Hitting a Nerve

Recently, the West Virginia Supreme Court ruled that patients can sue doctors if they became addicted to a medication the doctors prescribed even if the patients have committed crimes, such as doctor shopping, to get there.

Apparently, no one can be held responsible for their own actions anymore.

-Oxford-/iStockphotos.com

This is a serious catch-22 for doctors. On the one hand, we have ethical considerations, and oaths, to help others and relieve suffering. Now, on the flip side, doing just that can open us to legal action.

I prescribe narcotics. I try to use them judiciously, and only in people for whom other options have failed or are contraindicated. I suspect most doctors are the same. Every drug has its risks and benefits, and we try to make a calculated decision for each patient. I ask for the patient’s input, too, since he or she is the one who’ll be taking it.

I also have to depend on patients’ honesty. Patients who sell drugs to others, take more than I’ve prescribed, or use other methods of getting them (doctor shopping, buying them off the street) are all committing serious offenses. The development of monitoring databases where I can check on such behaviors has helped me catch those who’ve abused the medications.

One person quoted in an article about the court decision said, “I lied to everybody. I would steal. I pawned my grandma’s wedding rings. I was breaking into houses, doing anything and everything to stay high.”

So, obviously, that was all the doctor’s fault. He was trying to help her, and apparently led her to commit theft and burglary. I suppose the next step in such insanity is that he could be charged as an accomplice in her crimes. After all, it’s not her fault that she decided to steal from others.

This opens up a gold mine. Crooks obtaining narcotics through illicit means can now sue the doctors who were originally trying to help them.

How will it affect me?

I’ll likely further decrease my writing for controlled pain meds. I really can’t give up my DEA number entirely, because I need it to write for several epilepsy medications. But the use of narcotics in my practice will decline. Other docs will probably do the same.

Sadly, this only hurts those who legitimately need pain relief. It will be harder for them to find doctors willing to prescribe narcotics, and even if they do, it’s possible those physicians won’t take their insurance.

Some will say my reaction to the ruling means I don’t care, which isn’t true. I do care. I signed up for this job to help people. But I also have a family to support and protect, and have to think of them, too.

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

Recently, the West Virginia Supreme Court ruled that patients can sue doctors if they became addicted to a medication the doctors prescribed even if the patients have committed crimes, such as doctor shopping, to get there.

Apparently, no one can be held responsible for their own actions anymore.

-Oxford-/iStockphotos.com

This is a serious catch-22 for doctors. On the one hand, we have ethical considerations, and oaths, to help others and relieve suffering. Now, on the flip side, doing just that can open us to legal action.

I prescribe narcotics. I try to use them judiciously, and only in people for whom other options have failed or are contraindicated. I suspect most doctors are the same. Every drug has its risks and benefits, and we try to make a calculated decision for each patient. I ask for the patient’s input, too, since he or she is the one who’ll be taking it.

I also have to depend on patients’ honesty. Patients who sell drugs to others, take more than I’ve prescribed, or use other methods of getting them (doctor shopping, buying them off the street) are all committing serious offenses. The development of monitoring databases where I can check on such behaviors has helped me catch those who’ve abused the medications.

One person quoted in an article about the court decision said, “I lied to everybody. I would steal. I pawned my grandma’s wedding rings. I was breaking into houses, doing anything and everything to stay high.”

So, obviously, that was all the doctor’s fault. He was trying to help her, and apparently led her to commit theft and burglary. I suppose the next step in such insanity is that he could be charged as an accomplice in her crimes. After all, it’s not her fault that she decided to steal from others.

This opens up a gold mine. Crooks obtaining narcotics through illicit means can now sue the doctors who were originally trying to help them.

How will it affect me?

I’ll likely further decrease my writing for controlled pain meds. I really can’t give up my DEA number entirely, because I need it to write for several epilepsy medications. But the use of narcotics in my practice will decline. Other docs will probably do the same.

Sadly, this only hurts those who legitimately need pain relief. It will be harder for them to find doctors willing to prescribe narcotics, and even if they do, it’s possible those physicians won’t take their insurance.

Some will say my reaction to the ruling means I don’t care, which isn’t true. I do care. I signed up for this job to help people. But I also have a family to support and protect, and have to think of them, too.

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

Recently, the West Virginia Supreme Court ruled that patients can sue doctors if they became addicted to a medication the doctors prescribed even if the patients have committed crimes, such as doctor shopping, to get there.

Apparently, no one can be held responsible for their own actions anymore.

-Oxford-/iStockphotos.com

This is a serious catch-22 for doctors. On the one hand, we have ethical considerations, and oaths, to help others and relieve suffering. Now, on the flip side, doing just that can open us to legal action.

I prescribe narcotics. I try to use them judiciously, and only in people for whom other options have failed or are contraindicated. I suspect most doctors are the same. Every drug has its risks and benefits, and we try to make a calculated decision for each patient. I ask for the patient’s input, too, since he or she is the one who’ll be taking it.

I also have to depend on patients’ honesty. Patients who sell drugs to others, take more than I’ve prescribed, or use other methods of getting them (doctor shopping, buying them off the street) are all committing serious offenses. The development of monitoring databases where I can check on such behaviors has helped me catch those who’ve abused the medications.

One person quoted in an article about the court decision said, “I lied to everybody. I would steal. I pawned my grandma’s wedding rings. I was breaking into houses, doing anything and everything to stay high.”

So, obviously, that was all the doctor’s fault. He was trying to help her, and apparently led her to commit theft and burglary. I suppose the next step in such insanity is that he could be charged as an accomplice in her crimes. After all, it’s not her fault that she decided to steal from others.

This opens up a gold mine. Crooks obtaining narcotics through illicit means can now sue the doctors who were originally trying to help them.

How will it affect me?

I’ll likely further decrease my writing for controlled pain meds. I really can’t give up my DEA number entirely, because I need it to write for several epilepsy medications. But the use of narcotics in my practice will decline. Other docs will probably do the same.

Sadly, this only hurts those who legitimately need pain relief. It will be harder for them to find doctors willing to prescribe narcotics, and even if they do, it’s possible those physicians won’t take their insurance.

Some will say my reaction to the ruling means I don’t care, which isn’t true. I do care. I signed up for this job to help people. But I also have a family to support and protect, and have to think of them, too.

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

Pneumonia shot? Check. Flu shot? Got it.

What do asking about these two immunizations mean in a neurology history? Absolutely nothing, for most cases.

But that doesn’t stop me and other neurologists from asking about them. Why? Because they’re part of the Physician Quality Reporting System (PQRS) measures, of course! None of us want to be penalized by Medicare for failing to document them. Along with medications (Measure 130: drug, dose, and route of administration), counseling for women of childbearing potential with epilepsy (Measure 268), tobacco status (Measure 226), and blood pressure at visit (Measure 317).

My colleagues in orthopedics tell me they’re now documenting a female patient’s most recent mammogram for the same reasons. While it’s unlikely to affect why they need a new knee, it’s what they have to do to avoid penalties.

How much time does this take? About 30-60 seconds per Medicare patient in my practice. That’s not a huge amount of time, but when you see about 1,000 Medicare visits per year, that adds up to 8-16 hours spent on extraneous documentation.

Do I do it to improve patient care? No. Checking off boxes that have no relation to the case at hand makes no difference at all. I doubt you’ll find a practicing physician who believes otherwise. It simply comes down to playing by the rules, no matter how irrelevant they are.

That’s part of the problem in health care today. In documentation, quantity has replaced quality as a measure of care. The concise, pointed, summary has been eclipsed by long notes that document a large amount of unimportant data. Attaching the PQRS data (a 2-page form in my office) to the bill I submit, and noting it in my chart, only wastes time and paper.

Obviously, documenting blood pressure, tobacco status, and medications are important ... but I’ve always done those. I don’t know any neurologist who doesn’t check those things regularly, since they can directly affect our care.

