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Barbie has an anxiety disorder
And it’s a great time to be a therapist
The Barbie movie is generating a lot of feelings, ranging from praise to vitriol. However one feels about the movie, let’s all pause and reflect for a moment on the fact that the number-one grossing film of 2023 is about our childhood doll trying to treat her anxiety disorder.
“Life imitates art more than art imitates life.” So said Oscar Wilde in 1889.
When my adult daughter, a childhood Barbie enthusiast, asked me to see the film, we put on pink and went. Twice. Little did I know that it would stir up so many thoughts and feelings. The one I want to share is how blessed I feel at this moment in time to be a mental health care provider! No longer is mental health something to be whispered about at the water cooler; instead, even Barbie is suffering. And with all the controversy in the press about the movie, no one seems at all surprised by this storyline.
I was raised by two child psychiatrists and have been practicing as an adult psychiatrist since 1991. The start of the pandemic was the most difficult time of my career, as almost every patient was struggling simultaneously, as was I. Three long years later, we are gradually emerging from our shared trauma. How ironic, now with the opportunity to go back to work, I have elected to maintain the majority of my practice online from home. It seems that most patients and providers prefer this mode of treatment, with a full 90 percent of practitioners saying they are using a hybrid model.
As mental health professionals, we know that anywhere from 3% to 49% of those experiencing trauma will develop posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and we have been trained to treat them.
But what happens when an entire global population is exposed simultaneously to trauma? Historians and social scientists refer to such events by many different names, such as: Singularity, Black Swan Event, and Tipping Point. These events are incredibly rare, and afterwards everything is different. These global traumas always lead to massive change.
I think we are at that tipping point. This is the singularity. This is our Black Swan Event. Within a 3-year span, we have experienced the following:
- A global traumatic event (COVID-19).
- A sudden and seemingly permanent shift from office to remote video meetings mostly from home.
- Upending of traditional fundamentals of the stock market as the game literally stopped in January 2021.
- Rapid and widespread availability of Artificial Intelligence.
- The first generation to be fully raised on the Internet and social media (Gen Z) is now entering the workforce.
- Ongoing war in Ukraine.
That’s already an overwhelming list, and I could go on, but let’s get back to Barbie’s anxiety disorder.
The awareness about and acceptance of mental health issues has never been higher. The access to treatment never greater. There are now more online therapy options than ever. Treatment options have dramatically expanded in recent years, from Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation (TMS) to ketamine centers and psychedelics, as well as more mainstream options such as dialectical behavior therapy (DBT), cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs), and so many more.
What is particularly unique about this moment is the direct access to care. Self-help books abound with many making it to the New York Times bestseller list. YouTube is loaded with fantastic content on overcoming many mental health issues, although one should be careful with selecting reliable sources. Apps like HeadSpace and Calm are being downloaded by millions of people around the globe. Investors provided a record-breaking $1.5 billion to mental health startups in 2020 alone.
For most practitioners, our phones have been ringing off the hook since 2020. Applications to psychology, psychiatric residency, social work, and counseling degree programs are on the rise, with workforce shortages expected to continue for decades. Psychological expertise has been embraced by businesses especially for DEI (diversity, equity, and inclusion). Mental health experts are the most asked-for experts through media request services. Elite athletes are talking openly about bringing us on their teams.
In this unique moment, when everything seems set to transform into something else, it is time for mental health professionals to exert some agency and influence over where mental health will go from here. I think the next frontier for mental health specialists is to figure out how to speak collectively and help guide society.
Neil Howe, in his sweeping book “The Fourth Turning is Here,” says we have another 10 years in this “Millennial Crisis” phase. He calls this our “winter,” and it remains to be seen how we will emerge from our current challenges. I think we can make a difference.
If the Barbie movie is indeed a canary in the coal mine, I see positive trends ahead as we move past some of the societal and structural issues facing us, and work together to create a more open and egalitarian society. We must find creative solutions that will solve truly massive problems threatening our well-being and perhaps even our existence.
I am so grateful to be able to continue to practice and share my thoughts with you here from my home office, and I hope you can take a break and see this movie, which is not only entertaining but also thought- and emotion-provoking.
Dr. Ritvo has almost 30 years’ experience in psychiatry and is currently practicing telemedicine. She is the author of “Bekindr – The Transformative Power of Kindness” (Hellertown, Pa.: Momosa Publishing, 2018). She has no conflicts of interest.
And it’s a great time to be a therapist
And it’s a great time to be a therapist
The Barbie movie is generating a lot of feelings, ranging from praise to vitriol. However one feels about the movie, let’s all pause and reflect for a moment on the fact that the number-one grossing film of 2023 is about our childhood doll trying to treat her anxiety disorder.
“Life imitates art more than art imitates life.” So said Oscar Wilde in 1889.
When my adult daughter, a childhood Barbie enthusiast, asked me to see the film, we put on pink and went. Twice. Little did I know that it would stir up so many thoughts and feelings. The one I want to share is how blessed I feel at this moment in time to be a mental health care provider! No longer is mental health something to be whispered about at the water cooler; instead, even Barbie is suffering. And with all the controversy in the press about the movie, no one seems at all surprised by this storyline.
I was raised by two child psychiatrists and have been practicing as an adult psychiatrist since 1991. The start of the pandemic was the most difficult time of my career, as almost every patient was struggling simultaneously, as was I. Three long years later, we are gradually emerging from our shared trauma. How ironic, now with the opportunity to go back to work, I have elected to maintain the majority of my practice online from home. It seems that most patients and providers prefer this mode of treatment, with a full 90 percent of practitioners saying they are using a hybrid model.
As mental health professionals, we know that anywhere from 3% to 49% of those experiencing trauma will develop posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and we have been trained to treat them.
But what happens when an entire global population is exposed simultaneously to trauma? Historians and social scientists refer to such events by many different names, such as: Singularity, Black Swan Event, and Tipping Point. These events are incredibly rare, and afterwards everything is different. These global traumas always lead to massive change.
I think we are at that tipping point. This is the singularity. This is our Black Swan Event. Within a 3-year span, we have experienced the following:
- A global traumatic event (COVID-19).
- A sudden and seemingly permanent shift from office to remote video meetings mostly from home.
- Upending of traditional fundamentals of the stock market as the game literally stopped in January 2021.
- Rapid and widespread availability of Artificial Intelligence.
- The first generation to be fully raised on the Internet and social media (Gen Z) is now entering the workforce.
- Ongoing war in Ukraine.
That’s already an overwhelming list, and I could go on, but let’s get back to Barbie’s anxiety disorder.
The awareness about and acceptance of mental health issues has never been higher. The access to treatment never greater. There are now more online therapy options than ever. Treatment options have dramatically expanded in recent years, from Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation (TMS) to ketamine centers and psychedelics, as well as more mainstream options such as dialectical behavior therapy (DBT), cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs), and so many more.
What is particularly unique about this moment is the direct access to care. Self-help books abound with many making it to the New York Times bestseller list. YouTube is loaded with fantastic content on overcoming many mental health issues, although one should be careful with selecting reliable sources. Apps like HeadSpace and Calm are being downloaded by millions of people around the globe. Investors provided a record-breaking $1.5 billion to mental health startups in 2020 alone.
For most practitioners, our phones have been ringing off the hook since 2020. Applications to psychology, psychiatric residency, social work, and counseling degree programs are on the rise, with workforce shortages expected to continue for decades. Psychological expertise has been embraced by businesses especially for DEI (diversity, equity, and inclusion). Mental health experts are the most asked-for experts through media request services. Elite athletes are talking openly about bringing us on their teams.
In this unique moment, when everything seems set to transform into something else, it is time for mental health professionals to exert some agency and influence over where mental health will go from here. I think the next frontier for mental health specialists is to figure out how to speak collectively and help guide society.
Neil Howe, in his sweeping book “The Fourth Turning is Here,” says we have another 10 years in this “Millennial Crisis” phase. He calls this our “winter,” and it remains to be seen how we will emerge from our current challenges. I think we can make a difference.
If the Barbie movie is indeed a canary in the coal mine, I see positive trends ahead as we move past some of the societal and structural issues facing us, and work together to create a more open and egalitarian society. We must find creative solutions that will solve truly massive problems threatening our well-being and perhaps even our existence.
I am so grateful to be able to continue to practice and share my thoughts with you here from my home office, and I hope you can take a break and see this movie, which is not only entertaining but also thought- and emotion-provoking.
Dr. Ritvo has almost 30 years’ experience in psychiatry and is currently practicing telemedicine. She is the author of “Bekindr – The Transformative Power of Kindness” (Hellertown, Pa.: Momosa Publishing, 2018). She has no conflicts of interest.
The Barbie movie is generating a lot of feelings, ranging from praise to vitriol. However one feels about the movie, let’s all pause and reflect for a moment on the fact that the number-one grossing film of 2023 is about our childhood doll trying to treat her anxiety disorder.
“Life imitates art more than art imitates life.” So said Oscar Wilde in 1889.
When my adult daughter, a childhood Barbie enthusiast, asked me to see the film, we put on pink and went. Twice. Little did I know that it would stir up so many thoughts and feelings. The one I want to share is how blessed I feel at this moment in time to be a mental health care provider! No longer is mental health something to be whispered about at the water cooler; instead, even Barbie is suffering. And with all the controversy in the press about the movie, no one seems at all surprised by this storyline.
I was raised by two child psychiatrists and have been practicing as an adult psychiatrist since 1991. The start of the pandemic was the most difficult time of my career, as almost every patient was struggling simultaneously, as was I. Three long years later, we are gradually emerging from our shared trauma. How ironic, now with the opportunity to go back to work, I have elected to maintain the majority of my practice online from home. It seems that most patients and providers prefer this mode of treatment, with a full 90 percent of practitioners saying they are using a hybrid model.
As mental health professionals, we know that anywhere from 3% to 49% of those experiencing trauma will develop posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD), and we have been trained to treat them.
But what happens when an entire global population is exposed simultaneously to trauma? Historians and social scientists refer to such events by many different names, such as: Singularity, Black Swan Event, and Tipping Point. These events are incredibly rare, and afterwards everything is different. These global traumas always lead to massive change.
I think we are at that tipping point. This is the singularity. This is our Black Swan Event. Within a 3-year span, we have experienced the following:
- A global traumatic event (COVID-19).
- A sudden and seemingly permanent shift from office to remote video meetings mostly from home.
- Upending of traditional fundamentals of the stock market as the game literally stopped in January 2021.
- Rapid and widespread availability of Artificial Intelligence.
- The first generation to be fully raised on the Internet and social media (Gen Z) is now entering the workforce.
- Ongoing war in Ukraine.
That’s already an overwhelming list, and I could go on, but let’s get back to Barbie’s anxiety disorder.
The awareness about and acceptance of mental health issues has never been higher. The access to treatment never greater. There are now more online therapy options than ever. Treatment options have dramatically expanded in recent years, from Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation (TMS) to ketamine centers and psychedelics, as well as more mainstream options such as dialectical behavior therapy (DBT), cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT), selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs), and so many more.
What is particularly unique about this moment is the direct access to care. Self-help books abound with many making it to the New York Times bestseller list. YouTube is loaded with fantastic content on overcoming many mental health issues, although one should be careful with selecting reliable sources. Apps like HeadSpace and Calm are being downloaded by millions of people around the globe. Investors provided a record-breaking $1.5 billion to mental health startups in 2020 alone.
For most practitioners, our phones have been ringing off the hook since 2020. Applications to psychology, psychiatric residency, social work, and counseling degree programs are on the rise, with workforce shortages expected to continue for decades. Psychological expertise has been embraced by businesses especially for DEI (diversity, equity, and inclusion). Mental health experts are the most asked-for experts through media request services. Elite athletes are talking openly about bringing us on their teams.
In this unique moment, when everything seems set to transform into something else, it is time for mental health professionals to exert some agency and influence over where mental health will go from here. I think the next frontier for mental health specialists is to figure out how to speak collectively and help guide society.
Neil Howe, in his sweeping book “The Fourth Turning is Here,” says we have another 10 years in this “Millennial Crisis” phase. He calls this our “winter,” and it remains to be seen how we will emerge from our current challenges. I think we can make a difference.
If the Barbie movie is indeed a canary in the coal mine, I see positive trends ahead as we move past some of the societal and structural issues facing us, and work together to create a more open and egalitarian society. We must find creative solutions that will solve truly massive problems threatening our well-being and perhaps even our existence.
I am so grateful to be able to continue to practice and share my thoughts with you here from my home office, and I hope you can take a break and see this movie, which is not only entertaining but also thought- and emotion-provoking.
Dr. Ritvo has almost 30 years’ experience in psychiatry and is currently practicing telemedicine. She is the author of “Bekindr – The Transformative Power of Kindness” (Hellertown, Pa.: Momosa Publishing, 2018). She has no conflicts of interest.
The new normal in body temperature
This transcript has been edited for clarity.
Every branch of science has its constants. Physics has the speed of light, the gravitational constant, the Planck constant. Chemistry gives us Avogadro’s number, Faraday’s constant, the charge of an electron. Medicine isn’t quite as reliable as physics when it comes to these things, but insofar as there are any constants in medicine, might I suggest normal body temperature: 37° Celsius, 98.6° Fahrenheit.
Sure, serum sodium may be less variable and lactate concentration more clinically relevant, but even my 7-year-old knows that normal body temperature is 98.6°.
Except, as it turns out, 98.6° isn’t normal at all.
How did we arrive at 37.0° C for normal body temperature? We got it from this guy – German physician Carl Reinhold August Wunderlich, who, in addition to looking eerily like Luciano Pavarotti, was the first to realize that fever was not itself a disease but a symptom of one.
In 1851, Dr. Wunderlich released his measurements of more than 1 million body temperatures taken from 25,000 Germans – a painstaking process at the time, which employed a foot-long thermometer and took 20 minutes to obtain a measurement.
The average temperature measured, of course, was 37° C.
We’re more than 150 years post-Wunderlich right now, and the average person in the United States might be quite a bit different from the average German in 1850. Moreover, we can do a lot better than just measuring a ton of people and taking the average, because we have statistics. The problem with measuring a bunch of people and taking the average temperature as normal is that you can’t be sure that the people you are measuring are normal. There are obvious causes of elevated temperature that you could exclude. Let’s not take people with a respiratory infection or who are taking Tylenol, for example. But as highlighted in this paper in JAMA Internal Medicine, we can do a lot better than that.
The study leverages the fact that body temperature is typically measured during all medical office visits and recorded in the ever-present electronic medical record.
Researchers from Stanford identified 724,199 patient encounters with outpatient temperature data. They excluded extreme temperatures – less than 34° C or greater than 40° C – excluded patients under 20 or above 80 years, and excluded those with extremes of height, weight, or body mass index.
You end up with a distribution like this. Note that the peak is clearly lower than 37° C.
But we’re still not at “normal.” Some people would be seeing their doctor for conditions that affect body temperature, such as infection. You could use diagnosis codes to flag these individuals and drop them, but that feels a bit arbitrary.
I really love how the researchers used data to fix this problem. They used a technique called LIMIT (Laboratory Information Mining for Individualized Thresholds). It works like this:
Take all the temperature measurements and then identify the outliers – the very tails of the distribution.
Look at all the diagnosis codes in those distributions. Determine which diagnosis codes are overrepresented in those distributions. Now you have a data-driven way to say that yes, these diagnoses are associated with weird temperatures. Next, eliminate everyone with those diagnoses from the dataset. What you are left with is a normal population, or at least a population that doesn’t have a condition that seems to meaningfully affect temperature.
So, who was dropped? Well, a lot of people, actually. It turned out that diabetes was way overrepresented in the outlier group. Although 9.2% of the population had diabetes, 26% of people with very low temperatures did, so everyone with diabetes is removed from the dataset. While 5% of the population had a cough at their encounter, 7% of the people with very high temperature and 7% of the people with very low temperature had a cough, so everyone with cough gets thrown out.
The algorithm excluded people on antibiotics or who had sinusitis, urinary tract infections, pneumonia, and, yes, a diagnosis of “fever.” The list makes sense, which is always nice when you have a purely algorithmic classification system.
What do we have left? What is the real normal temperature? Ready?
It’s 36.64° C, or about 98.0° F.
Of course, normal temperature varied depending on the time of day it was measured – higher in the afternoon.
The normal temperature in women tended to be higher than in men. The normal temperature declined with age as well.
In fact, the researchers built a nice online calculator where you can enter your own, or your patient’s, parameters and calculate a normal body temperature for them. Here’s mine. My normal temperature at around 2 p.m. should be 36.7° C.
So, we’re all more cold-blooded than we thought. Is this just because of better methods? Maybe. But studies have actually shown that body temperature may be decreasing over time in humans, possibly because of the lower levels of inflammation we face in modern life (thanks to improvements in hygiene and antibiotics).
Of course, I’m sure some of you are asking yourselves whether any of this really matters. Is 37° C close enough?
Sure, this may be sort of puttering around the edges of physical diagnosis, but I think the methodology is really interesting and can obviously be applied to other broadly collected data points. But these data show us that thin, older individuals really do run cooler, and that we may need to pay more attention to a low-grade fever in that population than we otherwise would.
In any case, it’s time for a little re-education. If someone asks you what normal body temperature is, just say 36.6° C, 98.0° F. For his work in this area, I suggest we call it Wunderlich’s constant.
Dr. Wilson is associate professor of medicine and public health at Yale University, New Haven, Conn., and director of Yale’s Clinical and Translational Research Accelerator. He has no disclosures.
A version of this article appeared on Medscape.com.
This transcript has been edited for clarity.
