Commentary

I have a secret. It’s one I think many physicians and nurses share. Sometimes, when I’m stretched too thin — overbooked, hungry, tired, fielding yet another appeal to an insurance company in the middle of a clinic day — I find myself momentarily resenting the patients on my schedule.

As soon as this happens, I feel immediate guilt. These are the worst moments of my day. Why the heck would I resent my patients? They’re the entire reason I’m there. I wouldn’t be a physician without patients to care for. I became a physician, and completed subspecialty training, to help patients. People.

Recently, I started thinking more about this emotion of resentment. What exactly is it, and where does it come from? Is what I’m feeling actually resentment? Or is it something else?

Two books I’ve recently read have helped me explore the complicated emotion of resentment and how it might play a role in burnout for both physicians and nurses.

First, Brené Brown’s most recent book, Atlas of the Heart: Mapping Meaningful Connection and the Language of Human Experience, provides a roadmap for 87 of our human emotions. (That’s right — 87!)

One emotion of the 87 that she shares has been a particular struggle for her has been our good old friend, resentment.

In her book, Dr Brown shares that she initially considered resentment to belong to the anger family of emotion. As I read this, I agreed. When I feel resentful, I associate that with feeling angry.

But she then writes about her discovery that resentment, in fact, belongs to the envy family. She explains how this discovery shook her world. I had to close the book for a moment at this point.

Wait a minute, I thought. If resentment is in the envy family, why do we (physicians) often find ourselves resenting patients who take up our time? What are we envious of?

I took some time to think about how this might be true. Could it be that I’m envious they have the time I don’t have? I want to have all the time in the world to answer their questions, but the reality is I don’t.

Or maybe it’s because sometimes I feel the patient is expecting me to offer them something more than is available. A cure when there might be none.

But is this actually true? Or is this my unrealistic expectation of myself?

Here’s how Brené Brown defines resentment in her book: “Resentment is the feeling of frustration, judgment, anger, ‘better than,’ and/or hidden envy related to perceived unfairness or injustice. It’s an emotion that we often experience when we fail to set boundaries or ask for what we need, or when expectations let us down because they were based on things we can’t control, like what other people think, what they feel, or how they’re going to react.”

Wow, I thought, Healthcare checks all of these boxes.

• Perceived unfairness of work schedules? Check.
• Perceived injustice? Of course — we see that in our dealings with insurance company denials every day.

But those are both extrinsic. What about the intrinsic factors she’s calling us out on here?

• Do we, as physicians, fail to set boundaries?
• Do we fail to ask for what we need?

Hard yes and yes. (Do we even know, as physicians, what our own boundaries are?)

And the last one:

• Do our expectations of how our clinic day will go let us down every day because they’re based on things we can’t control?

My brain had to repeat the critical parts of that: Expectations let us down when they’re based on things we can’t control.

But wait, my brain argued back; I’m the physician, I thought I was supposed to get to control things.

Next, the revelation: Could it be that a key to experiencing less resentment is accepting how much control we don’t have in a typical day?

And a corollary: How much does resentment factor into burnout? (To read more on my personal journey with burnout, see this piece).

It so happens that around this same time, I was reading another excellent book, Changing How We Think About Difficult Patients: A Guide for Physicians and Healthcare Professionals, by Joan Naidorf, DO.

Dr Naidorf is an emergency medicine physician of 30 years who wrote the book to “provid[e] insight and tools to manage our negative thoughts about difficult patients” and help “beleaguered colleagues…return to their benevolent guiding principles and find more enjoyment in their vitally important careers.”

As I read Dr Naidorf’s book, I thus did so with the mindset of wanting to further understand for myself where this specific emotion of resentment toward our “difficult” patients could come from and how to best understand it in order to get past it.

Dr. Naidorf writes, “Challenging patients will never stop appearing… You cannot change them or control them—the only person you can control is you.”

I wondered how much the resentment we might involuntarily feel at being asked to see a “difficult” patient has nothing to do with the patient but everything to do with it making us feel not in control of the situation.

Dr. Naidorf also writes, “Negative thoughts about challenging patients can cause, in otherwise capable clinicians, a sense of inadequacy and incompetence.”

Do we perhaps resent our challenging patients because of the negative thoughts they sometimes trigger in us? If so, how does this relate to envy, as Dr. Brown asserts resentment is tied to? Is it triggering us to feel inadequate?

“[Difficult patients] often make us question ourselves,” Dr. Naidorf writes, “and we need to feel comfortable with the answers.”

Again, the discrepancy between expectations and reality creates the negative emotion.

Or, as Dr. Naidorf writes, “What if you could stop judging others so harshly and accept them exactly as they are?”

Hmmm, I thought, then the cessation of harsh judgment and implementation of acceptance would have to apply to us too. The elusive concept of self-compassion.

Maybe the resentment/envy comes from us not allowing ourselves to behave in this way because to do so would allow too much vulnerability. Something most of us were conditioned to avoid to survive medical training.

Dr. Brown also writes about an “aha” moment she had in her struggle to understand resentment. “I’m not mad because you’re resting. I’m mad because I’m so bone tired and I want to rest. But, unlike you, I’m going to pretend that I don’t need to.”

I felt all too seen in that passage. Could it be my old nemesis, perfectionism, creeping its way back in? Is resentment the ugly stepsister to perfectionism?

Perhaps challenging patients can engender resentment because they make us feel like we’re not living up to our own unrealistic expectations. And in that case, we need to change our unrealistic expectations for ourselves.

Dr Naidorf’s book explores much more on the complex matter of what makes a “difficult” patient, but I chose to focus here only on the resentment piece as a tie-in to Dr. Brown’s book. I highly recommend both books for further reading to help physicians and nurses navigate the complex emotions our jobs can trigger.

Most importantly, recognizing that we have these transient negative emotions does not make us bad people or healthcare professionals. It only makes us human.

Dr. Lycette is medical director, Providence Oncology and Hematology Care Clinic, Seaside, Ore. She has disclosed having no relevant financial relationships.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

I have a secret. It’s one I think many physicians and nurses share. Sometimes, when I’m stretched too thin — overbooked, hungry, tired, fielding yet another appeal to an insurance company in the middle of a clinic day — I find myself momentarily resenting the patients on my schedule.

As soon as this happens, I feel immediate guilt. These are the worst moments of my day. Why the heck would I resent my patients? They’re the entire reason I’m there. I wouldn’t be a physician without patients to care for. I became a physician, and completed subspecialty training, to help patients. People.

Recently, I started thinking more about this emotion of resentment. What exactly is it, and where does it come from? Is what I’m feeling actually resentment? Or is it something else?

Two books I’ve recently read have helped me explore the complicated emotion of resentment and how it might play a role in burnout for both physicians and nurses.

First, Brené Brown’s most recent book, Atlas of the Heart: Mapping Meaningful Connection and the Language of Human Experience, provides a roadmap for 87 of our human emotions. (That’s right — 87!)

One emotion of the 87 that she shares has been a particular struggle for her has been our good old friend, resentment.

In her book, Dr Brown shares that she initially considered resentment to belong to the anger family of emotion. As I read this, I agreed. When I feel resentful, I associate that with feeling angry.

But she then writes about her discovery that resentment, in fact, belongs to the envy family. She explains how this discovery shook her world. I had to close the book for a moment at this point.

Wait a minute, I thought. If resentment is in the envy family, why do we (physicians) often find ourselves resenting patients who take up our time? What are we envious of?

I took some time to think about how this might be true. Could it be that I’m envious they have the time I don’t have? I want to have all the time in the world to answer their questions, but the reality is I don’t.

Or maybe it’s because sometimes I feel the patient is expecting me to offer them something more than is available. A cure when there might be none.

But is this actually true? Or is this my unrealistic expectation of myself?

Here’s how Brené Brown defines resentment in her book: “Resentment is the feeling of frustration, judgment, anger, ‘better than,’ and/or hidden envy related to perceived unfairness or injustice. It’s an emotion that we often experience when we fail to set boundaries or ask for what we need, or when expectations let us down because they were based on things we can’t control, like what other people think, what they feel, or how they’re going to react.”

Wow, I thought, Healthcare checks all of these boxes.

• Perceived unfairness of work schedules? Check.
• Perceived injustice? Of course — we see that in our dealings with insurance company denials every day.

But those are both extrinsic. What about the intrinsic factors she’s calling us out on here?

• Do we, as physicians, fail to set boundaries?
• Do we fail to ask for what we need?

Hard yes and yes. (Do we even know, as physicians, what our own boundaries are?)

And the last one:

• Do our expectations of how our clinic day will go let us down every day because they’re based on things we can’t control?

My brain had to repeat the critical parts of that: Expectations let us down when they’re based on things we can’t control.

But wait, my brain argued back; I’m the physician, I thought I was supposed to get to control things.

Next, the revelation: Could it be that a key to experiencing less resentment is accepting how much control we don’t have in a typical day?

And a corollary: How much does resentment factor into burnout? (To read more on my personal journey with burnout, see this piece).

It so happens that around this same time, I was reading another excellent book, Changing How We Think About Difficult Patients: A Guide for Physicians and Healthcare Professionals, by Joan Naidorf, DO.

Dr Naidorf is an emergency medicine physician of 30 years who wrote the book to “provid[e] insight and tools to manage our negative thoughts about difficult patients” and help “beleaguered colleagues…return to their benevolent guiding principles and find more enjoyment in their vitally important careers.”

As I read Dr Naidorf’s book, I thus did so with the mindset of wanting to further understand for myself where this specific emotion of resentment toward our “difficult” patients could come from and how to best understand it in order to get past it.

Dr. Naidorf writes, “Challenging patients will never stop appearing… You cannot change them or control them—the only person you can control is you.”

I wondered how much the resentment we might involuntarily feel at being asked to see a “difficult” patient has nothing to do with the patient but everything to do with it making us feel not in control of the situation.

