportunity arises.
So what do my grandchildren do with the 28 hours each week that their peers are spending in front of a TV (“Television and Children,” University of Michigan Medical School/Michigan Medicine website)? The two older girls are voracious readers. One spends hours drawing, and with her younger sister, always has a craft project or two going. The older two are skillful board and card game players, and they play musical instruments. All four are involved in at least one sport per season, and when asked, they would prefer to be playing something outside. And they go to bed at a healthy hour.
In a recent article in AAP News (“How to provide evidence-based pediatric care for the digital age,” May 2017), Michael O. Rich, MD, a member of the American Academy of Pediatrics Council on Communications and Media, writes, “Our traditional advice to limit screen time and restrict content is no longer relevant and often unheard by families.” I agree that for many years that AAP advice had been too focused on content. However, seeing my grandchildren thrive in an environment of what many might consider an extreme screen time restriction has further reinforced my previous observations that the critical issue with screen time is that it replaces health-promoting active alternatives. Even screen time that requires some interaction relegates the child to the role of a sedentary spectator.
Although Dr. Rich is to be commended for suggesting that we look at evidence-based studies as we decide how to counsel parents about screen time, I am always skeptical about the validity of short-term “evidence.” I fear that some of the evidence-based studies are being used to excuse or rationalize an already unhealthy situation. At some point we need to step back and take the longer look. Would you rather see your grandchildren hunched over a screen or couched in front of a television watching other people doing things, or would you prefer that they be physically active doers and creators themselves?
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.”
Dining alone
I have a repertoire of about a dozen soups that I enjoy preparing, but I certainly don’t consider myself a gourmet chef. However, I can legitimately claim to be a master of the microwave. Hand me a potentially edible substance, and I will nuke it to a palatable temperature in one step. This skill comes from 30 years of practice and requires a sixth sense that includes factoring in the object’s water content, shape, and density, and knowing whether I am starting from the frozen state, refrigerator cool, or room temperature.
Sadly, our 30-some-year-old microwave nuked its last leftover in a shower of sparks a few weeks ago, and I have been forced to recalibrate my technique with a new machine. Not to worry, I am just one or two more rewarmed meals away from returning to my old “nukelear” mastery.
Unfortunately, as with any new technology, the ubiquity of countertop microwave ovens has come with some downsides. While they do offer the cooking challenged among us a broad choice of foods we can prepare in minutes or seconds, the choices we make are not always nutritiously sound.
The microwave oven and single-serving prepared frozen meals have been a great boon to people who live alone or live or work on schedules out of sync with their families’ meal schedule. However, there is a point when this technologically-enabled nutritional independence begins to take precedence over communal dining. The family meal slips on to the endangered species list. Although there is some debate about whether family meals are any more valuable as character-building exercises than other shared family experiences, there is no question that children in families who dine together on a regular basis enjoy substantial health benefits, such as less depressive symptoms, more healthy foods, fewer weight problems, and less delinquency.
The forces that have driven the family meal into decline are numerous and powerful. However, we should not underestimate the role that the microwave oven has had in greasing this path toward extinction. Even if the family has one member with the time, skills, and commitment to create nutritious and complete meals, the microwave oven offers even the youngest member an easy way to opt out of sharing it with the rest of his family. A parent who must work late can rewarm his serving at 9:00 p.m. when he or she gets home. The high school thespian can nuke her own prepared frozen dinner at 5 p.m. so she can get to a rehearsal at 6 p.m. And, the 4-year-old picky eater who won’t touch anything green can have his treasured mac ‘n cheese warmed to his taste while everyone else is enjoying fish tacos. And, there you have it. Poof! With the touch of a couple buttons, the opportunity for a family to enjoy a meal together and share their experiences of the day has vanished into thin air along with a valuable lesson in cooperation and compromise.
But, we needn’t worry about those family members who are dining separately getting lonely because more than likely they each have their own electronic companion to keep them company while they eat their microwaved meal.
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.”
I have a repertoire of about a dozen soups that I enjoy preparing, but I certainly don’t consider myself a gourmet chef. However, I can legitimately claim to be a master of the microwave. Hand me a potentially edible substance, and I will nuke it to a palatable temperature in one step. This skill comes from 30 years of practice and requires a sixth sense that includes factoring in the object’s water content, shape, and density, and knowing whether I am starting from the frozen state, refrigerator cool, or room temperature.
Sadly, our 30-some-year-old microwave nuked its last leftover in a shower of sparks a few weeks ago, and I have been forced to recalibrate my technique with a new machine. Not to worry, I am just one or two more rewarmed meals away from returning to my old “nukelear” mastery.