But the rest is just fluff, which, sadly, seems to be more important these days than actually doing something to help the patient, at least in the eyes of Medicare.

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

Pneumonia shot? Check. Flu shot? Got it.

What do asking about these two immunizations mean in a neurology history? Absolutely nothing, for most cases.

But that doesn’t stop me and other neurologists from asking about them. Why? Because they’re part of the Physician Quality Reporting System (PQRS) measures, of course! None of us want to be penalized by Medicare for failing to document them. Along with medications (Measure 130: drug, dose, and route of administration), counseling for women of childbearing potential with epilepsy (Measure 268), tobacco status (Measure 226), and blood pressure at visit (Measure 317).

My colleagues in orthopedics tell me they’re now documenting a female patient’s most recent mammogram for the same reasons. While it’s unlikely to affect why they need a new knee, it’s what they have to do to avoid penalties.

How much time does this take? About 30-60 seconds per Medicare patient in my practice. That’s not a huge amount of time, but when you see about 1,000 Medicare visits per year, that adds up to 8-16 hours spent on extraneous documentation.

Do I do it to improve patient care? No. Checking off boxes that have no relation to the case at hand makes no difference at all. I doubt you’ll find a practicing physician who believes otherwise. It simply comes down to playing by the rules, no matter how irrelevant they are.

That’s part of the problem in health care today. In documentation, quantity has replaced quality as a measure of care. The concise, pointed, summary has been eclipsed by long notes that document a large amount of unimportant data. Attaching the PQRS data (a 2-page form in my office) to the bill I submit, and noting it in my chart, only wastes time and paper.

Obviously, documenting blood pressure, tobacco status, and medications are important ... but I’ve always done those. I don’t know any neurologist who doesn’t check those things regularly, since they can directly affect our care.

But the rest is just fluff, which, sadly, seems to be more important these days than actually doing something to help the patient, at least in the eyes of Medicare.

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

Pneumonia shot? Check. Flu shot? Got it.

What do asking about these two immunizations mean in a neurology history? Absolutely nothing, for most cases.

But that doesn’t stop me and other neurologists from asking about them. Why? Because they’re part of the Physician Quality Reporting System (PQRS) measures, of course! None of us want to be penalized by Medicare for failing to document them. Along with medications (Measure 130: drug, dose, and route of administration), counseling for women of childbearing potential with epilepsy (Measure 268), tobacco status (Measure 226), and blood pressure at visit (Measure 317).

My colleagues in orthopedics tell me they’re now documenting a female patient’s most recent mammogram for the same reasons. While it’s unlikely to affect why they need a new knee, it’s what they have to do to avoid penalties.

How much time does this take? About 30-60 seconds per Medicare patient in my practice. That’s not a huge amount of time, but when you see about 1,000 Medicare visits per year, that adds up to 8-16 hours spent on extraneous documentation.

Do I do it to improve patient care? No. Checking off boxes that have no relation to the case at hand makes no difference at all. I doubt you’ll find a practicing physician who believes otherwise. It simply comes down to playing by the rules, no matter how irrelevant they are.

That’s part of the problem in health care today. In documentation, quantity has replaced quality as a measure of care. The concise, pointed, summary has been eclipsed by long notes that document a large amount of unimportant data. Attaching the PQRS data (a 2-page form in my office) to the bill I submit, and noting it in my chart, only wastes time and paper.

Obviously, documenting blood pressure, tobacco status, and medications are important ... but I’ve always done those. I don’t know any neurologist who doesn’t check those things regularly, since they can directly affect our care.

But the rest is just fluff, which, sadly, seems to be more important these days than actually doing something to help the patient, at least in the eyes of Medicare.

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

Recently, there have been several news stories about physicians committing suicide. This is across all levels of the profession, including medical students, residents, and attendings.

Historically, doctors have had a higher rate of suicide than most professions. I’m not sure if that number has crept up recently, or if events are garnering more attention than before. They’re certainly mentioned prominently on various medical blogs.

Why do you see this in medicine? There are probably a number of factors that overlap:

• A high pressure job, where mistakes aren’t allowed (which isn’t humanly possible).

• A culture of litigation, where even minor mistakes are taken to court.

• Declining financial reimbursement, making it harder to support a practice and family, especially when you’re already six figures in debt coming out of medical school.

• Pressure to work longer hours and see far more patients than is possible, which increases the potential for mistakes. This further reduces the amount of family and recreational time available to balance ourselves.

• An increase in “empowered patients” demanding unnecessary tests and treatments because it said so on the Internet.

• A general lack of respect for the profession, to where we’re now “providers” who are vilified for political reasons by insurance companies, consumer groups, and both major parties.

• The need for us not to admit or seek treatment for human vulnerabilities. Our own health (mental and physical) is neglected because we can’t take time off to address it and a fear that doing so may result in us having our licenses penalized.

Any of the above makes life unpleasant, but when you combine them … it can be a perfect storm that tips a person over the edge.

In medicine, seeking help is often seen as a weakness, and even the most rational person under difficult circumstances can snap. None of the physicians who’ve ended their lives started out saying that was how they wanted their medical career to wind up. But when stressors pile up, it may appear to them to be the only way out. In that frame of mind, you think doing something so drastic is better for everyone around you. It isn’t true, but at that point you don’t believe it.

A physician’s suicide, even outside of its effects on their family, is a loss. A physician is a community resource, leaving behind relationships with patients in various stages of work-ups and treatments. There’s always another doctor, but it’s not easy, or immediate, to find someone who’s a good fit for the area.

I don’t know if this is a peculiarly American phenomenon or if my colleagues in Canada, Europe, and elsewhere face similar challenges. If the suicide rate elsewhere is lower, what can we learn from them to make things better here? If it’s the same, what can we do collectively to find an answer? Every country needs doctors and can’t afford to lose them.

Is there an easy solution? Probably not. Too many factors to fix. But it’s a serious problem and needs attention.

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

Recently, there have been several news stories about physicians committing suicide. This is across all levels of the profession, including medical students, residents, and attendings.

Historically, doctors have had a higher rate of suicide than most professions. I’m not sure if that number has crept up recently, or if events are garnering more attention than before. They’re certainly mentioned prominently on various medical blogs.

Why do you see this in medicine? There are probably a number of factors that overlap:

• A high pressure job, where mistakes aren’t allowed (which isn’t humanly possible).

• A culture of litigation, where even minor mistakes are taken to court.

• Declining financial reimbursement, making it harder to support a practice and family, especially when you’re already six figures in debt coming out of medical school.

• Pressure to work longer hours and see far more patients than is possible, which increases the potential for mistakes. This further reduces the amount of family and recreational time available to balance ourselves.

• An increase in “empowered patients” demanding unnecessary tests and treatments because it said so on the Internet.

• A general lack of respect for the profession, to where we’re now “providers” who are vilified for political reasons by insurance companies, consumer groups, and both major parties.

• The need for us not to admit or seek treatment for human vulnerabilities. Our own health (mental and physical) is neglected because we can’t take time off to address it and a fear that doing so may result in us having our licenses penalized.

Any of the above makes life unpleasant, but when you combine them … it can be a perfect storm that tips a person over the edge.

In medicine, seeking help is often seen as a weakness, and even the most rational person under difficult circumstances can snap. None of the physicians who’ve ended their lives started out saying that was how they wanted their medical career to wind up. But when stressors pile up, it may appear to them to be the only way out. In that frame of mind, you think doing something so drastic is better for everyone around you. It isn’t true, but at that point you don’t believe it.

A physician’s suicide, even outside of its effects on their family, is a loss. A physician is a community resource, leaving behind relationships with patients in various stages of work-ups and treatments. There’s always another doctor, but it’s not easy, or immediate, to find someone who’s a good fit for the area.