Every branch of science has its constants. Physics has the speed of light, the gravitational constant, the Planck constant. Chemistry gives us Avogadro’s number, Faraday’s constant, the charge of an electron. Medicine isn’t quite as reliable as physics when it comes to these things, but insofar as there are any constants in medicine, might I suggest normal body temperature: 37° Celsius, 98.6° Fahrenheit.
Sure, serum sodium may be less variable and lactate concentration more clinically relevant, but even my 7-year-old knows that normal body temperature is 98.6°.
Except, as it turns out, 98.6° isn’t normal at all.
How did we arrive at 37.0° C for normal body temperature? We got it from this guy – German physician Carl Reinhold August Wunderlich, who, in addition to looking eerily like Luciano Pavarotti, was the first to realize that fever was not itself a disease but a symptom of one.
In 1851, Dr. Wunderlich released his measurements of more than 1 million body temperatures taken from 25,000 Germans – a painstaking process at the time, which employed a foot-long thermometer and took 20 minutes to obtain a measurement.
The average temperature measured, of course, was 37° C.
We’re more than 150 years post-Wunderlich right now, and the average person in the United States might be quite a bit different from the average German in 1850. Moreover, we can do a lot better than just measuring a ton of people and taking the average, because we have statistics. The problem with measuring a bunch of people and taking the average temperature as normal is that you can’t be sure that the people you are measuring are normal. There are obvious causes of elevated temperature that you could exclude. Let’s not take people with a respiratory infection or who are taking Tylenol, for example. But as highlighted in this paper in JAMA Internal Medicine, we can do a lot better than that.
The study leverages the fact that body temperature is typically measured during all medical office visits and recorded in the ever-present electronic medical record.
Researchers from Stanford identified 724,199 patient encounters with outpatient temperature data. They excluded extreme temperatures – less than 34° C or greater than 40° C – excluded patients under 20 or above 80 years, and excluded those with extremes of height, weight, or body mass index.
You end up with a distribution like this. Note that the peak is clearly lower than 37° C.
But we’re still not at “normal.” Some people would be seeing their doctor for conditions that affect body temperature, such as infection. You could use diagnosis codes to flag these individuals and drop them, but that feels a bit arbitrary.
I really love how the researchers used data to fix this problem. They used a technique called LIMIT (Laboratory Information Mining for Individualized Thresholds). It works like this:
Take all the temperature measurements and then identify the outliers – the very tails of the distribution.
Look at all the diagnosis codes in those distributions. Determine which diagnosis codes are overrepresented in those distributions. Now you have a data-driven way to say that yes, these diagnoses are associated with weird temperatures. Next, eliminate everyone with those diagnoses from the dataset. What you are left with is a normal population, or at least a population that doesn’t have a condition that seems to meaningfully affect temperature.
So, who was dropped? Well, a lot of people, actually. It turned out that diabetes was way overrepresented in the outlier group. Although 9.2% of the population had diabetes, 26% of people with very low temperatures did, so everyone with diabetes is removed from the dataset. While 5% of the population had a cough at their encounter, 7% of the people with very high temperature and 7% of the people with very low temperature had a cough, so everyone with cough gets thrown out.
The algorithm excluded people on antibiotics or who had sinusitis, urinary tract infections, pneumonia, and, yes, a diagnosis of “fever.” The list makes sense, which is always nice when you have a purely algorithmic classification system.
What do we have left? What is the real normal temperature? Ready?
It’s 36.64° C, or about 98.0° F.
Of course, normal temperature varied depending on the time of day it was measured – higher in the afternoon.
The normal temperature in women tended to be higher than in men. The normal temperature declined with age as well.
In fact, the researchers built a nice online calculator where you can enter your own, or your patient’s, parameters and calculate a normal body temperature for them. Here’s mine. My normal temperature at around 2 p.m. should be 36.7° C.
So, we’re all more cold-blooded than we thought. Is this just because of better methods? Maybe. But studies have actually shown that body temperature may be decreasing over time in humans, possibly because of the lower levels of inflammation we face in modern life (thanks to improvements in hygiene and antibiotics).
Of course, I’m sure some of you are asking yourselves whether any of this really matters. Is 37° C close enough?
Sure, this may be sort of puttering around the edges of physical diagnosis, but I think the methodology is really interesting and can obviously be applied to other broadly collected data points. But these data show us that thin, older individuals really do run cooler, and that we may need to pay more attention to a low-grade fever in that population than we otherwise would.
In any case, it’s time for a little re-education. If someone asks you what normal body temperature is, just say 36.6° C, 98.0° F. For his work in this area, I suggest we call it Wunderlich’s constant.
Dr. Wilson is associate professor of medicine and public health at Yale University, New Haven, Conn., and director of Yale’s Clinical and Translational Research Accelerator. He has no disclosures.
A version of this article appeared on Medscape.com.
This transcript has been edited for clarity.
Every branch of science has its constants. Physics has the speed of light, the gravitational constant, the Planck constant. Chemistry gives us Avogadro’s number, Faraday’s constant, the charge of an electron. Medicine isn’t quite as reliable as physics when it comes to these things, but insofar as there are any constants in medicine, might I suggest normal body temperature: 37° Celsius, 98.6° Fahrenheit.
Sure, serum sodium may be less variable and lactate concentration more clinically relevant, but even my 7-year-old knows that normal body temperature is 98.6°.
Except, as it turns out, 98.6° isn’t normal at all.
How did we arrive at 37.0° C for normal body temperature? We got it from this guy – German physician Carl Reinhold August Wunderlich, who, in addition to looking eerily like Luciano Pavarotti, was the first to realize that fever was not itself a disease but a symptom of one.
In 1851, Dr. Wunderlich released his measurements of more than 1 million body temperatures taken from 25,000 Germans – a painstaking process at the time, which employed a foot-long thermometer and took 20 minutes to obtain a measurement.
The average temperature measured, of course, was 37° C.
We’re more than 150 years post-Wunderlich right now, and the average person in the United States might be quite a bit different from the average German in 1850. Moreover, we can do a lot better than just measuring a ton of people and taking the average, because we have statistics. The problem with measuring a bunch of people and taking the average temperature as normal is that you can’t be sure that the people you are measuring are normal. There are obvious causes of elevated temperature that you could exclude. Let’s not take people with a respiratory infection or who are taking Tylenol, for example. But as highlighted in this paper in JAMA Internal Medicine, we can do a lot better than that.
The study leverages the fact that body temperature is typically measured during all medical office visits and recorded in the ever-present electronic medical record.
Researchers from Stanford identified 724,199 patient encounters with outpatient temperature data. They excluded extreme temperatures – less than 34° C or greater than 40° C – excluded patients under 20 or above 80 years, and excluded those with extremes of height, weight, or body mass index.
You end up with a distribution like this. Note that the peak is clearly lower than 37° C.
But we’re still not at “normal.” Some people would be seeing their doctor for conditions that affect body temperature, such as infection. You could use diagnosis codes to flag these individuals and drop them, but that feels a bit arbitrary.
I really love how the researchers used data to fix this problem. They used a technique called LIMIT (Laboratory Information Mining for Individualized Thresholds). It works like this:
Take all the temperature measurements and then identify the outliers – the very tails of the distribution.
Look at all the diagnosis codes in those distributions. Determine which diagnosis codes are overrepresented in those distributions. Now you have a data-driven way to say that yes, these diagnoses are associated with weird temperatures. Next, eliminate everyone with those diagnoses from the dataset. What you are left with is a normal population, or at least a population that doesn’t have a condition that seems to meaningfully affect temperature.
So, who was dropped? Well, a lot of people, actually. It turned out that diabetes was way overrepresented in the outlier group. Although 9.2% of the population had diabetes, 26% of people with very low temperatures did, so everyone with diabetes is removed from the dataset. While 5% of the population had a cough at their encounter, 7% of the people with very high temperature and 7% of the people with very low temperature had a cough, so everyone with cough gets thrown out.
The algorithm excluded people on antibiotics or who had sinusitis, urinary tract infections, pneumonia, and, yes, a diagnosis of “fever.” The list makes sense, which is always nice when you have a purely algorithmic classification system.
What do we have left? What is the real normal temperature? Ready?
It’s 36.64° C, or about 98.0° F.
Of course, normal temperature varied depending on the time of day it was measured – higher in the afternoon.
The normal temperature in women tended to be higher than in men. The normal temperature declined with age as well.
In fact, the researchers built a nice online calculator where you can enter your own, or your patient’s, parameters and calculate a normal body temperature for them. Here’s mine. My normal temperature at around 2 p.m. should be 36.7° C.
So, we’re all more cold-blooded than we thought. Is this just because of better methods? Maybe. But studies have actually shown that body temperature may be decreasing over time in humans, possibly because of the lower levels of inflammation we face in modern life (thanks to improvements in hygiene and antibiotics).
Of course, I’m sure some of you are asking yourselves whether any of this really matters. Is 37° C close enough?
Sure, this may be sort of puttering around the edges of physical diagnosis, but I think the methodology is really interesting and can obviously be applied to other broadly collected data points. But these data show us that thin, older individuals really do run cooler, and that we may need to pay more attention to a low-grade fever in that population than we otherwise would.
In any case, it’s time for a little re-education. If someone asks you what normal body temperature is, just say 36.6° C, 98.0° F. For his work in this area, I suggest we call it Wunderlich’s constant.
Dr. Wilson is associate professor of medicine and public health at Yale University, New Haven, Conn., and director of Yale’s Clinical and Translational Research Accelerator. He has no disclosures.
A version of this article appeared on Medscape.com.
The cult of the suicide risk assessment
Suicide is not a trivial matter – it upends families, robs partners of a loved one, prevents children from having a parent, and can destroy a parent’s most cherished being. It is not surprising that societies have repeatedly made it a goal to study and reduce suicide within their populations.
The suicide rate in the United States is trending upward, from about 10 per 100,000 in 2000 to about 15 per 100,000 in more recent reports. The increasing suicide rates have been accompanied by increasing distress among many strata of society. From a public health level, analysts are not just witnessing increasing suicide rates, but a shocking rise in all “deaths of despair,”1 among which suicide can be considered the ultimate example.
On an individual level, many know someone who has died of suicide or suffered from a serious suicide attempt. From the public health level to the individual level, advocacy has called for various interventions in the field of psychiatry to remedy this tragic problem.
Psychiatrists have been firsthand witnesses to this increasing demand for suicide interventions. When in residency, the norm was to perform a suicide risk assessment at the time of admission to the hospital and again at the time of discharge. As the years passed, the new normal within psychiatric hospitals has shifted to asking about suicidality on a daily basis.
In what seems to us like an escalating arms race, the emerging standard of care at many facilities is now not only for daily suicide risk assessments by each psychiatrist, but also to require nurses to ask about suicidality during every 8-hour shift – in addition to documented inquiries about suicidality by other allied staff on the psychiatric unit. As a result, it is not uncommon for a patient hospitalized at an academic center to receive more than half a dozen suicide risk assessments in a day (first by the medical student, at least once – often more than once – by the resident, again by the attending psychiatrist, then the social worker and three nurses in 24 hours).
One of the concerns about such an approach is the lack of logic inherent to many risk assessment tools and symptom scales. Many of us are familiar with the Patient Health Questionnaire (PHQ-9) to assess depression.2 The PHQ-9 asks to consider “over the last 2 weeks, how often have you ...” in relation to nine symptoms associated with depression. It has always defied reason to perform a PHQ-9 every day and expect the answers to change from “nearly every day” to “not at all,” considering only 1 day has passed since the last time the patient has answered the questions. Yet daily, or near daily, PHQ-9 scores are a frequently used tool of tracking symptom improvement in response to treatments, such as electroconvulsive therapy, performed multiple times a week.
One can argue that the patient’s perspective on how symptomatic he or she has been over the past 2 weeks may change rapidly with alleviation of a depressed mood. However, the PHQ-9 is both reported to be, and often regarded as, an objective score. If one wishes to utilize it as such, the defense of its use should not be that it is a subjective report with just as much utility as “Rate your depression on a scale of 0-27.”
Similarly, many suicide scales were intended to assess thoughts of suicide in the past month3 or have been re-tooled to address this particular concern by asking “since the last contact.”4 It is baffling to see a chart with many dozens of suicide risk assessments with at times widely differing answers, yet all measuring thoughts of suicide in the past month. Is one to expect the answer to “How many times have you had these thoughts [of suicide ideation]? (1) Less than once a week (2) Once a week ...” to change between 8 a.m. and noon? Furthermore, for the purpose of assessing acute risk of suicidality in the immediate future, to only consider symptoms since the last contact – or past 2 weeks, past month, etc. – is of unclear significance.
Provider liability
Another concern is the liability placed on providers. A common problem encountered in the inpatient setting is insurance companies refusing to reimburse a hospital stay for depressed patients denying suicidality.
Any provider in the position of caring for such a patient must ask: What is the likelihood of someone providing a false negative – a false denial of suicidality? Is the likelihood of a suicidal person denying suicidality different if asked 5 or 10 or more times in a day? There are innumerable instances where a patient at a very high risk of self-harm has denied suicidality, been discharged from the hospital, and suffered terrible consequences. Ethically, the psychiatrist aware of this risk is no more at ease discharging these patients, whether it is one suicide risk scale or a dozen that suggests a patient is at low risk.
Alternatively, it may feel untenable from a medicolegal perspective for a psychiatrist to discharge a patient denying suicidality when the chart includes over a dozen previously documented elevated suicide risk assessments in the past 72 hours. By placing the job of suicide risk assessment in the hands of providers of varying levels of training and responsibility, a situation is created in which the seasoned psychiatrist who would otherwise be comfortable discharging a patient feels unable to do so because every other note-writer in the record – from the triage nurse to the medical assistant to the sitter in the emergency department – has recorded the patient as high risk for suicide. When put in such a position, the thought often occurs that systems of care, rather than individual providers, are protected most by ever escalating requirements for suicide risk documentation. To make a clinical decision contrary to the body of suicide risk documentation puts the provider at risk of being scapegoated by the system of care, which can point to its illogical and ineffective, though profusely documented, suicide prevention protocols.
Limitations of risk assessments
Considering the ongoing rise in the use of suicide risk assessments, one would expect that the evidence for their efficacy was robust and well established. Yet a thorough review of suicide risk assessments funded by the MacArthur Foundation, which examined decades of research, came to disheartening conclusions: “predictive ability has not improved over the past 50 years”; “no risk factor category or subcategory is substantially stronger than any other”; and “predicting solely according to base rates may be comparable to prediction with current risk factors.”5
Those findings were consistent with the conclusions of many other studies, which have summarized the utility of suicide risk assessments as follows: “occurrence of suicide is too low to identify those individuals who are likely to die by suicide”;6 “suicide prediction models produce accurate overall classification models, but their accuracy of predicting a future event is near zero”;7 “risk stratification is too inaccurate to be clinically useful and might even be harmful”;8 “suicide risk prediction [lacks] any items or information that to a useful degree permit the identification of persons who will complete suicide”;9 “existing suicide prediction tools have little current clinical value”;10 “our current preoccupation with risk assessment has ... created a mythology with no evidence to support it.”11 And that’s to cite just a few.
Sadly, we have known about the limitations of suicide risk assessments for many decades. In 1983 a large VA prospective study, which aimed to identify veterans who will die by suicide, examined 4,800 patients with a wide range of instruments and measures.12 This study concluded that “discriminant analysis was clearly inadequate in correctly classifying the subjects. For an event as rare as suicide, our predictive tools and guides are simply not equal to the task.” The authors described the feelings of many in stating “courts and public opinion expect physicians to be able to pick out the particular persons who will later commit suicide. Although we may reconstruct causal chains and motives, we do not possess the tools to predict suicides.”
Yet, even several decades prior, in 1954, Dr. Albert Rosen performed an elegant statistical analysis and predicted that, considering the low base rate of suicide, suicide risk assessments are “of no practical value, for it would be impossible to treat the prodigious number of false positives.”13 It seems that we continue to be unable to accept Dr. Rosen’s premonition despite decades of confirmatory evidence.
“Quantity over quality”
Regardless of those sobering reports,
One can reasonably argue that the periodic performance of a suicide risk assessment may have clinical utility in reminding us of modifiable risk factors such as intoxication, social isolation, and access to lethal means. One can also reasonably argue that these risk assessments may provide useful education to patients and their families on epidemiological risk factors such as gender, age, and marital status. But our pursuit of serial suicide risk assessments throughout the day is encouraging providers to focus on a particular risk factor that changes from moment to moment and has particularly low validity, that being self-reported suicidality.
Reported suicidality is one of the few risk factors that can change from shift to shift. But 80% of people who die by suicide had not previously expressed suicidality, and 98.3% of people who have endorsed suicidality do not die by suicide.14 While the former statistic may improve with increased assessment, the later will likely worsen.
Suicide is not a trivial matter. We admire those that study it and advocate for better interventions. We have compassion for those who have suffered the loss of a loved one to suicide. Our patients have died as a result of the human limitations surrounding suicide prevention. Recognizing the weight of suicide and making an effort to avoid minimizing its immense consequences drive our desire to be honest with ourselves, our patients and their families, and society. That includes the unfortunate truth regarding the current state of the evidence and our ability to enact change.
It is our concern that the rising fascination with repeated suicide risk assessment is misguided in its current form and serves the purpose of appeasing administrators more than reflecting a scientific understanding of the literature. More sadly, we are concerned that this “quantity-over-quality” approach is yet another barrier to practicing what may be one of the few interventions with any hope of meaningfully impacting a patient’s risk of suicide in the clinical setting – spending time connecting with our patients.
Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com. Dr. Compton is a member of the psychiatry faculty at University of California, San Diego. His background includes medical education, mental health advocacy, work with underserved populations, and brain cancer research. Dr. Badre and Dr. Compton have no conflicts of interest.
