Hitting a Nerve

Hopefully 2020 will be the strangest year in modern memory, but who knows?

Things continue to be surreal at my office. I haven’t seen my staff since mid-March, even though I’m in touch with them all day long. Fortunately we live in an age where many things can be handled from home.

At the office I’d started to see an increase in patients, but that has dropped off again as the infection rate in Arizona has soared out of control. I’m not complaining about patients staying home; many neurology patients are frail or on immune-suppressing agents, and should not be out and about.

Normally I’m a stickler for stable patients coming in once a year for refills, but in 2020 I’m letting that slide. Sumatriptan, levetiracetam, and nortriptyline are better filled for 90 days to minimize potential COVID-19 contacts on all parts – including mine.

Originally I thought that some degree of normalcy would be back by August, but clearly that won’t be the case. Arizona, and many other states, continue to get worse as political ambitions trounce sound science.

A year ago I routinely fielded calls asking whether various supplements would fend off Alzheimer’s disease as the manufacturers claimed (NO! THEY DON’T!). Today similar calls come in asking about stuff marketed to prevent and cure COVID-19 (same answer).

I have no idea when this will improve. My kids are scheduled to move back into their dorms in about a month, but realistically I don’t see that safely happening. Classrooms, with the reduced capacity needed and cost of frequent cleanings, seem impractical, compared with Zoom.

The college football season is almost certainly going to be canceled. The NFL maybe. Basketball and baseball are playing out reduced seasons in sterilized bubbles. Sports, next to holidays and school, are the cyclical touchstones our society is measured by. Their disruption reflects the strangeness of the year as a whole.

As always during the Phoenix summer, I’m hiding in an air-conditioned office, waiting for patients to come in. It’s quieter without my secretary and her energetic 4-year-old daughter. But I’m still here. It’s strange with the unfamiliar silence, but the routine of coming to work each day, even on a reduced schedule, brings a sense of normalcy. There may not be as many patients, but those who need me come in, and as long as I’m able to, I’ll be here to help them.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

Hopefully 2020 will be the strangest year in modern memory, but who knows?

Things continue to be surreal at my office. I haven’t seen my staff since mid-March, even though I’m in touch with them all day long. Fortunately we live in an age where many things can be handled from home.

At the office I’d started to see an increase in patients, but that has dropped off again as the infection rate in Arizona has soared out of control. I’m not complaining about patients staying home; many neurology patients are frail or on immune-suppressing agents, and should not be out and about.

Normally I’m a stickler for stable patients coming in once a year for refills, but in 2020 I’m letting that slide. Sumatriptan, levetiracetam, and nortriptyline are better filled for 90 days to minimize potential COVID-19 contacts on all parts – including mine.

Originally I thought that some degree of normalcy would be back by August, but clearly that won’t be the case. Arizona, and many other states, continue to get worse as political ambitions trounce sound science.

A year ago I routinely fielded calls asking whether various supplements would fend off Alzheimer’s disease as the manufacturers claimed (NO! THEY DON’T!). Today similar calls come in asking about stuff marketed to prevent and cure COVID-19 (same answer).

I have no idea when this will improve. My kids are scheduled to move back into their dorms in about a month, but realistically I don’t see that safely happening. Classrooms, with the reduced capacity needed and cost of frequent cleanings, seem impractical, compared with Zoom.

The college football season is almost certainly going to be canceled. The NFL maybe. Basketball and baseball are playing out reduced seasons in sterilized bubbles. Sports, next to holidays and school, are the cyclical touchstones our society is measured by. Their disruption reflects the strangeness of the year as a whole.

As always during the Phoenix summer, I’m hiding in an air-conditioned office, waiting for patients to come in. It’s quieter without my secretary and her energetic 4-year-old daughter. But I’m still here. It’s strange with the unfamiliar silence, but the routine of coming to work each day, even on a reduced schedule, brings a sense of normalcy. There may not be as many patients, but those who need me come in, and as long as I’m able to, I’ll be here to help them.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

Hopefully 2020 will be the strangest year in modern memory, but who knows?

Things continue to be surreal at my office. I haven’t seen my staff since mid-March, even though I’m in touch with them all day long. Fortunately we live in an age where many things can be handled from home.

At the office I’d started to see an increase in patients, but that has dropped off again as the infection rate in Arizona has soared out of control. I’m not complaining about patients staying home; many neurology patients are frail or on immune-suppressing agents, and should not be out and about.

Normally I’m a stickler for stable patients coming in once a year for refills, but in 2020 I’m letting that slide. Sumatriptan, levetiracetam, and nortriptyline are better filled for 90 days to minimize potential COVID-19 contacts on all parts – including mine.

Originally I thought that some degree of normalcy would be back by August, but clearly that won’t be the case. Arizona, and many other states, continue to get worse as political ambitions trounce sound science.

A year ago I routinely fielded calls asking whether various supplements would fend off Alzheimer’s disease as the manufacturers claimed (NO! THEY DON’T!). Today similar calls come in asking about stuff marketed to prevent and cure COVID-19 (same answer).

I have no idea when this will improve. My kids are scheduled to move back into their dorms in about a month, but realistically I don’t see that safely happening. Classrooms, with the reduced capacity needed and cost of frequent cleanings, seem impractical, compared with Zoom.

The college football season is almost certainly going to be canceled. The NFL maybe. Basketball and baseball are playing out reduced seasons in sterilized bubbles. Sports, next to holidays and school, are the cyclical touchstones our society is measured by. Their disruption reflects the strangeness of the year as a whole.

As always during the Phoenix summer, I’m hiding in an air-conditioned office, waiting for patients to come in. It’s quieter without my secretary and her energetic 4-year-old daughter. But I’m still here. It’s strange with the unfamiliar silence, but the routine of coming to work each day, even on a reduced schedule, brings a sense of normalcy. There may not be as many patients, but those who need me come in, and as long as I’m able to, I’ll be here to help them.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

Masks should not be a political issue. It is ridiculous that they’ve become one. The pandemic, and masks, are a public health issue, and we’re in the biggest public health crisis since 1918.

Mounting data show that common mask usage reduces the spread of COVID-19. Yet many people refuse to wear masks on the grounds that it’s a matter of personal freedom.

If it were that simple, I might agree. After all, it’s your health. Like smoking and skydiving, you’re the one taking risks knowingly.

But it’s not just a single person’s health with an infectious disease. Every person with it is a vector for others to catch it, knowingly or not.

The constitution twice mentions the government’s responsibility to maintain “the general welfare,” but many apparently don’t believe it applies to the pandemic.

A large part of this is a glut of pseudo-science circulating out there, buoyed by the Internet, as well as ties to conspiracy theories and thoroughly debunked claims that the masks cause decreased oxygen, strokes, and a host of other unrelated issues. To many doctors, including myself, this is incredibly frustrating. Medicine is a science. We deal in facts, probabilities, and statistics. After spending so many years learning and trying to teach patients what is and isn’t real out there, it’s disheartening, to say the least, when they choose the meandering advice found on a Facebook or Twitter account over our hard-earned knowledge.