Dr. Naidorf also writes, “Negative thoughts about challenging patients can cause, in otherwise capable clinicians, a sense of inadequacy and incompetence.”

Do we perhaps resent our challenging patients because of the negative thoughts they sometimes trigger in us? If so, how does this relate to envy, as Dr. Brown asserts resentment is tied to? Is it triggering us to feel inadequate?

“[Difficult patients] often make us question ourselves,” Dr. Naidorf writes, “and we need to feel comfortable with the answers.”

Again, the discrepancy between expectations and reality creates the negative emotion.

Or, as Dr. Naidorf writes, “What if you could stop judging others so harshly and accept them exactly as they are?”

Hmmm, I thought, then the cessation of harsh judgment and implementation of acceptance would have to apply to us too. The elusive concept of self-compassion.

Maybe the resentment/envy comes from us not allowing ourselves to behave in this way because to do so would allow too much vulnerability. Something most of us were conditioned to avoid to survive medical training.

Dr. Brown also writes about an “aha” moment she had in her struggle to understand resentment. “I’m not mad because you’re resting. I’m mad because I’m so bone tired and I want to rest. But, unlike you, I’m going to pretend that I don’t need to.”

I felt all too seen in that passage. Could it be my old nemesis, perfectionism, creeping its way back in? Is resentment the ugly stepsister to perfectionism?

Perhaps challenging patients can engender resentment because they make us feel like we’re not living up to our own unrealistic expectations. And in that case, we need to change our unrealistic expectations for ourselves.

Dr Naidorf’s book explores much more on the complex matter of what makes a “difficult” patient, but I chose to focus here only on the resentment piece as a tie-in to Dr. Brown’s book. I highly recommend both books for further reading to help physicians and nurses navigate the complex emotions our jobs can trigger.

Most importantly, recognizing that we have these transient negative emotions does not make us bad people or healthcare professionals. It only makes us human.

Dr. Lycette is medical director, Providence Oncology and Hematology Care Clinic, Seaside, Ore. She has disclosed having no relevant financial relationships.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

I have a secret. It’s one I think many physicians and nurses share. Sometimes, when I’m stretched too thin — overbooked, hungry, tired, fielding yet another appeal to an insurance company in the middle of a clinic day — I find myself momentarily resenting the patients on my schedule.

As soon as this happens, I feel immediate guilt. These are the worst moments of my day. Why the heck would I resent my patients? They’re the entire reason I’m there. I wouldn’t be a physician without patients to care for. I became a physician, and completed subspecialty training, to help patients. People.

Recently, I started thinking more about this emotion of resentment. What exactly is it, and where does it come from? Is what I’m feeling actually resentment? Or is it something else?

Two books I’ve recently read have helped me explore the complicated emotion of resentment and how it might play a role in burnout for both physicians and nurses.

First, Brené Brown’s most recent book, Atlas of the Heart: Mapping Meaningful Connection and the Language of Human Experience, provides a roadmap for 87 of our human emotions. (That’s right — 87!)

One emotion of the 87 that she shares has been a particular struggle for her has been our good old friend, resentment.

In her book, Dr Brown shares that she initially considered resentment to belong to the anger family of emotion. As I read this, I agreed. When I feel resentful, I associate that with feeling angry.

But she then writes about her discovery that resentment, in fact, belongs to the envy family. She explains how this discovery shook her world. I had to close the book for a moment at this point.

Wait a minute, I thought. If resentment is in the envy family, why do we (physicians) often find ourselves resenting patients who take up our time? What are we envious of?

I took some time to think about how this might be true. Could it be that I’m envious they have the time I don’t have? I want to have all the time in the world to answer their questions, but the reality is I don’t.

Or maybe it’s because sometimes I feel the patient is expecting me to offer them something more than is available. A cure when there might be none.

But is this actually true? Or is this my unrealistic expectation of myself?

Here’s how Brené Brown defines resentment in her book: “Resentment is the feeling of frustration, judgment, anger, ‘better than,’ and/or hidden envy related to perceived unfairness or injustice. It’s an emotion that we often experience when we fail to set boundaries or ask for what we need, or when expectations let us down because they were based on things we can’t control, like what other people think, what they feel, or how they’re going to react.”

Wow, I thought, Healthcare checks all of these boxes.

• Perceived unfairness of work schedules? Check.
• Perceived injustice? Of course — we see that in our dealings with insurance company denials every day.

But those are both extrinsic. What about the intrinsic factors she’s calling us out on here?

• Do we, as physicians, fail to set boundaries?
• Do we fail to ask for what we need?

Hard yes and yes. (Do we even know, as physicians, what our own boundaries are?)

And the last one:

• Do our expectations of how our clinic day will go let us down every day because they’re based on things we can’t control?

My brain had to repeat the critical parts of that: Expectations let us down when they’re based on things we can’t control.

But wait, my brain argued back; I’m the physician, I thought I was supposed to get to control things.

Next, the revelation: Could it be that a key to experiencing less resentment is accepting how much control we don’t have in a typical day?

And a corollary: How much does resentment factor into burnout? (To read more on my personal journey with burnout, see this piece).

It so happens that around this same time, I was reading another excellent book, Changing How We Think About Difficult Patients: A Guide for Physicians and Healthcare Professionals, by Joan Naidorf, DO.

Dr Naidorf is an emergency medicine physician of 30 years who wrote the book to “provid[e] insight and tools to manage our negative thoughts about difficult patients” and help “beleaguered colleagues…return to their benevolent guiding principles and find more enjoyment in their vitally important careers.”

As I read Dr Naidorf’s book, I thus did so with the mindset of wanting to further understand for myself where this specific emotion of resentment toward our “difficult” patients could come from and how to best understand it in order to get past it.

Dr. Naidorf writes, “Challenging patients will never stop appearing… You cannot change them or control them—the only person you can control is you.”

I wondered how much the resentment we might involuntarily feel at being asked to see a “difficult” patient has nothing to do with the patient but everything to do with it making us feel not in control of the situation.

Dr. Naidorf also writes, “Negative thoughts about challenging patients can cause, in otherwise capable clinicians, a sense of inadequacy and incompetence.”

Do we perhaps resent our challenging patients because of the negative thoughts they sometimes trigger in us? If so, how does this relate to envy, as Dr. Brown asserts resentment is tied to? Is it triggering us to feel inadequate?

“[Difficult patients] often make us question ourselves,” Dr. Naidorf writes, “and we need to feel comfortable with the answers.”

Again, the discrepancy between expectations and reality creates the negative emotion.

Or, as Dr. Naidorf writes, “What if you could stop judging others so harshly and accept them exactly as they are?”

Hmmm, I thought, then the cessation of harsh judgment and implementation of acceptance would have to apply to us too. The elusive concept of self-compassion.

Maybe the resentment/envy comes from us not allowing ourselves to behave in this way because to do so would allow too much vulnerability. Something most of us were conditioned to avoid to survive medical training.

Dr. Brown also writes about an “aha” moment she had in her struggle to understand resentment. “I’m not mad because you’re resting. I’m mad because I’m so bone tired and I want to rest. But, unlike you, I’m going to pretend that I don’t need to.”

I felt all too seen in that passage. Could it be my old nemesis, perfectionism, creeping its way back in? Is resentment the ugly stepsister to perfectionism?

Perhaps challenging patients can engender resentment because they make us feel like we’re not living up to our own unrealistic expectations. And in that case, we need to change our unrealistic expectations for ourselves.

Dr Naidorf’s book explores much more on the complex matter of what makes a “difficult” patient, but I chose to focus here only on the resentment piece as a tie-in to Dr. Brown’s book. I highly recommend both books for further reading to help physicians and nurses navigate the complex emotions our jobs can trigger.

Most importantly, recognizing that we have these transient negative emotions does not make us bad people or healthcare professionals. It only makes us human.

Dr. Lycette is medical director, Providence Oncology and Hematology Care Clinic, Seaside, Ore. She has disclosed having no relevant financial relationships.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

“Just relax, stop thinking about it and, more than likely, it will happen.” If ever there was a controversial subject in medicine, especially in reproduction, the relationship between stress and infertility would be high on the list. Who among us has not overheard or even personally shared with an infertility patient that they should try and reduce their stress to improve fertility? The theory is certainly not new. Hippocrates, back in the 5th century B.C., was one of the first to associate a woman’s psychological state with her reproductive potential. His contention was that a physical sign of psychological stress in women (which scholars later dubbed “hysteria”) could result in sterility. In medieval times, a German abbess and mystic named Hildegard of Bingen posited women suffering from melancholy – a condition that we today might call depression – were infertile as a result.

The deeper meaning behind the flippant advice to relax is implicit blame; that is, a woman interprets the link of stress and infertility as a declaration that she is sabotaging reproduction. Not only is this assumption flawed, but it does further damage to a woman’s emotional fragility. To provide the presumption of stress affecting reproduction, a recent survey of over 5,000 infertility patients found, remarkably, 98% considered emotional stress as either a cause or a contributor to infertility, and 31% believed stress was a cause of miscarriage, although racial differences existed (J Assist Reprod Genet. 2021 Apr;38[4]:877-87). This relationship was mostly seen in women who used complementary and alternative medicine, Black women, and those who frequented Internet search engines. Whereas women who had a professional degree, had more infertility insurance coverage, and were nonreligious were less likely to attribute stress to infertility. Intriguingly, the more engaged the physicians, the less patients linked stress with infertility, while the contrary also applied.

The power of stress can be exemplified by the pathophysiology of amenorrhea. Functional hypothalamic amenorrhea is the most common cause of the female athlete triad of secondary amenorrhea in women of childbearing age. It is a reversible disorder caused by stress related to weight loss, excessive exercise and/or traumatic mental experiences (Endocrines. 2021;2:203-11). Stress of infertility has also been demonstrated to be equivalent to a diagnosis of cancer and other major medical morbidities (J Psychosom Obstet Gynaecol. 1993;14[Suppl]:45-52).

