PPEs — Haystacks and Needles

A story in a recent edition of this newspaper reported on a disturbing, but not surprising, study by a third-year pediatric resident at the University of California, Davis, School of Medicine. Looking at just the Preparticipaton Physical Evaluations (PPEs) she could find at her institution, Tammy Ng, MD, found that only slightly more than a quarter “addressed all the criteria” on the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) standardized form. Although more than half included inquiries about respiratory symptoms, less than half contained questions about a cardiovascular history. The lack of consistency across all the forms reviewed was the most dramatic finding.

Having participated in more than my share of PPEs as a school physician, a primary care pediatrician, and a multi-sport high school and college athlete, I was not surprised by Dr. Ng’s findings. In high school my teammates and I considered our trip to see Old Doctor Hinds (not his real name) in the second week of August “a joke.” A few of us with “white coat” hypertension, like myself, had to be settled down and have our blood pressure retaken. But other than that wrinkle, we all passed. The football coach had his own eyeball screening tool and wouldn’t allow kids he thought were too small to play football.

Reading this study rekindled a question that surfaced every sports season as I faced days of looking at forms, many of them fished out of backpacks in a crumbled mass. I squeezed in new patients or old patients who were out of date on their physicals, not wanting any youngster to miss out on the politically important first practice of the pre-season. Why was I doing it? What was my goal? In more than four hundred thousand office visit encounters, I had never knowingly missed a case that resulted in a sudden sports-related death. Where was the evidence that PPEs had any protective value? Now a third-year pediatric resident is bold enough to tell us that we have done such a sloppy job of collecting data that we aren’t anywhere close to having the raw material with which to answer my decades-old questions and concerns.

Has our needles-in-the-haystack strategy saved any lives? I suspect a few of you can describe scenarios in which asking the right question of the right person at the right time prevented a sports-related sudden death. But, looking at bigger picture, what were the downsides for the entire population with a system in which those questions weren’t asked?

How many young people didn’t play a sport because their parents couldn’t afford the doctor visit or maintain a family structure that would allow them to find the lost form and drive it to the doctor’s office on Friday afternoon. Not every athletic director or physician’s staff is flexible or sympathetic enough to deal with that level of family dysfunction.

The AAP has recently focused its attention on the problems associated with overspecialization and overtraining in an attempt to make youth sports more safe. But, in reality that target audience is a small, elite, highly motivated group. The bigger problem is the rest of the population, in which too few children are physically active and participation in organized youth sports is decreasing. There are many reasons for that trajectory, but shouldn’t we be doing everything we can to reduce the barriers preventing young people from being more active? One of those barriers is a PPE system that is so riddled with inconsistencies that we have no idea as to its utility.

Certainly, bigger and more robust studies can be done, but there will be a long lead time to determine if a better PPE system might be effective. But there is a different approach. Instead of looking for needles with retrospective questions relying on patients’ and parents’ memories, why not use AI to mine patients’ old records for any language that may be buried in the history that could raise a yellow flag. Of course not every significant episode of syncope results in a chart entry. But, if we can make EMRs do our bidding instead being a thorn in our sides, records from long-forgotten episodes at an urgent care center while on vacation should merge with patients global record and light up when AI goes hunting.

If we can get our act together, the process that my teenage buddies and I considered a joke could become an efficient and possibly life-saving exercise.
 

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 pdnews@mdedge.com.

A story in a recent edition of this newspaper reported on a disturbing, but not surprising, study by a third-year pediatric resident at the University of California, Davis, School of Medicine. Looking at just the Preparticipaton Physical Evaluations (PPEs) she could find at her institution, Tammy Ng, MD, found that only slightly more than a quarter “addressed all the criteria” on the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) standardized form. Although more than half included inquiries about respiratory symptoms, less than half contained questions about a cardiovascular history. The lack of consistency across all the forms reviewed was the most dramatic finding.

Having participated in more than my share of PPEs as a school physician, a primary care pediatrician, and a multi-sport high school and college athlete, I was not surprised by Dr. Ng’s findings. In high school my teammates and I considered our trip to see Old Doctor Hinds (not his real name) in the second week of August “a joke.” A few of us with “white coat” hypertension, like myself, had to be settled down and have our blood pressure retaken. But other than that wrinkle, we all passed. The football coach had his own eyeball screening tool and wouldn’t allow kids he thought were too small to play football.

Reading this study rekindled a question that surfaced every sports season as I faced days of looking at forms, many of them fished out of backpacks in a crumbled mass. I squeezed in new patients or old patients who were out of date on their physicals, not wanting any youngster to miss out on the politically important first practice of the pre-season. Why was I doing it? What was my goal? In more than four hundred thousand office visit encounters, I had never knowingly missed a case that resulted in a sudden sports-related death. Where was the evidence that PPEs had any protective value? Now a third-year pediatric resident is bold enough to tell us that we have done such a sloppy job of collecting data that we aren’t anywhere close to having the raw material with which to answer my decades-old questions and concerns.