Here in Arizona, the governor’s stay-at-home order expired in mid-May. Although not intended as such, many treated it as a declaration of victory over coronavirus, quickly flocking back to restaurants, bars, and other public gathering places. Our case numbers have since skyrocketed. Yet the climbing numbers of cases as people associate more are ignored and belittled by many in the name of freedom.

People have donned the cloak of freedom and the Bill of Rights to take a stand against wearing masks.

In 1942, U-Boats were sinking ships off the east coast in huge numbers, with targeting made easy because they were silhouetted against cities. Black-outs were ordered to help stop this. Would these same people today have stood up then to declare “They’re my lights, and I’m free to keep them on if I want”? Would they have done the same if bombs were raining on New York like they did in London blackouts during the Blitz?

Self preservation is a powerful instinct. Every animal on Earth has it. Yet humans are the only ones that willfully ignore ways to prevent an as-yet untreatable disease.

You’d think, after all these years of civilization, scientific discovery, and research that we’d be better than this.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz. He has no relevant disclosures.

Masks should not be a political issue. It is ridiculous that they’ve become one. The pandemic, and masks, are a public health issue, and we’re in the biggest public health crisis since 1918.

Mounting data show that common mask usage reduces the spread of COVID-19. Yet many people refuse to wear masks on the grounds that it’s a matter of personal freedom.

If it were that simple, I might agree. After all, it’s your health. Like smoking and skydiving, you’re the one taking risks knowingly.

But it’s not just a single person’s health with an infectious disease. Every person with it is a vector for others to catch it, knowingly or not.

The constitution twice mentions the government’s responsibility to maintain “the general welfare,” but many apparently don’t believe it applies to the pandemic.

A large part of this is a glut of pseudo-science circulating out there, buoyed by the Internet, as well as ties to conspiracy theories and thoroughly debunked claims that the masks cause decreased oxygen, strokes, and a host of other unrelated issues. To many doctors, including myself, this is incredibly frustrating. Medicine is a science. We deal in facts, probabilities, and statistics. After spending so many years learning and trying to teach patients what is and isn’t real out there, it’s disheartening, to say the least, when they choose the meandering advice found on a Facebook or Twitter account over our hard-earned knowledge.

Here in Arizona, the governor’s stay-at-home order expired in mid-May. Although not intended as such, many treated it as a declaration of victory over coronavirus, quickly flocking back to restaurants, bars, and other public gathering places. Our case numbers have since skyrocketed. Yet the climbing numbers of cases as people associate more are ignored and belittled by many in the name of freedom.

People have donned the cloak of freedom and the Bill of Rights to take a stand against wearing masks.

In 1942, U-Boats were sinking ships off the east coast in huge numbers, with targeting made easy because they were silhouetted against cities. Black-outs were ordered to help stop this. Would these same people today have stood up then to declare “They’re my lights, and I’m free to keep them on if I want”? Would they have done the same if bombs were raining on New York like they did in London blackouts during the Blitz?

Self preservation is a powerful instinct. Every animal on Earth has it. Yet humans are the only ones that willfully ignore ways to prevent an as-yet untreatable disease.

You’d think, after all these years of civilization, scientific discovery, and research that we’d be better than this.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz. He has no relevant disclosures.

Masks should not be a political issue. It is ridiculous that they’ve become one. The pandemic, and masks, are a public health issue, and we’re in the biggest public health crisis since 1918.

Mounting data show that common mask usage reduces the spread of COVID-19. Yet many people refuse to wear masks on the grounds that it’s a matter of personal freedom.

If it were that simple, I might agree. After all, it’s your health. Like smoking and skydiving, you’re the one taking risks knowingly.

But it’s not just a single person’s health with an infectious disease. Every person with it is a vector for others to catch it, knowingly or not.

The constitution twice mentions the government’s responsibility to maintain “the general welfare,” but many apparently don’t believe it applies to the pandemic.

A large part of this is a glut of pseudo-science circulating out there, buoyed by the Internet, as well as ties to conspiracy theories and thoroughly debunked claims that the masks cause decreased oxygen, strokes, and a host of other unrelated issues. To many doctors, including myself, this is incredibly frustrating. Medicine is a science. We deal in facts, probabilities, and statistics. After spending so many years learning and trying to teach patients what is and isn’t real out there, it’s disheartening, to say the least, when they choose the meandering advice found on a Facebook or Twitter account over our hard-earned knowledge.

Here in Arizona, the governor’s stay-at-home order expired in mid-May. Although not intended as such, many treated it as a declaration of victory over coronavirus, quickly flocking back to restaurants, bars, and other public gathering places. Our case numbers have since skyrocketed. Yet the climbing numbers of cases as people associate more are ignored and belittled by many in the name of freedom.

People have donned the cloak of freedom and the Bill of Rights to take a stand against wearing masks.

In 1942, U-Boats were sinking ships off the east coast in huge numbers, with targeting made easy because they were silhouetted against cities. Black-outs were ordered to help stop this. Would these same people today have stood up then to declare “They’re my lights, and I’m free to keep them on if I want”? Would they have done the same if bombs were raining on New York like they did in London blackouts during the Blitz?

Self preservation is a powerful instinct. Every animal on Earth has it. Yet humans are the only ones that willfully ignore ways to prevent an as-yet untreatable disease.

You’d think, after all these years of civilization, scientific discovery, and research that we’d be better than this.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz. He has no relevant disclosures.

As part of the COVID-19 pandemic, I see signs everywhere saying they have perks for health care workers. I can go to the front of the line at Costco, or for takeout at a restaurant, or to checkout at the grocery store. Certainly it would be easy, I always have my hospital ID in my car.

I have no interest in doing so. None.

As I’ve previously written, I’m in the back seat right now. For me to take out my hospital ID and grandstand to get in front of the line is not only a lie, but takes away from someone – a nurse, a paramedic, another doctor, whatever – who actually is on the front line of the pandemic and may be in a hurry to get home or back to work.

Me? I may be a doctor, but certainly not part of fighting the pandemic (unless you count wearing a mask and washing my hands frequently as such). I’m here for anyone who needs a neurologist, and my office is open, but that’s always been my normal day at work. I’m not at the hospital, or a screening center, or urgent care.

To me it seems pretty hypocritical, or at least inappropriate, for me to take advantage of a “FastPass” (as Disneyland calls it) when I’m really not one of the people it is intended for.

Perhaps it’s a minor point, but I feel like our society already has too many people taking advantage of the system in ways that, while not illegal, don’t seem fair, either. I have three kids, and part of raising them is leading by example. Don’t take something that isn’t yours.