A definitive link between stress and infertility is evasive because of the lack of controlled, prospective longitudinal studies and the challenge of reducing variables in the analysis. The question remains which developed initially – the stress or the infertility? Infertility treatment is a physical, emotional, and financial investment. Stress and the duration of infertility are correlative. The additive factor is that poor insurance coverage for costly fertility treatment can not only heighten stress but, concurrently, subject the patient to the risk of exploitation driven by desperation whereby they accept unproven “add-ons” offered with assisted reproductive technologies (ART).

Both acute and chronic stress affect the number of oocytes retrieved and fertilized with ART as well as live birth delivery and birth weights (Fertil Steril. 2001;76:675-87). Men are also affected by stress, which is manifested by decreased libido and impaired semen, further compromised as the duration of infertility continues. The gut-derived hormone ghrelin appears to play a role with stress and reproduction (Endocr Rev. 2017;38:432-67).

As the relationship between stress and infertility is far from proven, there are conflicting study results. Two meta-analyses failed to show any association between stress and the outcomes of ART cycles (Hum Reprod. 2011;26:2763-76; BMJ. 2011;342:d223). In contrast, a recent study suggested stress during infertility treatment was contributed by the variables of low spousal support, financial constraints, and social coercion in the early years of marriage (J Hum Reprod Sci. 2018;11:172-9). Emotional distress was found to be three times greater in women whose families had unrealistic expectations from treatments.

Fortunately, psychotherapy during the ART cycle has demonstrated a benefit in outcomes. Domar revealed psychological support and cognitive behavior therapy resulted in higher pregnancy rates than in the control group (Fertil Steril. 2000;73:805-12). Another recent study appears to support stress reduction improving reproductive potential (Dialogues Clin Neurosci. 2018;20[1]:41-7).

Given the evidence provided in this article, it behooves infertility clinics to address baseline (chronic) stress and acute stress (because of infertility) prior to initiating treatment (see Figure). While the definitive answer addressing the impact of stress on reproduction remains unknown, we may share with our patients a definition in which they may find enlightenment, “Stress is trying to control an event in which one is incapable.”

Dr. Mark P Trolice is director of Fertility CARE: The IVF Center in Winter Park, Fla., and associate professor of obstetrics and gynecology at the University of Central Florida, Orlando.

“Just relax, stop thinking about it and, more than likely, it will happen.” If ever there was a controversial subject in medicine, especially in reproduction, the relationship between stress and infertility would be high on the list. Who among us has not overheard or even personally shared with an infertility patient that they should try and reduce their stress to improve fertility? The theory is certainly not new. Hippocrates, back in the 5th century B.C., was one of the first to associate a woman’s psychological state with her reproductive potential. His contention was that a physical sign of psychological stress in women (which scholars later dubbed “hysteria”) could result in sterility. In medieval times, a German abbess and mystic named Hildegard of Bingen posited women suffering from melancholy – a condition that we today might call depression – were infertile as a result.

The deeper meaning behind the flippant advice to relax is implicit blame; that is, a woman interprets the link of stress and infertility as a declaration that she is sabotaging reproduction. Not only is this assumption flawed, but it does further damage to a woman’s emotional fragility. To provide the presumption of stress affecting reproduction, a recent survey of over 5,000 infertility patients found, remarkably, 98% considered emotional stress as either a cause or a contributor to infertility, and 31% believed stress was a cause of miscarriage, although racial differences existed (J Assist Reprod Genet. 2021 Apr;38[4]:877-87). This relationship was mostly seen in women who used complementary and alternative medicine, Black women, and those who frequented Internet search engines. Whereas women who had a professional degree, had more infertility insurance coverage, and were nonreligious were less likely to attribute stress to infertility. Intriguingly, the more engaged the physicians, the less patients linked stress with infertility, while the contrary also applied.

The power of stress can be exemplified by the pathophysiology of amenorrhea. Functional hypothalamic amenorrhea is the most common cause of the female athlete triad of secondary amenorrhea in women of childbearing age. It is a reversible disorder caused by stress related to weight loss, excessive exercise and/or traumatic mental experiences (Endocrines. 2021;2:203-11). Stress of infertility has also been demonstrated to be equivalent to a diagnosis of cancer and other major medical morbidities (J Psychosom Obstet Gynaecol. 1993;14[Suppl]:45-52).

A definitive link between stress and infertility is evasive because of the lack of controlled, prospective longitudinal studies and the challenge of reducing variables in the analysis. The question remains which developed initially – the stress or the infertility? Infertility treatment is a physical, emotional, and financial investment. Stress and the duration of infertility are correlative. The additive factor is that poor insurance coverage for costly fertility treatment can not only heighten stress but, concurrently, subject the patient to the risk of exploitation driven by desperation whereby they accept unproven “add-ons” offered with assisted reproductive technologies (ART).

Both acute and chronic stress affect the number of oocytes retrieved and fertilized with ART as well as live birth delivery and birth weights (Fertil Steril. 2001;76:675-87). Men are also affected by stress, which is manifested by decreased libido and impaired semen, further compromised as the duration of infertility continues. The gut-derived hormone ghrelin appears to play a role with stress and reproduction (Endocr Rev. 2017;38:432-67).

As the relationship between stress and infertility is far from proven, there are conflicting study results. Two meta-analyses failed to show any association between stress and the outcomes of ART cycles (Hum Reprod. 2011;26:2763-76; BMJ. 2011;342:d223). In contrast, a recent study suggested stress during infertility treatment was contributed by the variables of low spousal support, financial constraints, and social coercion in the early years of marriage (J Hum Reprod Sci. 2018;11:172-9). Emotional distress was found to be three times greater in women whose families had unrealistic expectations from treatments.

Fortunately, psychotherapy during the ART cycle has demonstrated a benefit in outcomes. Domar revealed psychological support and cognitive behavior therapy resulted in higher pregnancy rates than in the control group (Fertil Steril. 2000;73:805-12). Another recent study appears to support stress reduction improving reproductive potential (Dialogues Clin Neurosci. 2018;20[1]:41-7).

Given the evidence provided in this article, it behooves infertility clinics to address baseline (chronic) stress and acute stress (because of infertility) prior to initiating treatment (see Figure). While the definitive answer addressing the impact of stress on reproduction remains unknown, we may share with our patients a definition in which they may find enlightenment, “Stress is trying to control an event in which one is incapable.”

Dr. Mark P Trolice is director of Fertility CARE: The IVF Center in Winter Park, Fla., and associate professor of obstetrics and gynecology at the University of Central Florida, Orlando.

“Just relax, stop thinking about it and, more than likely, it will happen.” If ever there was a controversial subject in medicine, especially in reproduction, the relationship between stress and infertility would be high on the list. Who among us has not overheard or even personally shared with an infertility patient that they should try and reduce their stress to improve fertility? The theory is certainly not new. Hippocrates, back in the 5th century B.C., was one of the first to associate a woman’s psychological state with her reproductive potential. His contention was that a physical sign of psychological stress in women (which scholars later dubbed “hysteria”) could result in sterility. In medieval times, a German abbess and mystic named Hildegard of Bingen posited women suffering from melancholy – a condition that we today might call depression – were infertile as a result.

The deeper meaning behind the flippant advice to relax is implicit blame; that is, a woman interprets the link of stress and infertility as a declaration that she is sabotaging reproduction. Not only is this assumption flawed, but it does further damage to a woman’s emotional fragility. To provide the presumption of stress affecting reproduction, a recent survey of over 5,000 infertility patients found, remarkably, 98% considered emotional stress as either a cause or a contributor to infertility, and 31% believed stress was a cause of miscarriage, although racial differences existed (J Assist Reprod Genet. 2021 Apr;38[4]:877-87). This relationship was mostly seen in women who used complementary and alternative medicine, Black women, and those who frequented Internet search engines. Whereas women who had a professional degree, had more infertility insurance coverage, and were nonreligious were less likely to attribute stress to infertility. Intriguingly, the more engaged the physicians, the less patients linked stress with infertility, while the contrary also applied.

The power of stress can be exemplified by the pathophysiology of amenorrhea. Functional hypothalamic amenorrhea is the most common cause of the female athlete triad of secondary amenorrhea in women of childbearing age. It is a reversible disorder caused by stress related to weight loss, excessive exercise and/or traumatic mental experiences (Endocrines. 2021;2:203-11). Stress of infertility has also been demonstrated to be equivalent to a diagnosis of cancer and other major medical morbidities (J Psychosom Obstet Gynaecol. 1993;14[Suppl]:45-52).

A definitive link between stress and infertility is evasive because of the lack of controlled, prospective longitudinal studies and the challenge of reducing variables in the analysis. The question remains which developed initially – the stress or the infertility? Infertility treatment is a physical, emotional, and financial investment. Stress and the duration of infertility are correlative. The additive factor is that poor insurance coverage for costly fertility treatment can not only heighten stress but, concurrently, subject the patient to the risk of exploitation driven by desperation whereby they accept unproven “add-ons” offered with assisted reproductive technologies (ART).

Both acute and chronic stress affect the number of oocytes retrieved and fertilized with ART as well as live birth delivery and birth weights (Fertil Steril. 2001;76:675-87). Men are also affected by stress, which is manifested by decreased libido and impaired semen, further compromised as the duration of infertility continues. The gut-derived hormone ghrelin appears to play a role with stress and reproduction (Endocr Rev. 2017;38:432-67).

As the relationship between stress and infertility is far from proven, there are conflicting study results. Two meta-analyses failed to show any association between stress and the outcomes of ART cycles (Hum Reprod. 2011;26:2763-76; BMJ. 2011;342:d223). In contrast, a recent study suggested stress during infertility treatment was contributed by the variables of low spousal support, financial constraints, and social coercion in the early years of marriage (J Hum Reprod Sci. 2018;11:172-9). Emotional distress was found to be three times greater in women whose families had unrealistic expectations from treatments.