References
1. Joint Economic Committee. (2019). Long Term Trends in Deaths of Despair. SCP Report 4-19.
2. Kroenke K and Spitzer RL. The PHQ-9: A new depression diagnostic and severity measure. Psychiatr Ann. 2013;32(9):509-15. doi: 10.3928/0048-5713-20020901-06.
3. Columbia-Suicide Severity Rating Scale (C-SSRS) Full Lifetime/Recent.
4. Columbia-Suicide Severity Rating Scale (C-SSRS) Full Since Last Contact.
5. Franklin JC et al. Risk factors for suicidal thoughts and behaviors: A meta-analysis of 50 years of research. Psychol Bull. 2017 Feb;143(2):187-232. doi: 10.1037/bul0000084.
6. Beautrais AL. Further suicidal behavior among medically serious suicide attempters. Suicide Life Threat Behav. 2004 Spring;34(1):1-11. doi: 10.1521/suli.34.1.1.27772.
7. Belsher BE. Prediction models for suicide attempts and deaths: A systematic review and simulation. JAMA Psychiatry. 2019 Jun 1;76(6):642-651. doi: 10.1001/jamapsychiatry.2019.0174.
8. Carter G et al. Royal Australian and New Zealand College of Psychiatrists clinical practice guideline for the management of deliberate self-harm. Aust N Z J Psychiatry. 2016 Oct;50(10):939-1000. doi: 10.1177/0004867416661039.
9. Fosse R et al. Predictors of suicide in the patient population admitted to a locked-door psychiatric acute ward. PLoS One. 2017 Mar 16;12(3):e0173958. doi: 10.1371/journal.pone.0173958.
10. Kessler RC et al. Suicide prediction models: A critical review of recent research with recommendations for the way forward. Mol Psychiatry. 2020 Jan;25(1):168-79. doi: 10.1038/s41380-019-0531-0.
11. Mulder R. Problems with suicide risk assessment. Aust N Z J Psychiatry. 2011 Aug;45(8):605-7. doi: 10.3109/00048674.2011.594786.
12. Pokorny AD. Prediction of suicide in psychiatric patients: Report of a prospective study. Arch Gen Psychiatry. 1983 Mar;40(3):249-57. doi: 10.1001/archpsyc.1983.01790030019002.
13. Rosen A. Detection of suicidal patients: An example of some limitations in the prediction of infrequent events. J Consult Psychol. 1954 Dec;18(6):397-403. doi: 10.1037/h0058579.
14. McHugh CM et al. (2019). Association between suicidal ideation and suicide: Meta-analyses of odds ratios, sensitivity, specificity and positive predictive value. BJPsych Open. 2019 Mar;5(2):e18. doi: 10.1192/bjo.2018.88.
Suicide is not a trivial matter – it upends families, robs partners of a loved one, prevents children from having a parent, and can destroy a parent’s most cherished being. It is not surprising that societies have repeatedly made it a goal to study and reduce suicide within their populations.
The suicide rate in the United States is trending upward, from about 10 per 100,000 in 2000 to about 15 per 100,000 in more recent reports. The increasing suicide rates have been accompanied by increasing distress among many strata of society. From a public health level, analysts are not just witnessing increasing suicide rates, but a shocking rise in all “deaths of despair,”1 among which suicide can be considered the ultimate example.
On an individual level, many know someone who has died of suicide or suffered from a serious suicide attempt. From the public health level to the individual level, advocacy has called for various interventions in the field of psychiatry to remedy this tragic problem.
Psychiatrists have been firsthand witnesses to this increasing demand for suicide interventions. When in residency, the norm was to perform a suicide risk assessment at the time of admission to the hospital and again at the time of discharge. As the years passed, the new normal within psychiatric hospitals has shifted to asking about suicidality on a daily basis.
In what seems to us like an escalating arms race, the emerging standard of care at many facilities is now not only for daily suicide risk assessments by each psychiatrist, but also to require nurses to ask about suicidality during every 8-hour shift – in addition to documented inquiries about suicidality by other allied staff on the psychiatric unit. As a result, it is not uncommon for a patient hospitalized at an academic center to receive more than half a dozen suicide risk assessments in a day (first by the medical student, at least once – often more than once – by the resident, again by the attending psychiatrist, then the social worker and three nurses in 24 hours).
One of the concerns about such an approach is the lack of logic inherent to many risk assessment tools and symptom scales. Many of us are familiar with the Patient Health Questionnaire (PHQ-9) to assess depression.2 The PHQ-9 asks to consider “over the last 2 weeks, how often have you ...” in relation to nine symptoms associated with depression. It has always defied reason to perform a PHQ-9 every day and expect the answers to change from “nearly every day” to “not at all,” considering only 1 day has passed since the last time the patient has answered the questions. Yet daily, or near daily, PHQ-9 scores are a frequently used tool of tracking symptom improvement in response to treatments, such as electroconvulsive therapy, performed multiple times a week.
One can argue that the patient’s perspective on how symptomatic he or she has been over the past 2 weeks may change rapidly with alleviation of a depressed mood. However, the PHQ-9 is both reported to be, and often regarded as, an objective score. If one wishes to utilize it as such, the defense of its use should not be that it is a subjective report with just as much utility as “Rate your depression on a scale of 0-27.”
Similarly, many suicide scales were intended to assess thoughts of suicide in the past month3 or have been re-tooled to address this particular concern by asking “since the last contact.”4 It is baffling to see a chart with many dozens of suicide risk assessments with at times widely differing answers, yet all measuring thoughts of suicide in the past month. Is one to expect the answer to “How many times have you had these thoughts [of suicide ideation]? (1) Less than once a week (2) Once a week ...” to change between 8 a.m. and noon? Furthermore, for the purpose of assessing acute risk of suicidality in the immediate future, to only consider symptoms since the last contact – or past 2 weeks, past month, etc. – is of unclear significance.
Provider liability
Another concern is the liability placed on providers. A common problem encountered in the inpatient setting is insurance companies refusing to reimburse a hospital stay for depressed patients denying suicidality.
Any provider in the position of caring for such a patient must ask: What is the likelihood of someone providing a false negative – a false denial of suicidality? Is the likelihood of a suicidal person denying suicidality different if asked 5 or 10 or more times in a day? There are innumerable instances where a patient at a very high risk of self-harm has denied suicidality, been discharged from the hospital, and suffered terrible consequences. Ethically, the psychiatrist aware of this risk is no more at ease discharging these patients, whether it is one suicide risk scale or a dozen that suggests a patient is at low risk.
Alternatively, it may feel untenable from a medicolegal perspective for a psychiatrist to discharge a patient denying suicidality when the chart includes over a dozen previously documented elevated suicide risk assessments in the past 72 hours. By placing the job of suicide risk assessment in the hands of providers of varying levels of training and responsibility, a situation is created in which the seasoned psychiatrist who would otherwise be comfortable discharging a patient feels unable to do so because every other note-writer in the record – from the triage nurse to the medical assistant to the sitter in the emergency department – has recorded the patient as high risk for suicide. When put in such a position, the thought often occurs that systems of care, rather than individual providers, are protected most by ever escalating requirements for suicide risk documentation. To make a clinical decision contrary to the body of suicide risk documentation puts the provider at risk of being scapegoated by the system of care, which can point to its illogical and ineffective, though profusely documented, suicide prevention protocols.
Limitations of risk assessments
Considering the ongoing rise in the use of suicide risk assessments, one would expect that the evidence for their efficacy was robust and well established. Yet a thorough review of suicide risk assessments funded by the MacArthur Foundation, which examined decades of research, came to disheartening conclusions: “predictive ability has not improved over the past 50 years”; “no risk factor category or subcategory is substantially stronger than any other”; and “predicting solely according to base rates may be comparable to prediction with current risk factors.”5
Those findings were consistent with the conclusions of many other studies, which have summarized the utility of suicide risk assessments as follows: “occurrence of suicide is too low to identify those individuals who are likely to die by suicide”;6 “suicide prediction models produce accurate overall classification models, but their accuracy of predicting a future event is near zero”;7 “risk stratification is too inaccurate to be clinically useful and might even be harmful”;8 “suicide risk prediction [lacks] any items or information that to a useful degree permit the identification of persons who will complete suicide”;9 “existing suicide prediction tools have little current clinical value”;10 “our current preoccupation with risk assessment has ... created a mythology with no evidence to support it.”11 And that’s to cite just a few.
Sadly, we have known about the limitations of suicide risk assessments for many decades. In 1983 a large VA prospective study, which aimed to identify veterans who will die by suicide, examined 4,800 patients with a wide range of instruments and measures.12 This study concluded that “discriminant analysis was clearly inadequate in correctly classifying the subjects. For an event as rare as suicide, our predictive tools and guides are simply not equal to the task.” The authors described the feelings of many in stating “courts and public opinion expect physicians to be able to pick out the particular persons who will later commit suicide. Although we may reconstruct causal chains and motives, we do not possess the tools to predict suicides.”
Yet, even several decades prior, in 1954, Dr. Albert Rosen performed an elegant statistical analysis and predicted that, considering the low base rate of suicide, suicide risk assessments are “of no practical value, for it would be impossible to treat the prodigious number of false positives.”13 It seems that we continue to be unable to accept Dr. Rosen’s premonition despite decades of confirmatory evidence.
“Quantity over quality”
Regardless of those sobering reports,
One can reasonably argue that the periodic performance of a suicide risk assessment may have clinical utility in reminding us of modifiable risk factors such as intoxication, social isolation, and access to lethal means. One can also reasonably argue that these risk assessments may provide useful education to patients and their families on epidemiological risk factors such as gender, age, and marital status. But our pursuit of serial suicide risk assessments throughout the day is encouraging providers to focus on a particular risk factor that changes from moment to moment and has particularly low validity, that being self-reported suicidality.
Reported suicidality is one of the few risk factors that can change from shift to shift. But 80% of people who die by suicide had not previously expressed suicidality, and 98.3% of people who have endorsed suicidality do not die by suicide.14 While the former statistic may improve with increased assessment, the later will likely worsen.
Suicide is not a trivial matter. We admire those that study it and advocate for better interventions. We have compassion for those who have suffered the loss of a loved one to suicide. Our patients have died as a result of the human limitations surrounding suicide prevention. Recognizing the weight of suicide and making an effort to avoid minimizing its immense consequences drive our desire to be honest with ourselves, our patients and their families, and society. That includes the unfortunate truth regarding the current state of the evidence and our ability to enact change.
It is our concern that the rising fascination with repeated suicide risk assessment is misguided in its current form and serves the purpose of appeasing administrators more than reflecting a scientific understanding of the literature. More sadly, we are concerned that this “quantity-over-quality” approach is yet another barrier to practicing what may be one of the few interventions with any hope of meaningfully impacting a patient’s risk of suicide in the clinical setting – spending time connecting with our patients.
Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com. Dr. Compton is a member of the psychiatry faculty at University of California, San Diego. His background includes medical education, mental health advocacy, work with underserved populations, and brain cancer research. Dr. Badre and Dr. Compton have no conflicts of interest.
References
1. Joint Economic Committee. (2019). Long Term Trends in Deaths of Despair. SCP Report 4-19.
2. Kroenke K and Spitzer RL. The PHQ-9: A new depression diagnostic and severity measure. Psychiatr Ann. 2013;32(9):509-15. doi: 10.3928/0048-5713-20020901-06.
3. Columbia-Suicide Severity Rating Scale (C-SSRS) Full Lifetime/Recent.
4. Columbia-Suicide Severity Rating Scale (C-SSRS) Full Since Last Contact.
5. Franklin JC et al. Risk factors for suicidal thoughts and behaviors: A meta-analysis of 50 years of research. Psychol Bull. 2017 Feb;143(2):187-232. doi: 10.1037/bul0000084.
6. Beautrais AL. Further suicidal behavior among medically serious suicide attempters. Suicide Life Threat Behav. 2004 Spring;34(1):1-11. doi: 10.1521/suli.34.1.1.27772.
7. Belsher BE. Prediction models for suicide attempts and deaths: A systematic review and simulation. JAMA Psychiatry. 2019 Jun 1;76(6):642-651. doi: 10.1001/jamapsychiatry.2019.0174.
8. Carter G et al. Royal Australian and New Zealand College of Psychiatrists clinical practice guideline for the management of deliberate self-harm. Aust N Z J Psychiatry. 2016 Oct;50(10):939-1000. doi: 10.1177/0004867416661039.
9. Fosse R et al. Predictors of suicide in the patient population admitted to a locked-door psychiatric acute ward. PLoS One. 2017 Mar 16;12(3):e0173958. doi: 10.1371/journal.pone.0173958.
10. Kessler RC et al. Suicide prediction models: A critical review of recent research with recommendations for the way forward. Mol Psychiatry. 2020 Jan;25(1):168-79. doi: 10.1038/s41380-019-0531-0.
11. Mulder R. Problems with suicide risk assessment. Aust N Z J Psychiatry. 2011 Aug;45(8):605-7. doi: 10.3109/00048674.2011.594786.
12. Pokorny AD. Prediction of suicide in psychiatric patients: Report of a prospective study. Arch Gen Psychiatry. 1983 Mar;40(3):249-57. doi: 10.1001/archpsyc.1983.01790030019002.
13. Rosen A. Detection of suicidal patients: An example of some limitations in the prediction of infrequent events. J Consult Psychol. 1954 Dec;18(6):397-403. doi: 10.1037/h0058579.
14. McHugh CM et al. (2019). Association between suicidal ideation and suicide: Meta-analyses of odds ratios, sensitivity, specificity and positive predictive value. BJPsych Open. 2019 Mar;5(2):e18. doi: 10.1192/bjo.2018.88.
Suicide is not a trivial matter – it upends families, robs partners of a loved one, prevents children from having a parent, and can destroy a parent’s most cherished being. It is not surprising that societies have repeatedly made it a goal to study and reduce suicide within their populations.
The suicide rate in the United States is trending upward, from about 10 per 100,000 in 2000 to about 15 per 100,000 in more recent reports. The increasing suicide rates have been accompanied by increasing distress among many strata of society. From a public health level, analysts are not just witnessing increasing suicide rates, but a shocking rise in all “deaths of despair,”1 among which suicide can be considered the ultimate example.
On an individual level, many know someone who has died of suicide or suffered from a serious suicide attempt. From the public health level to the individual level, advocacy has called for various interventions in the field of psychiatry to remedy this tragic problem.
Psychiatrists have been firsthand witnesses to this increasing demand for suicide interventions. When in residency, the norm was to perform a suicide risk assessment at the time of admission to the hospital and again at the time of discharge. As the years passed, the new normal within psychiatric hospitals has shifted to asking about suicidality on a daily basis.
In what seems to us like an escalating arms race, the emerging standard of care at many facilities is now not only for daily suicide risk assessments by each psychiatrist, but also to require nurses to ask about suicidality during every 8-hour shift – in addition to documented inquiries about suicidality by other allied staff on the psychiatric unit. As a result, it is not uncommon for a patient hospitalized at an academic center to receive more than half a dozen suicide risk assessments in a day (first by the medical student, at least once – often more than once – by the resident, again by the attending psychiatrist, then the social worker and three nurses in 24 hours).
One of the concerns about such an approach is the lack of logic inherent to many risk assessment tools and symptom scales. Many of us are familiar with the Patient Health Questionnaire (PHQ-9) to assess depression.2 The PHQ-9 asks to consider “over the last 2 weeks, how often have you ...” in relation to nine symptoms associated with depression. It has always defied reason to perform a PHQ-9 every day and expect the answers to change from “nearly every day” to “not at all,” considering only 1 day has passed since the last time the patient has answered the questions. Yet daily, or near daily, PHQ-9 scores are a frequently used tool of tracking symptom improvement in response to treatments, such as electroconvulsive therapy, performed multiple times a week.
One can argue that the patient’s perspective on how symptomatic he or she has been over the past 2 weeks may change rapidly with alleviation of a depressed mood. However, the PHQ-9 is both reported to be, and often regarded as, an objective score. If one wishes to utilize it as such, the defense of its use should not be that it is a subjective report with just as much utility as “Rate your depression on a scale of 0-27.”
Similarly, many suicide scales were intended to assess thoughts of suicide in the past month3 or have been re-tooled to address this particular concern by asking “since the last contact.”4 It is baffling to see a chart with many dozens of suicide risk assessments with at times widely differing answers, yet all measuring thoughts of suicide in the past month. Is one to expect the answer to “How many times have you had these thoughts [of suicide ideation]? (1) Less than once a week (2) Once a week ...” to change between 8 a.m. and noon? Furthermore, for the purpose of assessing acute risk of suicidality in the immediate future, to only consider symptoms since the last contact – or past 2 weeks, past month, etc. – is of unclear significance.
Provider liability
Another concern is the liability placed on providers. A common problem encountered in the inpatient setting is insurance companies refusing to reimburse a hospital stay for depressed patients denying suicidality.
Any provider in the position of caring for such a patient must ask: What is the likelihood of someone providing a false negative – a false denial of suicidality? Is the likelihood of a suicidal person denying suicidality different if asked 5 or 10 or more times in a day? There are innumerable instances where a patient at a very high risk of self-harm has denied suicidality, been discharged from the hospital, and suffered terrible consequences. Ethically, the psychiatrist aware of this risk is no more at ease discharging these patients, whether it is one suicide risk scale or a dozen that suggests a patient is at low risk.