Which is what it would feel like to me.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

As part of the COVID-19 pandemic, I see signs everywhere saying they have perks for health care workers. I can go to the front of the line at Costco, or for takeout at a restaurant, or to checkout at the grocery store. Certainly it would be easy, I always have my hospital ID in my car.

I have no interest in doing so. None.

As I’ve previously written, I’m in the back seat right now. For me to take out my hospital ID and grandstand to get in front of the line is not only a lie, but takes away from someone – a nurse, a paramedic, another doctor, whatever – who actually is on the front line of the pandemic and may be in a hurry to get home or back to work.

Me? I may be a doctor, but certainly not part of fighting the pandemic (unless you count wearing a mask and washing my hands frequently as such). I’m here for anyone who needs a neurologist, and my office is open, but that’s always been my normal day at work. I’m not at the hospital, or a screening center, or urgent care.

To me it seems pretty hypocritical, or at least inappropriate, for me to take advantage of a “FastPass” (as Disneyland calls it) when I’m really not one of the people it is intended for.

Perhaps it’s a minor point, but I feel like our society already has too many people taking advantage of the system in ways that, while not illegal, don’t seem fair, either. I have three kids, and part of raising them is leading by example. Don’t take something that isn’t yours.

Which is what it would feel like to me.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

As part of the COVID-19 pandemic, I see signs everywhere saying they have perks for health care workers. I can go to the front of the line at Costco, or for takeout at a restaurant, or to checkout at the grocery store. Certainly it would be easy, I always have my hospital ID in my car.

I have no interest in doing so. None.

As I’ve previously written, I’m in the back seat right now. For me to take out my hospital ID and grandstand to get in front of the line is not only a lie, but takes away from someone – a nurse, a paramedic, another doctor, whatever – who actually is on the front line of the pandemic and may be in a hurry to get home or back to work.

Me? I may be a doctor, but certainly not part of fighting the pandemic (unless you count wearing a mask and washing my hands frequently as such). I’m here for anyone who needs a neurologist, and my office is open, but that’s always been my normal day at work. I’m not at the hospital, or a screening center, or urgent care.

To me it seems pretty hypocritical, or at least inappropriate, for me to take advantage of a “FastPass” (as Disneyland calls it) when I’m really not one of the people it is intended for.

Perhaps it’s a minor point, but I feel like our society already has too many people taking advantage of the system in ways that, while not illegal, don’t seem fair, either. I have three kids, and part of raising them is leading by example. Don’t take something that isn’t yours.

Which is what it would feel like to me.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

In a difficult field like medicine, it’s always nice when people appreciate what you’re trying to do. Even if things are good or bad in a case, it means a lot when they know you’re trying your best and are grateful for it.

I’m not saying I expect it (I don’t), but it’s still nice when it happens.

Most of the time someone will say thank you. Occasionally I’ll get a card, or rarely a small gift or box of candy at the holidays. I’m not asking for them, but it’s thoughtful when they do that.

But perhaps the most meaningful way I realize people like and trust me is when they refer a family member. Or two. Or three.

Last week I had a nice college kid in to see me. I’d seen his mother in the past. And both of her parents.

When you have a third generation of a family coming in ... you must be doing something right.

I got curious, began looking through my charts, and was surprised by how many different families had two to three generations seeing me. In several cases the original patient had passed on, but obviously the family had felt good enough about me to come here when the need arose.

That really means a lot when you think about it. In a world in which many see doctors as interchangeable with each other and physician extenders, and where insurance plans seem to drop and sign practices at random, people have a lot of doctors to choose from. The fact that a family thinks highly enough of me to keep returning is flattering.

Medicine is never an easy job, even outside the endless paperwork and other, often pointless, things it requires. In spite of this, we all work hard to care for patients to the best of our ability. It’s nice when they feel we are, too, and trust us enough to share that sentiment with loved ones.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

In a difficult field like medicine, it’s always nice when people appreciate what you’re trying to do. Even if things are good or bad in a case, it means a lot when they know you’re trying your best and are grateful for it.

I’m not saying I expect it (I don’t), but it’s still nice when it happens.

Most of the time someone will say thank you. Occasionally I’ll get a card, or rarely a small gift or box of candy at the holidays. I’m not asking for them, but it’s thoughtful when they do that.

But perhaps the most meaningful way I realize people like and trust me is when they refer a family member. Or two. Or three.

Last week I had a nice college kid in to see me. I’d seen his mother in the past. And both of her parents.

When you have a third generation of a family coming in ... you must be doing something right.

I got curious, began looking through my charts, and was surprised by how many different families had two to three generations seeing me. In several cases the original patient had passed on, but obviously the family had felt good enough about me to come here when the need arose.

That really means a lot when you think about it. In a world in which many see doctors as interchangeable with each other and physician extenders, and where insurance plans seem to drop and sign practices at random, people have a lot of doctors to choose from. The fact that a family thinks highly enough of me to keep returning is flattering.

Medicine is never an easy job, even outside the endless paperwork and other, often pointless, things it requires. In spite of this, we all work hard to care for patients to the best of our ability. It’s nice when they feel we are, too, and trust us enough to share that sentiment with loved ones.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

In a difficult field like medicine, it’s always nice when people appreciate what you’re trying to do. Even if things are good or bad in a case, it means a lot when they know you’re trying your best and are grateful for it.

I’m not saying I expect it (I don’t), but it’s still nice when it happens.

Most of the time someone will say thank you. Occasionally I’ll get a card, or rarely a small gift or box of candy at the holidays. I’m not asking for them, but it’s thoughtful when they do that.

But perhaps the most meaningful way I realize people like and trust me is when they refer a family member. Or two. Or three.

Last week I had a nice college kid in to see me. I’d seen his mother in the past. And both of her parents.

When you have a third generation of a family coming in ... you must be doing something right.

I got curious, began looking through my charts, and was surprised by how many different families had two to three generations seeing me. In several cases the original patient had passed on, but obviously the family had felt good enough about me to come here when the need arose.

That really means a lot when you think about it. In a world in which many see doctors as interchangeable with each other and physician extenders, and where insurance plans seem to drop and sign practices at random, people have a lot of doctors to choose from. The fact that a family thinks highly enough of me to keep returning is flattering.

Medicine is never an easy job, even outside the endless paperwork and other, often pointless, things it requires. In spite of this, we all work hard to care for patients to the best of our ability. It’s nice when they feel we are, too, and trust us enough to share that sentiment with loved ones.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

I am SO done with telemedicine.

In mid-March, as quarantine restrictions began, I embraced it. I frantically learned which insurances would and wouldn’t allow it, what billing codes had to be used (which varied wildly between plans), and what communication systems were and weren’t allowed.

For most of us it was a way to continue caring for patients and at least keep a trickle of revenue coming in. We could still go over test results face to face, see how a treatment plan was working, and check in with established patients before sending in refills. It seemed like a great solution. For the first 2-3 weeks I was thinking this was the way to go even after the pandemic calmed down.