Unfortunately, as with any new technology, the ubiquity of countertop microwave ovens has come with some downsides. While they do offer the cooking challenged among us a broad choice of foods we can prepare in minutes or seconds, the choices we make are not always nutritiously sound.
The microwave oven and single-serving prepared frozen meals have been a great boon to people who live alone or live or work on schedules out of sync with their families’ meal schedule. However, there is a point when this technologically-enabled nutritional independence begins to take precedence over communal dining. The family meal slips on to the endangered species list. Although there is some debate about whether family meals are any more valuable as character-building exercises than other shared family experiences, there is no question that children in families who dine together on a regular basis enjoy substantial health benefits, such as less depressive symptoms, more healthy foods, fewer weight problems, and less delinquency.
The forces that have driven the family meal into decline are numerous and powerful. However, we should not underestimate the role that the microwave oven has had in greasing this path toward extinction. Even if the family has one member with the time, skills, and commitment to create nutritious and complete meals, the microwave oven offers even the youngest member an easy way to opt out of sharing it with the rest of his family. A parent who must work late can rewarm his serving at 9:00 p.m. when he or she gets home. The high school thespian can nuke her own prepared frozen dinner at 5 p.m. so she can get to a rehearsal at 6 p.m. And, the 4-year-old picky eater who won’t touch anything green can have his treasured mac ‘n cheese warmed to his taste while everyone else is enjoying fish tacos. And, there you have it. Poof! With the touch of a couple buttons, the opportunity for a family to enjoy a meal together and share their experiences of the day has vanished into thin air along with a valuable lesson in cooperation and compromise.
But, we needn’t worry about those family members who are dining separately getting lonely because more than likely they each have their own electronic companion to keep them company while they eat their microwaved meal.
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.”
I have a repertoire of about a dozen soups that I enjoy preparing, but I certainly don’t consider myself a gourmet chef. However, I can legitimately claim to be a master of the microwave. Hand me a potentially edible substance, and I will nuke it to a palatable temperature in one step. This skill comes from 30 years of practice and requires a sixth sense that includes factoring in the object’s water content, shape, and density, and knowing whether I am starting from the frozen state, refrigerator cool, or room temperature.
Sadly, our 30-some-year-old microwave nuked its last leftover in a shower of sparks a few weeks ago, and I have been forced to recalibrate my technique with a new machine. Not to worry, I am just one or two more rewarmed meals away from returning to my old “nukelear” mastery.
Unfortunately, as with any new technology, the ubiquity of countertop microwave ovens has come with some downsides. While they do offer the cooking challenged among us a broad choice of foods we can prepare in minutes or seconds, the choices we make are not always nutritiously sound.
The microwave oven and single-serving prepared frozen meals have been a great boon to people who live alone or live or work on schedules out of sync with their families’ meal schedule. However, there is a point when this technologically-enabled nutritional independence begins to take precedence over communal dining. The family meal slips on to the endangered species list. Although there is some debate about whether family meals are any more valuable as character-building exercises than other shared family experiences, there is no question that children in families who dine together on a regular basis enjoy substantial health benefits, such as less depressive symptoms, more healthy foods, fewer weight problems, and less delinquency.
The forces that have driven the family meal into decline are numerous and powerful. However, we should not underestimate the role that the microwave oven has had in greasing this path toward extinction. Even if the family has one member with the time, skills, and commitment to create nutritious and complete meals, the microwave oven offers even the youngest member an easy way to opt out of sharing it with the rest of his family. A parent who must work late can rewarm his serving at 9:00 p.m. when he or she gets home. The high school thespian can nuke her own prepared frozen dinner at 5 p.m. so she can get to a rehearsal at 6 p.m. And, the 4-year-old picky eater who won’t touch anything green can have his treasured mac ‘n cheese warmed to his taste while everyone else is enjoying fish tacos. And, there you have it. Poof! With the touch of a couple buttons, the opportunity for a family to enjoy a meal together and share their experiences of the day has vanished into thin air along with a valuable lesson in cooperation and compromise.
But, we needn’t worry about those family members who are dining separately getting lonely because more than likely they each have their own electronic companion to keep them company while they eat their microwaved meal.
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.”
Psychological account of Robert Lowell’s life is magnificent
Robert Lowell knew civic valor. Sixteen times and more he had been down on his knees in madness, he said. Sixteen times and more he had gotten up. He had gone back to his work, entered back into life. He had faced down uncertainty and madness, had created new forms when pushed to stay with the old, had brought back imaginative order from chaos. It was a different kind of courage, this civic courage, and the rules of engagement were unclear. Lowell’s life, as his daughter observed, was a messy one, difficult for him and for those who knew him. But it was lived with iron, and often with grace. He kept always in the front of his mind what he thought he ought to be, even when he couldn’t be it; he believed in what his country could be, even if it wasn’t. He worked hard at his art.