Alternatively, it may feel untenable from a medicolegal perspective for a psychiatrist to discharge a patient denying suicidality when the chart includes over a dozen previously documented elevated suicide risk assessments in the past 72 hours. By placing the job of suicide risk assessment in the hands of providers of varying levels of training and responsibility, a situation is created in which the seasoned psychiatrist who would otherwise be comfortable discharging a patient feels unable to do so because every other note-writer in the record – from the triage nurse to the medical assistant to the sitter in the emergency department – has recorded the patient as high risk for suicide. When put in such a position, the thought often occurs that systems of care, rather than individual providers, are protected most by ever escalating requirements for suicide risk documentation. To make a clinical decision contrary to the body of suicide risk documentation puts the provider at risk of being scapegoated by the system of care, which can point to its illogical and ineffective, though profusely documented, suicide prevention protocols.
Limitations of risk assessments
Considering the ongoing rise in the use of suicide risk assessments, one would expect that the evidence for their efficacy was robust and well established. Yet a thorough review of suicide risk assessments funded by the MacArthur Foundation, which examined decades of research, came to disheartening conclusions: “predictive ability has not improved over the past 50 years”; “no risk factor category or subcategory is substantially stronger than any other”; and “predicting solely according to base rates may be comparable to prediction with current risk factors.”5
Those findings were consistent with the conclusions of many other studies, which have summarized the utility of suicide risk assessments as follows: “occurrence of suicide is too low to identify those individuals who are likely to die by suicide”;6 “suicide prediction models produce accurate overall classification models, but their accuracy of predicting a future event is near zero”;7 “risk stratification is too inaccurate to be clinically useful and might even be harmful”;8 “suicide risk prediction [lacks] any items or information that to a useful degree permit the identification of persons who will complete suicide”;9 “existing suicide prediction tools have little current clinical value”;10 “our current preoccupation with risk assessment has ... created a mythology with no evidence to support it.”11 And that’s to cite just a few.
Sadly, we have known about the limitations of suicide risk assessments for many decades. In 1983 a large VA prospective study, which aimed to identify veterans who will die by suicide, examined 4,800 patients with a wide range of instruments and measures.12 This study concluded that “discriminant analysis was clearly inadequate in correctly classifying the subjects. For an event as rare as suicide, our predictive tools and guides are simply not equal to the task.” The authors described the feelings of many in stating “courts and public opinion expect physicians to be able to pick out the particular persons who will later commit suicide. Although we may reconstruct causal chains and motives, we do not possess the tools to predict suicides.”
Yet, even several decades prior, in 1954, Dr. Albert Rosen performed an elegant statistical analysis and predicted that, considering the low base rate of suicide, suicide risk assessments are “of no practical value, for it would be impossible to treat the prodigious number of false positives.”13 It seems that we continue to be unable to accept Dr. Rosen’s premonition despite decades of confirmatory evidence.
“Quantity over quality”
Regardless of those sobering reports,
One can reasonably argue that the periodic performance of a suicide risk assessment may have clinical utility in reminding us of modifiable risk factors such as intoxication, social isolation, and access to lethal means. One can also reasonably argue that these risk assessments may provide useful education to patients and their families on epidemiological risk factors such as gender, age, and marital status. But our pursuit of serial suicide risk assessments throughout the day is encouraging providers to focus on a particular risk factor that changes from moment to moment and has particularly low validity, that being self-reported suicidality.
Reported suicidality is one of the few risk factors that can change from shift to shift. But 80% of people who die by suicide had not previously expressed suicidality, and 98.3% of people who have endorsed suicidality do not die by suicide.14 While the former statistic may improve with increased assessment, the later will likely worsen.
Suicide is not a trivial matter. We admire those that study it and advocate for better interventions. We have compassion for those who have suffered the loss of a loved one to suicide. Our patients have died as a result of the human limitations surrounding suicide prevention. Recognizing the weight of suicide and making an effort to avoid minimizing its immense consequences drive our desire to be honest with ourselves, our patients and their families, and society. That includes the unfortunate truth regarding the current state of the evidence and our ability to enact change.
It is our concern that the rising fascination with repeated suicide risk assessment is misguided in its current form and serves the purpose of appeasing administrators more than reflecting a scientific understanding of the literature. More sadly, we are concerned that this “quantity-over-quality” approach is yet another barrier to practicing what may be one of the few interventions with any hope of meaningfully impacting a patient’s risk of suicide in the clinical setting – spending time connecting with our patients.
Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com. Dr. Compton is a member of the psychiatry faculty at University of California, San Diego. His background includes medical education, mental health advocacy, work with underserved populations, and brain cancer research. Dr. Badre and Dr. Compton have no conflicts of interest.
References
1. Joint Economic Committee. (2019). Long Term Trends in Deaths of Despair. SCP Report 4-19.
2. Kroenke K and Spitzer RL. The PHQ-9: A new depression diagnostic and severity measure. Psychiatr Ann. 2013;32(9):509-15. doi: 10.3928/0048-5713-20020901-06.
3. Columbia-Suicide Severity Rating Scale (C-SSRS) Full Lifetime/Recent.
4. Columbia-Suicide Severity Rating Scale (C-SSRS) Full Since Last Contact.
5. Franklin JC et al. Risk factors for suicidal thoughts and behaviors: A meta-analysis of 50 years of research. Psychol Bull. 2017 Feb;143(2):187-232. doi: 10.1037/bul0000084.
6. Beautrais AL. Further suicidal behavior among medically serious suicide attempters. Suicide Life Threat Behav. 2004 Spring;34(1):1-11. doi: 10.1521/suli.34.1.1.27772.
7. Belsher BE. Prediction models for suicide attempts and deaths: A systematic review and simulation. JAMA Psychiatry. 2019 Jun 1;76(6):642-651. doi: 10.1001/jamapsychiatry.2019.0174.
8. Carter G et al. Royal Australian and New Zealand College of Psychiatrists clinical practice guideline for the management of deliberate self-harm. Aust N Z J Psychiatry. 2016 Oct;50(10):939-1000. doi: 10.1177/0004867416661039.
9. Fosse R et al. Predictors of suicide in the patient population admitted to a locked-door psychiatric acute ward. PLoS One. 2017 Mar 16;12(3):e0173958. doi: 10.1371/journal.pone.0173958.
10. Kessler RC et al. Suicide prediction models: A critical review of recent research with recommendations for the way forward. Mol Psychiatry. 2020 Jan;25(1):168-79. doi: 10.1038/s41380-019-0531-0.
11. Mulder R. Problems with suicide risk assessment. Aust N Z J Psychiatry. 2011 Aug;45(8):605-7. doi: 10.3109/00048674.2011.594786.
12. Pokorny AD. Prediction of suicide in psychiatric patients: Report of a prospective study. Arch Gen Psychiatry. 1983 Mar;40(3):249-57. doi: 10.1001/archpsyc.1983.01790030019002.
13. Rosen A. Detection of suicidal patients: An example of some limitations in the prediction of infrequent events. J Consult Psychol. 1954 Dec;18(6):397-403. doi: 10.1037/h0058579.
14. McHugh CM et al. (2019). Association between suicidal ideation and suicide: Meta-analyses of odds ratios, sensitivity, specificity and positive predictive value. BJPsych Open. 2019 Mar;5(2):e18. doi: 10.1192/bjo.2018.88.
IQ and concussion recovery
Pediatric concussion is one of those rare phenomena in which we may be witnessing its emergence and clarification in a generation. When I was serving as the game doctor for our local high school football team in the 1970s, I and many other physicians had a very simplistic view of concussion. If the patient never lost conscious and had a reasonably intact short-term memory, we didn’t seriously entertain concussion as a diagnosis. “What’s the score and who is the president?” Were my favorite screening questions.
Obviously, we were underdiagnosing and mismanaging concussion. In part thanks to some high-profile athletes who suffered multiple concussions and eventually chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) physicians began to realize that they should be looking more closely at children who sustained a head injury. The diagnostic criteria were expanded to include any injury that even temporarily effected brain function.
With the new appreciation for the risk of multiple concussions, the focus broadened to include the question of when is it safe for the athlete to return to competition. What signs or symptoms can the patient offer us so we can be sure his or her brain is sufficiently recovered? Here we stepped off into a deep abyss of ignorance. Fortunately, it became obvious fairly quickly that imaging studies weren’t going to help us, as they were invariably normal or at least didn’t tell us anything that wasn’t obvious on a physical exam.
If the patient had a headache, complained of dizziness, or manifested amnesia, monitoring the patient was fairly straightforward. But, in the absence of symptoms and no obvious way to determine the pace of recovery of an organ we couldn’t visualize, clinicians were pulling criteria and time tables out of thin air. Guessing that the concussed brain was in some ways like a torn muscle or overstretched tendon, “brain rest” was often suggested. So no TV, no reading, and certainly none of the cerebral challenging activity of school. Fortunately, we don’t hear much about the notion of brain rest anymore and there is at least one study that suggests that patients kept home from school recover more slowly.
But . Sometimes they describe headache or dizziness but often they complain of a vague mental unwellness. “Brain fog,” a term that has emerged in the wake of the COVID pandemic, might be an apt descriptor. Management of these slow recoverers has been a challenge.
However, two recent articles in the journal Pediatrics may provide some clarity and offer guidance in their management. In a study coming from the psychology department at Georgia State University, researchers reported that they have been able to find “no evidence of clinical meaningful differences in IQ after pediatric concussion.” In their words there is “strong evidence against reduced intelligence in the first few weeks to month after pediatric concussion.”
While their findings may simply toss the IQ onto the pile of worthless measures of healing, a companion commentary by Talin Babikian, PhD, a psychologist at the Semel Institute for Neuroscience and Human Behavior at UCLA, provides a more nuanced interpretation. He writes that if we are looking for an explanation when a patient’s recovery is taking longer than we might expect we need to look beyond some structural damage. Maybe the patient has a previously undiagnosed premorbid condition effecting his or her intellectual, cognitive, or learning abilities. Could the stall in improvement be the result of other symptoms? Here fatigue and sleep deprivation may be the culprits. Could some underlying emotional factor such as anxiety or depression be the problem? For example, I have seen patients whose fear of re-injury has prevented their return to full function. And, finally, the patient may be avoiding a “nonpreferred or challenging situation” unrelated to the injury.
In other words, the concussion may simply be the most obvious rip in a fabric that was already frayed and under stress. This kind of broad holistic (a word I usually like to avoid) thinking may be what is lacking as we struggle to understand other mysterious and chronic conditions such as Lyme disease and chronic fatigue syndrome.
While these two papers help provide some clarity in the management of pediatric concussion, what they fail to address is the bigger question of the relationship between head injury and CTE. The answers to that conundrum are enshrouded in a mix of politics and publicity that I doubt will clear in the near future.
Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].
Pediatric concussion is one of those rare phenomena in which we may be witnessing its emergence and clarification in a generation. When I was serving as the game doctor for our local high school football team in the 1970s, I and many other physicians had a very simplistic view of concussion. If the patient never lost conscious and had a reasonably intact short-term memory, we didn’t seriously entertain concussion as a diagnosis. “What’s the score and who is the president?” Were my favorite screening questions.
Obviously, we were underdiagnosing and mismanaging concussion. In part thanks to some high-profile athletes who suffered multiple concussions and eventually chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) physicians began to realize that they should be looking more closely at children who sustained a head injury. The diagnostic criteria were expanded to include any injury that even temporarily effected brain function.
With the new appreciation for the risk of multiple concussions, the focus broadened to include the question of when is it safe for the athlete to return to competition. What signs or symptoms can the patient offer us so we can be sure his or her brain is sufficiently recovered? Here we stepped off into a deep abyss of ignorance. Fortunately, it became obvious fairly quickly that imaging studies weren’t going to help us, as they were invariably normal or at least didn’t tell us anything that wasn’t obvious on a physical exam.
If the patient had a headache, complained of dizziness, or manifested amnesia, monitoring the patient was fairly straightforward. But, in the absence of symptoms and no obvious way to determine the pace of recovery of an organ we couldn’t visualize, clinicians were pulling criteria and time tables out of thin air. Guessing that the concussed brain was in some ways like a torn muscle or overstretched tendon, “brain rest” was often suggested. So no TV, no reading, and certainly none of the cerebral challenging activity of school. Fortunately, we don’t hear much about the notion of brain rest anymore and there is at least one study that suggests that patients kept home from school recover more slowly.
But . Sometimes they describe headache or dizziness but often they complain of a vague mental unwellness. “Brain fog,” a term that has emerged in the wake of the COVID pandemic, might be an apt descriptor. Management of these slow recoverers has been a challenge.
However, two recent articles in the journal Pediatrics may provide some clarity and offer guidance in their management. In a study coming from the psychology department at Georgia State University, researchers reported that they have been able to find “no evidence of clinical meaningful differences in IQ after pediatric concussion.” In their words there is “strong evidence against reduced intelligence in the first few weeks to month after pediatric concussion.”
While their findings may simply toss the IQ onto the pile of worthless measures of healing, a companion commentary by Talin Babikian, PhD, a psychologist at the Semel Institute for Neuroscience and Human Behavior at UCLA, provides a more nuanced interpretation. He writes that if we are looking for an explanation when a patient’s recovery is taking longer than we might expect we need to look beyond some structural damage. Maybe the patient has a previously undiagnosed premorbid condition effecting his or her intellectual, cognitive, or learning abilities. Could the stall in improvement be the result of other symptoms? Here fatigue and sleep deprivation may be the culprits. Could some underlying emotional factor such as anxiety or depression be the problem? For example, I have seen patients whose fear of re-injury has prevented their return to full function. And, finally, the patient may be avoiding a “nonpreferred or challenging situation” unrelated to the injury.
In other words, the concussion may simply be the most obvious rip in a fabric that was already frayed and under stress. This kind of broad holistic (a word I usually like to avoid) thinking may be what is lacking as we struggle to understand other mysterious and chronic conditions such as Lyme disease and chronic fatigue syndrome.
While these two papers help provide some clarity in the management of pediatric concussion, what they fail to address is the bigger question of the relationship between head injury and CTE. The answers to that conundrum are enshrouded in a mix of politics and publicity that I doubt will clear in the near future.
Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].
Pediatric concussion is one of those rare phenomena in which we may be witnessing its emergence and clarification in a generation. When I was serving as the game doctor for our local high school football team in the 1970s, I and many other physicians had a very simplistic view of concussion. If the patient never lost conscious and had a reasonably intact short-term memory, we didn’t seriously entertain concussion as a diagnosis. “What’s the score and who is the president?” Were my favorite screening questions.
Obviously, we were underdiagnosing and mismanaging concussion. In part thanks to some high-profile athletes who suffered multiple concussions and eventually chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) physicians began to realize that they should be looking more closely at children who sustained a head injury. The diagnostic criteria were expanded to include any injury that even temporarily effected brain function.
With the new appreciation for the risk of multiple concussions, the focus broadened to include the question of when is it safe for the athlete to return to competition. What signs or symptoms can the patient offer us so we can be sure his or her brain is sufficiently recovered? Here we stepped off into a deep abyss of ignorance. Fortunately, it became obvious fairly quickly that imaging studies weren’t going to help us, as they were invariably normal or at least didn’t tell us anything that wasn’t obvious on a physical exam.
If the patient had a headache, complained of dizziness, or manifested amnesia, monitoring the patient was fairly straightforward. But, in the absence of symptoms and no obvious way to determine the pace of recovery of an organ we couldn’t visualize, clinicians were pulling criteria and time tables out of thin air. Guessing that the concussed brain was in some ways like a torn muscle or overstretched tendon, “brain rest” was often suggested. So no TV, no reading, and certainly none of the cerebral challenging activity of school. Fortunately, we don’t hear much about the notion of brain rest anymore and there is at least one study that suggests that patients kept home from school recover more slowly.
But . Sometimes they describe headache or dizziness but often they complain of a vague mental unwellness. “Brain fog,” a term that has emerged in the wake of the COVID pandemic, might be an apt descriptor. Management of these slow recoverers has been a challenge.
However, two recent articles in the journal Pediatrics may provide some clarity and offer guidance in their management. In a study coming from the psychology department at Georgia State University, researchers reported that they have been able to find “no evidence of clinical meaningful differences in IQ after pediatric concussion.” In their words there is “strong evidence against reduced intelligence in the first few weeks to month after pediatric concussion.”
While their findings may simply toss the IQ onto the pile of worthless measures of healing, a companion commentary by Talin Babikian, PhD, a psychologist at the Semel Institute for Neuroscience and Human Behavior at UCLA, provides a more nuanced interpretation. He writes that if we are looking for an explanation when a patient’s recovery is taking longer than we might expect we need to look beyond some structural damage. Maybe the patient has a previously undiagnosed premorbid condition effecting his or her intellectual, cognitive, or learning abilities. Could the stall in improvement be the result of other symptoms? Here fatigue and sleep deprivation may be the culprits. Could some underlying emotional factor such as anxiety or depression be the problem? For example, I have seen patients whose fear of re-injury has prevented their return to full function. And, finally, the patient may be avoiding a “nonpreferred or challenging situation” unrelated to the injury.
In other words, the concussion may simply be the most obvious rip in a fabric that was already frayed and under stress. This kind of broad holistic (a word I usually like to avoid) thinking may be what is lacking as we struggle to understand other mysterious and chronic conditions such as Lyme disease and chronic fatigue syndrome.
While these two papers help provide some clarity in the management of pediatric concussion, what they fail to address is the bigger question of the relationship between head injury and CTE. The answers to that conundrum are enshrouded in a mix of politics and publicity that I doubt will clear in the near future.
Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].
Can a decrease in dopamine lead to binge eating?