Then it became increasingly problematic. New patients wanted to be seen remotely. No, I wasn’t doing that. It upset some, but I didn’t care. A neurologic exam is still a critical part of me assessing someone for the first time.

The next problem that came up was in routine check-ins with established patients. Headaches had recently gotten worse, but now I couldn’t do a fundoscopic exam. A stable seizure patient mentioned he’d had a month of worsening lumbar pain and right-leg weakness, but I can’t really check strength, reflexes, or sensation remotely. A lady I saw last year for a diabetic neuropathy is now being referred back to me for possible Parkinson’s disease. While hypomimia or shuffling gait can be seen on camera, you can’t check for rigidity and cogwheeling that way.

So my use of telemedicine has begun to decrease, and as the pandemic fades will hopefully stop entirely. Currently I’m only using it for recently seen patients to review test results or for established patients doing routine check-ins for stable issues. My secretary asks if they have any new issues to discuss with me when she sets up the appointment, and if they say yes she tells them it has to be in person.

This isn’t, as some will claim, a matter of my trying to increase revenue. It’s about practicing good medicine.

Neurology is a contact sport. We spend years learning to recognize minutiae from the moment we first see a patient. The way they speak, and walk, and move. The details of the exam. These are not, for the most part, things you can do with a camera. Other specialties may be less exam dependent, but not mine, and definitely not me. I’d be practicing substandard care if I did otherwise.

Not only that, but it becomes a liability issue. In a legal action you won’t get a pass if you miss something via remote appointment because it was a pandemic. The daily practice of medicine is full of minefields as it is. I don’t want to add another one.

When things return to normal – whatever the new normal is – I’m hoping to put my webcam away for good. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but in reality is only useful in a handful of cases. For all others, my patients deserve better neurologic care than it lets me provide.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

I am SO done with telemedicine.

In mid-March, as quarantine restrictions began, I embraced it. I frantically learned which insurances would and wouldn’t allow it, what billing codes had to be used (which varied wildly between plans), and what communication systems were and weren’t allowed.

For most of us it was a way to continue caring for patients and at least keep a trickle of revenue coming in. We could still go over test results face to face, see how a treatment plan was working, and check in with established patients before sending in refills. It seemed like a great solution. For the first 2-3 weeks I was thinking this was the way to go even after the pandemic calmed down.

Then it became increasingly problematic. New patients wanted to be seen remotely. No, I wasn’t doing that. It upset some, but I didn’t care. A neurologic exam is still a critical part of me assessing someone for the first time.

The next problem that came up was in routine check-ins with established patients. Headaches had recently gotten worse, but now I couldn’t do a fundoscopic exam. A stable seizure patient mentioned he’d had a month of worsening lumbar pain and right-leg weakness, but I can’t really check strength, reflexes, or sensation remotely. A lady I saw last year for a diabetic neuropathy is now being referred back to me for possible Parkinson’s disease. While hypomimia or shuffling gait can be seen on camera, you can’t check for rigidity and cogwheeling that way.

So my use of telemedicine has begun to decrease, and as the pandemic fades will hopefully stop entirely. Currently I’m only using it for recently seen patients to review test results or for established patients doing routine check-ins for stable issues. My secretary asks if they have any new issues to discuss with me when she sets up the appointment, and if they say yes she tells them it has to be in person.

This isn’t, as some will claim, a matter of my trying to increase revenue. It’s about practicing good medicine.

Neurology is a contact sport. We spend years learning to recognize minutiae from the moment we first see a patient. The way they speak, and walk, and move. The details of the exam. These are not, for the most part, things you can do with a camera. Other specialties may be less exam dependent, but not mine, and definitely not me. I’d be practicing substandard care if I did otherwise.

Not only that, but it becomes a liability issue. In a legal action you won’t get a pass if you miss something via remote appointment because it was a pandemic. The daily practice of medicine is full of minefields as it is. I don’t want to add another one.

When things return to normal – whatever the new normal is – I’m hoping to put my webcam away for good. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but in reality is only useful in a handful of cases. For all others, my patients deserve better neurologic care than it lets me provide.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

I am SO done with telemedicine.

In mid-March, as quarantine restrictions began, I embraced it. I frantically learned which insurances would and wouldn’t allow it, what billing codes had to be used (which varied wildly between plans), and what communication systems were and weren’t allowed.

For most of us it was a way to continue caring for patients and at least keep a trickle of revenue coming in. We could still go over test results face to face, see how a treatment plan was working, and check in with established patients before sending in refills. It seemed like a great solution. For the first 2-3 weeks I was thinking this was the way to go even after the pandemic calmed down.

Then it became increasingly problematic. New patients wanted to be seen remotely. No, I wasn’t doing that. It upset some, but I didn’t care. A neurologic exam is still a critical part of me assessing someone for the first time.

The next problem that came up was in routine check-ins with established patients. Headaches had recently gotten worse, but now I couldn’t do a fundoscopic exam. A stable seizure patient mentioned he’d had a month of worsening lumbar pain and right-leg weakness, but I can’t really check strength, reflexes, or sensation remotely. A lady I saw last year for a diabetic neuropathy is now being referred back to me for possible Parkinson’s disease. While hypomimia or shuffling gait can be seen on camera, you can’t check for rigidity and cogwheeling that way.

So my use of telemedicine has begun to decrease, and as the pandemic fades will hopefully stop entirely. Currently I’m only using it for recently seen patients to review test results or for established patients doing routine check-ins for stable issues. My secretary asks if they have any new issues to discuss with me when she sets up the appointment, and if they say yes she tells them it has to be in person.

This isn’t, as some will claim, a matter of my trying to increase revenue. It’s about practicing good medicine.

Neurology is a contact sport. We spend years learning to recognize minutiae from the moment we first see a patient. The way they speak, and walk, and move. The details of the exam. These are not, for the most part, things you can do with a camera. Other specialties may be less exam dependent, but not mine, and definitely not me. I’d be practicing substandard care if I did otherwise.

Not only that, but it becomes a liability issue. In a legal action you won’t get a pass if you miss something via remote appointment because it was a pandemic. The daily practice of medicine is full of minefields as it is. I don’t want to add another one.

When things return to normal – whatever the new normal is – I’m hoping to put my webcam away for good. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but in reality is only useful in a handful of cases. For all others, my patients deserve better neurologic care than it lets me provide.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

In December 1917, a large part of Halifax was destroyed when an ammunition ship exploded.

In the wake of the explosion large parts of the city were burning. Surrounding communities’ fire departments raced to the scene, only to find their efforts thwarted by a lack of uniform standards for hydrant-hose-nozzle connectors. With no way to tap into Halifax’s water supply, their hoses were worthless.

In the aftermath of WWI, this led to a standardization of fire hose connectors across multiple countries, to ensure it wouldn’t happen again. Sometimes it takes a disaster to bring such problems to the forefront so they can be fixed.