–Kay Redfield Jamison, PhD, in “Robert Lowell, Setting the River on Fire: A Study of Genius, Mania, and Character” (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2017).
Lowell, who lived from 1917 to 1977, was a two-time Pulitzer Prize winner, deemed to be the greatest American poet of his time. He studied the classics and was obsessed with Napoleon as a child, and he drew on the work of other great poets and classicists as influences for his own work. I must confess, I came to this psychological study having never read the work of Robert Lowell. My only familiarity with the poet came directly from the author. I heard Dr. Jamison, a professor of psychiatry at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, speak several years ago at the Johns Hopkins Annual Mood Disorders Symposium about her then work-in-progress as she was researching this book. What I heard was intriguing enough that I was eager to read and review a long and solid book about a great poet whose work I had never read.
As I began “Setting The River On Fire,” my first thought was that the writing itself was astounding. Dr. Jamison’s words flow, her metaphors never fall flat or feel artificial, the ride itself is lovely. I looked for a few lines to quote as an example, and I was left at a standstill. One line was more gracious than the next. I finally settled on the quote I used at the beginning of this piece, benignly chosen from page 403 because it encapsulated not just the beautiful writing but a synopsis of who Lowell was and what he had achieved, set in the context of attempted differentiation between the man, the madness, and the interplay of the two.
Dr. Jamison’s research on Lowell’s life is nothing short of astounding and was clearly a labor that took both sustained passion and years of her time. Dr. Jamison quoted the poet at length. She is an expert on his many volumes of poetry and prose, as well as his life and loves – three marriages and many intimate friendships – documented through letters and conversations. In addition, she quoted many other poets as examples of how their work influenced Lowell. Beyond the literature and correspondence, Dr. Jamison interviewed those who knew Lowell well. She unearthed his medical and psychiatric records, and she plotted out the course of his life in an uncanny way, linking so much of his work to the ebbs and flows of his illness. My only “criticism” of the book would be in how extensive it is. She sometimes makes a point by quoting several sources, each of whom drive at the same idea. It makes for very strong rhetoric.
His second wife, Elizabeth Hardwick, had a striking understanding of his illness as a biological disorder beyond his control. Her sympathy for his behavior as a product of illness allowed her to tolerate actions that many people would not, even with our current day emphasis on disease states, including sexual indiscretions. His friends, too, saw the uncharacteristic chaos of his manias as the result of a state of illness, and, as such, as forgivable. These were often not subtle indiscretions: Jamison describes intense delusional states, combative behavior, police with straightjackets, often at very public and professional events worldwide. If psychoanalytic thinking weighed in on an understanding of Lowell’s motivations, Dr. Jamison did not include it in her study of Lowell, and she makes a point at the end of saying that she focused on his illness and did not include the content of psychotherapy notes. Still, I was struck by the understanding of his depressions and manias as a state of illness by lay people in his life and thought that, given the time period, it was noteworthy.
On a similar vein, I wondered if Lowell could live his life now as he lived his life then. A crucial arena for his career was Harvard College, where he returned over and over to teach. Dr. Jamison says that Lowell lectured in an acutely psychotic and disorganized state. She says that, while students clamored to take his classes, so, too, they were afraid of him. I cannot quite imagine that, in our world of “trigger warnings,” microaggressions, and college safe spaces, we might ever allow an openly ill genius to reign in a classroom of students. I am never certain if we are aimed forward or backward in our struggle against stigma, and “Setting The River On Fire” may be one more example in which we have lost ground in a quest for tolerance.
Once again, Dr. Jamison pulled me into her world. “Setting The River On Fire” is no one’s version of a light or happy read, it is a serious study of an intensely brilliant and often desperately ill poet – and it does not disappoint.
Dr. Miller, who practices in Baltimore, is coauthor with Annette Hanson, MD, of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care,” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016).
Robert Lowell knew civic valor. Sixteen times and more he had been down on his knees in madness, he said. Sixteen times and more he had gotten up. He had gone back to his work, entered back into life. He had faced down uncertainty and madness, had created new forms when pushed to stay with the old, had brought back imaginative order from chaos. It was a different kind of courage, this civic courage, and the rules of engagement were unclear. Lowell’s life, as his daughter observed, was a messy one, difficult for him and for those who knew him. But it was lived with iron, and often with grace. He kept always in the front of his mind what he thought he ought to be, even when he couldn’t be it; he believed in what his country could be, even if it wasn’t. He worked hard at his art.