In medical school, we were repeatedly advised that there is both a science and an art to the practice of medicine. In these days of doc-in-a-box online consultations for obesity, it’s tempting to think that there’s a one-size-fits-all purely scientific approach for these new weight loss medications. Yet, for every nine patients who lose weight seemingly effortlessly on this class of medication, there is always one whose body stubbornly refuses to submit.
Adam is a 58-year-old man who came to me recently because he was having difficulty losing weight. Over the past 20 years, he’d been steadily gaining weight and now, technically has morbid obesity (a term which should arguably be obsolete). His weight gain is complicated by high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and obstructive sleep apnea. His sleep apnea has caused such profound exhaustion that he no longer has the energy to work out. He also has significant ADHD, which has been left untreated because of his ability to white-knuckle it through his many daily meetings and calls. A married father of three, he is a successful portfolio manager at a high-yield bond fund.
Adam tends to eat minimally during the day, thereby baffling his colleagues with the stark contrast between his minimal caloric intake and his large belly. However, when he returns from work late at night (kids safely tucked into bed), the floodgates open. He reports polishing off pints of ice cream, scarfing down bags of cookies, inhaling trays of brownies. No carbohydrate is off limits to him once he steps off the Metro North train and crosses the threshold from work to home.
Does Adam simply lack the desire or common-sense willpower to make the necessary changes in his lifestyle or is there something more complicated at play?
I would argue that Adam’s ADHD triggered a binge-eating disorder (BED) that festered unchecked over the past 20 years. Patients with BED typically eat massive quantities of food over short periods of time – often when they’re not even hungry. Adam admitted that he would generally continue to eat well after feeling stuffed to the brim.
The answer probably lies with dopamine, a neurotransmitter produced in the reward centers of the brain that regulates how people experience pleasure and control impulses. We believe that people with ADHD have low levels of dopamine (it’s actually a bit more complicated, but this is the general idea). These low levels of dopamine lead people to self-medicate with sugars, salt, and fats to increase dopamine levels.
Lisdexamfetamine (Vyvanse) is a Food and Drug Administration–approved treatment option for both ADHD and binge eating. It raises the levels of dopamine (as well as norepinephrine) in the brain’s reward center. Often, the strong urge to binge subsides rapidly once ADHD is properly treated.
Rather than starting Adam on a semaglutide or similar agent, I opted to start him on lisdexamfetamine. When I spoke to him 1 week later, he confided that the world suddenly shifted into focus, and he was able to plan his meals throughout the day and resist the urge to binge late at night.
I may eventually add a semaglutide-like medication if his weight loss plateaus, but for now, I will focus on raising his dopamine levels to tackle the underlying cause of his weight gain.
Dr. Messer is a clinical assistant professor at the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai, New York. She disclosed no relevant conflicts of interest.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
In medical school, we were repeatedly advised that there is both a science and an art to the practice of medicine. In these days of doc-in-a-box online consultations for obesity, it’s tempting to think that there’s a one-size-fits-all purely scientific approach for these new weight loss medications. Yet, for every nine patients who lose weight seemingly effortlessly on this class of medication, there is always one whose body stubbornly refuses to submit.
Adam is a 58-year-old man who came to me recently because he was having difficulty losing weight. Over the past 20 years, he’d been steadily gaining weight and now, technically has morbid obesity (a term which should arguably be obsolete). His weight gain is complicated by high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and obstructive sleep apnea. His sleep apnea has caused such profound exhaustion that he no longer has the energy to work out. He also has significant ADHD, which has been left untreated because of his ability to white-knuckle it through his many daily meetings and calls. A married father of three, he is a successful portfolio manager at a high-yield bond fund.
Adam tends to eat minimally during the day, thereby baffling his colleagues with the stark contrast between his minimal caloric intake and his large belly. However, when he returns from work late at night (kids safely tucked into bed), the floodgates open. He reports polishing off pints of ice cream, scarfing down bags of cookies, inhaling trays of brownies. No carbohydrate is off limits to him once he steps off the Metro North train and crosses the threshold from work to home.
Does Adam simply lack the desire or common-sense willpower to make the necessary changes in his lifestyle or is there something more complicated at play?
I would argue that Adam’s ADHD triggered a binge-eating disorder (BED) that festered unchecked over the past 20 years. Patients with BED typically eat massive quantities of food over short periods of time – often when they’re not even hungry. Adam admitted that he would generally continue to eat well after feeling stuffed to the brim.
The answer probably lies with dopamine, a neurotransmitter produced in the reward centers of the brain that regulates how people experience pleasure and control impulses. We believe that people with ADHD have low levels of dopamine (it’s actually a bit more complicated, but this is the general idea). These low levels of dopamine lead people to self-medicate with sugars, salt, and fats to increase dopamine levels.
Lisdexamfetamine (Vyvanse) is a Food and Drug Administration–approved treatment option for both ADHD and binge eating. It raises the levels of dopamine (as well as norepinephrine) in the brain’s reward center. Often, the strong urge to binge subsides rapidly once ADHD is properly treated.
Rather than starting Adam on a semaglutide or similar agent, I opted to start him on lisdexamfetamine. When I spoke to him 1 week later, he confided that the world suddenly shifted into focus, and he was able to plan his meals throughout the day and resist the urge to binge late at night.
I may eventually add a semaglutide-like medication if his weight loss plateaus, but for now, I will focus on raising his dopamine levels to tackle the underlying cause of his weight gain.
Dr. Messer is a clinical assistant professor at the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai, New York. She disclosed no relevant conflicts of interest.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
In medical school, we were repeatedly advised that there is both a science and an art to the practice of medicine. In these days of doc-in-a-box online consultations for obesity, it’s tempting to think that there’s a one-size-fits-all purely scientific approach for these new weight loss medications. Yet, for every nine patients who lose weight seemingly effortlessly on this class of medication, there is always one whose body stubbornly refuses to submit.
Adam is a 58-year-old man who came to me recently because he was having difficulty losing weight. Over the past 20 years, he’d been steadily gaining weight and now, technically has morbid obesity (a term which should arguably be obsolete). His weight gain is complicated by high blood pressure, high cholesterol, and obstructive sleep apnea. His sleep apnea has caused such profound exhaustion that he no longer has the energy to work out. He also has significant ADHD, which has been left untreated because of his ability to white-knuckle it through his many daily meetings and calls. A married father of three, he is a successful portfolio manager at a high-yield bond fund.
Adam tends to eat minimally during the day, thereby baffling his colleagues with the stark contrast between his minimal caloric intake and his large belly. However, when he returns from work late at night (kids safely tucked into bed), the floodgates open. He reports polishing off pints of ice cream, scarfing down bags of cookies, inhaling trays of brownies. No carbohydrate is off limits to him once he steps off the Metro North train and crosses the threshold from work to home.
Does Adam simply lack the desire or common-sense willpower to make the necessary changes in his lifestyle or is there something more complicated at play?
I would argue that Adam’s ADHD triggered a binge-eating disorder (BED) that festered unchecked over the past 20 years. Patients with BED typically eat massive quantities of food over short periods of time – often when they’re not even hungry. Adam admitted that he would generally continue to eat well after feeling stuffed to the brim.
The answer probably lies with dopamine, a neurotransmitter produced in the reward centers of the brain that regulates how people experience pleasure and control impulses. We believe that people with ADHD have low levels of dopamine (it’s actually a bit more complicated, but this is the general idea). These low levels of dopamine lead people to self-medicate with sugars, salt, and fats to increase dopamine levels.
Lisdexamfetamine (Vyvanse) is a Food and Drug Administration–approved treatment option for both ADHD and binge eating. It raises the levels of dopamine (as well as norepinephrine) in the brain’s reward center. Often, the strong urge to binge subsides rapidly once ADHD is properly treated.
Rather than starting Adam on a semaglutide or similar agent, I opted to start him on lisdexamfetamine. When I spoke to him 1 week later, he confided that the world suddenly shifted into focus, and he was able to plan his meals throughout the day and resist the urge to binge late at night.
I may eventually add a semaglutide-like medication if his weight loss plateaus, but for now, I will focus on raising his dopamine levels to tackle the underlying cause of his weight gain.
Dr. Messer is a clinical assistant professor at the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai, New York. She disclosed no relevant conflicts of interest.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
When does a bicarb drip make sense?
A 70-year-old woman is admitted to the intensive care unit with a pH of 7.1, an acute kidney injury (AKI), and ketonuria. She is volume depleted and her history is consistent with starvation ketosis. This LOL truly is in NAD (that’s little old lady in no acute distress, for those who haven’t read The House of God). She is clinically stable and seemingly unperturbed by the flurry of activity surrounding her admission.
Your resident is concerned by the severity of the acidosis and suggests starting an intravenous bicarbonate drip. The fellow is adamantly against it. He’s been taught that intravenous bicarbonate increases the serum pH but paradoxically causes intracellular acidosis. As the attending you elect to observe fellow autonomy – no bicarb is given. Because any debate on rounds is a “teachable moment,” you decide to review the evidence and physiology behind infusing bicarbonate.
What do the data reveal?
An excellent review published in CHEST in 2000 covers the physiologic effects of bicarbonate, specifically related to lactic acidosis, which our patient didn’t have. Aside from that difference, the review validates the fellow’s opinion. In short, It is unlikely to provoke hemodynamic or respiratory compromise outside the setting of shock or hypercapnia. Intravenous bicarbonate can lead to intracellular acidosis, hypercapnia, hypocalcemia, and a reduction in oxygen delivery via the Bohr effect. The authors concluded that because the benefits are unproven and the negative effects are real, intravenous bicarbonate should not be used to correct a metabolic acidosis.
The CHEST review hardly settles the issue, though. A survey published a few years later found a majority of intensivists and nephrologists used intravenous bicarbonate to treat metabolic acidosis while the Surviving Sepsis Campaign Guidelines for the Management of Sepsis and Septic Shock published in 2017 recommended against bicarbonate for acidosis. It wasn’t until 2018 that we reached the holy grail: a randomized controlled trial.
The BICAR-ICU study randomly assigned patients with a pH of 7.20 or less, PCO2 of 45 mm Hg or less, and sodium bicarbonate concentration of 20 mmol/L or less to receive no bicarbonate versus a sodium bicarbonate drip to maintain a pH greater than 7.30. There’s additional nuance to the trial design and even more detail in the results. To summarize, there was signal for an improvement in renal outcomes across all patients, and those with AKI saw a mortality benefit. Post–BICAR-ICU iterations of the Surviving Sepsis Campaign Guidelines have incorporated these findings by recommending intravenous bicarbonate for patients with sepsis who have AKI and a pH of 7.20 or less.
That’s not to say BICAR-ICU has settled the issue. Although it’s far and away the best we have, there were fewer than 400 total patients in their intention-to-treat analysis. It was open label, with lots of crossover. The primary outcome was negative for the entire population, with only a subgroup (albeit a prespecified one) showing benefit. Finally, the results weren’t stratified by etiology for the metabolic acidosis. There was also evidence of alkalosis and hypocalcemia in the treatment group.
Last but not least in terms of importance, in most cases when bicarbonate is being considered, wouldn’t some form of renal replacement therapy (RRT) be preferred? This point was raised by nephrologists and intensivists when we covered BICAR-ICU in a journal club at my former program. It’s also mentioned in an accompanying editorial. RRT timing is controversial, and a detailed discussion is outside the scope of this piece and beyond the limits of my current knowledge base. But I do know that the A in the A-E-I-O-U acute indications for dialysis pneumonic stands for acidosis.
Our patient had AKI, a pH of 7.20 or less, and a pCO2 well under 45 mm Hg. Does BICAR-ICU support the resident’s inclination to start a drip? Sort of. The majority of patients enrolled in BICAR-ICU were in shock or were recovering from cardiac arrest, so it’s not clear the results can be generalized to our LOL with starvation ketosis. Extrapolating from studies of diabetic ketoacidosis (DKA) seems more appropriate, and here the data are poor but equivocal. Reviews are generally negative but don’t rule out the use of intravenous bicarbonate in certain patients with DKA.
Key takeaways
Our patient survived a 24-hour ICU stay with neither cardiopulmonary decompensation nor a need for RRT. Not sure how she did out of the ICU; presumably she was discharged soon after transfer. As is always the case with anecdotal medicine, the absence of a control prevents assessment of the counterfactual. Is it possible she may have done “better” with intravenous bicarbonate? Seems unlikely to me, though I doubt there would have been demonstrable adverse effects. Perhaps next time the fellow can observe resident autonomy?
Aaron B. Holley, MD, is a professor of medicine at Uniformed Services University of the Health Sciences, Bethesda, Md., and a pulmonary/sleep and critical care medicine physician at MedStar Washington Hospital Center. He reported conflicts of interest with Metapharm, CHEST College, and WebMD.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
A 70-year-old woman is admitted to the intensive care unit with a pH of 7.1, an acute kidney injury (AKI), and ketonuria. She is volume depleted and her history is consistent with starvation ketosis. This LOL truly is in NAD (that’s little old lady in no acute distress, for those who haven’t read The House of God). She is clinically stable and seemingly unperturbed by the flurry of activity surrounding her admission.
Your resident is concerned by the severity of the acidosis and suggests starting an intravenous bicarbonate drip. The fellow is adamantly against it. He’s been taught that intravenous bicarbonate increases the serum pH but paradoxically causes intracellular acidosis. As the attending you elect to observe fellow autonomy – no bicarb is given. Because any debate on rounds is a “teachable moment,” you decide to review the evidence and physiology behind infusing bicarbonate.
What do the data reveal?
An excellent review published in CHEST in 2000 covers the physiologic effects of bicarbonate, specifically related to lactic acidosis, which our patient didn’t have. Aside from that difference, the review validates the fellow’s opinion. In short, It is unlikely to provoke hemodynamic or respiratory compromise outside the setting of shock or hypercapnia. Intravenous bicarbonate can lead to intracellular acidosis, hypercapnia, hypocalcemia, and a reduction in oxygen delivery via the Bohr effect. The authors concluded that because the benefits are unproven and the negative effects are real, intravenous bicarbonate should not be used to correct a metabolic acidosis.
The CHEST review hardly settles the issue, though. A survey published a few years later found a majority of intensivists and nephrologists used intravenous bicarbonate to treat metabolic acidosis while the Surviving Sepsis Campaign Guidelines for the Management of Sepsis and Septic Shock published in 2017 recommended against bicarbonate for acidosis. It wasn’t until 2018 that we reached the holy grail: a randomized controlled trial.
The BICAR-ICU study randomly assigned patients with a pH of 7.20 or less, PCO2 of 45 mm Hg or less, and sodium bicarbonate concentration of 20 mmol/L or less to receive no bicarbonate versus a sodium bicarbonate drip to maintain a pH greater than 7.30. There’s additional nuance to the trial design and even more detail in the results. To summarize, there was signal for an improvement in renal outcomes across all patients, and those with AKI saw a mortality benefit. Post–BICAR-ICU iterations of the Surviving Sepsis Campaign Guidelines have incorporated these findings by recommending intravenous bicarbonate for patients with sepsis who have AKI and a pH of 7.20 or less.
That’s not to say BICAR-ICU has settled the issue. Although it’s far and away the best we have, there were fewer than 400 total patients in their intention-to-treat analysis. It was open label, with lots of crossover. The primary outcome was negative for the entire population, with only a subgroup (albeit a prespecified one) showing benefit. Finally, the results weren’t stratified by etiology for the metabolic acidosis. There was also evidence of alkalosis and hypocalcemia in the treatment group.
Last but not least in terms of importance, in most cases when bicarbonate is being considered, wouldn’t some form of renal replacement therapy (RRT) be preferred? This point was raised by nephrologists and intensivists when we covered BICAR-ICU in a journal club at my former program. It’s also mentioned in an accompanying editorial. RRT timing is controversial, and a detailed discussion is outside the scope of this piece and beyond the limits of my current knowledge base. But I do know that the A in the A-E-I-O-U acute indications for dialysis pneumonic stands for acidosis.
Our patient had AKI, a pH of 7.20 or less, and a pCO2 well under 45 mm Hg. Does BICAR-ICU support the resident’s inclination to start a drip? Sort of. The majority of patients enrolled in BICAR-ICU were in shock or were recovering from cardiac arrest, so it’s not clear the results can be generalized to our LOL with starvation ketosis. Extrapolating from studies of diabetic ketoacidosis (DKA) seems more appropriate, and here the data are poor but equivocal. Reviews are generally negative but don’t rule out the use of intravenous bicarbonate in certain patients with DKA.
Key takeaways
Our patient survived a 24-hour ICU stay with neither cardiopulmonary decompensation nor a need for RRT. Not sure how she did out of the ICU; presumably she was discharged soon after transfer. As is always the case with anecdotal medicine, the absence of a control prevents assessment of the counterfactual. Is it possible she may have done “better” with intravenous bicarbonate? Seems unlikely to me, though I doubt there would have been demonstrable adverse effects. Perhaps next time the fellow can observe resident autonomy?
Aaron B. Holley, MD, is a professor of medicine at Uniformed Services University of the Health Sciences, Bethesda, Md., and a pulmonary/sleep and critical care medicine physician at MedStar Washington Hospital Center. He reported conflicts of interest with Metapharm, CHEST College, and WebMD.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
A 70-year-old woman is admitted to the intensive care unit with a pH of 7.1, an acute kidney injury (AKI), and ketonuria. She is volume depleted and her history is consistent with starvation ketosis. This LOL truly is in NAD (that’s little old lady in no acute distress, for those who haven’t read The House of God). She is clinically stable and seemingly unperturbed by the flurry of activity surrounding her admission.
Your resident is concerned by the severity of the acidosis and suggests starting an intravenous bicarbonate drip. The fellow is adamantly against it. He’s been taught that intravenous bicarbonate increases the serum pH but paradoxically causes intracellular acidosis. As the attending you elect to observe fellow autonomy – no bicarb is given. Because any debate on rounds is a “teachable moment,” you decide to review the evidence and physiology behind infusing bicarbonate.