Fortunately, psychotherapy during the ART cycle has demonstrated a benefit in outcomes. Domar revealed psychological support and cognitive behavior therapy resulted in higher pregnancy rates than in the control group (Fertil Steril. 2000;73:805-12). Another recent study appears to support stress reduction improving reproductive potential (Dialogues Clin Neurosci. 2018;20[1]:41-7).

Given the evidence provided in this article, it behooves infertility clinics to address baseline (chronic) stress and acute stress (because of infertility) prior to initiating treatment (see Figure). While the definitive answer addressing the impact of stress on reproduction remains unknown, we may share with our patients a definition in which they may find enlightenment, “Stress is trying to control an event in which one is incapable.”

Dr. Mark P Trolice is director of Fertility CARE: The IVF Center in Winter Park, Fla., and associate professor of obstetrics and gynecology at the University of Central Florida, Orlando.

On Oct. 4, staff, patients, and medical students at my institution received word that a fatal shooting had occurred inside the campus hospital. For staff, this was a painful event compounding the already stressful pandemic times, while for students, it was a harsh introduction to the emerging dangers of practicing medicine.

Sure, medicine is widely known to be a grueling profession that requires sacrifice, but few realize the dangers to their own safety that providers routinely face. Unfortunately, acts of violence targeting health care workers occur at surprisingly high rates.

Reports following the shooting indicated that the gunman had a personal conflict with a coworker, and thankfully, larger numbers of people had not been targeted. While this may seem like a one-off incident, any shooting inside a hospital is a serious matter. Hospitals should be places of healing. Yes, they are inevitably places of suffering as well, but this pain should never be human-inflicted.

Health care workers are widely admired in the community, and increasingly so due to their sacrifices during the COVID-19 pandemic. Even though there is more attention to our health care spaces, the epidemic of occupational violence against our country’s health care workers has gone largely unrecognized, and this danger has only worsened since the onset of the pandemic.

Acts of violence against health care workers not only include fatal shootings or stabbings but may also include physical or verbal aggressions by frustrated patients and visitors. It is likely that students entering the health care field will encounter such danger during their careers.

Health care workers have four times the likelihood of being assaulted on the job, compared with those working in private industry. The World Health Organization reports that 38% of health workers can expect to experience physical violence at some point in their careers, while verbal threatening was reportedly even more common. It is plausible that the true rate of violence surpasses these rates, as reporting them is entirely voluntary.

In fact, the American Journal of Managed Care reported in 2019 that 75% of workplace assaults occur in health care, yet only 30% of nurses and 26% of emergency department physicians report such experiences.

Anecdotally, many of my own physician mentors have shared stories of troubling or threatening situations they have faced throughout their careers. These types of situations can be difficult to avoid, as providers are trained and naturally inclined to empathize with their patients and help as much as possible, making it difficult to turn away potentially violent individuals.

Since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, as the public became more fatigued, incidents of violence rose. Facing staffing shortages, visitor restrictions, and high-acuity patients, health care workers found it increasingly difficult to manage large caseloads. High levels of stress were affecting not only patients, who were facing some of the toughest times of their lives, but also staff, who experienced rising demands.

Yash Shah is a first-year medical student at Thomas Jefferson University in Philadelphia. He has disclosed no relevant financial relationships.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

On Oct. 4, staff, patients, and medical students at my institution received word that a fatal shooting had occurred inside the campus hospital. For staff, this was a painful event compounding the already stressful pandemic times, while for students, it was a harsh introduction to the emerging dangers of practicing medicine.

Sure, medicine is widely known to be a grueling profession that requires sacrifice, but few realize the dangers to their own safety that providers routinely face. Unfortunately, acts of violence targeting health care workers occur at surprisingly high rates.

Reports following the shooting indicated that the gunman had a personal conflict with a coworker, and thankfully, larger numbers of people had not been targeted. While this may seem like a one-off incident, any shooting inside a hospital is a serious matter. Hospitals should be places of healing. Yes, they are inevitably places of suffering as well, but this pain should never be human-inflicted.

Health care workers are widely admired in the community, and increasingly so due to their sacrifices during the COVID-19 pandemic. Even though there is more attention to our health care spaces, the epidemic of occupational violence against our country’s health care workers has gone largely unrecognized, and this danger has only worsened since the onset of the pandemic.

Acts of violence against health care workers not only include fatal shootings or stabbings but may also include physical or verbal aggressions by frustrated patients and visitors. It is likely that students entering the health care field will encounter such danger during their careers.

Health care workers have four times the likelihood of being assaulted on the job, compared with those working in private industry. The World Health Organization reports that 38% of health workers can expect to experience physical violence at some point in their careers, while verbal threatening was reportedly even more common. It is plausible that the true rate of violence surpasses these rates, as reporting them is entirely voluntary.

In fact, the American Journal of Managed Care reported in 2019 that 75% of workplace assaults occur in health care, yet only 30% of nurses and 26% of emergency department physicians report such experiences.

Anecdotally, many of my own physician mentors have shared stories of troubling or threatening situations they have faced throughout their careers. These types of situations can be difficult to avoid, as providers are trained and naturally inclined to empathize with their patients and help as much as possible, making it difficult to turn away potentially violent individuals.

Since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, as the public became more fatigued, incidents of violence rose. Facing staffing shortages, visitor restrictions, and high-acuity patients, health care workers found it increasingly difficult to manage large caseloads. High levels of stress were affecting not only patients, who were facing some of the toughest times of their lives, but also staff, who experienced rising demands.

Yash Shah is a first-year medical student at Thomas Jefferson University in Philadelphia. He has disclosed no relevant financial relationships.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

On Oct. 4, staff, patients, and medical students at my institution received word that a fatal shooting had occurred inside the campus hospital. For staff, this was a painful event compounding the already stressful pandemic times, while for students, it was a harsh introduction to the emerging dangers of practicing medicine.

Sure, medicine is widely known to be a grueling profession that requires sacrifice, but few realize the dangers to their own safety that providers routinely face. Unfortunately, acts of violence targeting health care workers occur at surprisingly high rates.

Reports following the shooting indicated that the gunman had a personal conflict with a coworker, and thankfully, larger numbers of people had not been targeted. While this may seem like a one-off incident, any shooting inside a hospital is a serious matter. Hospitals should be places of healing. Yes, they are inevitably places of suffering as well, but this pain should never be human-inflicted.

Health care workers are widely admired in the community, and increasingly so due to their sacrifices during the COVID-19 pandemic. Even though there is more attention to our health care spaces, the epidemic of occupational violence against our country’s health care workers has gone largely unrecognized, and this danger has only worsened since the onset of the pandemic.

Acts of violence against health care workers not only include fatal shootings or stabbings but may also include physical or verbal aggressions by frustrated patients and visitors. It is likely that students entering the health care field will encounter such danger during their careers.

Health care workers have four times the likelihood of being assaulted on the job, compared with those working in private industry. The World Health Organization reports that 38% of health workers can expect to experience physical violence at some point in their careers, while verbal threatening was reportedly even more common. It is plausible that the true rate of violence surpasses these rates, as reporting them is entirely voluntary.

In fact, the American Journal of Managed Care reported in 2019 that 75% of workplace assaults occur in health care, yet only 30% of nurses and 26% of emergency department physicians report such experiences.

Anecdotally, many of my own physician mentors have shared stories of troubling or threatening situations they have faced throughout their careers. These types of situations can be difficult to avoid, as providers are trained and naturally inclined to empathize with their patients and help as much as possible, making it difficult to turn away potentially violent individuals.

Since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, as the public became more fatigued, incidents of violence rose. Facing staffing shortages, visitor restrictions, and high-acuity patients, health care workers found it increasingly difficult to manage large caseloads. High levels of stress were affecting not only patients, who were facing some of the toughest times of their lives, but also staff, who experienced rising demands.

Yash Shah is a first-year medical student at Thomas Jefferson University in Philadelphia. He has disclosed no relevant financial relationships.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Have you experienced malpractice?

No, I’m not asking whether you have experienced litigation. I’m asking whether you, as a physician, have actually experienced substandard care from a colleague. I have heard many such experiences over the years, and mistreatment doesn’t seem to be getting any less frequent.

It seems to me that physicians may be especially prone to receiving substandard care. If true, there could be several explanations. The first is that, unlike the Pope, who has a dedicated confessor trained to minister to his spiritual needs, no one formally trains physicians to treat physicians. As a result, most of us feel slightly uneasy at treating other physicians. We naturally wish to keep our colleagues well, but at the same time realize that our clinical skills are being very closely scrutinized. What if they are found to be wanting? This discomfiture can make a physician treating a physician overly compulsive, or worse, overtly dismissive.

Second, we physicians are famously poor patients. We pretend we don’t need the advice we give others, to monitor our health and promptly seek care when something feels amiss. And, for the period during which we delay a medical encounter, we often attempt to diagnose and treat ourselves.

Sometimes we are successful, which reinforces this approach. Other times, we fail at being our own caregiver and present to someone else either too late, or with avoidable complications. In the former instance, we congratulate ourselves and learn nothing from the experience. In the latter, we may heap shame upon ourselves for our folly, and we may learn; but it could be a lethal lesson. In the worst scenario, our colleague gives in to frustration (or angst), and heaps even more shame onto their late-presenting physician patient.

Third, when we do submit to being a patient, we often demand VIP treatment. This is probably in response to our anxiety that some of the worst things we have seen happen to patients might happen to us if we are not vigilant to ensure we receive a higher level of care. But of course, such hypervigilance can lead to excessive care and testing, with all the attendant hazards, or alternatively to dilution of care if our caregivers decide we are just too much trouble.

Fourth, as a fifth-generation physician myself, I am convinced that physicians and physician family members are either prone to unusual manifestations of common diseases or unusual diseases, or that rare disease entities and complications are actually more common than literature suggests, and they simply aren’t pursued or diagnosed in nonphysician families.