One issue that has come up repeatedly in talking to other physicians is the complete lack of uniformity in telemedicine billing codes. While not a new issue, the coronavirus pandemic has brought it into focus here, and it’s time to fix it.

Here’s an example of information I’ve found about telemedicine billing codes (Note: I have no idea if any of this is correct, so don’t rely on it in your own billing).

• Aetna: Point of service 02
• Cigna: Point of service 02 with modifier 95.
• BCBS Anthem Point of Service 02 with modifier GT.
• Medicare: Point of service 02 OR Point of service 11 with modifier 95 (I’ve seen conflicting reports).

And that’s just a sample. BCBS, for example, seems to vary by state and sub-network.

This is ridiculous. Even with different plans, the CPT and ICD10 codes are standardized, so why not things such as POS codes and modifiers? The only ones benefiting from this are insurance companies, who get to deny claims on grounds that they weren’t billed correctly.

This is, allegedly, the Internet age. Medical bills are submitted electronically, and often paid the same way. If such a complicated system can be made to work in so many other ways, it should be standardized to benefit all involved. Including those doing our best to care for patients in this challenging time – and at all times.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

In December 1917, a large part of Halifax was destroyed when an ammunition ship exploded.

In the wake of the explosion large parts of the city were burning. Surrounding communities’ fire departments raced to the scene, only to find their efforts thwarted by a lack of uniform standards for hydrant-hose-nozzle connectors. With no way to tap into Halifax’s water supply, their hoses were worthless.

In the aftermath of WWI, this led to a standardization of fire hose connectors across multiple countries, to ensure it wouldn’t happen again. Sometimes it takes a disaster to bring such problems to the forefront so they can be fixed.

One issue that has come up repeatedly in talking to other physicians is the complete lack of uniformity in telemedicine billing codes. While not a new issue, the coronavirus pandemic has brought it into focus here, and it’s time to fix it.

Here’s an example of information I’ve found about telemedicine billing codes (Note: I have no idea if any of this is correct, so don’t rely on it in your own billing).

• Aetna: Point of service 02
• Cigna: Point of service 02 with modifier 95.
• BCBS Anthem Point of Service 02 with modifier GT.
• Medicare: Point of service 02 OR Point of service 11 with modifier 95 (I’ve seen conflicting reports).

And that’s just a sample. BCBS, for example, seems to vary by state and sub-network.

This is ridiculous. Even with different plans, the CPT and ICD10 codes are standardized, so why not things such as POS codes and modifiers? The only ones benefiting from this are insurance companies, who get to deny claims on grounds that they weren’t billed correctly.

This is, allegedly, the Internet age. Medical bills are submitted electronically, and often paid the same way. If such a complicated system can be made to work in so many other ways, it should be standardized to benefit all involved. Including those doing our best to care for patients in this challenging time – and at all times.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

In December 1917, a large part of Halifax was destroyed when an ammunition ship exploded.

In the wake of the explosion large parts of the city were burning. Surrounding communities’ fire departments raced to the scene, only to find their efforts thwarted by a lack of uniform standards for hydrant-hose-nozzle connectors. With no way to tap into Halifax’s water supply, their hoses were worthless.

In the aftermath of WWI, this led to a standardization of fire hose connectors across multiple countries, to ensure it wouldn’t happen again. Sometimes it takes a disaster to bring such problems to the forefront so they can be fixed.

One issue that has come up repeatedly in talking to other physicians is the complete lack of uniformity in telemedicine billing codes. While not a new issue, the coronavirus pandemic has brought it into focus here, and it’s time to fix it.

Here’s an example of information I’ve found about telemedicine billing codes (Note: I have no idea if any of this is correct, so don’t rely on it in your own billing).

• Aetna: Point of service 02
• Cigna: Point of service 02 with modifier 95.
• BCBS Anthem Point of Service 02 with modifier GT.
• Medicare: Point of service 02 OR Point of service 11 with modifier 95 (I’ve seen conflicting reports).

And that’s just a sample. BCBS, for example, seems to vary by state and sub-network.

This is ridiculous. Even with different plans, the CPT and ICD10 codes are standardized, so why not things such as POS codes and modifiers? The only ones benefiting from this are insurance companies, who get to deny claims on grounds that they weren’t billed correctly.

This is, allegedly, the Internet age. Medical bills are submitted electronically, and often paid the same way. If such a complicated system can be made to work in so many other ways, it should be standardized to benefit all involved. Including those doing our best to care for patients in this challenging time – and at all times.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

Friends of mine who work in the ED have noticed a drop-off in patients. Granted, so has my office, but theirs is a little less expected.

It’s not just in my region. An article on this site last week mentioned the same phenomenon. Not just minor stuff but visits for more serious conditions also have decreased. This means that either people are currently choosing to ignore those things entirely or are trying to get them handled at a later date in the outpatient setting.

Neither one is good.

One friend pointed out that since a fair percentage of visits to the ED aren’t really “emergencies” maybe this is part of the reason. With all the news about COVID-19, the risk of going to the ED for something minor isn’t worth it. This may apply to some, but not all. Certainly, if it clarifies to people what is and isn’t an emergency, that would be helpful to prevent ED overuse in the future.

Every day we all face a countless number of decisions, each with its own risks and benefits. When the question of whether or not to go to an ED comes up, usually the only perceived drawbacks are costs in time and money, compared with the benefit of believing you’re going to get the problem “fixed.”

In the era of coronavirus, with daily news reports on its spread and casualties, the risk of going to the ED is perceived to be higher, and so people are more willing to stay away. If you were going in for a sinus infection, this is probably a good idea. If you’re having a more serious problem and staying home ...

A cost of the pandemic that will come to light in the future will be people who unknowingly survived mild cardiac events, strokes, and other potentially serious problems. While they may do okay in the short term, in the long run they may not be aware they had a problem and so it will continue to go untreated. Coronary or cerebrovascular arteries that need to be reopened won’t be. People with poorly controlled hypertension, dyslipidemia, or diabetes won’t be started on medications they need until it may be too late to avoid more serious outcomes.

Likewise, I worry about an uptick in cancer-related deaths down the road. With the shutdown of many nonurgent procedures, patients may have missed a window for early diagnosis of a malignancy, either because the procedure wasn’t available or they were reluctant to venture out.

Medical data from 2020 will be analyzed many times in the coming years, not just for coronavirus, but for its effects on medical care as a whole. As the first worldwide pandemic of the information age, there will be a lot of lessons to be learned as to how medicine, science, and society in general should and should not respond. Both good and bad things will be learned, but whatever knowledge is gained will be critical for the inevitable next pandemic.

The future world is watching.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

Friends of mine who work in the ED have noticed a drop-off in patients. Granted, so has my office, but theirs is a little less expected.