What do the data reveal?
An excellent review published in CHEST in 2000 covers the physiologic effects of bicarbonate, specifically related to lactic acidosis, which our patient didn’t have. Aside from that difference, the review validates the fellow’s opinion. In short, It is unlikely to provoke hemodynamic or respiratory compromise outside the setting of shock or hypercapnia. Intravenous bicarbonate can lead to intracellular acidosis, hypercapnia, hypocalcemia, and a reduction in oxygen delivery via the Bohr effect. The authors concluded that because the benefits are unproven and the negative effects are real, intravenous bicarbonate should not be used to correct a metabolic acidosis.
The CHEST review hardly settles the issue, though. A survey published a few years later found a majority of intensivists and nephrologists used intravenous bicarbonate to treat metabolic acidosis while the Surviving Sepsis Campaign Guidelines for the Management of Sepsis and Septic Shock published in 2017 recommended against bicarbonate for acidosis. It wasn’t until 2018 that we reached the holy grail: a randomized controlled trial.
The BICAR-ICU study randomly assigned patients with a pH of 7.20 or less, PCO2 of 45 mm Hg or less, and sodium bicarbonate concentration of 20 mmol/L or less to receive no bicarbonate versus a sodium bicarbonate drip to maintain a pH greater than 7.30. There’s additional nuance to the trial design and even more detail in the results. To summarize, there was signal for an improvement in renal outcomes across all patients, and those with AKI saw a mortality benefit. Post–BICAR-ICU iterations of the Surviving Sepsis Campaign Guidelines have incorporated these findings by recommending intravenous bicarbonate for patients with sepsis who have AKI and a pH of 7.20 or less.
That’s not to say BICAR-ICU has settled the issue. Although it’s far and away the best we have, there were fewer than 400 total patients in their intention-to-treat analysis. It was open label, with lots of crossover. The primary outcome was negative for the entire population, with only a subgroup (albeit a prespecified one) showing benefit. Finally, the results weren’t stratified by etiology for the metabolic acidosis. There was also evidence of alkalosis and hypocalcemia in the treatment group.
Last but not least in terms of importance, in most cases when bicarbonate is being considered, wouldn’t some form of renal replacement therapy (RRT) be preferred? This point was raised by nephrologists and intensivists when we covered BICAR-ICU in a journal club at my former program. It’s also mentioned in an accompanying editorial. RRT timing is controversial, and a detailed discussion is outside the scope of this piece and beyond the limits of my current knowledge base. But I do know that the A in the A-E-I-O-U acute indications for dialysis pneumonic stands for acidosis.
Our patient had AKI, a pH of 7.20 or less, and a pCO2 well under 45 mm Hg. Does BICAR-ICU support the resident’s inclination to start a drip? Sort of. The majority of patients enrolled in BICAR-ICU were in shock or were recovering from cardiac arrest, so it’s not clear the results can be generalized to our LOL with starvation ketosis. Extrapolating from studies of diabetic ketoacidosis (DKA) seems more appropriate, and here the data are poor but equivocal. Reviews are generally negative but don’t rule out the use of intravenous bicarbonate in certain patients with DKA.
Key takeaways
Our patient survived a 24-hour ICU stay with neither cardiopulmonary decompensation nor a need for RRT. Not sure how she did out of the ICU; presumably she was discharged soon after transfer. As is always the case with anecdotal medicine, the absence of a control prevents assessment of the counterfactual. Is it possible she may have done “better” with intravenous bicarbonate? Seems unlikely to me, though I doubt there would have been demonstrable adverse effects. Perhaps next time the fellow can observe resident autonomy?
Aaron B. Holley, MD, is a professor of medicine at Uniformed Services University of the Health Sciences, Bethesda, Md., and a pulmonary/sleep and critical care medicine physician at MedStar Washington Hospital Center. He reported conflicts of interest with Metapharm, CHEST College, and WebMD.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
The magic of music
I’m really going to miss Jimmy Buffett.
I’ve liked his music as far back as I can remember, and was lucky enough to see him in person in the mid-90s.
I’ve written about music before, but its affect on us never fails to amaze me. Songs can be background noise conducive to getting things done. They can also be in the foreground, serving as a mental vacation (or accompanying a real one). They can transport you to another place, briefly clearing your head from the daily goings-on around you. Even if it’s just during the drive home, it’s a welcome escape to a virtual beach and tropical drink.
Songs can bring back memories of certain events or people that we link them to. My dad loved anything by Neil Diamond, and nothing brings back thoughts of Dad more than when my iTunes randomly picks “I Am ... I Said.” Or John Williams’ Star Wars theme, taking me back to the summer of 1977 when I sat, spellbound, by this incredible movie whose magic is still going strong two generations later.
It’s amazing how our brain tries to make music out of nothing. Even in silence we have ear worms, the songs stuck in our head for hours to days (recently I’ve had “I Sing the Body Electric” from the 1980 movie Fame playing in there).
My office is over an MRI scanner, so I can always hear the chiller pumps softly running in the background. Sometimes my brain will turn their rhythmic chirping into a song, altering the pace of the song to fit them. The soft clicking of the ceiling fan, in my home office, does the same thing (for some reason my brain usually tries to fit “Yellow Submarine” to that one, no idea why).
Music is a part of that mysterious essence that makes us human. It touches all of us in some way, which varies between people, songs, and artists.
Jimmy Buffet’s music has a vacation vibe. Songs of the Caribbean & Keys, beaches, bars, boats, and tropical drinks. The 4:12 running time of his most well-known song, “Margaritaville,” gives a brief respite from my day when it comes on.
He passes into the beyond, to the sadness of his family, friends, and fans. But, unlike people, music can be immortal, and so he lives on through his creations. Like, Bach, Lennon, Bowie, Joplin, Sousa, and too many others to count, his work – and the enjoyment we get from it – are a gift left behind for the future.
Tight lines, Jimmy.
Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.
I’m really going to miss Jimmy Buffett.
I’ve liked his music as far back as I can remember, and was lucky enough to see him in person in the mid-90s.
I’ve written about music before, but its affect on us never fails to amaze me. Songs can be background noise conducive to getting things done. They can also be in the foreground, serving as a mental vacation (or accompanying a real one). They can transport you to another place, briefly clearing your head from the daily goings-on around you. Even if it’s just during the drive home, it’s a welcome escape to a virtual beach and tropical drink.
Songs can bring back memories of certain events or people that we link them to. My dad loved anything by Neil Diamond, and nothing brings back thoughts of Dad more than when my iTunes randomly picks “I Am ... I Said.” Or John Williams’ Star Wars theme, taking me back to the summer of 1977 when I sat, spellbound, by this incredible movie whose magic is still going strong two generations later.
It’s amazing how our brain tries to make music out of nothing. Even in silence we have ear worms, the songs stuck in our head for hours to days (recently I’ve had “I Sing the Body Electric” from the 1980 movie Fame playing in there).
My office is over an MRI scanner, so I can always hear the chiller pumps softly running in the background. Sometimes my brain will turn their rhythmic chirping into a song, altering the pace of the song to fit them. The soft clicking of the ceiling fan, in my home office, does the same thing (for some reason my brain usually tries to fit “Yellow Submarine” to that one, no idea why).
Music is a part of that mysterious essence that makes us human. It touches all of us in some way, which varies between people, songs, and artists.
Jimmy Buffet’s music has a vacation vibe. Songs of the Caribbean & Keys, beaches, bars, boats, and tropical drinks. The 4:12 running time of his most well-known song, “Margaritaville,” gives a brief respite from my day when it comes on.
He passes into the beyond, to the sadness of his family, friends, and fans. But, unlike people, music can be immortal, and so he lives on through his creations. Like, Bach, Lennon, Bowie, Joplin, Sousa, and too many others to count, his work – and the enjoyment we get from it – are a gift left behind for the future.
Tight lines, Jimmy.
Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.
I’m really going to miss Jimmy Buffett.
I’ve liked his music as far back as I can remember, and was lucky enough to see him in person in the mid-90s.
I’ve written about music before, but its affect on us never fails to amaze me. Songs can be background noise conducive to getting things done. They can also be in the foreground, serving as a mental vacation (or accompanying a real one). They can transport you to another place, briefly clearing your head from the daily goings-on around you. Even if it’s just during the drive home, it’s a welcome escape to a virtual beach and tropical drink.
Songs can bring back memories of certain events or people that we link them to. My dad loved anything by Neil Diamond, and nothing brings back thoughts of Dad more than when my iTunes randomly picks “I Am ... I Said.” Or John Williams’ Star Wars theme, taking me back to the summer of 1977 when I sat, spellbound, by this incredible movie whose magic is still going strong two generations later.
It’s amazing how our brain tries to make music out of nothing. Even in silence we have ear worms, the songs stuck in our head for hours to days (recently I’ve had “I Sing the Body Electric” from the 1980 movie Fame playing in there).
My office is over an MRI scanner, so I can always hear the chiller pumps softly running in the background. Sometimes my brain will turn their rhythmic chirping into a song, altering the pace of the song to fit them. The soft clicking of the ceiling fan, in my home office, does the same thing (for some reason my brain usually tries to fit “Yellow Submarine” to that one, no idea why).
Music is a part of that mysterious essence that makes us human. It touches all of us in some way, which varies between people, songs, and artists.
Jimmy Buffet’s music has a vacation vibe. Songs of the Caribbean & Keys, beaches, bars, boats, and tropical drinks. The 4:12 running time of his most well-known song, “Margaritaville,” gives a brief respite from my day when it comes on.
He passes into the beyond, to the sadness of his family, friends, and fans. But, unlike people, music can be immortal, and so he lives on through his creations. Like, Bach, Lennon, Bowie, Joplin, Sousa, and too many others to count, his work – and the enjoyment we get from it – are a gift left behind for the future.
Tight lines, Jimmy.
Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Ariz.
‘Decapitated’ boy saved by surgery team
This transcript has been edited for clarity.
F. Perry Wilson, MD, MSCE: I am joined today by Dr. Ohad Einav. He’s a staff surgeon in orthopedics at Hadassah Medical Center in Jerusalem. He’s with me to talk about an absolutely incredible surgical case, something that is terrifying to most non–orthopedic surgeons and I imagine is fairly scary for spine surgeons like him as well. But what we don’t have is information about how this works from a medical perspective. So, first of all, Dr. Einav, thank you for taking time to speak with me today.
Ohad Einav, MD: Thank you for having me.
Dr. Wilson: Can you tell us about Suleiman Hassan and what happened to him before he came into your care?
Dr. Einav: Hassan is a 12-year-old child who was riding his bicycle on the West Bank, about 40 minutes from here. Unfortunately, he was involved in a motor vehicle accident and he suffered injuries to his abdomen and cervical spine. He was transported to our service by helicopter from the scene of the accident.
Dr. Wilson: “Injury to the cervical spine” might be something of an understatement. He had what’s called atlanto-occipital dislocation, colloquially often referred to as internal decapitation. Can you tell us what that means? It sounds terrifying.
Dr. Einav: It’s an injury to the ligaments between the occiput and the upper cervical spine, with or without bony fracture. The atlanto-occipital joint is formed by the superior articular facet of the atlas and the occipital condyle, stabilized by an articular capsule between the head and neck, and is supported by various ligaments around it that stabilize the joint and allow joint movements, including flexion, extension, and some rotation in the lower levels.
Dr. Wilson: This joint has several degrees of freedom, which means it needs a lot of support. With this type of injury, where essentially you have severing of the ligaments, is it usually survivable? How dangerous is this?
Dr. Einav: The mortality rate is 50%-60%, depending on the primary impact, the injury, transportation later on, and then the surgery and surgical management.
Dr. Wilson: Tell us a bit about this patient’s status when he came to your medical center. I assume he was in bad shape.
Dr. Einav: Hassan arrived at our medical center with a Glasgow Coma Scale score of 15. He was fully conscious. He was hemodynamically stable except for a bad laceration on his abdomen. He had a Philadelphia collar around his neck. He was transported by chopper because the paramedics suspected that he had a cervical spine injury and decided to bring him to a Level 1 trauma center.
He was monitored and we treated him according to the ATLS [advanced trauma life support] protocol. He didn’t have any gross sensory deficits, but he was a little confused about the whole situation and the accident. Therefore, we could do a general examination but we couldn’t rely on that regarding any sensory deficit that he may or may not have. We decided as a team that it would be better to slow down and control the situation. We decided not to operate on him immediately. We basically stabilized him and made sure that he didn’t have any traumatic internal organ damage. Later on we took him to the OR and performed surgery.
Dr. Wilson: It’s amazing that he had intact motor function, considering the extent of his injury. The spinal cord was spared somewhat during the injury. There must have been a moment when you realized that this kid, who was conscious and could move all four extremities, had a very severe neck injury. Was that due to a CT scan or physical exam? And what was your feeling when you saw that he had atlanto-occipital dislocation?
Dr. Einav: As a surgeon, you have a gut feeling in regard to the general examination of the patient. But I never rely on gut feelings. On the CT, I understood exactly what he had, what we needed to do, and the time frame.
Dr. Wilson: You’ve done these types of surgeries before, right? Obviously, no one has done a lot of them because this isn’t very common. But you knew what to do. Did you have a plan? Where does your experience come into play in a situation like this?
Dr. Einav: I graduated from the spine program of Toronto University, where I did a fellowship in trauma of the spine and complex spine surgery. I had very good teachers, and during my fellowship I treated a few cases in older patients that were similar but not the same. Therefore, I knew exactly what needed to be done.
Dr. Wilson: For those of us who aren’t surgeons, take us into the OR with you. This is obviously an incredibly delicate procedure. You are high up in the spinal cord at the base of the brain. The slightest mistake could have devastating consequences. What are the key elements of this procedure? What can go wrong here? What is the number-one thing you have to look out for when you’re trying to fix an internal decapitation?
Dr. Einav: The key element in surgeries of the cervical spine – trauma and complex spine surgery – is planning. I never go to the OR without knowing what I’m going to do. I have a few plans – plan A, plan B, plan C – in case something fails. So, I definitely know what the next step will be. I always think about the surgery a few hours before, if I have time to prepare.
The second thing that is very important is teamwork. The team needs to be coordinated. Everybody needs to know what their job is. With these types of injuries, it’s not the time for rookies. If you are new, please stand back and let the more experienced people do that job. I’m talking about surgeons, nurses, anesthesiologists – everyone.
Another important thing in planning is choosing the right hardware. For example, in this case we had a problem because most of the hardware is designed for adults, and we had to improvise because there isn’t a lot of hardware on the market for the pediatric population. The adult plates and screws are too big, so we had to improvise.
Dr. Wilson: Tell us more about that. How do you improvise spinal hardware for a 12-year-old?
Dr. Einav: In this case, I chose to use hardware from one of the companies that works with us.
You can see in this model the area of the injury, and the area that we worked on. To perform the surgery, I had to use some plates and rods from a different company. This company’s (NuVasive) hardware has a small attachment to the skull, which was helpful for affixing the skull to the cervical spine, instead of using a big plate that would sit at the base of the skull and would not be very good for him. Most of the hardware is made for adults and not for kids.
Dr. Wilson: Will that hardware preserve the motor function of his neck? Will he be able to turn his head and extend and flex it?
Dr. Einav: The injury leads to instability and destruction of both articulations between the head and neck. Therefore, those articulations won’t be able to function the same way in the future. There is a decrease of something like 50% of the flexion and extension of Hassan’s cervical spine. Therefore, I decided that in this case there would be no chance of saving Hassan’s motor function unless we performed a fusion between the head and the neck, and therefore I decided that this would be the best procedure with the best survival rate. So, in the future, he will have some diminished flexion, extension, and rotation of his head.
Dr. Wilson: How long did his surgery take?
Dr. Einav: To be honest, I don’t remember. But I can tell you that it took us time. It was very challenging to coordinate with everyone. The most problematic part of the surgery to perform is what we call “flip-over.”
The anesthesiologist intubated the patient when he was supine, and later on, we flipped him prone to operate on the spine. This maneuver can actually lead to injury by itself, and injury at this level is fatal. So, we took our time and got Hassan into the OR. The anesthesiologist did a great job with the GlideScope – inserting the endotracheal tube. Later on, we neuromonitored him. Basically, we connected Hassan’s peripheral nerves to a computer and monitored his motor function. Gently we flipped him over, and after that we saw a little change in his motor function, so we had to modify his position so we could preserve his motor function. We then started the procedure, which took a few hours. I don’t know exactly how many.
Dr. Wilson: That just speaks to how delicate this is for everything from the intubation, where typically you’re manipulating the head, to the repositioning. Clearly this requires a lot of teamwork.
What happened after the operation? How is he doing?
Dr. Einav: After the operation, Hassan had a great recovery. He’s doing well. He doesn’t have any motor or sensory deficits. He’s able to ambulate without any aid. He had no signs of infection, which can happen after a car accident, neither from his abdominal wound nor from the occipital cervical surgery. He feels well. We saw him in the clinic. We removed his collar. We monitored him at the clinic. He looked amazing.
Dr. Wilson: That’s incredible. Are there long-term risks for him that you need to be looking out for?
Dr. Einav: Yes, and that’s the reason that we are monitoring him post surgery. While he was in the hospital, we monitored his motor and sensory functions, as well as his wound healing. Later on, in the clinic, for a few weeks after surgery we monitored for any failure of the hardware and bone graft. We check for healing of the bone graft and bone substitutes we put in to heal those bones.