No matter how we may have arrived in a position to need medical care, how often is such care substandard? And how do we respond when we suspect, or know, this to be the case? Are physicians more, or less, likely to take legal action in the face of it?

I certainly don’t know any statistics. Physicians are in an excellent position to take such action, because judges and juries will likely believe that a doctor can recognize negligence when we fall victim to it. But we may also be reluctant to publicly admit the way (or ways) in which we may have contributed to substandard care or outcome.

Based on decades of working with physician clients who have been sued, and having been sued myself (thus witnessing and also experiencing the effects of litigation), I am probably more reluctant than normal patients or physicians to consider taking legal action. This, despite the fact that I am also a lawyer and (through organized medicine) know many colleagues in all specialties who might serve as expert witnesses.

I have experienced serial substandard care, which has left me highly conflicted about the efficacy of my chosen profession. As a resident, I had my first odd pain condition and consulted an “elder statesperson” from my institution, whom I assumed to be a “doctor’s doctor” because he was a superb teacher (wrong!)

He completely missed the diagnosis and further belittled (indeed, libeled) me in the medical record. (Some years later, I learned that, during that period, he was increasingly demented and tended to view all female patients as having “wandering uterus” equivalents.) Fortunately, I found a better diagnostician, or at least one more willing to lend credence to my complaints, who successfully removed the first of several “zebra” lesions I have experienced.

As a young faculty member, I had an odd presentation of a recurring gynecologic condition, which was treated surgically, successfully, except that my fertility was cut in half – a possibility about which I had not been informed when giving operative consent. Would I have sued this fellow faculty member for that? Never, because she invariably treated me with respect as a colleague.

Later in my career after leaving academia, the same condition recurred in a new location. My old-school gynecologist desired to do an extensive procedure, to which I demurred unless specific pathology was found intraoperatively. Affronted, he subjected me to laparoscopy, did nothing but look, and then left the hospital leaving me and the PACU nurse to try to decipher his instructions (which said, basically, “I didn’t find anything; don’t bother me again.”). Several years of pain later, a younger gynecologist performed the correct procedure to address my problem, which has never recurred. Would I have sued him? No, because I believe he had a disability.

At age 59, I developed a new mole. My beloved general practitioner, in the waning years of his practice, forgot to consult a colleague to remove it for several months. When I forced the issue, the mole was removed and turned out to be a rare pediatric condition considered a precursor to melanoma. The same general practitioner had told me I needn’t worry about my “mild hypercalcemia.”

Ten years later I diagnosed my own parathyroid adenoma, in the interim losing 10% of my bone density. Would I have sued him? No, for he always showed he cared. (Though maybe, if I had fractured my spine or hip.)

If you have been the victim of physician malpractice, how did you respond?

Do we serve our profession well by how we handle substandard care – upon ourselves (or our loved ones)?

Dr. Andrew is a former assistant professor in the department of emergency medicine, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, and founder and principal of MDMentor, Victoria, B.C.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Have you experienced malpractice?

No, I’m not asking whether you have experienced litigation. I’m asking whether you, as a physician, have actually experienced substandard care from a colleague. I have heard many such experiences over the years, and mistreatment doesn’t seem to be getting any less frequent.

It seems to me that physicians may be especially prone to receiving substandard care. If true, there could be several explanations. The first is that, unlike the Pope, who has a dedicated confessor trained to minister to his spiritual needs, no one formally trains physicians to treat physicians. As a result, most of us feel slightly uneasy at treating other physicians. We naturally wish to keep our colleagues well, but at the same time realize that our clinical skills are being very closely scrutinized. What if they are found to be wanting? This discomfiture can make a physician treating a physician overly compulsive, or worse, overtly dismissive.

Second, we physicians are famously poor patients. We pretend we don’t need the advice we give others, to monitor our health and promptly seek care when something feels amiss. And, for the period during which we delay a medical encounter, we often attempt to diagnose and treat ourselves.

Sometimes we are successful, which reinforces this approach. Other times, we fail at being our own caregiver and present to someone else either too late, or with avoidable complications. In the former instance, we congratulate ourselves and learn nothing from the experience. In the latter, we may heap shame upon ourselves for our folly, and we may learn; but it could be a lethal lesson. In the worst scenario, our colleague gives in to frustration (or angst), and heaps even more shame onto their late-presenting physician patient.

Third, when we do submit to being a patient, we often demand VIP treatment. This is probably in response to our anxiety that some of the worst things we have seen happen to patients might happen to us if we are not vigilant to ensure we receive a higher level of care. But of course, such hypervigilance can lead to excessive care and testing, with all the attendant hazards, or alternatively to dilution of care if our caregivers decide we are just too much trouble.

Fourth, as a fifth-generation physician myself, I am convinced that physicians and physician family members are either prone to unusual manifestations of common diseases or unusual diseases, or that rare disease entities and complications are actually more common than literature suggests, and they simply aren’t pursued or diagnosed in nonphysician families.

No matter how we may have arrived in a position to need medical care, how often is such care substandard? And how do we respond when we suspect, or know, this to be the case? Are physicians more, or less, likely to take legal action in the face of it?

I certainly don’t know any statistics. Physicians are in an excellent position to take such action, because judges and juries will likely believe that a doctor can recognize negligence when we fall victim to it. But we may also be reluctant to publicly admit the way (or ways) in which we may have contributed to substandard care or outcome.

Based on decades of working with physician clients who have been sued, and having been sued myself (thus witnessing and also experiencing the effects of litigation), I am probably more reluctant than normal patients or physicians to consider taking legal action. This, despite the fact that I am also a lawyer and (through organized medicine) know many colleagues in all specialties who might serve as expert witnesses.

I have experienced serial substandard care, which has left me highly conflicted about the efficacy of my chosen profession. As a resident, I had my first odd pain condition and consulted an “elder statesperson” from my institution, whom I assumed to be a “doctor’s doctor” because he was a superb teacher (wrong!)

He completely missed the diagnosis and further belittled (indeed, libeled) me in the medical record. (Some years later, I learned that, during that period, he was increasingly demented and tended to view all female patients as having “wandering uterus” equivalents.) Fortunately, I found a better diagnostician, or at least one more willing to lend credence to my complaints, who successfully removed the first of several “zebra” lesions I have experienced.

As a young faculty member, I had an odd presentation of a recurring gynecologic condition, which was treated surgically, successfully, except that my fertility was cut in half – a possibility about which I had not been informed when giving operative consent. Would I have sued this fellow faculty member for that? Never, because she invariably treated me with respect as a colleague.

Later in my career after leaving academia, the same condition recurred in a new location. My old-school gynecologist desired to do an extensive procedure, to which I demurred unless specific pathology was found intraoperatively. Affronted, he subjected me to laparoscopy, did nothing but look, and then left the hospital leaving me and the PACU nurse to try to decipher his instructions (which said, basically, “I didn’t find anything; don’t bother me again.”). Several years of pain later, a younger gynecologist performed the correct procedure to address my problem, which has never recurred. Would I have sued him? No, because I believe he had a disability.

At age 59, I developed a new mole. My beloved general practitioner, in the waning years of his practice, forgot to consult a colleague to remove it for several months. When I forced the issue, the mole was removed and turned out to be a rare pediatric condition considered a precursor to melanoma. The same general practitioner had told me I needn’t worry about my “mild hypercalcemia.”

Ten years later I diagnosed my own parathyroid adenoma, in the interim losing 10% of my bone density. Would I have sued him? No, for he always showed he cared. (Though maybe, if I had fractured my spine or hip.)

If you have been the victim of physician malpractice, how did you respond?

Do we serve our profession well by how we handle substandard care – upon ourselves (or our loved ones)?

Dr. Andrew is a former assistant professor in the department of emergency medicine, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, and founder and principal of MDMentor, Victoria, B.C.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Have you experienced malpractice?

No, I’m not asking whether you have experienced litigation. I’m asking whether you, as a physician, have actually experienced substandard care from a colleague. I have heard many such experiences over the years, and mistreatment doesn’t seem to be getting any less frequent.

It seems to me that physicians may be especially prone to receiving substandard care. If true, there could be several explanations. The first is that, unlike the Pope, who has a dedicated confessor trained to minister to his spiritual needs, no one formally trains physicians to treat physicians. As a result, most of us feel slightly uneasy at treating other physicians. We naturally wish to keep our colleagues well, but at the same time realize that our clinical skills are being very closely scrutinized. What if they are found to be wanting? This discomfiture can make a physician treating a physician overly compulsive, or worse, overtly dismissive.

Second, we physicians are famously poor patients. We pretend we don’t need the advice we give others, to monitor our health and promptly seek care when something feels amiss. And, for the period during which we delay a medical encounter, we often attempt to diagnose and treat ourselves.

Sometimes we are successful, which reinforces this approach. Other times, we fail at being our own caregiver and present to someone else either too late, or with avoidable complications. In the former instance, we congratulate ourselves and learn nothing from the experience. In the latter, we may heap shame upon ourselves for our folly, and we may learn; but it could be a lethal lesson. In the worst scenario, our colleague gives in to frustration (or angst), and heaps even more shame onto their late-presenting physician patient.

Third, when we do submit to being a patient, we often demand VIP treatment. This is probably in response to our anxiety that some of the worst things we have seen happen to patients might happen to us if we are not vigilant to ensure we receive a higher level of care. But of course, such hypervigilance can lead to excessive care and testing, with all the attendant hazards, or alternatively to dilution of care if our caregivers decide we are just too much trouble.

Fourth, as a fifth-generation physician myself, I am convinced that physicians and physician family members are either prone to unusual manifestations of common diseases or unusual diseases, or that rare disease entities and complications are actually more common than literature suggests, and they simply aren’t pursued or diagnosed in nonphysician families.

No matter how we may have arrived in a position to need medical care, how often is such care substandard? And how do we respond when we suspect, or know, this to be the case? Are physicians more, or less, likely to take legal action in the face of it?