–Kay Redfield Jamison, PhD, in “Robert Lowell, Setting the River on Fire: A Study of Genius, Mania, and Character” (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2017).
Lowell, who lived from 1917 to 1977, was a two-time Pulitzer Prize winner, deemed to be the greatest American poet of his time. He studied the classics and was obsessed with Napoleon as a child, and he drew on the work of other great poets and classicists as influences for his own work. I must confess, I came to this psychological study having never read the work of Robert Lowell. My only familiarity with the poet came directly from the author. I heard Dr. Jamison, a professor of psychiatry at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, speak several years ago at the Johns Hopkins Annual Mood Disorders Symposium about her then work-in-progress as she was researching this book. What I heard was intriguing enough that I was eager to read and review a long and solid book about a great poet whose work I had never read.
As I began “Setting The River On Fire,” my first thought was that the writing itself was astounding. Dr. Jamison’s words flow, her metaphors never fall flat or feel artificial, the ride itself is lovely. I looked for a few lines to quote as an example, and I was left at a standstill. One line was more gracious than the next. I finally settled on the quote I used at the beginning of this piece, benignly chosen from page 403 because it encapsulated not just the beautiful writing but a synopsis of who Lowell was and what he had achieved, set in the context of attempted differentiation between the man, the madness, and the interplay of the two.
Dr. Jamison’s research on Lowell’s life is nothing short of astounding and was clearly a labor that took both sustained passion and years of her time. Dr. Jamison quoted the poet at length. She is an expert on his many volumes of poetry and prose, as well as his life and loves – three marriages and many intimate friendships – documented through letters and conversations. In addition, she quoted many other poets as examples of how their work influenced Lowell. Beyond the literature and correspondence, Dr. Jamison interviewed those who knew Lowell well. She unearthed his medical and psychiatric records, and she plotted out the course of his life in an uncanny way, linking so much of his work to the ebbs and flows of his illness. My only “criticism” of the book would be in how extensive it is. She sometimes makes a point by quoting several sources, each of whom drive at the same idea. It makes for very strong rhetoric.
His second wife, Elizabeth Hardwick, had a striking understanding of his illness as a biological disorder beyond his control. Her sympathy for his behavior as a product of illness allowed her to tolerate actions that many people would not, even with our current day emphasis on disease states, including sexual indiscretions. His friends, too, saw the uncharacteristic chaos of his manias as the result of a state of illness, and, as such, as forgivable. These were often not subtle indiscretions: Jamison describes intense delusional states, combative behavior, police with straightjackets, often at very public and professional events worldwide. If psychoanalytic thinking weighed in on an understanding of Lowell’s motivations, Dr. Jamison did not include it in her study of Lowell, and she makes a point at the end of saying that she focused on his illness and did not include the content of psychotherapy notes. Still, I was struck by the understanding of his depressions and manias as a state of illness by lay people in his life and thought that, given the time period, it was noteworthy.
On a similar vein, I wondered if Lowell could live his life now as he lived his life then. A crucial arena for his career was Harvard College, where he returned over and over to teach. Dr. Jamison says that Lowell lectured in an acutely psychotic and disorganized state. She says that, while students clamored to take his classes, so, too, they were afraid of him. I cannot quite imagine that, in our world of “trigger warnings,” microaggressions, and college safe spaces, we might ever allow an openly ill genius to reign in a classroom of students. I am never certain if we are aimed forward or backward in our struggle against stigma, and “Setting The River On Fire” may be one more example in which we have lost ground in a quest for tolerance.
Once again, Dr. Jamison pulled me into her world. “Setting The River On Fire” is no one’s version of a light or happy read, it is a serious study of an intensely brilliant and often desperately ill poet – and it does not disappoint.
Dr. Miller, who practices in Baltimore, is coauthor with Annette Hanson, MD, of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care,” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016).
Robert Lowell knew civic valor. Sixteen times and more he had been down on his knees in madness, he said. Sixteen times and more he had gotten up. He had gone back to his work, entered back into life. He had faced down uncertainty and madness, had created new forms when pushed to stay with the old, had brought back imaginative order from chaos. It was a different kind of courage, this civic courage, and the rules of engagement were unclear. Lowell’s life, as his daughter observed, was a messy one, difficult for him and for those who knew him. But it was lived with iron, and often with grace. He kept always in the front of his mind what he thought he ought to be, even when he couldn’t be it; he believed in what his country could be, even if it wasn’t. He worked hard at his art.
–Kay Redfield Jamison, PhD, in “Robert Lowell, Setting the River on Fire: A Study of Genius, Mania, and Character” (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2017).