Dr. Wilson: He will grow, right? He’s only 12, so he still has some years of growth in him. Is he going to need more surgery or any kind of hardware upgrade?
Dr. Einav: I hope not. In my surgeries, I never rely on the hardware for long durations. If I decide to do, for example, fusion, I rely on the hardware for a certain amount of time. And then I plan that the biology will do the work. If I plan for fusion, I put bone grafts in the preferred area for a fusion. Then if the hardware fails, I wouldn’t need to take out the hardware, and there would be no change in the condition of the patient.
Dr. Wilson: What an incredible story. It’s clear that you and your team kept your cool despite a very high-acuity situation with a ton of risk. What a tremendous outcome that this boy is not only alive but fully functional. So, congratulations to you and your team. That was very strong work.
Dr. Einav: Thank you very much. I would like to thank our team. We have to remember that the surgeon is not standing alone in the war. Hassan’s story is a success story of a very big group of people from various backgrounds and religions. They work day and night to help people and save lives. To the paramedics, the physiologists, the traumatologists, the pediatricians, the nurses, the physiotherapists, and obviously the surgeons, a big thank you. His story is our success story.
Dr. Wilson: It’s inspiring to see so many people come together to do what we all are here for, which is to fight against suffering, disease, and death. Thank you for keeping up that fight. And thank you for joining me here.
Dr. Einav: Thank you very much.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
This transcript has been edited for clarity.
F. Perry Wilson, MD, MSCE: I am joined today by Dr. Ohad Einav. He’s a staff surgeon in orthopedics at Hadassah Medical Center in Jerusalem. He’s with me to talk about an absolutely incredible surgical case, something that is terrifying to most non–orthopedic surgeons and I imagine is fairly scary for spine surgeons like him as well. But what we don’t have is information about how this works from a medical perspective. So, first of all, Dr. Einav, thank you for taking time to speak with me today.
Ohad Einav, MD: Thank you for having me.
Dr. Wilson: Can you tell us about Suleiman Hassan and what happened to him before he came into your care?
Dr. Einav: Hassan is a 12-year-old child who was riding his bicycle on the West Bank, about 40 minutes from here. Unfortunately, he was involved in a motor vehicle accident and he suffered injuries to his abdomen and cervical spine. He was transported to our service by helicopter from the scene of the accident.
Dr. Wilson: “Injury to the cervical spine” might be something of an understatement. He had what’s called atlanto-occipital dislocation, colloquially often referred to as internal decapitation. Can you tell us what that means? It sounds terrifying.
Dr. Einav: It’s an injury to the ligaments between the occiput and the upper cervical spine, with or without bony fracture. The atlanto-occipital joint is formed by the superior articular facet of the atlas and the occipital condyle, stabilized by an articular capsule between the head and neck, and is supported by various ligaments around it that stabilize the joint and allow joint movements, including flexion, extension, and some rotation in the lower levels.
Dr. Wilson: This joint has several degrees of freedom, which means it needs a lot of support. With this type of injury, where essentially you have severing of the ligaments, is it usually survivable? How dangerous is this?
Dr. Einav: The mortality rate is 50%-60%, depending on the primary impact, the injury, transportation later on, and then the surgery and surgical management.
Dr. Wilson: Tell us a bit about this patient’s status when he came to your medical center. I assume he was in bad shape.
Dr. Einav: Hassan arrived at our medical center with a Glasgow Coma Scale score of 15. He was fully conscious. He was hemodynamically stable except for a bad laceration on his abdomen. He had a Philadelphia collar around his neck. He was transported by chopper because the paramedics suspected that he had a cervical spine injury and decided to bring him to a Level 1 trauma center.
He was monitored and we treated him according to the ATLS [advanced trauma life support] protocol. He didn’t have any gross sensory deficits, but he was a little confused about the whole situation and the accident. Therefore, we could do a general examination but we couldn’t rely on that regarding any sensory deficit that he may or may not have. We decided as a team that it would be better to slow down and control the situation. We decided not to operate on him immediately. We basically stabilized him and made sure that he didn’t have any traumatic internal organ damage. Later on we took him to the OR and performed surgery.
Dr. Wilson: It’s amazing that he had intact motor function, considering the extent of his injury. The spinal cord was spared somewhat during the injury. There must have been a moment when you realized that this kid, who was conscious and could move all four extremities, had a very severe neck injury. Was that due to a CT scan or physical exam? And what was your feeling when you saw that he had atlanto-occipital dislocation?
Dr. Einav: As a surgeon, you have a gut feeling in regard to the general examination of the patient. But I never rely on gut feelings. On the CT, I understood exactly what he had, what we needed to do, and the time frame.
Dr. Wilson: You’ve done these types of surgeries before, right? Obviously, no one has done a lot of them because this isn’t very common. But you knew what to do. Did you have a plan? Where does your experience come into play in a situation like this?
Dr. Einav: I graduated from the spine program of Toronto University, where I did a fellowship in trauma of the spine and complex spine surgery. I had very good teachers, and during my fellowship I treated a few cases in older patients that were similar but not the same. Therefore, I knew exactly what needed to be done.
Dr. Wilson: For those of us who aren’t surgeons, take us into the OR with you. This is obviously an incredibly delicate procedure. You are high up in the spinal cord at the base of the brain. The slightest mistake could have devastating consequences. What are the key elements of this procedure? What can go wrong here? What is the number-one thing you have to look out for when you’re trying to fix an internal decapitation?
Dr. Einav: The key element in surgeries of the cervical spine – trauma and complex spine surgery – is planning. I never go to the OR without knowing what I’m going to do. I have a few plans – plan A, plan B, plan C – in case something fails. So, I definitely know what the next step will be. I always think about the surgery a few hours before, if I have time to prepare.
The second thing that is very important is teamwork. The team needs to be coordinated. Everybody needs to know what their job is. With these types of injuries, it’s not the time for rookies. If you are new, please stand back and let the more experienced people do that job. I’m talking about surgeons, nurses, anesthesiologists – everyone.
Another important thing in planning is choosing the right hardware. For example, in this case we had a problem because most of the hardware is designed for adults, and we had to improvise because there isn’t a lot of hardware on the market for the pediatric population. The adult plates and screws are too big, so we had to improvise.
Dr. Wilson: Tell us more about that. How do you improvise spinal hardware for a 12-year-old?
Dr. Einav: In this case, I chose to use hardware from one of the companies that works with us.
You can see in this model the area of the injury, and the area that we worked on. To perform the surgery, I had to use some plates and rods from a different company. This company’s (NuVasive) hardware has a small attachment to the skull, which was helpful for affixing the skull to the cervical spine, instead of using a big plate that would sit at the base of the skull and would not be very good for him. Most of the hardware is made for adults and not for kids.
Dr. Wilson: Will that hardware preserve the motor function of his neck? Will he be able to turn his head and extend and flex it?
Dr. Einav: The injury leads to instability and destruction of both articulations between the head and neck. Therefore, those articulations won’t be able to function the same way in the future. There is a decrease of something like 50% of the flexion and extension of Hassan’s cervical spine. Therefore, I decided that in this case there would be no chance of saving Hassan’s motor function unless we performed a fusion between the head and the neck, and therefore I decided that this would be the best procedure with the best survival rate. So, in the future, he will have some diminished flexion, extension, and rotation of his head.
Dr. Wilson: How long did his surgery take?
Dr. Einav: To be honest, I don’t remember. But I can tell you that it took us time. It was very challenging to coordinate with everyone. The most problematic part of the surgery to perform is what we call “flip-over.”
The anesthesiologist intubated the patient when he was supine, and later on, we flipped him prone to operate on the spine. This maneuver can actually lead to injury by itself, and injury at this level is fatal. So, we took our time and got Hassan into the OR. The anesthesiologist did a great job with the GlideScope – inserting the endotracheal tube. Later on, we neuromonitored him. Basically, we connected Hassan’s peripheral nerves to a computer and monitored his motor function. Gently we flipped him over, and after that we saw a little change in his motor function, so we had to modify his position so we could preserve his motor function. We then started the procedure, which took a few hours. I don’t know exactly how many.
Dr. Wilson: That just speaks to how delicate this is for everything from the intubation, where typically you’re manipulating the head, to the repositioning. Clearly this requires a lot of teamwork.
What happened after the operation? How is he doing?
Dr. Einav: After the operation, Hassan had a great recovery. He’s doing well. He doesn’t have any motor or sensory deficits. He’s able to ambulate without any aid. He had no signs of infection, which can happen after a car accident, neither from his abdominal wound nor from the occipital cervical surgery. He feels well. We saw him in the clinic. We removed his collar. We monitored him at the clinic. He looked amazing.
Dr. Wilson: That’s incredible. Are there long-term risks for him that you need to be looking out for?
Dr. Einav: Yes, and that’s the reason that we are monitoring him post surgery. While he was in the hospital, we monitored his motor and sensory functions, as well as his wound healing. Later on, in the clinic, for a few weeks after surgery we monitored for any failure of the hardware and bone graft. We check for healing of the bone graft and bone substitutes we put in to heal those bones.
Dr. Wilson: He will grow, right? He’s only 12, so he still has some years of growth in him. Is he going to need more surgery or any kind of hardware upgrade?
Dr. Einav: I hope not. In my surgeries, I never rely on the hardware for long durations. If I decide to do, for example, fusion, I rely on the hardware for a certain amount of time. And then I plan that the biology will do the work. If I plan for fusion, I put bone grafts in the preferred area for a fusion. Then if the hardware fails, I wouldn’t need to take out the hardware, and there would be no change in the condition of the patient.
Dr. Wilson: What an incredible story. It’s clear that you and your team kept your cool despite a very high-acuity situation with a ton of risk. What a tremendous outcome that this boy is not only alive but fully functional. So, congratulations to you and your team. That was very strong work.
Dr. Einav: Thank you very much. I would like to thank our team. We have to remember that the surgeon is not standing alone in the war. Hassan’s story is a success story of a very big group of people from various backgrounds and religions. They work day and night to help people and save lives. To the paramedics, the physiologists, the traumatologists, the pediatricians, the nurses, the physiotherapists, and obviously the surgeons, a big thank you. His story is our success story.
Dr. Wilson: It’s inspiring to see so many people come together to do what we all are here for, which is to fight against suffering, disease, and death. Thank you for keeping up that fight. And thank you for joining me here.
Dr. Einav: Thank you very much.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
This transcript has been edited for clarity.
F. Perry Wilson, MD, MSCE: I am joined today by Dr. Ohad Einav. He’s a staff surgeon in orthopedics at Hadassah Medical Center in Jerusalem. He’s with me to talk about an absolutely incredible surgical case, something that is terrifying to most non–orthopedic surgeons and I imagine is fairly scary for spine surgeons like him as well. But what we don’t have is information about how this works from a medical perspective. So, first of all, Dr. Einav, thank you for taking time to speak with me today.
Ohad Einav, MD: Thank you for having me.
Dr. Wilson: Can you tell us about Suleiman Hassan and what happened to him before he came into your care?
Dr. Einav: Hassan is a 12-year-old child who was riding his bicycle on the West Bank, about 40 minutes from here. Unfortunately, he was involved in a motor vehicle accident and he suffered injuries to his abdomen and cervical spine. He was transported to our service by helicopter from the scene of the accident.
Dr. Wilson: “Injury to the cervical spine” might be something of an understatement. He had what’s called atlanto-occipital dislocation, colloquially often referred to as internal decapitation. Can you tell us what that means? It sounds terrifying.
Dr. Einav: It’s an injury to the ligaments between the occiput and the upper cervical spine, with or without bony fracture. The atlanto-occipital joint is formed by the superior articular facet of the atlas and the occipital condyle, stabilized by an articular capsule between the head and neck, and is supported by various ligaments around it that stabilize the joint and allow joint movements, including flexion, extension, and some rotation in the lower levels.
Dr. Wilson: This joint has several degrees of freedom, which means it needs a lot of support. With this type of injury, where essentially you have severing of the ligaments, is it usually survivable? How dangerous is this?
Dr. Einav: The mortality rate is 50%-60%, depending on the primary impact, the injury, transportation later on, and then the surgery and surgical management.
Dr. Wilson: Tell us a bit about this patient’s status when he came to your medical center. I assume he was in bad shape.
Dr. Einav: Hassan arrived at our medical center with a Glasgow Coma Scale score of 15. He was fully conscious. He was hemodynamically stable except for a bad laceration on his abdomen. He had a Philadelphia collar around his neck. He was transported by chopper because the paramedics suspected that he had a cervical spine injury and decided to bring him to a Level 1 trauma center.
He was monitored and we treated him according to the ATLS [advanced trauma life support] protocol. He didn’t have any gross sensory deficits, but he was a little confused about the whole situation and the accident. Therefore, we could do a general examination but we couldn’t rely on that regarding any sensory deficit that he may or may not have. We decided as a team that it would be better to slow down and control the situation. We decided not to operate on him immediately. We basically stabilized him and made sure that he didn’t have any traumatic internal organ damage. Later on we took him to the OR and performed surgery.
Dr. Wilson: It’s amazing that he had intact motor function, considering the extent of his injury. The spinal cord was spared somewhat during the injury. There must have been a moment when you realized that this kid, who was conscious and could move all four extremities, had a very severe neck injury. Was that due to a CT scan or physical exam? And what was your feeling when you saw that he had atlanto-occipital dislocation?
Dr. Einav: As a surgeon, you have a gut feeling in regard to the general examination of the patient. But I never rely on gut feelings. On the CT, I understood exactly what he had, what we needed to do, and the time frame.
Dr. Wilson: You’ve done these types of surgeries before, right? Obviously, no one has done a lot of them because this isn’t very common. But you knew what to do. Did you have a plan? Where does your experience come into play in a situation like this?
Dr. Einav: I graduated from the spine program of Toronto University, where I did a fellowship in trauma of the spine and complex spine surgery. I had very good teachers, and during my fellowship I treated a few cases in older patients that were similar but not the same. Therefore, I knew exactly what needed to be done.
Dr. Wilson: For those of us who aren’t surgeons, take us into the OR with you. This is obviously an incredibly delicate procedure. You are high up in the spinal cord at the base of the brain. The slightest mistake could have devastating consequences. What are the key elements of this procedure? What can go wrong here? What is the number-one thing you have to look out for when you’re trying to fix an internal decapitation?
Dr. Einav: The key element in surgeries of the cervical spine – trauma and complex spine surgery – is planning. I never go to the OR without knowing what I’m going to do. I have a few plans – plan A, plan B, plan C – in case something fails. So, I definitely know what the next step will be. I always think about the surgery a few hours before, if I have time to prepare.
The second thing that is very important is teamwork. The team needs to be coordinated. Everybody needs to know what their job is. With these types of injuries, it’s not the time for rookies. If you are new, please stand back and let the more experienced people do that job. I’m talking about surgeons, nurses, anesthesiologists – everyone.
Another important thing in planning is choosing the right hardware. For example, in this case we had a problem because most of the hardware is designed for adults, and we had to improvise because there isn’t a lot of hardware on the market for the pediatric population. The adult plates and screws are too big, so we had to improvise.
Dr. Wilson: Tell us more about that. How do you improvise spinal hardware for a 12-year-old?
Dr. Einav: In this case, I chose to use hardware from one of the companies that works with us.
You can see in this model the area of the injury, and the area that we worked on. To perform the surgery, I had to use some plates and rods from a different company. This company’s (NuVasive) hardware has a small attachment to the skull, which was helpful for affixing the skull to the cervical spine, instead of using a big plate that would sit at the base of the skull and would not be very good for him. Most of the hardware is made for adults and not for kids.
Dr. Wilson: Will that hardware preserve the motor function of his neck? Will he be able to turn his head and extend and flex it?
Dr. Einav: The injury leads to instability and destruction of both articulations between the head and neck. Therefore, those articulations won’t be able to function the same way in the future. There is a decrease of something like 50% of the flexion and extension of Hassan’s cervical spine. Therefore, I decided that in this case there would be no chance of saving Hassan’s motor function unless we performed a fusion between the head and the neck, and therefore I decided that this would be the best procedure with the best survival rate. So, in the future, he will have some diminished flexion, extension, and rotation of his head.
Dr. Wilson: How long did his surgery take?
Dr. Einav: To be honest, I don’t remember. But I can tell you that it took us time. It was very challenging to coordinate with everyone. The most problematic part of the surgery to perform is what we call “flip-over.”
The anesthesiologist intubated the patient when he was supine, and later on, we flipped him prone to operate on the spine. This maneuver can actually lead to injury by itself, and injury at this level is fatal. So, we took our time and got Hassan into the OR. The anesthesiologist did a great job with the GlideScope – inserting the endotracheal tube. Later on, we neuromonitored him. Basically, we connected Hassan’s peripheral nerves to a computer and monitored his motor function. Gently we flipped him over, and after that we saw a little change in his motor function, so we had to modify his position so we could preserve his motor function. We then started the procedure, which took a few hours. I don’t know exactly how many.
Dr. Wilson: That just speaks to how delicate this is for everything from the intubation, where typically you’re manipulating the head, to the repositioning. Clearly this requires a lot of teamwork.
What happened after the operation? How is he doing?
Dr. Einav: After the operation, Hassan had a great recovery. He’s doing well. He doesn’t have any motor or sensory deficits. He’s able to ambulate without any aid. He had no signs of infection, which can happen after a car accident, neither from his abdominal wound nor from the occipital cervical surgery. He feels well. We saw him in the clinic. We removed his collar. We monitored him at the clinic. He looked amazing.
Dr. Wilson: That’s incredible. Are there long-term risks for him that you need to be looking out for?