I certainly don’t know any statistics. Physicians are in an excellent position to take such action, because judges and juries will likely believe that a doctor can recognize negligence when we fall victim to it. But we may also be reluctant to publicly admit the way (or ways) in which we may have contributed to substandard care or outcome.

Based on decades of working with physician clients who have been sued, and having been sued myself (thus witnessing and also experiencing the effects of litigation), I am probably more reluctant than normal patients or physicians to consider taking legal action. This, despite the fact that I am also a lawyer and (through organized medicine) know many colleagues in all specialties who might serve as expert witnesses.

I have experienced serial substandard care, which has left me highly conflicted about the efficacy of my chosen profession. As a resident, I had my first odd pain condition and consulted an “elder statesperson” from my institution, whom I assumed to be a “doctor’s doctor” because he was a superb teacher (wrong!)

He completely missed the diagnosis and further belittled (indeed, libeled) me in the medical record. (Some years later, I learned that, during that period, he was increasingly demented and tended to view all female patients as having “wandering uterus” equivalents.) Fortunately, I found a better diagnostician, or at least one more willing to lend credence to my complaints, who successfully removed the first of several “zebra” lesions I have experienced.

As a young faculty member, I had an odd presentation of a recurring gynecologic condition, which was treated surgically, successfully, except that my fertility was cut in half – a possibility about which I had not been informed when giving operative consent. Would I have sued this fellow faculty member for that? Never, because she invariably treated me with respect as a colleague.

Later in my career after leaving academia, the same condition recurred in a new location. My old-school gynecologist desired to do an extensive procedure, to which I demurred unless specific pathology was found intraoperatively. Affronted, he subjected me to laparoscopy, did nothing but look, and then left the hospital leaving me and the PACU nurse to try to decipher his instructions (which said, basically, “I didn’t find anything; don’t bother me again.”). Several years of pain later, a younger gynecologist performed the correct procedure to address my problem, which has never recurred. Would I have sued him? No, because I believe he had a disability.

At age 59, I developed a new mole. My beloved general practitioner, in the waning years of his practice, forgot to consult a colleague to remove it for several months. When I forced the issue, the mole was removed and turned out to be a rare pediatric condition considered a precursor to melanoma. The same general practitioner had told me I needn’t worry about my “mild hypercalcemia.”

Ten years later I diagnosed my own parathyroid adenoma, in the interim losing 10% of my bone density. Would I have sued him? No, for he always showed he cared. (Though maybe, if I had fractured my spine or hip.)

If you have been the victim of physician malpractice, how did you respond?

Do we serve our profession well by how we handle substandard care – upon ourselves (or our loved ones)?

Dr. Andrew is a former assistant professor in the department of emergency medicine, Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, and founder and principal of MDMentor, Victoria, B.C.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

On Feb. 17, 2022, the updated Recommended Childhood and Adolescent Immunization Schedule was released by the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices (ACIP) of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Pediatric providers across the country eagerly await this annual update to learn what changes lie in store for recommended immunization practices. During the week that has gone by since the 2022 release, I’ve had a chance to reflect on some of the highlights that are worth noting.

The SARS-CoV-2 (COVID-19) vaccines are not on the schedule yet, undoubtedly because of the preliminary nature of the vaccine data for children and the emergency use authorization vaccine status. We currently have interim recommendations for childhood COVID-19 vaccines.
 

Brand new in 2022

Two new items in the 2022 schedules are worth reviewing. The first is an entirely new recommendation to administer dengue vaccine to children aged 9-16 years living in endemic areas, but only if they already have laboratory-confirmed past dengue infection. For U.S. practitioners, the endemic areas to remember are Puerto Rico and the U.S. Virgin islands in the Caribbean, as well as Pacific island areas, such as the Marshall Islands, Palau, and the Federated States of Micronesia. There is a link in the document to additional recommendations.

The second totally new item is the combination preparation, Vaxelis, which contains DTaP, inactivated poliovirus, Haemophilus influenzae b conjugate, and hepatitis B vaccines. There are extensive recommendations for how to work it into the vaccine schedule, including some situations when it should not be used.
 

Selected reminders in childhood immunization

I’ll start with some key reminders about what not to do. Remember that the live inactivated influenza virus vaccine (LAIV) is recommended to begin only at age 2 years and older, compared with the inactivated influenza vaccine, which begins at 6 months. In addition, LAIV is contraindicated in patients aged 2-4 years who have a history of asthma or wheezing. Remember to avoid live virus vaccines, such as LAIV, MMR, and varicella, during pregnancy but be ready to administer those vaccines right after delivery. Similarly, HPV vaccine should be delayed until after pregnancy.

There are many special situation recommendations; I’ll highlight only a few here. One reminder is that although MMR and hepatitis A are both recommended to begin at 12 months, infants aged 6-11 months who are undergoing international travel to high-risk areas can begin with one dose before departure and then receive a two-dose series after turning 12 months of age.

Pneumococcal vaccination. Some children should receive both the pneumococcal conjugate vaccine (PCV13) and the pneumococcal polysaccharide vaccine (PPSV23). Those groups include children with chronic heart disease, chronic lung disease, diabetes, cerebral spinal fluid leaks or cochlear implants, and sickle cell disease, as well as many other immunocompromising conditions. Kids who need both preparations should receive the conjugate vaccine first, but they should never receive the conjugate vaccine and the polysaccharide vaccine at the same visit.

Meningococcal vaccination. Meningococcal vaccine special situations can be quite complicated. For meningococcus A,C,W,Y (MenACWY) vaccination, children with immunocompromising conditions should receive different schedules from those of typical children, but the recommendations vary by preparation.

For adolescents aged 16-23 years, the decision whether to administer the meningococcal serogroup B (MenB) vaccine is based on shared clinical decision-making, a recommendation that began in 2020. Patients with certain immunocompromising conditions are considered at higher risk and should more routinely receive MenB vaccination, with recommendations varying depending on the preparation utilized. The MenB preparations are not interchangeable. In addition, patients may receive both MenACWY and MenB vaccines on the same day, but they should be given at different body sites.
 

A few final reminders

In certain cases, you might avoid administering what would otherwise be routine vaccinations. For example, the rotavirus series should not begin if the infant is aged 15 weeks or older. Only one dose of Haemophilus influenzae b vaccine is indicated after age 15 months and none at 60 months or older if the child does not have high-risk conditions.

Finally, the total number of doses for some vaccines, such as pneumococcus and polio, vary depending on how old the child is if not already fully vaccinated. For example, for pneumococcal conjugate vaccine catch-up in a healthy child, one dose after age 24 months would bring the child up to date. For inactivated poliovirus in children aged 4 years or older, a third dose given at least 6 months after the second dose would bring that child up to date.

The tables can be a challenge to interpret, but fortunately simpler tables for parents are available. These make excellent handouts to have available in the office!
 

Dr. Basco is professor of pediatrics at the Medical University of South Carolina, Charleston, and director of the division of general pediatrics. He disclosed no relevant financial relationships. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

On Feb. 17, 2022, the updated Recommended Childhood and Adolescent Immunization Schedule was released by the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices (ACIP) of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Pediatric providers across the country eagerly await this annual update to learn what changes lie in store for recommended immunization practices. During the week that has gone by since the 2022 release, I’ve had a chance to reflect on some of the highlights that are worth noting.

The SARS-CoV-2 (COVID-19) vaccines are not on the schedule yet, undoubtedly because of the preliminary nature of the vaccine data for children and the emergency use authorization vaccine status. We currently have interim recommendations for childhood COVID-19 vaccines.
 

Brand new in 2022

Two new items in the 2022 schedules are worth reviewing. The first is an entirely new recommendation to administer dengue vaccine to children aged 9-16 years living in endemic areas, but only if they already have laboratory-confirmed past dengue infection. For U.S. practitioners, the endemic areas to remember are Puerto Rico and the U.S. Virgin islands in the Caribbean, as well as Pacific island areas, such as the Marshall Islands, Palau, and the Federated States of Micronesia. There is a link in the document to additional recommendations.

The second totally new item is the combination preparation, Vaxelis, which contains DTaP, inactivated poliovirus, Haemophilus influenzae b conjugate, and hepatitis B vaccines. There are extensive recommendations for how to work it into the vaccine schedule, including some situations when it should not be used.
 

Selected reminders in childhood immunization

I’ll start with some key reminders about what not to do. Remember that the live inactivated influenza virus vaccine (LAIV) is recommended to begin only at age 2 years and older, compared with the inactivated influenza vaccine, which begins at 6 months. In addition, LAIV is contraindicated in patients aged 2-4 years who have a history of asthma or wheezing. Remember to avoid live virus vaccines, such as LAIV, MMR, and varicella, during pregnancy but be ready to administer those vaccines right after delivery. Similarly, HPV vaccine should be delayed until after pregnancy.

There are many special situation recommendations; I’ll highlight only a few here. One reminder is that although MMR and hepatitis A are both recommended to begin at 12 months, infants aged 6-11 months who are undergoing international travel to high-risk areas can begin with one dose before departure and then receive a two-dose series after turning 12 months of age.

Pneumococcal vaccination. Some children should receive both the pneumococcal conjugate vaccine (PCV13) and the pneumococcal polysaccharide vaccine (PPSV23). Those groups include children with chronic heart disease, chronic lung disease, diabetes, cerebral spinal fluid leaks or cochlear implants, and sickle cell disease, as well as many other immunocompromising conditions. Kids who need both preparations should receive the conjugate vaccine first, but they should never receive the conjugate vaccine and the polysaccharide vaccine at the same visit.

Meningococcal vaccination. Meningococcal vaccine special situations can be quite complicated. For meningococcus A,C,W,Y (MenACWY) vaccination, children with immunocompromising conditions should receive different schedules from those of typical children, but the recommendations vary by preparation.