Lowell, who lived from 1917 to 1977, was a two-time Pulitzer Prize winner, deemed to be the greatest American poet of his time. He studied the classics and was obsessed with Napoleon as a child, and he drew on the work of other great poets and classicists as influences for his own work. I must confess, I came to this psychological study having never read the work of Robert Lowell. My only familiarity with the poet came directly from the author. I heard Dr. Jamison, a professor of psychiatry at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, speak several years ago at the Johns Hopkins Annual Mood Disorders Symposium about her then work-in-progress as she was researching this book. What I heard was intriguing enough that I was eager to read and review a long and solid book about a great poet whose work I had never read.
As I began “Setting The River On Fire,” my first thought was that the writing itself was astounding. Dr. Jamison’s words flow, her metaphors never fall flat or feel artificial, the ride itself is lovely. I looked for a few lines to quote as an example, and I was left at a standstill. One line was more gracious than the next. I finally settled on the quote I used at the beginning of this piece, benignly chosen from page 403 because it encapsulated not just the beautiful writing but a synopsis of who Lowell was and what he had achieved, set in the context of attempted differentiation between the man, the madness, and the interplay of the two.
Dr. Jamison’s research on Lowell’s life is nothing short of astounding and was clearly a labor that took both sustained passion and years of her time. Dr. Jamison quoted the poet at length. She is an expert on his many volumes of poetry and prose, as well as his life and loves – three marriages and many intimate friendships – documented through letters and conversations. In addition, she quoted many other poets as examples of how their work influenced Lowell. Beyond the literature and correspondence, Dr. Jamison interviewed those who knew Lowell well. She unearthed his medical and psychiatric records, and she plotted out the course of his life in an uncanny way, linking so much of his work to the ebbs and flows of his illness. My only “criticism” of the book would be in how extensive it is. She sometimes makes a point by quoting several sources, each of whom drive at the same idea. It makes for very strong rhetoric.
His second wife, Elizabeth Hardwick, had a striking understanding of his illness as a biological disorder beyond his control. Her sympathy for his behavior as a product of illness allowed her to tolerate actions that many people would not, even with our current day emphasis on disease states, including sexual indiscretions. His friends, too, saw the uncharacteristic chaos of his manias as the result of a state of illness, and, as such, as forgivable. These were often not subtle indiscretions: Jamison describes intense delusional states, combative behavior, police with straightjackets, often at very public and professional events worldwide. If psychoanalytic thinking weighed in on an understanding of Lowell’s motivations, Dr. Jamison did not include it in her study of Lowell, and she makes a point at the end of saying that she focused on his illness and did not include the content of psychotherapy notes. Still, I was struck by the understanding of his depressions and manias as a state of illness by lay people in his life and thought that, given the time period, it was noteworthy.
On a similar vein, I wondered if Lowell could live his life now as he lived his life then. A crucial arena for his career was Harvard College, where he returned over and over to teach. Dr. Jamison says that Lowell lectured in an acutely psychotic and disorganized state. She says that, while students clamored to take his classes, so, too, they were afraid of him. I cannot quite imagine that, in our world of “trigger warnings,” microaggressions, and college safe spaces, we might ever allow an openly ill genius to reign in a classroom of students. I am never certain if we are aimed forward or backward in our struggle against stigma, and “Setting The River On Fire” may be one more example in which we have lost ground in a quest for tolerance.
Once again, Dr. Jamison pulled me into her world. “Setting The River On Fire” is no one’s version of a light or happy read, it is a serious study of an intensely brilliant and often desperately ill poet – and it does not disappoint.
Dr. Miller, who practices in Baltimore, is coauthor with Annette Hanson, MD, of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care,” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016).
Restoring the promise of (really) meaningful use
When we started publishing the EHR Report several years ago, our very first column was a brief overview of a new federal incentive program known as Meaningful Use. At that time, the prospect of receiving thousands of dollars to adopt an electronic health record seemed exciting, and our dream of health care’s digital future appeared to be coming true.
Best of all, we as physicians would be paid to simply embrace it!
Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before that dream (for many at least) devolved into a nightmare. Electronic health records hadn’t been designed to fit into physicians’ long-established work flows, and just weren’t up to the challenge of increasing efficiency. In fact, EHRs quickly became virtual taskmasters, leaving physicians mired in a sea of clicks and slow-moving screens.
Frankly speaking, Meaningful Use hasn’t lived up to its promises. With measures obligating users to fill in a myriad of check-boxes and document often irrelevant information, the program has seemed less like an incentive and more like a penance.
To top it off, the all-or-nothing requirement has meant that – after a year of hard work – providers missing even one goal receive no payments at all, and instead are assessed financial penalties!