Has our needles-in-the-haystack strategy saved any lives? I suspect a few of you can describe scenarios in which asking the right question of the right person at the right time prevented a sports-related sudden death. But, looking at bigger picture, what were the downsides for the entire population with a system in which those questions weren’t asked?

How many young people didn’t play a sport because their parents couldn’t afford the doctor visit or maintain a family structure that would allow them to find the lost form and drive it to the doctor’s office on Friday afternoon. Not every athletic director or physician’s staff is flexible or sympathetic enough to deal with that level of family dysfunction.

The AAP has recently focused its attention on the problems associated with overspecialization and overtraining in an attempt to make youth sports more safe. But, in reality that target audience is a small, elite, highly motivated group. The bigger problem is the rest of the population, in which too few children are physically active and participation in organized youth sports is decreasing. There are many reasons for that trajectory, but shouldn’t we be doing everything we can to reduce the barriers preventing young people from being more active? One of those barriers is a PPE system that is so riddled with inconsistencies that we have no idea as to its utility.

Certainly, bigger and more robust studies can be done, but there will be a long lead time to determine if a better PPE system might be effective. But there is a different approach. Instead of looking for needles with retrospective questions relying on patients’ and parents’ memories, why not use AI to mine patients’ old records for any language that may be buried in the history that could raise a yellow flag. Of course not every significant episode of syncope results in a chart entry. But, if we can make EMRs do our bidding instead being a thorn in our sides, records from long-forgotten episodes at an urgent care center while on vacation should merge with patients global record and light up when AI goes hunting.

If we can get our act together, the process that my teenage buddies and I considered a joke could become an efficient and possibly life-saving exercise.
 

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 pdnews@mdedge.com.

A story in a recent edition of this newspaper reported on a disturbing, but not surprising, study by a third-year pediatric resident at the University of California, Davis, School of Medicine. Looking at just the Preparticipaton Physical Evaluations (PPEs) she could find at her institution, Tammy Ng, MD, found that only slightly more than a quarter “addressed all the criteria” on the American Academy of Pediatrics (AAP) standardized form. Although more than half included inquiries about respiratory symptoms, less than half contained questions about a cardiovascular history. The lack of consistency across all the forms reviewed was the most dramatic finding.

Having participated in more than my share of PPEs as a school physician, a primary care pediatrician, and a multi-sport high school and college athlete, I was not surprised by Dr. Ng’s findings. In high school my teammates and I considered our trip to see Old Doctor Hinds (not his real name) in the second week of August “a joke.” A few of us with “white coat” hypertension, like myself, had to be settled down and have our blood pressure retaken. But other than that wrinkle, we all passed. The football coach had his own eyeball screening tool and wouldn’t allow kids he thought were too small to play football.

Reading this study rekindled a question that surfaced every sports season as I faced days of looking at forms, many of them fished out of backpacks in a crumbled mass. I squeezed in new patients or old patients who were out of date on their physicals, not wanting any youngster to miss out on the politically important first practice of the pre-season. Why was I doing it? What was my goal? In more than four hundred thousand office visit encounters, I had never knowingly missed a case that resulted in a sudden sports-related death. Where was the evidence that PPEs had any protective value? Now a third-year pediatric resident is bold enough to tell us that we have done such a sloppy job of collecting data that we aren’t anywhere close to having the raw material with which to answer my decades-old questions and concerns.

Has our needles-in-the-haystack strategy saved any lives? I suspect a few of you can describe scenarios in which asking the right question of the right person at the right time prevented a sports-related sudden death. But, looking at bigger picture, what were the downsides for the entire population with a system in which those questions weren’t asked?

How many young people didn’t play a sport because their parents couldn’t afford the doctor visit or maintain a family structure that would allow them to find the lost form and drive it to the doctor’s office on Friday afternoon. Not every athletic director or physician’s staff is flexible or sympathetic enough to deal with that level of family dysfunction.

The AAP has recently focused its attention on the problems associated with overspecialization and overtraining in an attempt to make youth sports more safe. But, in reality that target audience is a small, elite, highly motivated group. The bigger problem is the rest of the population, in which too few children are physically active and participation in organized youth sports is decreasing. There are many reasons for that trajectory, but shouldn’t we be doing everything we can to reduce the barriers preventing young people from being more active? One of those barriers is a PPE system that is so riddled with inconsistencies that we have no idea as to its utility.

Certainly, bigger and more robust studies can be done, but there will be a long lead time to determine if a better PPE system might be effective. But there is a different approach. Instead of looking for needles with retrospective questions relying on patients’ and parents’ memories, why not use AI to mine patients’ old records for any language that may be buried in the history that could raise a yellow flag. Of course not every significant episode of syncope results in a chart entry. But, if we can make EMRs do our bidding instead being a thorn in our sides, records from long-forgotten episodes at an urgent care center while on vacation should merge with patients global record and light up when AI goes hunting.

If we can get our act together, the process that my teenage buddies and I considered a joke could become an efficient and possibly life-saving exercise.
 

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 pdnews@mdedge.com.