I don’t know if this is a peculiarly American phenomenon or if my colleagues in Canada, Europe, and elsewhere face similar challenges. If the suicide rate elsewhere is lower, what can we learn from them to make things better here? If it’s the same, what can we do collectively to find an answer? Every country needs doctors and can’t afford to lose them.

Is there an easy solution? Probably not. Too many factors to fix. But it’s a serious problem and needs attention.

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

Recently, there have been several news stories about physicians committing suicide. This is across all levels of the profession, including medical students, residents, and attendings.

Historically, doctors have had a higher rate of suicide than most professions. I’m not sure if that number has crept up recently, or if events are garnering more attention than before. They’re certainly mentioned prominently on various medical blogs.

Why do you see this in medicine? There are probably a number of factors that overlap:

• A high pressure job, where mistakes aren’t allowed (which isn’t humanly possible).

• A culture of litigation, where even minor mistakes are taken to court.

• Declining financial reimbursement, making it harder to support a practice and family, especially when you’re already six figures in debt coming out of medical school.

• Pressure to work longer hours and see far more patients than is possible, which increases the potential for mistakes. This further reduces the amount of family and recreational time available to balance ourselves.

• An increase in “empowered patients” demanding unnecessary tests and treatments because it said so on the Internet.

• A general lack of respect for the profession, to where we’re now “providers” who are vilified for political reasons by insurance companies, consumer groups, and both major parties.

• The need for us not to admit or seek treatment for human vulnerabilities. Our own health (mental and physical) is neglected because we can’t take time off to address it and a fear that doing so may result in us having our licenses penalized.

Any of the above makes life unpleasant, but when you combine them … it can be a perfect storm that tips a person over the edge.

In medicine, seeking help is often seen as a weakness, and even the most rational person under difficult circumstances can snap. None of the physicians who’ve ended their lives started out saying that was how they wanted their medical career to wind up. But when stressors pile up, it may appear to them to be the only way out. In that frame of mind, you think doing something so drastic is better for everyone around you. It isn’t true, but at that point you don’t believe it.

A physician’s suicide, even outside of its effects on their family, is a loss. A physician is a community resource, leaving behind relationships with patients in various stages of work-ups and treatments. There’s always another doctor, but it’s not easy, or immediate, to find someone who’s a good fit for the area.

I don’t know if this is a peculiarly American phenomenon or if my colleagues in Canada, Europe, and elsewhere face similar challenges. If the suicide rate elsewhere is lower, what can we learn from them to make things better here? If it’s the same, what can we do collectively to find an answer? Every country needs doctors and can’t afford to lose them.

Is there an easy solution? Probably not. Too many factors to fix. But it’s a serious problem and needs attention.

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

What happens when you give children everything they ask for? They get spoiled, of course. Any parent can tell you that.

The problem is that you’re trying to raise children to (eventually) be responsible adults. Part of this is teaching them that you can’t always win, you should always share, and you can’t always get what you want.

Most kids don’t like it. (I know I didn’t.) They only see that the candy or toy they want is being refused and don’t grasp the long-term plan of growing up to be a decent person. Across a thousand human cultures, any parent would agree.

But the same principle doesn’t seem to apply in modern health care. What would you think is more important in a hospital: competent staff or having a beverage offered to you after being checked into the emergency department?

Sadly, things like the latter seem to be winning because of the recent emphasis on patient satisfaction scores. In today’s world, 30% of a hospital’s Medicare reimbursement is based on these scores. That’s a lot of money.

Unfortunately, quality of care doesn’t necessarily have the same meaning between doctors and patients. The former will say it means you left the hospital with a good outcome. The latter will agree but also will throw in things like whether they got enough pain meds or their call light answered fast enough. If you’re having chest pain or severe dyspnea, getting that call light answered quickly is pretty important. But if all you want is a soda or for someone to hand you the TV remote … not so much.

The problem is that the patient satisfaction surveys (and yes, speed of call-light response is on there) don’t take that key point into account. What might make some patients happy isn’t necessarily in their best interest. The post-CABG patient who wants a double cheeseburger won’t be thrilled if he gets a salad instead. Another patient in for detox won’t be pleased if she doesn’t get Dilaudid on demand. A third will be angry that he’s not allowed to smoke. Those refusals are an integral part of their successful treatment and recovery plan, but they may not see it that way. And they’ll be sure to mark it on the survey.

As a result, the hospital gets penalized in spite of the fact that they’re doing their best to provide quality care. And the business-minded CEOs, who generally have no medical background, only care about this part of it.

Measuring what counts is important. But the idea that hospital care should be held to the same standards as Burger King and Walmart is fundamentally flawed. The things that are done in hospitals – cut people open, draw blood, biopsy bone marrow, put in endotracheal and feeding tubes – aren’t intended as recreational experiences. We try to make them as painless as possible, but in health care “do no harm” often means doing some harm in order to prevent a catastrophe.

The side effects of chemotherapy are (hopefully) offset by the successful treatment of cancer. But that doesn’t mean hair loss, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, and other toxic symptoms are part of “customer satisfaction.” One study even found that the most satisfied patients had the highest mortality.

We owe patients the very best care we can give them, but they also need to understand that “best care” doesn’t always mean what they want in the short term. We’re focused on a goal that’s beyond the immediate horizon.

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

What happens when you give children everything they ask for? They get spoiled, of course. Any parent can tell you that.

The problem is that you’re trying to raise children to (eventually) be responsible adults. Part of this is teaching them that you can’t always win, you should always share, and you can’t always get what you want.

Most kids don’t like it. (I know I didn’t.) They only see that the candy or toy they want is being refused and don’t grasp the long-term plan of growing up to be a decent person. Across a thousand human cultures, any parent would agree.

But the same principle doesn’t seem to apply in modern health care. What would you think is more important in a hospital: competent staff or having a beverage offered to you after being checked into the emergency department?

Sadly, things like the latter seem to be winning because of the recent emphasis on patient satisfaction scores. In today’s world, 30% of a hospital’s Medicare reimbursement is based on these scores. That’s a lot of money.

Unfortunately, quality of care doesn’t necessarily have the same meaning between doctors and patients. The former will say it means you left the hospital with a good outcome. The latter will agree but also will throw in things like whether they got enough pain meds or their call light answered fast enough. If you’re having chest pain or severe dyspnea, getting that call light answered quickly is pretty important. But if all you want is a soda or for someone to hand you the TV remote … not so much.

The problem is that the patient satisfaction surveys (and yes, speed of call-light response is on there) don’t take that key point into account. What might make some patients happy isn’t necessarily in their best interest. The post-CABG patient who wants a double cheeseburger won’t be thrilled if he gets a salad instead. Another patient in for detox won’t be pleased if she doesn’t get Dilaudid on demand. A third will be angry that he’s not allowed to smoke. Those refusals are an integral part of their successful treatment and recovery plan, but they may not see it that way. And they’ll be sure to mark it on the survey.

As a result, the hospital gets penalized in spite of the fact that they’re doing their best to provide quality care. And the business-minded CEOs, who generally have no medical background, only care about this part of it.

Measuring what counts is important. But the idea that hospital care should be held to the same standards as Burger King and Walmart is fundamentally flawed. The things that are done in hospitals – cut people open, draw blood, biopsy bone marrow, put in endotracheal and feeding tubes – aren’t intended as recreational experiences. We try to make them as painless as possible, but in health care “do no harm” often means doing some harm in order to prevent a catastrophe.

The side effects of chemotherapy are (hopefully) offset by the successful treatment of cancer. But that doesn’t mean hair loss, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, and other toxic symptoms are part of “customer satisfaction.” One study even found that the most satisfied patients had the highest mortality.

We owe patients the very best care we can give them, but they also need to understand that “best care” doesn’t always mean what they want in the short term. We’re focused on a goal that’s beyond the immediate horizon.

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

What happens when you give children everything they ask for? They get spoiled, of course. Any parent can tell you that.