It’s not just in my region. An article on this site last week mentioned the same phenomenon. Not just minor stuff but visits for more serious conditions also have decreased. This means that either people are currently choosing to ignore those things entirely or are trying to get them handled at a later date in the outpatient setting.

Neither one is good.

One friend pointed out that since a fair percentage of visits to the ED aren’t really “emergencies” maybe this is part of the reason. With all the news about COVID-19, the risk of going to the ED for something minor isn’t worth it. This may apply to some, but not all. Certainly, if it clarifies to people what is and isn’t an emergency, that would be helpful to prevent ED overuse in the future.

Every day we all face a countless number of decisions, each with its own risks and benefits. When the question of whether or not to go to an ED comes up, usually the only perceived drawbacks are costs in time and money, compared with the benefit of believing you’re going to get the problem “fixed.”

In the era of coronavirus, with daily news reports on its spread and casualties, the risk of going to the ED is perceived to be higher, and so people are more willing to stay away. If you were going in for a sinus infection, this is probably a good idea. If you’re having a more serious problem and staying home ...

A cost of the pandemic that will come to light in the future will be people who unknowingly survived mild cardiac events, strokes, and other potentially serious problems. While they may do okay in the short term, in the long run they may not be aware they had a problem and so it will continue to go untreated. Coronary or cerebrovascular arteries that need to be reopened won’t be. People with poorly controlled hypertension, dyslipidemia, or diabetes won’t be started on medications they need until it may be too late to avoid more serious outcomes.

Likewise, I worry about an uptick in cancer-related deaths down the road. With the shutdown of many nonurgent procedures, patients may have missed a window for early diagnosis of a malignancy, either because the procedure wasn’t available or they were reluctant to venture out.

Medical data from 2020 will be analyzed many times in the coming years, not just for coronavirus, but for its effects on medical care as a whole. As the first worldwide pandemic of the information age, there will be a lot of lessons to be learned as to how medicine, science, and society in general should and should not respond. Both good and bad things will be learned, but whatever knowledge is gained will be critical for the inevitable next pandemic.

The future world is watching.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

Friends of mine who work in the ED have noticed a drop-off in patients. Granted, so has my office, but theirs is a little less expected.

It’s not just in my region. An article on this site last week mentioned the same phenomenon. Not just minor stuff but visits for more serious conditions also have decreased. This means that either people are currently choosing to ignore those things entirely or are trying to get them handled at a later date in the outpatient setting.

Neither one is good.

One friend pointed out that since a fair percentage of visits to the ED aren’t really “emergencies” maybe this is part of the reason. With all the news about COVID-19, the risk of going to the ED for something minor isn’t worth it. This may apply to some, but not all. Certainly, if it clarifies to people what is and isn’t an emergency, that would be helpful to prevent ED overuse in the future.

Every day we all face a countless number of decisions, each with its own risks and benefits. When the question of whether or not to go to an ED comes up, usually the only perceived drawbacks are costs in time and money, compared with the benefit of believing you’re going to get the problem “fixed.”

In the era of coronavirus, with daily news reports on its spread and casualties, the risk of going to the ED is perceived to be higher, and so people are more willing to stay away. If you were going in for a sinus infection, this is probably a good idea. If you’re having a more serious problem and staying home ...

A cost of the pandemic that will come to light in the future will be people who unknowingly survived mild cardiac events, strokes, and other potentially serious problems. While they may do okay in the short term, in the long run they may not be aware they had a problem and so it will continue to go untreated. Coronary or cerebrovascular arteries that need to be reopened won’t be. People with poorly controlled hypertension, dyslipidemia, or diabetes won’t be started on medications they need until it may be too late to avoid more serious outcomes.

Likewise, I worry about an uptick in cancer-related deaths down the road. With the shutdown of many nonurgent procedures, patients may have missed a window for early diagnosis of a malignancy, either because the procedure wasn’t available or they were reluctant to venture out.

Medical data from 2020 will be analyzed many times in the coming years, not just for coronavirus, but for its effects on medical care as a whole. As the first worldwide pandemic of the information age, there will be a lot of lessons to be learned as to how medicine, science, and society in general should and should not respond. Both good and bad things will be learned, but whatever knowledge is gained will be critical for the inevitable next pandemic.

The future world is watching.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.

Recently, like in other major cities, Phoenix had a flyover by the Blue Angels to honor frontline health care workers. My kids and I watched it. While I think the gesture is nice, in my mind it brings up questions about whether the money for it could have been better spent elsewhere. But that’s not the point of my column.

Watching the whole thing, I couldn’t help but think about my role in the crisis. While I have friends on the front lines, I’m certainly not there. I’m probably as close to back line as you can be without being retired.

This is simply the nature of my practice. I’m primarily outpatient. Inpatient consults are few and far between in the era of the neuro-hospitalist. I still see patients, both by video and in person. If someone wants to come in and see me, I’ll be available if I’m able.

I see a lot of conditions, but no one is going to a neurologist to be evaluated for COVID-19. Nor should they. Even though there are reports of neurological complications of the disease, none of them are outpatient issues or presenting symptoms.

I was asked if I’d volunteer to practice inpatient general medicine in a pinch, and my answer to that would have to be no. This isn’t cowardice, as one person accused me of. I’ve been to the hospital and seen patients since this started.

I’m no more an internist than I am an electrician. Like other neurologists of my era, I did a 1-year general medicine internship. For me, that was in 1993. I haven’t practiced it since, nor have I kept up on it except as it crosses into neurology.

A lot has changed in the last 27 years in my field alone. For me to jump back into general medicine after that time would likely do more harm than good to the patients I would see.

So I sit in my office doing what I always have: Trying to provide the best care I can to those who do need my services as a neurologist.

I may not be on the front line in our current crisis, but for those who seek my help I’m still front and center for them. And I will be until I retire.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz. He has no relevant disclosures.

Recently, like in other major cities, Phoenix had a flyover by the Blue Angels to honor frontline health care workers. My kids and I watched it. While I think the gesture is nice, in my mind it brings up questions about whether the money for it could have been better spent elsewhere. But that’s not the point of my column.

Watching the whole thing, I couldn’t help but think about my role in the crisis. While I have friends on the front lines, I’m certainly not there. I’m probably as close to back line as you can be without being retired.

This is simply the nature of my practice. I’m primarily outpatient. Inpatient consults are few and far between in the era of the neuro-hospitalist. I still see patients, both by video and in person. If someone wants to come in and see me, I’ll be available if I’m able.

I see a lot of conditions, but no one is going to a neurologist to be evaluated for COVID-19. Nor should they. Even though there are reports of neurological complications of the disease, none of them are outpatient issues or presenting symptoms.

I was asked if I’d volunteer to practice inpatient general medicine in a pinch, and my answer to that would have to be no. This isn’t cowardice, as one person accused me of. I’ve been to the hospital and seen patients since this started.