For adolescents aged 16-23 years, the decision whether to administer the meningococcal serogroup B (MenB) vaccine is based on shared clinical decision-making, a recommendation that began in 2020. Patients with certain immunocompromising conditions are considered at higher risk and should more routinely receive MenB vaccination, with recommendations varying depending on the preparation utilized. The MenB preparations are not interchangeable. In addition, patients may receive both MenACWY and MenB vaccines on the same day, but they should be given at different body sites.
 

A few final reminders

In certain cases, you might avoid administering what would otherwise be routine vaccinations. For example, the rotavirus series should not begin if the infant is aged 15 weeks or older. Only one dose of Haemophilus influenzae b vaccine is indicated after age 15 months and none at 60 months or older if the child does not have high-risk conditions.

Finally, the total number of doses for some vaccines, such as pneumococcus and polio, vary depending on how old the child is if not already fully vaccinated. For example, for pneumococcal conjugate vaccine catch-up in a healthy child, one dose after age 24 months would bring the child up to date. For inactivated poliovirus in children aged 4 years or older, a third dose given at least 6 months after the second dose would bring that child up to date.

The tables can be a challenge to interpret, but fortunately simpler tables for parents are available. These make excellent handouts to have available in the office!
 

Dr. Basco is professor of pediatrics at the Medical University of South Carolina, Charleston, and director of the division of general pediatrics. He disclosed no relevant financial relationships. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

On Feb. 17, 2022, the updated Recommended Childhood and Adolescent Immunization Schedule was released by the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices (ACIP) of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Pediatric providers across the country eagerly await this annual update to learn what changes lie in store for recommended immunization practices. During the week that has gone by since the 2022 release, I’ve had a chance to reflect on some of the highlights that are worth noting.

The SARS-CoV-2 (COVID-19) vaccines are not on the schedule yet, undoubtedly because of the preliminary nature of the vaccine data for children and the emergency use authorization vaccine status. We currently have interim recommendations for childhood COVID-19 vaccines.
 

Brand new in 2022

Two new items in the 2022 schedules are worth reviewing. The first is an entirely new recommendation to administer dengue vaccine to children aged 9-16 years living in endemic areas, but only if they already have laboratory-confirmed past dengue infection. For U.S. practitioners, the endemic areas to remember are Puerto Rico and the U.S. Virgin islands in the Caribbean, as well as Pacific island areas, such as the Marshall Islands, Palau, and the Federated States of Micronesia. There is a link in the document to additional recommendations.

The second totally new item is the combination preparation, Vaxelis, which contains DTaP, inactivated poliovirus, Haemophilus influenzae b conjugate, and hepatitis B vaccines. There are extensive recommendations for how to work it into the vaccine schedule, including some situations when it should not be used.
 

Selected reminders in childhood immunization

I’ll start with some key reminders about what not to do. Remember that the live inactivated influenza virus vaccine (LAIV) is recommended to begin only at age 2 years and older, compared with the inactivated influenza vaccine, which begins at 6 months. In addition, LAIV is contraindicated in patients aged 2-4 years who have a history of asthma or wheezing. Remember to avoid live virus vaccines, such as LAIV, MMR, and varicella, during pregnancy but be ready to administer those vaccines right after delivery. Similarly, HPV vaccine should be delayed until after pregnancy.

There are many special situation recommendations; I’ll highlight only a few here. One reminder is that although MMR and hepatitis A are both recommended to begin at 12 months, infants aged 6-11 months who are undergoing international travel to high-risk areas can begin with one dose before departure and then receive a two-dose series after turning 12 months of age.

Pneumococcal vaccination. Some children should receive both the pneumococcal conjugate vaccine (PCV13) and the pneumococcal polysaccharide vaccine (PPSV23). Those groups include children with chronic heart disease, chronic lung disease, diabetes, cerebral spinal fluid leaks or cochlear implants, and sickle cell disease, as well as many other immunocompromising conditions. Kids who need both preparations should receive the conjugate vaccine first, but they should never receive the conjugate vaccine and the polysaccharide vaccine at the same visit.

Meningococcal vaccination. Meningococcal vaccine special situations can be quite complicated. For meningococcus A,C,W,Y (MenACWY) vaccination, children with immunocompromising conditions should receive different schedules from those of typical children, but the recommendations vary by preparation.

For adolescents aged 16-23 years, the decision whether to administer the meningococcal serogroup B (MenB) vaccine is based on shared clinical decision-making, a recommendation that began in 2020. Patients with certain immunocompromising conditions are considered at higher risk and should more routinely receive MenB vaccination, with recommendations varying depending on the preparation utilized. The MenB preparations are not interchangeable. In addition, patients may receive both MenACWY and MenB vaccines on the same day, but they should be given at different body sites.
 

A few final reminders

In certain cases, you might avoid administering what would otherwise be routine vaccinations. For example, the rotavirus series should not begin if the infant is aged 15 weeks or older. Only one dose of Haemophilus influenzae b vaccine is indicated after age 15 months and none at 60 months or older if the child does not have high-risk conditions.

Finally, the total number of doses for some vaccines, such as pneumococcus and polio, vary depending on how old the child is if not already fully vaccinated. For example, for pneumococcal conjugate vaccine catch-up in a healthy child, one dose after age 24 months would bring the child up to date. For inactivated poliovirus in children aged 4 years or older, a third dose given at least 6 months after the second dose would bring that child up to date.

The tables can be a challenge to interpret, but fortunately simpler tables for parents are available. These make excellent handouts to have available in the office!
 

Dr. Basco is professor of pediatrics at the Medical University of South Carolina, Charleston, and director of the division of general pediatrics. He disclosed no relevant financial relationships. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Introduction

Amidst an aggressive vaccination campaign for COVID-19, misinformation has spread over the Internet, affecting public perception and making some people hesitant to participate in ongoing immunization campaigns. Of chief concern are issues pertaining to fertility or viability of sperm – information circulating on social networks posits that the coronavirus vaccine may influence infertility in men, which, according to physicians, is not grounded in reality. From the perspective of evidence-based medicine, there is a dearth of information suggesting an untoward effect of the vaccine on male fertility. The risk of adverse reactions arising from approved vaccines is negligible, with mild, albeit controllable, side effects demonstrated by patients in clinical trials. Therefore, there is no plausible reason for the general public to avoid vaccinations.¹

Infertility following vaccination

The source of confusion can be traced back to a study conducted by researchers at the University of Miami Miller School of Medicine; the general public has conflated a side effect of the virus, namely, infertility and erectile dysfunction, with that of the vaccine.² According to Ranjith Ramasamy, MD, director of the urology program at Miller, “We were the first to demonstrate that the COVID virus, itself, can affect male fertility and be a potential cause for erectile dysfunction. We are now the first to examine if there is any impact of the COVID vaccine on male fertility potential, which we did not find.”³

Coronavirus can indeed cause significant damage to the testicular tissue of infected men by means of mediating ACE2 expression on Leydig and Sertoli cells of the testis. It should be noted that COVID-19 may potentially attack any type of cell in the body that expresses the enzyme ACE2. However, it is particularly harmful to cells with high levels of expression of this enzyme, such as testicular cells. The spermatogenesis process can be affected, thereby posing a risk to male fertility.⁴

Expanding on the theme of fertility during the pandemic, a number of false claims^5-7 about the vaccine and its overall effect on the placenta and fertility have also emerged as a contentious topic for debate on social media; doctors continue to explain why the theories are not reasonable or a cause for concern. The World Health Organization (WHO) provides recommendations on COVID-19 vaccinations for pregnant and/or lactating women and encourages a shared decision process involving risk/benefit assessment with the prescribing physician.⁵ Pregnant women, especially those with underlying comorbid conditions, are susceptible to developing severe symptom manifestations of COVID-19 with the disease also being associated with an increased likelihood of premature birth. As far as lactating women are concerned, the evidence thus far has indicated that the risk of side effects of the vaccine is very low, suggesting that these women could be vaccinated.⁵

The vaccine is the best option

While more studies are needed to ascertain the relationship between COVID-19 and male infertility, the vaccine is currently the best option for those who are concerned about their fertility from exposure to the coronavirus. Because of delayed wholesale acceptance of vaccines by the general population, clinicians should continue to emphasize the importance of preventive care with respect to disease exposure.⁶

In addition, those who are concerned with fertility can opt for ways to preserve their reproductive capacity, such as the removal of semen for freezing sperm, albeit with adherence to sperm-washing procedures to preclude cross-contamination from viruses.^8,9 For the preservation of sperm, the noninvasive method is often performed, preferably collected in several samples. Then, the semen is cryopreserved.⁸ In some instances, the sperm can also be removed directly from the testicles with a simple needle or by means of a minor surgical procedure.

A wait and try approach is advocated by clinicians for individuals who have already experienced COVID-19 symptoms and are therefore concerned about the prospect of childbearing.¹⁰ If the couple is unable to conceive after a year of trying, it is recommended that they consult a reproductive specialist; the clinician can carry out a comprehensive evaluation and order a series of tests to identify the source of the problem, indicating whether there are alternative methods for helping the couple to start a family (addressing the underlying factors involved in infertility, or treating via assisted reproduction procedures, such as in vitro fertilization).¹¹

Dr. Aman is faculty member at the biology department of City Colleges of Chicago, and a postdoctoral researcher at the International Maternal and Child Health Foundation (IMCHF). She disclosed no relevant financial relationships. Dr. Islam is a medical writer for the IMCHF, Montreal, is based in New York, and disclosed no relevant financial relationships. Mr. Choudhry is a research assistant at the IMCHF and he has no disclosures. Dr. Zia Choudhry is the chief scientific officer and head of the department of mental health and clinical research at the IMCHF. He has no disclosures.