All of this has appropriately led physicians to become jaded – not excited – about the digital future.
Thankfully, there is reason for hope: 2017 marks the end of Meaningful Use under Medicare.
What’s new for 2017?
MACRA has a much grander scope and sets an even loftier goal: transforming care delivery to achieve better value and ultimately healthier patients.
Now, in case you’re not already confused by the number of programs cited above, there is one more we need to mention to explain the future of EHR incentives: the Merit-based Incentive Payment System, or MIPS, one of two tracks in the Quality Payment Program.
The majority of Medicare providers will choose this track, which focuses on four major components to determine reimbursement incentives: quality, improvement activities, advancing care information, and cost.
Depending on performance in each of these areas, participants will see a variable payment adjustment (upward or downward) in subsequent years (this is a percentage of Medicare payments that increases annually, beginning with a possible +/– 4% in 2019, to a maximum of +/– 9% in 2022).
Providers under MIPS who choose to attest for this year can select from three levels of participation:
1. Test: submission of only a minimal amount of 2017 data (such as one or two measures) to avoid penalty.
2. Partial: submission of 90 days’ worth of data, which may result in a neutral or positive payment adjustment (and may even earn the max adjustment).
3. Full: submission of a full year of data.
Here’s an example of how this will work: A provider who attests in March 2018 for the full 2017 year and does really well could see up to a 4% incentive bonus on Medicare payments in 2019. A provider who chooses not to attest would receive a penalty of 4%.
It’s worth noting here that MIPS expands upon the inclusion criteria set for Meaningful Use under Medicare. Medicare Part B clinicians are eligible to participate if they bill $30,000 in charges and see at least 100 Medicare patients annually. MIPS also broadens the list of eligible provider types. Physicians, nurse practitioners, physician assistants, clinical nurse specialists, and certified registered nurse anesthetists are all able to attest.
Advancing Care Information
Under MIPS, Meaningful Use is replaced by an initiative called Advancing Care Information, or ACI. In this new incarnation, there are fewer required measures, and they are much less onerous than they were under the former program.
Also, there are a number of optional measures. A provider may choose to attest to these nonrequired metrics to improve his or her chances of achieving the maximum incentive, but it isn’t necessary. There are also bonus measures involving public health registry reporting. These are optional but a sure bet to increase incentives. In all, the ACI component composes 25% of a provider’s final MIPS score.
For 2017, participants are able to choose one of two tracks in the ACI program, depending on their EHR’s certification year. (If you are confused by this or don’t know the status of your product, check with your vendor or go to https://chpl.healthit.gov to figure it out).
Providers with technology certified to the 2015 edition (or a combination of technologies from the 2014 and 2015 editions) can fully attest to the ACI objectives and measures or elect to use the transition objectives and measures. Those with 2014 edition software must choose the transition measures.
We will cover the specific measures in a future column, but for now we’ll note that both tracks are very similar and focus on protecting patient data, encouraging patient access to their own records, and sharing information electronically with other providers.
Rekindling the dream
We are certain that changing legislation won’t solve all of the problems inherent in current EHR systems, but we are always encouraged by any attempt to reduce the documentation burden on physicians. By eschewing thresholds, eliminating the all-or-nothing requirement, and reducing the number of required measures, the ACI program does seem to shift the focus away from volume and toward value.
That alone has the potential to restore our hope of a brighter future, and make our use of electronic health records significantly more meaningful.
Note: To learn more about Quality Payment Program and MIPS, we highly recommend an online resource published by the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services that is easy to follow and is full of useful information. It can be found at https://qpp.cms.gov.
Dr. Notte is a family physician and clinical informaticist for Abington (Pa.) Memorial Hospital. He is a partner in EHR Practice Consultants, a firm that aids physicians in adopting electronic health records. Dr. Skolnik is professor of family and community medicine at Sidney Kimmel Medical College, Thomas Jefferson University, Philadelphia, and associate director of the family medicine residency program at Abington (Pa.) Jefferson Health.
When we started publishing the EHR Report several years ago, our very first column was a brief overview of a new federal incentive program known as Meaningful Use. At that time, the prospect of receiving thousands of dollars to adopt an electronic health record seemed exciting, and our dream of health care’s digital future appeared to be coming true.
Best of all, we as physicians would be paid to simply embrace it!
Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before that dream (for many at least) devolved into a nightmare. Electronic health records hadn’t been designed to fit into physicians’ long-established work flows, and just weren’t up to the challenge of increasing efficiency. In fact, EHRs quickly became virtual taskmasters, leaving physicians mired in a sea of clicks and slow-moving screens.