I’m no more an internist than I am an electrician. Like other neurologists of my era, I did a 1-year general medicine internship. For me, that was in 1993. I haven’t practiced it since, nor have I kept up on it except as it crosses into neurology.

A lot has changed in the last 27 years in my field alone. For me to jump back into general medicine after that time would likely do more harm than good to the patients I would see.

So I sit in my office doing what I always have: Trying to provide the best care I can to those who do need my services as a neurologist.

I may not be on the front line in our current crisis, but for those who seek my help I’m still front and center for them. And I will be until I retire.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz. He has no relevant disclosures.

Recently, like in other major cities, Phoenix had a flyover by the Blue Angels to honor frontline health care workers. My kids and I watched it. While I think the gesture is nice, in my mind it brings up questions about whether the money for it could have been better spent elsewhere. But that’s not the point of my column.

Watching the whole thing, I couldn’t help but think about my role in the crisis. While I have friends on the front lines, I’m certainly not there. I’m probably as close to back line as you can be without being retired.

This is simply the nature of my practice. I’m primarily outpatient. Inpatient consults are few and far between in the era of the neuro-hospitalist. I still see patients, both by video and in person. If someone wants to come in and see me, I’ll be available if I’m able.

I see a lot of conditions, but no one is going to a neurologist to be evaluated for COVID-19. Nor should they. Even though there are reports of neurological complications of the disease, none of them are outpatient issues or presenting symptoms.

I was asked if I’d volunteer to practice inpatient general medicine in a pinch, and my answer to that would have to be no. This isn’t cowardice, as one person accused me of. I’ve been to the hospital and seen patients since this started.

I’m no more an internist than I am an electrician. Like other neurologists of my era, I did a 1-year general medicine internship. For me, that was in 1993. I haven’t practiced it since, nor have I kept up on it except as it crosses into neurology.

A lot has changed in the last 27 years in my field alone. For me to jump back into general medicine after that time would likely do more harm than good to the patients I would see.

So I sit in my office doing what I always have: Trying to provide the best care I can to those who do need my services as a neurologist.

I may not be on the front line in our current crisis, but for those who seek my help I’m still front and center for them. And I will be until I retire.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz. He has no relevant disclosures.

Yesterday during an office visit I was adjusting my mask when a patient suddenly said, “What if this is the new normal? What if we still have to wear masks years from now?”

An interesting thought. That might even be the case. I mean, the COVID-19 pandemic definitely has changed our world. On the other hand, there are far worse things to have to do.

Masks, to some extent, have already become a part of our society, I see more people out and about with them than without. Like lunchboxes, they’ve transitioned from utilitarian to fashion statements. I see Darth Vader, Batman, Hello Kitty, Pokemon, and many other characters on them.

Humans have, after all, adapted to wearing all kinds of things. At some point our ancestors discovered they could walk around outside more comfortably with a covering on their feet. Then they discovered that socks prevent chafing. Now shoes and socks are worn worldwide, available for many different purposes in varied colors, styles, and cultures.

Why should masks be any different? Just because they’re new doesn’t mean they’re bad.

Obviously, I’m exaggerating. I don’t want to wear a mask full time, either. They’re hot and uncomfortable and, for people with certain respiratory issues, impossible. I live in Phoenix and I definitely don’t want to go through one of our summers wearing a face mask.

But at the same time, while masks are no guarantee against viral spread, they certainly help reduce it. This makes me wonder when we’ll start to phase them out. The virus isn’t going anywhere, so the breaking point will be when there’s either an effective vaccine administered to most of the population, or enough people have had the virus that herd immunity takes effect.

Until then, I have no problem with wearing a mask and asking patients who can to please do so when they come in. I see a lot of people who are elderly and/or immune suppressed. I don’t want them to get sick. Or me. Or my family.

If wearing a mask through the Phoenix summer is a sacrifice that will lead to better health for all, it’s not a big one in the grand scheme of things.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz. He has no relevant disclosures.

Yesterday during an office visit I was adjusting my mask when a patient suddenly said, “What if this is the new normal? What if we still have to wear masks years from now?”

An interesting thought. That might even be the case. I mean, the COVID-19 pandemic definitely has changed our world. On the other hand, there are far worse things to have to do.

Masks, to some extent, have already become a part of our society, I see more people out and about with them than without. Like lunchboxes, they’ve transitioned from utilitarian to fashion statements. I see Darth Vader, Batman, Hello Kitty, Pokemon, and many other characters on them.

Humans have, after all, adapted to wearing all kinds of things. At some point our ancestors discovered they could walk around outside more comfortably with a covering on their feet. Then they discovered that socks prevent chafing. Now shoes and socks are worn worldwide, available for many different purposes in varied colors, styles, and cultures.

Why should masks be any different? Just because they’re new doesn’t mean they’re bad.

Obviously, I’m exaggerating. I don’t want to wear a mask full time, either. They’re hot and uncomfortable and, for people with certain respiratory issues, impossible. I live in Phoenix and I definitely don’t want to go through one of our summers wearing a face mask.

But at the same time, while masks are no guarantee against viral spread, they certainly help reduce it. This makes me wonder when we’ll start to phase them out. The virus isn’t going anywhere, so the breaking point will be when there’s either an effective vaccine administered to most of the population, or enough people have had the virus that herd immunity takes effect.

Until then, I have no problem with wearing a mask and asking patients who can to please do so when they come in. I see a lot of people who are elderly and/or immune suppressed. I don’t want them to get sick. Or me. Or my family.

If wearing a mask through the Phoenix summer is a sacrifice that will lead to better health for all, it’s not a big one in the grand scheme of things.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz. He has no relevant disclosures.

Yesterday during an office visit I was adjusting my mask when a patient suddenly said, “What if this is the new normal? What if we still have to wear masks years from now?”

An interesting thought. That might even be the case. I mean, the COVID-19 pandemic definitely has changed our world. On the other hand, there are far worse things to have to do.

Masks, to some extent, have already become a part of our society, I see more people out and about with them than without. Like lunchboxes, they’ve transitioned from utilitarian to fashion statements. I see Darth Vader, Batman, Hello Kitty, Pokemon, and many other characters on them.

Humans have, after all, adapted to wearing all kinds of things. At some point our ancestors discovered they could walk around outside more comfortably with a covering on their feet. Then they discovered that socks prevent chafing. Now shoes and socks are worn worldwide, available for many different purposes in varied colors, styles, and cultures.

Why should masks be any different? Just because they’re new doesn’t mean they’re bad.

Obviously, I’m exaggerating. I don’t want to wear a mask full time, either. They’re hot and uncomfortable and, for people with certain respiratory issues, impossible. I live in Phoenix and I definitely don’t want to go through one of our summers wearing a face mask.

But at the same time, while masks are no guarantee against viral spread, they certainly help reduce it. This makes me wonder when we’ll start to phase them out. The virus isn’t going anywhere, so the breaking point will be when there’s either an effective vaccine administered to most of the population, or enough people have had the virus that herd immunity takes effect.