The problem is that you’re trying to raise children to (eventually) be responsible adults. Part of this is teaching them that you can’t always win, you should always share, and you can’t always get what you want.

Most kids don’t like it. (I know I didn’t.) They only see that the candy or toy they want is being refused and don’t grasp the long-term plan of growing up to be a decent person. Across a thousand human cultures, any parent would agree.

But the same principle doesn’t seem to apply in modern health care. What would you think is more important in a hospital: competent staff or having a beverage offered to you after being checked into the emergency department?

Sadly, things like the latter seem to be winning because of the recent emphasis on patient satisfaction scores. In today’s world, 30% of a hospital’s Medicare reimbursement is based on these scores. That’s a lot of money.

Unfortunately, quality of care doesn’t necessarily have the same meaning between doctors and patients. The former will say it means you left the hospital with a good outcome. The latter will agree but also will throw in things like whether they got enough pain meds or their call light answered fast enough. If you’re having chest pain or severe dyspnea, getting that call light answered quickly is pretty important. But if all you want is a soda or for someone to hand you the TV remote … not so much.

The problem is that the patient satisfaction surveys (and yes, speed of call-light response is on there) don’t take that key point into account. What might make some patients happy isn’t necessarily in their best interest. The post-CABG patient who wants a double cheeseburger won’t be thrilled if he gets a salad instead. Another patient in for detox won’t be pleased if she doesn’t get Dilaudid on demand. A third will be angry that he’s not allowed to smoke. Those refusals are an integral part of their successful treatment and recovery plan, but they may not see it that way. And they’ll be sure to mark it on the survey.

As a result, the hospital gets penalized in spite of the fact that they’re doing their best to provide quality care. And the business-minded CEOs, who generally have no medical background, only care about this part of it.

Measuring what counts is important. But the idea that hospital care should be held to the same standards as Burger King and Walmart is fundamentally flawed. The things that are done in hospitals – cut people open, draw blood, biopsy bone marrow, put in endotracheal and feeding tubes – aren’t intended as recreational experiences. We try to make them as painless as possible, but in health care “do no harm” often means doing some harm in order to prevent a catastrophe.

The side effects of chemotherapy are (hopefully) offset by the successful treatment of cancer. But that doesn’t mean hair loss, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, and other toxic symptoms are part of “customer satisfaction.” One study even found that the most satisfied patients had the highest mortality.

We owe patients the very best care we can give them, but they also need to understand that “best care” doesn’t always mean what they want in the short term. We’re focused on a goal that’s beyond the immediate horizon.

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

We hear a lot about the pros and cons of cash-pay medicine. I’ve written about it in the past. So far, I haven’t made the leap of faith it would require in my own practice.

But recently I developed a gradually worsening toothache. For a while I ignored it, hoping it would go away. Like most doctors, my first thought was “I don’t have time for this.” But, as it progressed, I knew I didn’t have a choice.

I didn’t have a dentist, either, and have never had dental insurance. Now what?

So I called a family friend who’s a dentist. His actual charge for the visit was around $200, but he kindly charged me only $50. I sent him a $100 gift card to thank him for his help, and I’m well aware most folks don’t have the benefit of knowing a dentist on nonprofessional terms.

Unfortunately, he found he couldn’t help me. I had an upper molar that was busily reabsorbing itself, and needed to come out.

So I went to an oral surgeon. The first visit (“limited exam and counseling”) was $95. Two days later, I went back to get the tooth yanked for good. That was $275. I paid both in full by credit card.

Do I think any of these charges were unreasonable? Absolutely not. The transaction is done; the tooth is out. His office doesn’t have to bill my insurance, hope to collect part of it, and then bill me for the rest. I don’t have to worry about being billed for something my insurance didn’t pay, or spend an hour (or more) on hold to ask questions of an insurance representative as to why my claim was denied. And I get to put the $520 down on my 2015 taxes as a medical deduction.

It’s pretty simple, isn’t it? The guy pulls my tooth, and I pay a fair amount for his service. This is the same business relationship I have with a grocery store, car mechanic, or office landlord.

So why doesn’t this catch on for most of medicine? It would be nice if it were that simple.

I’m fortunate to be able to afford the total of $520 I’ve spent on the tooth. Many people don’t have that luxury, and have to rely on insurance coverage; $520 is also a pittance, compared with what other things may run. Multiple MRIs? An electromyogram/nerve conduction velocity test? Multiple sclerosis drugs? Chemotherapy? Neurosurgery? A hospital stay? In that group, you’re talking about things that can range from $1,000 to $100,000 (or more) – a far cry from what I spent on my tooth, but still medically necessary for many.

Some will argue these medical costs should all be cash pay, too. If patients can’t afford multiple sclerosis drugs out of pocket ($50,000/year and up for some), then the market will force the drug companies to lower their prices to where people will buy them. That may be, but the price an average person can likely afford isn’t going to support what the company spent to bring the drug to market or pay for trials of the next generation of treatments. So in the long run, it hurts people more than it helps.

Now if I apply this to my practice, I’m sure there are many who could afford my cash rates if I dropped their plan, but since there are other neurologists taking insurance in the area, people will generally go to whoever is best for their wallet. And a copay is going to trump my cash price for most – not to mention the costs of tests that may be needed.

For an office visit, cash pay would likely work for most. It’s simple, quick, and straightforward. But it’s the high costs of modern medicine – advanced tests, hospital stays, and upper-line pharmaceuticals (some patients don’t have other options) – that make it an unworkable proposition for many.

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

We hear a lot about the pros and cons of cash-pay medicine. I’ve written about it in the past. So far, I haven’t made the leap of faith it would require in my own practice.

But recently I developed a gradually worsening toothache. For a while I ignored it, hoping it would go away. Like most doctors, my first thought was “I don’t have time for this.” But, as it progressed, I knew I didn’t have a choice.

I didn’t have a dentist, either, and have never had dental insurance. Now what?

So I called a family friend who’s a dentist. His actual charge for the visit was around $200, but he kindly charged me only $50. I sent him a $100 gift card to thank him for his help, and I’m well aware most folks don’t have the benefit of knowing a dentist on nonprofessional terms.

Unfortunately, he found he couldn’t help me. I had an upper molar that was busily reabsorbing itself, and needed to come out.

So I went to an oral surgeon. The first visit (“limited exam and counseling”) was $95. Two days later, I went back to get the tooth yanked for good. That was $275. I paid both in full by credit card.

Do I think any of these charges were unreasonable? Absolutely not. The transaction is done; the tooth is out. His office doesn’t have to bill my insurance, hope to collect part of it, and then bill me for the rest. I don’t have to worry about being billed for something my insurance didn’t pay, or spend an hour (or more) on hold to ask questions of an insurance representative as to why my claim was denied. And I get to put the $520 down on my 2015 taxes as a medical deduction.

It’s pretty simple, isn’t it? The guy pulls my tooth, and I pay a fair amount for his service. This is the same business relationship I have with a grocery store, car mechanic, or office landlord.

So why doesn’t this catch on for most of medicine? It would be nice if it were that simple.

I’m fortunate to be able to afford the total of $520 I’ve spent on the tooth. Many people don’t have that luxury, and have to rely on insurance coverage; $520 is also a pittance, compared with what other things may run. Multiple MRIs? An electromyogram/nerve conduction velocity test? Multiple sclerosis drugs? Chemotherapy? Neurosurgery? A hospital stay? In that group, you’re talking about things that can range from $1,000 to $100,000 (or more) – a far cry from what I spent on my tooth, but still medically necessary for many.

Some will argue these medical costs should all be cash pay, too. If patients can’t afford multiple sclerosis drugs out of pocket ($50,000/year and up for some), then the market will force the drug companies to lower their prices to where people will buy them. That may be, but the price an average person can likely afford isn’t going to support what the company spent to bring the drug to market or pay for trials of the next generation of treatments. So in the long run, it hurts people more than it helps.