Dr. Einav: Yes, and that’s the reason that we are monitoring him post surgery. While he was in the hospital, we monitored his motor and sensory functions, as well as his wound healing. Later on, in the clinic, for a few weeks after surgery we monitored for any failure of the hardware and bone graft. We check for healing of the bone graft and bone substitutes we put in to heal those bones.
Dr. Wilson: He will grow, right? He’s only 12, so he still has some years of growth in him. Is he going to need more surgery or any kind of hardware upgrade?
Dr. Einav: I hope not. In my surgeries, I never rely on the hardware for long durations. If I decide to do, for example, fusion, I rely on the hardware for a certain amount of time. And then I plan that the biology will do the work. If I plan for fusion, I put bone grafts in the preferred area for a fusion. Then if the hardware fails, I wouldn’t need to take out the hardware, and there would be no change in the condition of the patient.
Dr. Wilson: What an incredible story. It’s clear that you and your team kept your cool despite a very high-acuity situation with a ton of risk. What a tremendous outcome that this boy is not only alive but fully functional. So, congratulations to you and your team. That was very strong work.
Dr. Einav: Thank you very much. I would like to thank our team. We have to remember that the surgeon is not standing alone in the war. Hassan’s story is a success story of a very big group of people from various backgrounds and religions. They work day and night to help people and save lives. To the paramedics, the physiologists, the traumatologists, the pediatricians, the nurses, the physiotherapists, and obviously the surgeons, a big thank you. His story is our success story.
Dr. Wilson: It’s inspiring to see so many people come together to do what we all are here for, which is to fight against suffering, disease, and death. Thank you for keeping up that fight. And thank you for joining me here.
Dr. Einav: Thank you very much.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
Targeted warnings
I was probably about 9 or 10 and I am assuming it was early winter when my mother took me aside and said in her usual quiet tone, “Willy, don’t ever stick your tongue on a metal pipe when it is cold outside.”
Putting my tongue on a frozen pipe was something that had never occurred to me even in my wildest preadolescent dreams. My mother’s caution only served to pique my interest and provide me with one more tempting scenario to consider.
Recently, a prank has gone viral on TikTok that shows an adult, usually the parent, cracking (not smashing) an egg on the child’s head and then emptying the egg contents into a bowl. Unlike the tongue-pipe disaster, it is hard to imagine how this stunt can be dangerous as long as the child is old enough to be walking around. But, at least one pediatrician has warned that there is a risk to the child from contracting salmonella.
There may be a few young children who are frightened by having an egg cracked on their head, but I can’t imagine that it would leave any lasting emotional scars. Given the minuscule theoretical risk of infection and the fact that the videos have accumulated more than 670 million views, this is another example of when we “experts” should keep a low profile and let the virus fade into Internet oblivion.
There is, however, a difference between harmless foolishness and stupidity, and one wonders when and in what manner we pediatricians should become involved. For example, in a recent study published in the journal Pediatrics, the investigators searched through a national emergency department database and found that
There were two peaks of distribution, one at less than 1 year of age and another at age 4. The older children were more often injured playing on furniture, most often bunk beds. The younger children were more likely to have been injured by being lifted or tossed in the air. No deaths were reported.
Is this a phenomenon that demands a response by pediatricians? Do we have time to ask every family if they have a ceiling fan? Should we be handing out brochures to every family? To whom should we target our message? This is a situation that seems to sort easily into two categories. One that involves stupidity and a second that is ignorance that may respond to education.
Tossing young children in the air is fun for the tosser and the child. I am sure there are a few children every year who slip out of the grasp of an adult and are injured. I have never seen a child brought in with this history. But it must happen. The result is likely to trigger a very tricky child protective investigation. But tossing a child underneath a ceiling fan is just plain stupid. I’m not sure our intervention is going to prevent it from happening. Bunk beds and ceiling fans are a different story. Posters in our offices and warnings and labels at the point of purchase of both fans and bunk beds makes some sense.
And while we are sticking labels on furniture, we should take a hard look at couches. Researchers have recently found that the accumulation of sedentary time in childhood can lead to early evidence of heart damage, which may portend heart disease in adulthood. Instead of those tags under the cushions, we need a big blaze orange sticker in prominent view that warns of the danger of becoming a couch potato.
Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].
I was probably about 9 or 10 and I am assuming it was early winter when my mother took me aside and said in her usual quiet tone, “Willy, don’t ever stick your tongue on a metal pipe when it is cold outside.”
Putting my tongue on a frozen pipe was something that had never occurred to me even in my wildest preadolescent dreams. My mother’s caution only served to pique my interest and provide me with one more tempting scenario to consider.
Recently, a prank has gone viral on TikTok that shows an adult, usually the parent, cracking (not smashing) an egg on the child’s head and then emptying the egg contents into a bowl. Unlike the tongue-pipe disaster, it is hard to imagine how this stunt can be dangerous as long as the child is old enough to be walking around. But, at least one pediatrician has warned that there is a risk to the child from contracting salmonella.
There may be a few young children who are frightened by having an egg cracked on their head, but I can’t imagine that it would leave any lasting emotional scars. Given the minuscule theoretical risk of infection and the fact that the videos have accumulated more than 670 million views, this is another example of when we “experts” should keep a low profile and let the virus fade into Internet oblivion.
There is, however, a difference between harmless foolishness and stupidity, and one wonders when and in what manner we pediatricians should become involved. For example, in a recent study published in the journal Pediatrics, the investigators searched through a national emergency department database and found that
There were two peaks of distribution, one at less than 1 year of age and another at age 4. The older children were more often injured playing on furniture, most often bunk beds. The younger children were more likely to have been injured by being lifted or tossed in the air. No deaths were reported.
Is this a phenomenon that demands a response by pediatricians? Do we have time to ask every family if they have a ceiling fan? Should we be handing out brochures to every family? To whom should we target our message? This is a situation that seems to sort easily into two categories. One that involves stupidity and a second that is ignorance that may respond to education.
Tossing young children in the air is fun for the tosser and the child. I am sure there are a few children every year who slip out of the grasp of an adult and are injured. I have never seen a child brought in with this history. But it must happen. The result is likely to trigger a very tricky child protective investigation. But tossing a child underneath a ceiling fan is just plain stupid. I’m not sure our intervention is going to prevent it from happening. Bunk beds and ceiling fans are a different story. Posters in our offices and warnings and labels at the point of purchase of both fans and bunk beds makes some sense.
And while we are sticking labels on furniture, we should take a hard look at couches. Researchers have recently found that the accumulation of sedentary time in childhood can lead to early evidence of heart damage, which may portend heart disease in adulthood. Instead of those tags under the cushions, we need a big blaze orange sticker in prominent view that warns of the danger of becoming a couch potato.
Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].
I was probably about 9 or 10 and I am assuming it was early winter when my mother took me aside and said in her usual quiet tone, “Willy, don’t ever stick your tongue on a metal pipe when it is cold outside.”
Putting my tongue on a frozen pipe was something that had never occurred to me even in my wildest preadolescent dreams. My mother’s caution only served to pique my interest and provide me with one more tempting scenario to consider.
Recently, a prank has gone viral on TikTok that shows an adult, usually the parent, cracking (not smashing) an egg on the child’s head and then emptying the egg contents into a bowl. Unlike the tongue-pipe disaster, it is hard to imagine how this stunt can be dangerous as long as the child is old enough to be walking around. But, at least one pediatrician has warned that there is a risk to the child from contracting salmonella.
There may be a few young children who are frightened by having an egg cracked on their head, but I can’t imagine that it would leave any lasting emotional scars. Given the minuscule theoretical risk of infection and the fact that the videos have accumulated more than 670 million views, this is another example of when we “experts” should keep a low profile and let the virus fade into Internet oblivion.
There is, however, a difference between harmless foolishness and stupidity, and one wonders when and in what manner we pediatricians should become involved. For example, in a recent study published in the journal Pediatrics, the investigators searched through a national emergency department database and found that
There were two peaks of distribution, one at less than 1 year of age and another at age 4. The older children were more often injured playing on furniture, most often bunk beds. The younger children were more likely to have been injured by being lifted or tossed in the air. No deaths were reported.
Is this a phenomenon that demands a response by pediatricians? Do we have time to ask every family if they have a ceiling fan? Should we be handing out brochures to every family? To whom should we target our message? This is a situation that seems to sort easily into two categories. One that involves stupidity and a second that is ignorance that may respond to education.
Tossing young children in the air is fun for the tosser and the child. I am sure there are a few children every year who slip out of the grasp of an adult and are injured. I have never seen a child brought in with this history. But it must happen. The result is likely to trigger a very tricky child protective investigation. But tossing a child underneath a ceiling fan is just plain stupid. I’m not sure our intervention is going to prevent it from happening. Bunk beds and ceiling fans are a different story. Posters in our offices and warnings and labels at the point of purchase of both fans and bunk beds makes some sense.
And while we are sticking labels on furniture, we should take a hard look at couches. Researchers have recently found that the accumulation of sedentary time in childhood can lead to early evidence of heart damage, which may portend heart disease in adulthood. Instead of those tags under the cushions, we need a big blaze orange sticker in prominent view that warns of the danger of becoming a couch potato.
Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at [email protected].
Mammography breast density reporting: What it means for clinicians
This transcript has been edited for clarity.
Today, I’m going to talk about the 2023 Food and Drug Administration regulation that requires breast density to be reported on all mammogram results nationwide, and for that report to go to both clinicians and patients. Previously this was the rule in some states, but not in others. This is important because 40%-50% of women have dense breasts. I’m going to discuss what that means for you, and for our patients.
First
Breast density describes the appearance of the breast on mammography. Appearance varies on the basis of breast tissue composition, with fibroglandular tissue being more dense than fatty tissue. Breast density is important because it relates to both the risk for cancer and the ability of mammography to detect cancer.
Breast density is defined and classified according to the American College of Radiology’s BI-RADS four-category scale. Categories 1 and 2 refer to breast tissue that is not dense, accounting for about 50% of the population. Categories 3 and 4 describe heterogeneously dense and extremely dense breast tissue, which occur in approximately 40% and 50% of women, respectively. When speaking about dense breast tissue readings on mammography, we are referring to categories 3 and 4.
Women with dense breast tissue have an increased risk of developing breast cancer and are less likely to have early breast cancer detected on mammography.
Let’s go over the details by category:
For women in categories 1 and 2 (considered not dense breast tissue), the sensitivity of mammography for detecting early breast cancer is 80%-90%. In categories 3 and 4, the sensitivity of mammography drops to 60%-70%.
Compared with women with average breast density, the risk of developing breast cancer is 20% higher in women with BI-RADS category 3 breasts, and more than twice as high (relative risk, 2.1) in those with BI-RADS category 4 breasts. Thus, the risk of developing breast cancer is higher, but the sensitivity of the test is lower.
The clinical question is, what should we do about this? For women who have a normal mammogram with dense breasts, should follow-up testing be done, and if so, what test? The main follow-up testing options are either ultrasound or MRI, usually ultrasound. Additional testing will detect additional cancers that were not picked up on the initial mammogram and will also lead to additional biopsies for false-positive tests from the additional testing.
An American College of Gynecology and Obstetrics practice advisory nicely summarizes the evidence and clarifies that this decision is made in the context of a lack of published evidence demonstrating improved outcomes, specifically no reduction in breast cancer mortality, with supplemental testing. The official ACOG stance is that they “do not recommend routine use of alternative or adjunctive tests to screening mammography in women with dense breasts who are asymptomatic and have no additional risk factors.”
This is an area where it is important to understand the data. We are all going to be getting test results back that indicate level of breast density, and those test results will also be sent to our patients, so we are going to be asked about this by interested patients. Should this be something that we talk to patients about, utilizing shared decision-making to decide about whether follow-up testing is necessary in women with dense breasts? That is something each clinician will need to decide, and knowing the data is a critically important step in that decision.
Neil Skolnik, MD, is a professor, department of family medicine, at Sidney Kimmel Medical College of Thomas Jefferson University, Philadelphia, and associate director, department of family medicine, Abington (Pennsylvania) Jefferson Health.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
This transcript has been edited for clarity.
Today, I’m going to talk about the 2023 Food and Drug Administration regulation that requires breast density to be reported on all mammogram results nationwide, and for that report to go to both clinicians and patients. Previously this was the rule in some states, but not in others. This is important because 40%-50% of women have dense breasts. I’m going to discuss what that means for you, and for our patients.
First
Breast density describes the appearance of the breast on mammography. Appearance varies on the basis of breast tissue composition, with fibroglandular tissue being more dense than fatty tissue. Breast density is important because it relates to both the risk for cancer and the ability of mammography to detect cancer.
Breast density is defined and classified according to the American College of Radiology’s BI-RADS four-category scale. Categories 1 and 2 refer to breast tissue that is not dense, accounting for about 50% of the population. Categories 3 and 4 describe heterogeneously dense and extremely dense breast tissue, which occur in approximately 40% and 50% of women, respectively. When speaking about dense breast tissue readings on mammography, we are referring to categories 3 and 4.
Women with dense breast tissue have an increased risk of developing breast cancer and are less likely to have early breast cancer detected on mammography.
Let’s go over the details by category:
For women in categories 1 and 2 (considered not dense breast tissue), the sensitivity of mammography for detecting early breast cancer is 80%-90%. In categories 3 and 4, the sensitivity of mammography drops to 60%-70%.
Compared with women with average breast density, the risk of developing breast cancer is 20% higher in women with BI-RADS category 3 breasts, and more than twice as high (relative risk, 2.1) in those with BI-RADS category 4 breasts. Thus, the risk of developing breast cancer is higher, but the sensitivity of the test is lower.
The clinical question is, what should we do about this? For women who have a normal mammogram with dense breasts, should follow-up testing be done, and if so, what test? The main follow-up testing options are either ultrasound or MRI, usually ultrasound. Additional testing will detect additional cancers that were not picked up on the initial mammogram and will also lead to additional biopsies for false-positive tests from the additional testing.
An American College of Gynecology and Obstetrics practice advisory nicely summarizes the evidence and clarifies that this decision is made in the context of a lack of published evidence demonstrating improved outcomes, specifically no reduction in breast cancer mortality, with supplemental testing. The official ACOG stance is that they “do not recommend routine use of alternative or adjunctive tests to screening mammography in women with dense breasts who are asymptomatic and have no additional risk factors.”
This is an area where it is important to understand the data. We are all going to be getting test results back that indicate level of breast density, and those test results will also be sent to our patients, so we are going to be asked about this by interested patients. Should this be something that we talk to patients about, utilizing shared decision-making to decide about whether follow-up testing is necessary in women with dense breasts? That is something each clinician will need to decide, and knowing the data is a critically important step in that decision.
Neil Skolnik, MD, is a professor, department of family medicine, at Sidney Kimmel Medical College of Thomas Jefferson University, Philadelphia, and associate director, department of family medicine, Abington (Pennsylvania) Jefferson Health.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.
This transcript has been edited for clarity.
Today, I’m going to talk about the 2023 Food and Drug Administration regulation that requires breast density to be reported on all mammogram results nationwide, and for that report to go to both clinicians and patients. Previously this was the rule in some states, but not in others. This is important because 40%-50% of women have dense breasts. I’m going to discuss what that means for you, and for our patients.
First
Breast density describes the appearance of the breast on mammography. Appearance varies on the basis of breast tissue composition, with fibroglandular tissue being more dense than fatty tissue. Breast density is important because it relates to both the risk for cancer and the ability of mammography to detect cancer.
Breast density is defined and classified according to the American College of Radiology’s BI-RADS four-category scale. Categories 1 and 2 refer to breast tissue that is not dense, accounting for about 50% of the population. Categories 3 and 4 describe heterogeneously dense and extremely dense breast tissue, which occur in approximately 40% and 50% of women, respectively. When speaking about dense breast tissue readings on mammography, we are referring to categories 3 and 4.
Women with dense breast tissue have an increased risk of developing breast cancer and are less likely to have early breast cancer detected on mammography.
Let’s go over the details by category:
For women in categories 1 and 2 (considered not dense breast tissue), the sensitivity of mammography for detecting early breast cancer is 80%-90%. In categories 3 and 4, the sensitivity of mammography drops to 60%-70%.
Compared with women with average breast density, the risk of developing breast cancer is 20% higher in women with BI-RADS category 3 breasts, and more than twice as high (relative risk, 2.1) in those with BI-RADS category 4 breasts. Thus, the risk of developing breast cancer is higher, but the sensitivity of the test is lower.
The clinical question is, what should we do about this? For women who have a normal mammogram with dense breasts, should follow-up testing be done, and if so, what test? The main follow-up testing options are either ultrasound or MRI, usually ultrasound. Additional testing will detect additional cancers that were not picked up on the initial mammogram and will also lead to additional biopsies for false-positive tests from the additional testing.
An American College of Gynecology and Obstetrics practice advisory nicely summarizes the evidence and clarifies that this decision is made in the context of a lack of published evidence demonstrating improved outcomes, specifically no reduction in breast cancer mortality, with supplemental testing. The official ACOG stance is that they “do not recommend routine use of alternative or adjunctive tests to screening mammography in women with dense breasts who are asymptomatic and have no additional risk factors.”
This is an area where it is important to understand the data. We are all going to be getting test results back that indicate level of breast density, and those test results will also be sent to our patients, so we are going to be asked about this by interested patients. Should this be something that we talk to patients about, utilizing shared decision-making to decide about whether follow-up testing is necessary in women with dense breasts? That is something each clinician will need to decide, and knowing the data is a critically important step in that decision.
Neil Skolnik, MD, is a professor, department of family medicine, at Sidney Kimmel Medical College of Thomas Jefferson University, Philadelphia, and associate director, department of family medicine, Abington (Pennsylvania) Jefferson Health.
A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.