Until then, I have no problem with wearing a mask and asking patients who can to please do so when they come in. I see a lot of people who are elderly and/or immune suppressed. I don’t want them to get sick. Or me. Or my family.

If wearing a mask through the Phoenix summer is a sacrifice that will lead to better health for all, it’s not a big one in the grand scheme of things.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz. He has no relevant disclosures.

Like you, I’m not sure when this weird Twilight Zone world of coronavirus will end. Even when it does, its effects will be with us for a long time to come.

But in some ways, they may be for the better. Hopefully some of these changes will stick. Like every new situation, I try to take away something of value from it.

As pithy as it sounds, I used to obsess (sort of) over the daily mail delivery. My secretary would check it mid-afternoon, and if it wasn’t there either she or I would run down again before we left. If it still wasn’t there I’d swing by the box when I came in early the next morning. On Saturdays, I’d sometimes drive in just to get the mail.

There certainly are things that come in that are important: payments, bills, medical records, legal cases to review ... but realistically a lot of mail is junk. Office-supply catalogs, CME or pharmaceutical ads, credit card promotions, and so on.

Now? I just don’t care. If I go several days without seeing patients at the office, the mail is at the back of my mind. It’s in a locked box and isn’t going anywhere. Why worry about it? Next time I’m there I can deal with it. It’s not worth thinking about, it’s just the mail. It’s not worth a special trip.

Sleep is another thing. For years my internal alarm has had me up around 4:00 a.m. (I don’t even bother to set one on my phone), and I get up and go in to get started on the day.

Now? I don’t think I’ve ever slept this much. If I have to go to my office, I’m much less rushed. Many days I don’t even have to do that. I walk down to my home office, call up my charts and the day’s video appointment schedule, and we’re off. Granted, once things return to speed, this will probably be back to normal.

My kids are all home from college, so I have the extra time at home to enjoy them and our dogs. My wife, an oncology infusion nurse, doesn’t get home until 6:00 each night, so for now I’ve become a stay-at-home dad. This is actually something I’ve always liked (in high school, I was voted “most likely to to be a house husband”). So I do the laundry and am in charge of dinner each night. I’m enjoying the last, as I get to pick things out, go through recipes, and cook. I won’t say I’m a great cook, but I’m learning and having fun. As strange as it sounds, being a house husband has always been something I wanted to do, so I’m appreciating the opportunity while it lasts.

I think all of us have come to accept this strange pause button that’s been pushed, and I’ll try to learn what I can from it and take that with me as I move forward.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz. He has no relevant disclosures.

Like you, I’m not sure when this weird Twilight Zone world of coronavirus will end. Even when it does, its effects will be with us for a long time to come.

But in some ways, they may be for the better. Hopefully some of these changes will stick. Like every new situation, I try to take away something of value from it.

As pithy as it sounds, I used to obsess (sort of) over the daily mail delivery. My secretary would check it mid-afternoon, and if it wasn’t there either she or I would run down again before we left. If it still wasn’t there I’d swing by the box when I came in early the next morning. On Saturdays, I’d sometimes drive in just to get the mail.

There certainly are things that come in that are important: payments, bills, medical records, legal cases to review ... but realistically a lot of mail is junk. Office-supply catalogs, CME or pharmaceutical ads, credit card promotions, and so on.

Now? I just don’t care. If I go several days without seeing patients at the office, the mail is at the back of my mind. It’s in a locked box and isn’t going anywhere. Why worry about it? Next time I’m there I can deal with it. It’s not worth thinking about, it’s just the mail. It’s not worth a special trip.

Sleep is another thing. For years my internal alarm has had me up around 4:00 a.m. (I don’t even bother to set one on my phone), and I get up and go in to get started on the day.

Now? I don’t think I’ve ever slept this much. If I have to go to my office, I’m much less rushed. Many days I don’t even have to do that. I walk down to my home office, call up my charts and the day’s video appointment schedule, and we’re off. Granted, once things return to speed, this will probably be back to normal.

My kids are all home from college, so I have the extra time at home to enjoy them and our dogs. My wife, an oncology infusion nurse, doesn’t get home until 6:00 each night, so for now I’ve become a stay-at-home dad. This is actually something I’ve always liked (in high school, I was voted “most likely to to be a house husband”). So I do the laundry and am in charge of dinner each night. I’m enjoying the last, as I get to pick things out, go through recipes, and cook. I won’t say I’m a great cook, but I’m learning and having fun. As strange as it sounds, being a house husband has always been something I wanted to do, so I’m appreciating the opportunity while it lasts.

I think all of us have come to accept this strange pause button that’s been pushed, and I’ll try to learn what I can from it and take that with me as I move forward.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz. He has no relevant disclosures.

Like you, I’m not sure when this weird Twilight Zone world of coronavirus will end. Even when it does, its effects will be with us for a long time to come.

But in some ways, they may be for the better. Hopefully some of these changes will stick. Like every new situation, I try to take away something of value from it.

As pithy as it sounds, I used to obsess (sort of) over the daily mail delivery. My secretary would check it mid-afternoon, and if it wasn’t there either she or I would run down again before we left. If it still wasn’t there I’d swing by the box when I came in early the next morning. On Saturdays, I’d sometimes drive in just to get the mail.

There certainly are things that come in that are important: payments, bills, medical records, legal cases to review ... but realistically a lot of mail is junk. Office-supply catalogs, CME or pharmaceutical ads, credit card promotions, and so on.

Now? I just don’t care. If I go several days without seeing patients at the office, the mail is at the back of my mind. It’s in a locked box and isn’t going anywhere. Why worry about it? Next time I’m there I can deal with it. It’s not worth thinking about, it’s just the mail. It’s not worth a special trip.

Sleep is another thing. For years my internal alarm has had me up around 4:00 a.m. (I don’t even bother to set one on my phone), and I get up and go in to get started on the day.

Now? I don’t think I’ve ever slept this much. If I have to go to my office, I’m much less rushed. Many days I don’t even have to do that. I walk down to my home office, call up my charts and the day’s video appointment schedule, and we’re off. Granted, once things return to speed, this will probably be back to normal.

My kids are all home from college, so I have the extra time at home to enjoy them and our dogs. My wife, an oncology infusion nurse, doesn’t get home until 6:00 each night, so for now I’ve become a stay-at-home dad. This is actually something I’ve always liked (in high school, I was voted “most likely to to be a house husband”). So I do the laundry and am in charge of dinner each night. I’m enjoying the last, as I get to pick things out, go through recipes, and cook. I won’t say I’m a great cook, but I’m learning and having fun. As strange as it sounds, being a house husband has always been something I wanted to do, so I’m appreciating the opportunity while it lasts.

I think all of us have come to accept this strange pause button that’s been pushed, and I’ll try to learn what I can from it and take that with me as I move forward.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz. He has no relevant disclosures.