Now if I apply this to my practice, I’m sure there are many who could afford my cash rates if I dropped their plan, but since there are other neurologists taking insurance in the area, people will generally go to whoever is best for their wallet. And a copay is going to trump my cash price for most – not to mention the costs of tests that may be needed.

For an office visit, cash pay would likely work for most. It’s simple, quick, and straightforward. But it’s the high costs of modern medicine – advanced tests, hospital stays, and upper-line pharmaceuticals (some patients don’t have other options) – that make it an unworkable proposition for many.

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

We hear a lot about the pros and cons of cash-pay medicine. I’ve written about it in the past. So far, I haven’t made the leap of faith it would require in my own practice.

But recently I developed a gradually worsening toothache. For a while I ignored it, hoping it would go away. Like most doctors, my first thought was “I don’t have time for this.” But, as it progressed, I knew I didn’t have a choice.

I didn’t have a dentist, either, and have never had dental insurance. Now what?

So I called a family friend who’s a dentist. His actual charge for the visit was around $200, but he kindly charged me only $50. I sent him a $100 gift card to thank him for his help, and I’m well aware most folks don’t have the benefit of knowing a dentist on nonprofessional terms.

Unfortunately, he found he couldn’t help me. I had an upper molar that was busily reabsorbing itself, and needed to come out.

So I went to an oral surgeon. The first visit (“limited exam and counseling”) was $95. Two days later, I went back to get the tooth yanked for good. That was $275. I paid both in full by credit card.

Do I think any of these charges were unreasonable? Absolutely not. The transaction is done; the tooth is out. His office doesn’t have to bill my insurance, hope to collect part of it, and then bill me for the rest. I don’t have to worry about being billed for something my insurance didn’t pay, or spend an hour (or more) on hold to ask questions of an insurance representative as to why my claim was denied. And I get to put the $520 down on my 2015 taxes as a medical deduction.

It’s pretty simple, isn’t it? The guy pulls my tooth, and I pay a fair amount for his service. This is the same business relationship I have with a grocery store, car mechanic, or office landlord.

So why doesn’t this catch on for most of medicine? It would be nice if it were that simple.

I’m fortunate to be able to afford the total of $520 I’ve spent on the tooth. Many people don’t have that luxury, and have to rely on insurance coverage; $520 is also a pittance, compared with what other things may run. Multiple MRIs? An electromyogram/nerve conduction velocity test? Multiple sclerosis drugs? Chemotherapy? Neurosurgery? A hospital stay? In that group, you’re talking about things that can range from $1,000 to $100,000 (or more) – a far cry from what I spent on my tooth, but still medically necessary for many.

Some will argue these medical costs should all be cash pay, too. If patients can’t afford multiple sclerosis drugs out of pocket ($50,000/year and up for some), then the market will force the drug companies to lower their prices to where people will buy them. That may be, but the price an average person can likely afford isn’t going to support what the company spent to bring the drug to market or pay for trials of the next generation of treatments. So in the long run, it hurts people more than it helps.

Now if I apply this to my practice, I’m sure there are many who could afford my cash rates if I dropped their plan, but since there are other neurologists taking insurance in the area, people will generally go to whoever is best for their wallet. And a copay is going to trump my cash price for most – not to mention the costs of tests that may be needed.

For an office visit, cash pay would likely work for most. It’s simple, quick, and straightforward. But it’s the high costs of modern medicine – advanced tests, hospital stays, and upper-line pharmaceuticals (some patients don’t have other options) – that make it an unworkable proposition for many.

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

Well, in a remarkable moment in what is likely the most dysfunctional American government on record, all sides agreed to repeal the sustainable growth rate formula and change the way Medicare payments are done.

For the foreseeable future, this eliminates the annual game of chicken that political parties play at our expense.

For more than 10 years now, the cuts have come up, the medical journals decry them, doctors threaten to stop seeing Medicare patients, and eventually the politicians reach an agreement to stop the cuts that had grown to a high of 27.4% in 2012 ... until the next year. The classic game of political kick the can.

The dysfunctional waltz had been going on for so long that only the medical press and doctors seemed to care.

So, after years of wrapping duct tape around a leaking pipe, they called a plumber and replaced the pipe. The cost is far higher than it would have been if they’d actually addressed the problem when it started in 2003.

I’m sure the new law will have its own issues, but it stops – for now – the nightmare scenario where the cuts are allowed to go through. That would have left many of us in the difficult situation of turning away new Medicare patients. None of us wants to do that.

It’s nice to have seen the government function in the way it’s supposed to – with negotiations and compromise – rather than more threats, vitriolic posturing, and finger-pointing that have been the recent norm. Members of Congress, regrettably, don’t have their health care affected by their decisions. Regardless of age, the majority aren’t on Medicare. They’re all covered through the Federal Employees Health Benefits Program, which uses private plans. So it doesn’t directly affect them if a doctor’s office is shuttered or sick constituents can’t find someone to help them. They figure by the next election cycle they’ll be able to distract voters with some other topic.

I’m glad that reason and concern for the health care of ordinary citizens prevailed. It’s easy to play chicken when someone else’s life and livelihood are involved, and not yours. I hope this leads to greater cooperation and willingness to work together between the two sides in the future.

But I’m not optimistic.

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

Well, in a remarkable moment in what is likely the most dysfunctional American government on record, all sides agreed to repeal the sustainable growth rate formula and change the way Medicare payments are done.

For the foreseeable future, this eliminates the annual game of chicken that political parties play at our expense.

For more than 10 years now, the cuts have come up, the medical journals decry them, doctors threaten to stop seeing Medicare patients, and eventually the politicians reach an agreement to stop the cuts that had grown to a high of 27.4% in 2012 ... until the next year. The classic game of political kick the can.

The dysfunctional waltz had been going on for so long that only the medical press and doctors seemed to care.

So, after years of wrapping duct tape around a leaking pipe, they called a plumber and replaced the pipe. The cost is far higher than it would have been if they’d actually addressed the problem when it started in 2003.

I’m sure the new law will have its own issues, but it stops – for now – the nightmare scenario where the cuts are allowed to go through. That would have left many of us in the difficult situation of turning away new Medicare patients. None of us wants to do that.

It’s nice to have seen the government function in the way it’s supposed to – with negotiations and compromise – rather than more threats, vitriolic posturing, and finger-pointing that have been the recent norm. Members of Congress, regrettably, don’t have their health care affected by their decisions. Regardless of age, the majority aren’t on Medicare. They’re all covered through the Federal Employees Health Benefits Program, which uses private plans. So it doesn’t directly affect them if a doctor’s office is shuttered or sick constituents can’t find someone to help them. They figure by the next election cycle they’ll be able to distract voters with some other topic.

I’m glad that reason and concern for the health care of ordinary citizens prevailed. It’s easy to play chicken when someone else’s life and livelihood are involved, and not yours. I hope this leads to greater cooperation and willingness to work together between the two sides in the future.

But I’m not optimistic.

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

Well, in a remarkable moment in what is likely the most dysfunctional American government on record, all sides agreed to repeal the sustainable growth rate formula and change the way Medicare payments are done.

For the foreseeable future, this eliminates the annual game of chicken that political parties play at our expense.

For more than 10 years now, the cuts have come up, the medical journals decry them, doctors threaten to stop seeing Medicare patients, and eventually the politicians reach an agreement to stop the cuts that had grown to a high of 27.4% in 2012 ... until the next year. The classic game of political kick the can.

The dysfunctional waltz had been going on for so long that only the medical press and doctors seemed to care.

So, after years of wrapping duct tape around a leaking pipe, they called a plumber and replaced the pipe. The cost is far higher than it would have been if they’d actually addressed the problem when it started in 2003.

I’m sure the new law will have its own issues, but it stops – for now – the nightmare scenario where the cuts are allowed to go through. That would have left many of us in the difficult situation of turning away new Medicare patients. None of us wants to do that.