Frankly speaking, Meaningful Use hasn’t lived up to its promises. With measures obligating users to fill in a myriad of check-boxes and document often irrelevant information, the program has seemed less like an incentive and more like a penance.
To top it off, the all-or-nothing requirement has meant that – after a year of hard work – providers missing even one goal receive no payments at all, and instead are assessed financial penalties!
All of this has appropriately led physicians to become jaded – not excited – about the digital future.
Thankfully, there is reason for hope: 2017 marks the end of Meaningful Use under Medicare.
What’s new for 2017?
MACRA has a much grander scope and sets an even loftier goal: transforming care delivery to achieve better value and ultimately healthier patients.
Now, in case you’re not already confused by the number of programs cited above, there is one more we need to mention to explain the future of EHR incentives: the Merit-based Incentive Payment System, or MIPS, one of two tracks in the Quality Payment Program.
The majority of Medicare providers will choose this track, which focuses on four major components to determine reimbursement incentives: quality, improvement activities, advancing care information, and cost.
Depending on performance in each of these areas, participants will see a variable payment adjustment (upward or downward) in subsequent years (this is a percentage of Medicare payments that increases annually, beginning with a possible +/– 4% in 2019, to a maximum of +/– 9% in 2022).
Providers under MIPS who choose to attest for this year can select from three levels of participation:
1. Test: submission of only a minimal amount of 2017 data (such as one or two measures) to avoid penalty.
2. Partial: submission of 90 days’ worth of data, which may result in a neutral or positive payment adjustment (and may even earn the max adjustment).
3. Full: submission of a full year of data.
Here’s an example of how this will work: A provider who attests in March 2018 for the full 2017 year and does really well could see up to a 4% incentive bonus on Medicare payments in 2019. A provider who chooses not to attest would receive a penalty of 4%.
It’s worth noting here that MIPS expands upon the inclusion criteria set for Meaningful Use under Medicare. Medicare Part B clinicians are eligible to participate if they bill $30,000 in charges and see at least 100 Medicare patients annually. MIPS also broadens the list of eligible provider types. Physicians, nurse practitioners, physician assistants, clinical nurse specialists, and certified registered nurse anesthetists are all able to attest.
Advancing Care Information
Under MIPS, Meaningful Use is replaced by an initiative called Advancing Care Information, or ACI. In this new incarnation, there are fewer required measures, and they are much less onerous than they were under the former program.
Also, there are a number of optional measures. A provider may choose to attest to these nonrequired metrics to improve his or her chances of achieving the maximum incentive, but it isn’t necessary. There are also bonus measures involving public health registry reporting. These are optional but a sure bet to increase incentives. In all, the ACI component composes 25% of a provider’s final MIPS score.
For 2017, participants are able to choose one of two tracks in the ACI program, depending on their EHR’s certification year. (If you are confused by this or don’t know the status of your product, check with your vendor or go to https://chpl.healthit.gov to figure it out).
Providers with technology certified to the 2015 edition (or a combination of technologies from the 2014 and 2015 editions) can fully attest to the ACI objectives and measures or elect to use the transition objectives and measures. Those with 2014 edition software must choose the transition measures.
We will cover the specific measures in a future column, but for now we’ll note that both tracks are very similar and focus on protecting patient data, encouraging patient access to their own records, and sharing information electronically with other providers.
Rekindling the dream
We are certain that changing legislation won’t solve all of the problems inherent in current EHR systems, but we are always encouraged by any attempt to reduce the documentation burden on physicians. By eschewing thresholds, eliminating the all-or-nothing requirement, and reducing the number of required measures, the ACI program does seem to shift the focus away from volume and toward value.
That alone has the potential to restore our hope of a brighter future, and make our use of electronic health records significantly more meaningful.
Note: To learn more about Quality Payment Program and MIPS, we highly recommend an online resource published by the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services that is easy to follow and is full of useful information. It can be found at https://qpp.cms.gov.
Dr. Notte is a family physician and clinical informaticist for Abington (Pa.) Memorial Hospital. He is a partner in EHR Practice Consultants, a firm that aids physicians in adopting electronic health records. Dr. Skolnik is professor of family and community medicine at Sidney Kimmel Medical College, Thomas Jefferson University, Philadelphia, and associate director of the family medicine residency program at Abington (Pa.) Jefferson Health.
When we started publishing the EHR Report several years ago, our very first column was a brief overview of a new federal incentive program known as Meaningful Use. At that time, the prospect of receiving thousands of dollars to adopt an electronic health record seemed exciting, and our dream of health care’s digital future appeared to be coming true.
Best of all, we as physicians would be paid to simply embrace it!
Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before that dream (for many at least) devolved into a nightmare. Electronic health records hadn’t been designed to fit into physicians’ long-established work flows, and just weren’t up to the challenge of increasing efficiency. In fact, EHRs quickly became virtual taskmasters, leaving physicians mired in a sea of clicks and slow-moving screens.
Frankly speaking, Meaningful Use hasn’t lived up to its promises. With measures obligating users to fill in a myriad of check-boxes and document often irrelevant information, the program has seemed less like an incentive and more like a penance.
To top it off, the all-or-nothing requirement has meant that – after a year of hard work – providers missing even one goal receive no payments at all, and instead are assessed financial penalties!
All of this has appropriately led physicians to become jaded – not excited – about the digital future.
Thankfully, there is reason for hope: 2017 marks the end of Meaningful Use under Medicare.
What’s new for 2017?
MACRA has a much grander scope and sets an even loftier goal: transforming care delivery to achieve better value and ultimately healthier patients.
Now, in case you’re not already confused by the number of programs cited above, there is one more we need to mention to explain the future of EHR incentives: the Merit-based Incentive Payment System, or MIPS, one of two tracks in the Quality Payment Program.
The majority of Medicare providers will choose this track, which focuses on four major components to determine reimbursement incentives: quality, improvement activities, advancing care information, and cost.
Depending on performance in each of these areas, participants will see a variable payment adjustment (upward or downward) in subsequent years (this is a percentage of Medicare payments that increases annually, beginning with a possible +/– 4% in 2019, to a maximum of +/– 9% in 2022).
Providers under MIPS who choose to attest for this year can select from three levels of participation:
1. Test: submission of only a minimal amount of 2017 data (such as one or two measures) to avoid penalty.
2. Partial: submission of 90 days’ worth of data, which may result in a neutral or positive payment adjustment (and may even earn the max adjustment).
3. Full: submission of a full year of data.
Here’s an example of how this will work: A provider who attests in March 2018 for the full 2017 year and does really well could see up to a 4% incentive bonus on Medicare payments in 2019. A provider who chooses not to attest would receive a penalty of 4%.
It’s worth noting here that MIPS expands upon the inclusion criteria set for Meaningful Use under Medicare. Medicare Part B clinicians are eligible to participate if they bill $30,000 in charges and see at least 100 Medicare patients annually. MIPS also broadens the list of eligible provider types. Physicians, nurse practitioners, physician assistants, clinical nurse specialists, and certified registered nurse anesthetists are all able to attest.
Advancing Care Information
Under MIPS, Meaningful Use is replaced by an initiative called Advancing Care Information, or ACI. In this new incarnation, there are fewer required measures, and they are much less onerous than they were under the former program.
Also, there are a number of optional measures. A provider may choose to attest to these nonrequired metrics to improve his or her chances of achieving the maximum incentive, but it isn’t necessary. There are also bonus measures involving public health registry reporting. These are optional but a sure bet to increase incentives. In all, the ACI component composes 25% of a provider’s final MIPS score.
For 2017, participants are able to choose one of two tracks in the ACI program, depending on their EHR’s certification year. (If you are confused by this or don’t know the status of your product, check with your vendor or go to https://chpl.healthit.gov to figure it out).
Providers with technology certified to the 2015 edition (or a combination of technologies from the 2014 and 2015 editions) can fully attest to the ACI objectives and measures or elect to use the transition objectives and measures. Those with 2014 edition software must choose the transition measures.
We will cover the specific measures in a future column, but for now we’ll note that both tracks are very similar and focus on protecting patient data, encouraging patient access to their own records, and sharing information electronically with other providers.
Rekindling the dream
We are certain that changing legislation won’t solve all of the problems inherent in current EHR systems, but we are always encouraged by any attempt to reduce the documentation burden on physicians. By eschewing thresholds, eliminating the all-or-nothing requirement, and reducing the number of required measures, the ACI program does seem to shift the focus away from volume and toward value.
That alone has the potential to restore our hope of a brighter future, and make our use of electronic health records significantly more meaningful.
Note: To learn more about Quality Payment Program and MIPS, we highly recommend an online resource published by the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services that is easy to follow and is full of useful information. It can be found at https://qpp.cms.gov.
Dr. Notte is a family physician and clinical informaticist for Abington (Pa.) Memorial Hospital. He is a partner in EHR Practice Consultants, a firm that aids physicians in adopting electronic health records. Dr. Skolnik is professor of family and community medicine at Sidney Kimmel Medical College, Thomas Jefferson University, Philadelphia, and associate director of the family medicine residency program at Abington (Pa.) Jefferson Health.