It’s nice to have seen the government function in the way it’s supposed to – with negotiations and compromise – rather than more threats, vitriolic posturing, and finger-pointing that have been the recent norm. Members of Congress, regrettably, don’t have their health care affected by their decisions. Regardless of age, the majority aren’t on Medicare. They’re all covered through the Federal Employees Health Benefits Program, which uses private plans. So it doesn’t directly affect them if a doctor’s office is shuttered or sick constituents can’t find someone to help them. They figure by the next election cycle they’ll be able to distract voters with some other topic.

I’m glad that reason and concern for the health care of ordinary citizens prevailed. It’s easy to play chicken when someone else’s life and livelihood are involved, and not yours. I hope this leads to greater cooperation and willingness to work together between the two sides in the future.

But I’m not optimistic.

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

It’s not uncommon to read about neurologists of yore and be stunned, if not horrified, to think of what they had to work with.

Going back perhaps 100 years, it wasn’t uncommon for anyone with a head injury and hemiparesis to have one (or more) burr holes placed in hope of draining a subdural hematoma causing the symptoms.

In more recent memory was the dreaded ventriculogram, or pneumoencephalogram: A painful procedure in which a lumbar puncture was done in order to blow air bubbles into the spinal fluid, then use skull X-rays to watch them outline the ventricles and other structures to look for midline shift.

I remember one of my old teachers (RIP, Al) recalling that imaging in his younger era consisted of a cerebral angiogram to look for displaced vessels and an EEG for focal slowing.

The CT scan obviously changed all that, with its excellent noninvasive imaging of the brain, and the MRI made things even better by several orders of magnitude.

But where are we now? As frightening as the practices of 50-100 years ago may seem now, we have to keep in mind that, to the doctors using them, they were at the cutting edge of medical technology. They weren’t saying “this would be so much easier if the MRI had been invented.”

None of us can clearly see what the next big advances will be. We use what we have, knowing it’s the best we can do. As the leading philosopher of our era (Yogi Berra) said, “It’s tough to make predictions, especially about the future.”

So what will future doctors think of us? What tests will they look at and shudder, asking, “They actually DID that to people?”

I’m sure the CT-myelogram will be one of them. It is perhaps the last descendant of the pneumoencephalogram still in use; it’s done uncommonly, but still has value. For those who can’t have an MRI or where confirmation of an MRI is needed, it’s quite accurate.

What other tests will be considered archaic? The EMG/NCV [electromyogram and nerve conduction studies]? Lumbar puncture? Cerebral angiogram?

Of course, these are just in neurology. Every field is going to have a past test that today is looked upon with horror, and the knowledge that someday another generation will look at us the same way.

Like all scientific disciplines, what we do is based on the foundation laid by those before us, and it’s up to the next generation to push the horizon further back.

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

It’s not uncommon to read about neurologists of yore and be stunned, if not horrified, to think of what they had to work with.

Going back perhaps 100 years, it wasn’t uncommon for anyone with a head injury and hemiparesis to have one (or more) burr holes placed in hope of draining a subdural hematoma causing the symptoms.

In more recent memory was the dreaded ventriculogram, or pneumoencephalogram: A painful procedure in which a lumbar puncture was done in order to blow air bubbles into the spinal fluid, then use skull X-rays to watch them outline the ventricles and other structures to look for midline shift.

I remember one of my old teachers (RIP, Al) recalling that imaging in his younger era consisted of a cerebral angiogram to look for displaced vessels and an EEG for focal slowing.

The CT scan obviously changed all that, with its excellent noninvasive imaging of the brain, and the MRI made things even better by several orders of magnitude.

But where are we now? As frightening as the practices of 50-100 years ago may seem now, we have to keep in mind that, to the doctors using them, they were at the cutting edge of medical technology. They weren’t saying “this would be so much easier if the MRI had been invented.”

None of us can clearly see what the next big advances will be. We use what we have, knowing it’s the best we can do. As the leading philosopher of our era (Yogi Berra) said, “It’s tough to make predictions, especially about the future.”

So what will future doctors think of us? What tests will they look at and shudder, asking, “They actually DID that to people?”

I’m sure the CT-myelogram will be one of them. It is perhaps the last descendant of the pneumoencephalogram still in use; it’s done uncommonly, but still has value. For those who can’t have an MRI or where confirmation of an MRI is needed, it’s quite accurate.

What other tests will be considered archaic? The EMG/NCV [electromyogram and nerve conduction studies]? Lumbar puncture? Cerebral angiogram?

Of course, these are just in neurology. Every field is going to have a past test that today is looked upon with horror, and the knowledge that someday another generation will look at us the same way.

Like all scientific disciplines, what we do is based on the foundation laid by those before us, and it’s up to the next generation to push the horizon further back.

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

It’s not uncommon to read about neurologists of yore and be stunned, if not horrified, to think of what they had to work with.

Going back perhaps 100 years, it wasn’t uncommon for anyone with a head injury and hemiparesis to have one (or more) burr holes placed in hope of draining a subdural hematoma causing the symptoms.

In more recent memory was the dreaded ventriculogram, or pneumoencephalogram: A painful procedure in which a lumbar puncture was done in order to blow air bubbles into the spinal fluid, then use skull X-rays to watch them outline the ventricles and other structures to look for midline shift.

I remember one of my old teachers (RIP, Al) recalling that imaging in his younger era consisted of a cerebral angiogram to look for displaced vessels and an EEG for focal slowing.

The CT scan obviously changed all that, with its excellent noninvasive imaging of the brain, and the MRI made things even better by several orders of magnitude.

But where are we now? As frightening as the practices of 50-100 years ago may seem now, we have to keep in mind that, to the doctors using them, they were at the cutting edge of medical technology. They weren’t saying “this would be so much easier if the MRI had been invented.”

None of us can clearly see what the next big advances will be. We use what we have, knowing it’s the best we can do. As the leading philosopher of our era (Yogi Berra) said, “It’s tough to make predictions, especially about the future.”

So what will future doctors think of us? What tests will they look at and shudder, asking, “They actually DID that to people?”

I’m sure the CT-myelogram will be one of them. It is perhaps the last descendant of the pneumoencephalogram still in use; it’s done uncommonly, but still has value. For those who can’t have an MRI or where confirmation of an MRI is needed, it’s quite accurate.

What other tests will be considered archaic? The EMG/NCV [electromyogram and nerve conduction studies]? Lumbar puncture? Cerebral angiogram?

Of course, these are just in neurology. Every field is going to have a past test that today is looked upon with horror, and the knowledge that someday another generation will look at us the same way.

Like all scientific disciplines, what we do is based on the foundation laid by those before us, and it’s up to the next generation to push the horizon further back.

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

I’m not on Facebook, either professionally or personally.

My office doesn’t have a Twitter account.

In fact, my only nod to social media at all is a rarely updated LinkedIn page, which is really just a public CV.

Why, in this age of connectedness, do I hide from these things? One reason is time. There isn’t much of it in the course of a day. Between my practice (patients, dictations, forms, returning calls, reviewing tests, rinse, wash, repeat), my family (wife, kids, dogs, house), and all the other things that make up a day (driving, finances, bathing, sleep), I don’t have much extra time. I really have no desire to see what others had for breakfast, look at pictures of a distant cousin’s kids, or have an online political argument with in-laws.

Another reason is privacy. Most patients are good people, but there are scary ones, too. I don’t want them knowing my kids’ names, or what school they go to, or seeing their pictures. In this age trying to have a degree of personal privacy is hard enough. I don’t want to make it any easier for someone looking to cause trouble.

I have nothing against my patients. I like the majority of them. But I don’t want to be online friends with them, either. Practicing objective medicine requires a degree of emotional distance, and I don’t want to do anything to shorten that. Social media connections with someone may also clue you into their personal and political beliefs, and, as I’ve said before, I think knowing those about patients (and them knowing mine) can only make the relationship difficult.

And the last is from a medical-legal view. The definition of what constitutes medical advice seems to be quite vague, and I worry anything I innocuously post or tweet could be taken to mean that I had an established treating medical relationship with someone or that my malpractice carrier could raise my rates by saying I was doing online medicine.

There’s also the simple fact that anything can be interpreted in any way. I worry that something I might put up could be used against me in court. Let’s say a patient dies while I’m on vacation, and the family decides to sue. Pictures of me relaxing with my kids on the trip could be used to make me look like an uncaring, callous doctor, even if I had no idea what was going on back home.

I’ll keep my somewhat under-the-radar personal existence as it is. Others may feel I’m missing out on the wonders of the social age, but I’m happy with keeping my home life just that – at home.

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

I’m not on Facebook, either professionally or personally.

My office doesn’t have a Twitter account.

In fact, my only nod to social media at all is a rarely updated LinkedIn page, which is really just a public CV.

Why, in this age of connectedness, do I hide from these things? One reason is time. There isn’t much of it in the course of a day. Between my practice (patients, dictations, forms, returning calls, reviewing tests, rinse, wash, repeat), my family (wife, kids, dogs, house), and all the other things that make up a day (driving, finances, bathing, sleep), I don’t have much extra time. I really have no desire to see what others had for breakfast, look at pictures of a distant cousin’s kids, or have an online political argument with in-laws.

Another reason is privacy. Most patients are good people, but there are scary ones, too. I don’t want them knowing my kids’ names, or what school they go to, or seeing their pictures. In this age trying to have a degree of personal privacy is hard enough. I don’t want to make it any easier for someone looking to cause trouble.

I have nothing against my patients. I like the majority of them. But I don’t want to be online friends with them, either. Practicing objective medicine requires a degree of emotional distance, and I don’t want to do anything to shorten that. Social media connections with someone may also clue you into their personal and political beliefs, and, as I’ve said before, I think knowing those about patients (and them knowing mine) can only make the relationship difficult.

And the last is from a medical-legal view. The definition of what constitutes medical advice seems to be quite vague, and I worry anything I innocuously post or tweet could be taken to mean that I had an established treating medical relationship with someone or that my malpractice carrier could raise my rates by saying I was doing online medicine.

There’s also the simple fact that anything can be interpreted in any way. I worry that something I might put up could be used against me in court. Let’s say a patient dies while I’m on vacation, and the family decides to sue. Pictures of me relaxing with my kids on the trip could be used to make me look like an uncaring, callous doctor, even if I had no idea what was going on back home.

I’ll keep my somewhat under-the-radar personal existence as it is. Others may feel I’m missing out on the wonders of the social age, but I’m happy with keeping my home life just that – at home.

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

I’m not on Facebook, either professionally or personally.

My office doesn’t have a Twitter account.

In fact, my only nod to social media at all is a rarely updated LinkedIn page, which is really just a public CV.

Why, in this age of connectedness, do I hide from these things? One reason is time. There isn’t much of it in the course of a day. Between my practice (patients, dictations, forms, returning calls, reviewing tests, rinse, wash, repeat), my family (wife, kids, dogs, house), and all the other things that make up a day (driving, finances, bathing, sleep), I don’t have much extra time. I really have no desire to see what others had for breakfast, look at pictures of a distant cousin’s kids, or have an online political argument with in-laws.

Another reason is privacy. Most patients are good people, but there are scary ones, too. I don’t want them knowing my kids’ names, or what school they go to, or seeing their pictures. In this age trying to have a degree of personal privacy is hard enough. I don’t want to make it any easier for someone looking to cause trouble.

I have nothing against my patients. I like the majority of them. But I don’t want to be online friends with them, either. Practicing objective medicine requires a degree of emotional distance, and I don’t want to do anything to shorten that. Social media connections with someone may also clue you into their personal and political beliefs, and, as I’ve said before, I think knowing those about patients (and them knowing mine) can only make the relationship difficult.

And the last is from a medical-legal view. The definition of what constitutes medical advice seems to be quite vague, and I worry anything I innocuously post or tweet could be taken to mean that I had an established treating medical relationship with someone or that my malpractice carrier could raise my rates by saying I was doing online medicine.

There’s also the simple fact that anything can be interpreted in any way. I worry that something I might put up could be used against me in court. Let’s say a patient dies while I’m on vacation, and the family decides to sue. Pictures of me relaxing with my kids on the trip could be used to make me look like an uncaring, callous doctor, even if I had no idea what was going on back home.

I’ll keep my somewhat under-the-radar personal existence as it is. Others may feel I’m missing out on the wonders of the social age, but I’m happy with keeping my home life just that – at home.

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

Religion isn’t an uncommon topic in a doctor’s office, and mine is no exception. Patients often express their personal beliefs in difficult situations, and part of my job is to listen and support.

But when they ask me about my own, I don’t answer. I simply tell them that I don’t discuss such things with patients.

People can have pretty strong feelings about religion, and whether I agree or disagree with them doesn’t have a place in my office. Religion, like politics, opens a can of personal opinion worms that disrupts the doctor-patient relationship. It can make things unworkable.

The last thing I want, or need, during an appointment is a debate over evolution, the perennial Middle East crisis, or belief (or lack thereof) in a deity. There are plenty of good forums to argue such subjects, but my office isn’t one of them.

On rare occasions, someone calling for an appointment will ask about my religious orientation. My secretary has been told to say “I don’t know.” If that matters to you when you’re looking for a doctor, you’re probably better off going elsewhere.

I have nothing against social pleasantries. They’re part of the ordinary patter in my office, and help maintain a degree of doctor-patient comfort to let us talk openly. But religious beliefs are a topic that, with some people, can rapidly spiral out of control. On the rare occasions where they become acrimonious, it pretty much destroys the fabric of the professional relationship. So, my belief is that it’s best not to start in the first place.

Some find religion to be an important part of who they are, and I’m willing to listen to that and not be judgmental. But don’t expect me to share my own thoughts at an appointment. It’s not why either of us is there.

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

Religion isn’t an uncommon topic in a doctor’s office, and mine is no exception. Patients often express their personal beliefs in difficult situations, and part of my job is to listen and support.

But when they ask me about my own, I don’t answer. I simply tell them that I don’t discuss such things with patients.

People can have pretty strong feelings about religion, and whether I agree or disagree with them doesn’t have a place in my office. Religion, like politics, opens a can of personal opinion worms that disrupts the doctor-patient relationship. It can make things unworkable.

The last thing I want, or need, during an appointment is a debate over evolution, the perennial Middle East crisis, or belief (or lack thereof) in a deity. There are plenty of good forums to argue such subjects, but my office isn’t one of them.

On rare occasions, someone calling for an appointment will ask about my religious orientation. My secretary has been told to say “I don’t know.” If that matters to you when you’re looking for a doctor, you’re probably better off going elsewhere.

I have nothing against social pleasantries. They’re part of the ordinary patter in my office, and help maintain a degree of doctor-patient comfort to let us talk openly. But religious beliefs are a topic that, with some people, can rapidly spiral out of control. On the rare occasions where they become acrimonious, it pretty much destroys the fabric of the professional relationship. So, my belief is that it’s best not to start in the first place.

Some find religion to be an important part of who they are, and I’m willing to listen to that and not be judgmental. But don’t expect me to share my own thoughts at an appointment. It’s not why either of us is there.

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

Religion isn’t an uncommon topic in a doctor’s office, and mine is no exception. Patients often express their personal beliefs in difficult situations, and part of my job is to listen and support.

But when they ask me about my own, I don’t answer. I simply tell them that I don’t discuss such things with patients.

People can have pretty strong feelings about religion, and whether I agree or disagree with them doesn’t have a place in my office. Religion, like politics, opens a can of personal opinion worms that disrupts the doctor-patient relationship. It can make things unworkable.

The last thing I want, or need, during an appointment is a debate over evolution, the perennial Middle East crisis, or belief (or lack thereof) in a deity. There are plenty of good forums to argue such subjects, but my office isn’t one of them.

On rare occasions, someone calling for an appointment will ask about my religious orientation. My secretary has been told to say “I don’t know.” If that matters to you when you’re looking for a doctor, you’re probably better off going elsewhere.

I have nothing against social pleasantries. They’re part of the ordinary patter in my office, and help maintain a degree of doctor-patient comfort to let us talk openly. But religious beliefs are a topic that, with some people, can rapidly spiral out of control. On the rare occasions where they become acrimonious, it pretty much destroys the fabric of the professional relationship. So, my belief is that it’s best not to start in the first place.

Some find religion to be an important part of who they are, and I’m willing to listen to that and not be judgmental. But don’t expect me to share my own thoughts at an appointment. It’s not why either of us is there.

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

The TPA ambulance, armed with its own CT scanner, has arrived in the United States after several successful years in Germany.

Now what?

Like all new advances, it’s a difficult balance between costs and benefits. The money, in the end, is what it really comes down to. Will the cost of a CT ambulance, the equipment needed to send images to a radiologist, the extra training for EMTs, the price of stocking TPA on board, and maybe even having a neurologist on the ride (or telemedicine for one to see the patient) be offset by money saved on rehabilitation costs, better recoveries, fewer complications, even returning a patient to work?

I have no idea. I’m not sure anyone else does, either.

Certainly, I support the idea of improved stroke care. Although far from ideal, TPA is the only thing we have right now, and the sooner it’s given, the better. Most neurologists will agree. But who’s going to pay for this?

The insurance companies, obviously. But money is finite. What if we upgrade all these ambulances, only to find that there’s no significant cost savings on rehab and recovery when TPA is used in the field? Then the money comes out of doctors’ and nurses’ salaries, higher premiums for everyone, and a cutback in treatment for some other disorder. I’m pretty sure it won’t be taken out of an insurance executive’s year-end bonus.

And just try explaining that to the family of a stroke victim.

It’s not practical to put a CT scanner in every ambulance, so where do we put those so equipped? Again, there’s no easy answer. In areas with large retirement communities? Seems like a safe bet, but young people have strokes, too. Only in cities? More people live in cities, but those in rural areas may be too far from a hospital to receive TPA early. Shouldn’t they have one, too?

Who’s going to make the decision to send the TPA ambulance vs. the regular ambulance? That’s another tough question. The layman who calls in usually isn’t sure what’s going on, only that an ambulance is needed. The dispatcher often can’t tell over the phone if the patient has had a stroke, seizure, or psychogenic event. Should a neurologist or emergency medicine physician make the decision? Maybe, but how much extra time will it take to get one on the line? And, even then, they’ll be making a critical decision with sparse, secondhand information. What if the special ambulance is mistakenly sent to deal with a conversion disorder, only to have a legitimate stroke occur elsewhere when it’s no longer immediately available? That, inevitably, will lead to a lawsuit because the wrong ambulance was sent.

I’m not against the stroke ambulance – far from it – but there are still a lot questions to be answered. Putting a CT scanner and TPA in an ambulance is, comparatively, the easiest part.

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

The TPA ambulance, armed with its own CT scanner, has arrived in the United States after several successful years in Germany.

Now what?

Like all new advances, it’s a difficult balance between costs and benefits. The money, in the end, is what it really comes down to. Will the cost of a CT ambulance, the equipment needed to send images to a radiologist, the extra training for EMTs, the price of stocking TPA on board, and maybe even having a neurologist on the ride (or telemedicine for one to see the patient) be offset by money saved on rehabilitation costs, better recoveries, fewer complications, even returning a patient to work?

I have no idea. I’m not sure anyone else does, either.

Certainly, I support the idea of improved stroke care. Although far from ideal, TPA is the only thing we have right now, and the sooner it’s given, the better. Most neurologists will agree. But who’s going to pay for this?

The insurance companies, obviously. But money is finite. What if we upgrade all these ambulances, only to find that there’s no significant cost savings on rehab and recovery when TPA is used in the field? Then the money comes out of doctors’ and nurses’ salaries, higher premiums for everyone, and a cutback in treatment for some other disorder. I’m pretty sure it won’t be taken out of an insurance executive’s year-end bonus.

And just try explaining that to the family of a stroke victim.

It’s not practical to put a CT scanner in every ambulance, so where do we put those so equipped? Again, there’s no easy answer. In areas with large retirement communities? Seems like a safe bet, but young people have strokes, too. Only in cities? More people live in cities, but those in rural areas may be too far from a hospital to receive TPA early. Shouldn’t they have one, too?

Who’s going to make the decision to send the TPA ambulance vs. the regular ambulance? That’s another tough question. The layman who calls in usually isn’t sure what’s going on, only that an ambulance is needed. The dispatcher often can’t tell over the phone if the patient has had a stroke, seizure, or psychogenic event. Should a neurologist or emergency medicine physician make the decision? Maybe, but how much extra time will it take to get one on the line? And, even then, they’ll be making a critical decision with sparse, secondhand information. What if the special ambulance is mistakenly sent to deal with a conversion disorder, only to have a legitimate stroke occur elsewhere when it’s no longer immediately available? That, inevitably, will lead to a lawsuit because the wrong ambulance was sent.

I’m not against the stroke ambulance – far from it – but there are still a lot questions to be answered. Putting a CT scanner and TPA in an ambulance is, comparatively, the easiest part.

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

The TPA ambulance, armed with its own CT scanner, has arrived in the United States after several successful years in Germany.

Now what?

Like all new advances, it’s a difficult balance between costs and benefits. The money, in the end, is what it really comes down to. Will the cost of a CT ambulance, the equipment needed to send images to a radiologist, the extra training for EMTs, the price of stocking TPA on board, and maybe even having a neurologist on the ride (or telemedicine for one to see the patient) be offset by money saved on rehabilitation costs, better recoveries, fewer complications, even returning a patient to work?

I have no idea. I’m not sure anyone else does, either.

Certainly, I support the idea of improved stroke care. Although far from ideal, TPA is the only thing we have right now, and the sooner it’s given, the better. Most neurologists will agree. But who’s going to pay for this?

The insurance companies, obviously. But money is finite. What if we upgrade all these ambulances, only to find that there’s no significant cost savings on rehab and recovery when TPA is used in the field? Then the money comes out of doctors’ and nurses’ salaries, higher premiums for everyone, and a cutback in treatment for some other disorder. I’m pretty sure it won’t be taken out of an insurance executive’s year-end bonus.

And just try explaining that to the family of a stroke victim.

It’s not practical to put a CT scanner in every ambulance, so where do we put those so equipped? Again, there’s no easy answer. In areas with large retirement communities? Seems like a safe bet, but young people have strokes, too. Only in cities? More people live in cities, but those in rural areas may be too far from a hospital to receive TPA early. Shouldn’t they have one, too?

Who’s going to make the decision to send the TPA ambulance vs. the regular ambulance? That’s another tough question. The layman who calls in usually isn’t sure what’s going on, only that an ambulance is needed. The dispatcher often can’t tell over the phone if the patient has had a stroke, seizure, or psychogenic event. Should a neurologist or emergency medicine physician make the decision? Maybe, but how much extra time will it take to get one on the line? And, even then, they’ll be making a critical decision with sparse, secondhand information. What if the special ambulance is mistakenly sent to deal with a conversion disorder, only to have a legitimate stroke occur elsewhere when it’s no longer immediately available? That, inevitably, will lead to a lawsuit because the wrong ambulance was sent.

I’m not against the stroke ambulance – far from it – but there are still a lot questions to be answered. Putting a CT scanner and TPA in an ambulance is, comparatively, the easiest part.

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