References

1. Berry SD et al. J Am Geriatr Soc. 2021 May;69(5):1140-6.

2. Achua JK et al. World J Men’s Health. 2021 Jan;39(1):65-74.

3. Broderick JM. Urology Times. 2021 June.

4. Huang C et al. Andrology. 2021 Jan;9(1):80-7.

5. Sajjadi NB et al. J Osteopath Med. 2021 Apr 12;121(6):583-7.

6. Sallam M et al. Vaccines. 2021 Jan;9(1):42.

7. Islam MS et al. PloS One. 2021 May 12;16(5):e0251605.

8. Tesarik J. J Fertil Preserv. 2021;2:art246111.

9. Adiga SK et al. Reprod BioMed Online. 2020 Dec;41(6):991-7.

10. FAQs related to COVID-19. Q: If I get sick or test positive for COVID-19, when is it safe to become pregnant? American Society for Reproductive Medicine.

11. Cross C. Wellness and Prevention: Why can’t I get pregnant? John Hopkins Medicine.

Introduction

Amidst an aggressive vaccination campaign for COVID-19, misinformation has spread over the Internet, affecting public perception and making some people hesitant to participate in ongoing immunization campaigns. Of chief concern are issues pertaining to fertility or viability of sperm – information circulating on social networks posits that the coronavirus vaccine may influence infertility in men, which, according to physicians, is not grounded in reality. From the perspective of evidence-based medicine, there is a dearth of information suggesting an untoward effect of the vaccine on male fertility. The risk of adverse reactions arising from approved vaccines is negligible, with mild, albeit controllable, side effects demonstrated by patients in clinical trials. Therefore, there is no plausible reason for the general public to avoid vaccinations.¹

Infertility following vaccination

The source of confusion can be traced back to a study conducted by researchers at the University of Miami Miller School of Medicine; the general public has conflated a side effect of the virus, namely, infertility and erectile dysfunction, with that of the vaccine.² According to Ranjith Ramasamy, MD, director of the urology program at Miller, “We were the first to demonstrate that the COVID virus, itself, can affect male fertility and be a potential cause for erectile dysfunction. We are now the first to examine if there is any impact of the COVID vaccine on male fertility potential, which we did not find.”³

Coronavirus can indeed cause significant damage to the testicular tissue of infected men by means of mediating ACE2 expression on Leydig and Sertoli cells of the testis. It should be noted that COVID-19 may potentially attack any type of cell in the body that expresses the enzyme ACE2. However, it is particularly harmful to cells with high levels of expression of this enzyme, such as testicular cells. The spermatogenesis process can be affected, thereby posing a risk to male fertility.⁴

Expanding on the theme of fertility during the pandemic, a number of false claims^5-7 about the vaccine and its overall effect on the placenta and fertility have also emerged as a contentious topic for debate on social media; doctors continue to explain why the theories are not reasonable or a cause for concern. The World Health Organization (WHO) provides recommendations on COVID-19 vaccinations for pregnant and/or lactating women and encourages a shared decision process involving risk/benefit assessment with the prescribing physician.⁵ Pregnant women, especially those with underlying comorbid conditions, are susceptible to developing severe symptom manifestations of COVID-19 with the disease also being associated with an increased likelihood of premature birth. As far as lactating women are concerned, the evidence thus far has indicated that the risk of side effects of the vaccine is very low, suggesting that these women could be vaccinated.⁵

The vaccine is the best option

While more studies are needed to ascertain the relationship between COVID-19 and male infertility, the vaccine is currently the best option for those who are concerned about their fertility from exposure to the coronavirus. Because of delayed wholesale acceptance of vaccines by the general population, clinicians should continue to emphasize the importance of preventive care with respect to disease exposure.⁶

In addition, those who are concerned with fertility can opt for ways to preserve their reproductive capacity, such as the removal of semen for freezing sperm, albeit with adherence to sperm-washing procedures to preclude cross-contamination from viruses.^8,9 For the preservation of sperm, the noninvasive method is often performed, preferably collected in several samples. Then, the semen is cryopreserved.⁸ In some instances, the sperm can also be removed directly from the testicles with a simple needle or by means of a minor surgical procedure.

A wait and try approach is advocated by clinicians for individuals who have already experienced COVID-19 symptoms and are therefore concerned about the prospect of childbearing.¹⁰ If the couple is unable to conceive after a year of trying, it is recommended that they consult a reproductive specialist; the clinician can carry out a comprehensive evaluation and order a series of tests to identify the source of the problem, indicating whether there are alternative methods for helping the couple to start a family (addressing the underlying factors involved in infertility, or treating via assisted reproduction procedures, such as in vitro fertilization).¹¹

Dr. Aman is faculty member at the biology department of City Colleges of Chicago, and a postdoctoral researcher at the International Maternal and Child Health Foundation (IMCHF). She disclosed no relevant financial relationships. Dr. Islam is a medical writer for the IMCHF, Montreal, is based in New York, and disclosed no relevant financial relationships. Mr. Choudhry is a research assistant at the IMCHF and he has no disclosures. Dr. Zia Choudhry is the chief scientific officer and head of the department of mental health and clinical research at the IMCHF. He has no disclosures.

References

1. Berry SD et al. J Am Geriatr Soc. 2021 May;69(5):1140-6.

2. Achua JK et al. World J Men’s Health. 2021 Jan;39(1):65-74.

3. Broderick JM. Urology Times. 2021 June.

4. Huang C et al. Andrology. 2021 Jan;9(1):80-7.

5. Sajjadi NB et al. J Osteopath Med. 2021 Apr 12;121(6):583-7.

6. Sallam M et al. Vaccines. 2021 Jan;9(1):42.

7. Islam MS et al. PloS One. 2021 May 12;16(5):e0251605.

8. Tesarik J. J Fertil Preserv. 2021;2:art246111.

9. Adiga SK et al. Reprod BioMed Online. 2020 Dec;41(6):991-7.

10. FAQs related to COVID-19. Q: If I get sick or test positive for COVID-19, when is it safe to become pregnant? American Society for Reproductive Medicine.

11. Cross C. Wellness and Prevention: Why can’t I get pregnant? John Hopkins Medicine.

Introduction

Amidst an aggressive vaccination campaign for COVID-19, misinformation has spread over the Internet, affecting public perception and making some people hesitant to participate in ongoing immunization campaigns. Of chief concern are issues pertaining to fertility or viability of sperm – information circulating on social networks posits that the coronavirus vaccine may influence infertility in men, which, according to physicians, is not grounded in reality. From the perspective of evidence-based medicine, there is a dearth of information suggesting an untoward effect of the vaccine on male fertility. The risk of adverse reactions arising from approved vaccines is negligible, with mild, albeit controllable, side effects demonstrated by patients in clinical trials. Therefore, there is no plausible reason for the general public to avoid vaccinations.¹

Infertility following vaccination

The source of confusion can be traced back to a study conducted by researchers at the University of Miami Miller School of Medicine; the general public has conflated a side effect of the virus, namely, infertility and erectile dysfunction, with that of the vaccine.² According to Ranjith Ramasamy, MD, director of the urology program at Miller, “We were the first to demonstrate that the COVID virus, itself, can affect male fertility and be a potential cause for erectile dysfunction. We are now the first to examine if there is any impact of the COVID vaccine on male fertility potential, which we did not find.”³

Coronavirus can indeed cause significant damage to the testicular tissue of infected men by means of mediating ACE2 expression on Leydig and Sertoli cells of the testis. It should be noted that COVID-19 may potentially attack any type of cell in the body that expresses the enzyme ACE2. However, it is particularly harmful to cells with high levels of expression of this enzyme, such as testicular cells. The spermatogenesis process can be affected, thereby posing a risk to male fertility.⁴

Expanding on the theme of fertility during the pandemic, a number of false claims^5-7 about the vaccine and its overall effect on the placenta and fertility have also emerged as a contentious topic for debate on social media; doctors continue to explain why the theories are not reasonable or a cause for concern. The World Health Organization (WHO) provides recommendations on COVID-19 vaccinations for pregnant and/or lactating women and encourages a shared decision process involving risk/benefit assessment with the prescribing physician.⁵ Pregnant women, especially those with underlying comorbid conditions, are susceptible to developing severe symptom manifestations of COVID-19 with the disease also being associated with an increased likelihood of premature birth. As far as lactating women are concerned, the evidence thus far has indicated that the risk of side effects of the vaccine is very low, suggesting that these women could be vaccinated.⁵

The vaccine is the best option

While more studies are needed to ascertain the relationship between COVID-19 and male infertility, the vaccine is currently the best option for those who are concerned about their fertility from exposure to the coronavirus. Because of delayed wholesale acceptance of vaccines by the general population, clinicians should continue to emphasize the importance of preventive care with respect to disease exposure.⁶

In addition, those who are concerned with fertility can opt for ways to preserve their reproductive capacity, such as the removal of semen for freezing sperm, albeit with adherence to sperm-washing procedures to preclude cross-contamination from viruses.^8,9 For the preservation of sperm, the noninvasive method is often performed, preferably collected in several samples. Then, the semen is cryopreserved.⁸ In some instances, the sperm can also be removed directly from the testicles with a simple needle or by means of a minor surgical procedure.

A wait and try approach is advocated by clinicians for individuals who have already experienced COVID-19 symptoms and are therefore concerned about the prospect of childbearing.¹⁰ If the couple is unable to conceive after a year of trying, it is recommended that they consult a reproductive specialist; the clinician can carry out a comprehensive evaluation and order a series of tests to identify the source of the problem, indicating whether there are alternative methods for helping the couple to start a family (addressing the underlying factors involved in infertility, or treating via assisted reproduction procedures, such as in vitro fertilization).¹¹

Dr. Aman is faculty member at the biology department of City Colleges of Chicago, and a postdoctoral researcher at the International Maternal and Child Health Foundation (IMCHF). She disclosed no relevant financial relationships. Dr. Islam is a medical writer for the IMCHF, Montreal, is based in New York, and disclosed no relevant financial relationships. Mr. Choudhry is a research assistant at the IMCHF and he has no disclosures. Dr. Zia Choudhry is the chief scientific officer and head of the department of mental health and clinical research at the IMCHF. He has no disclosures.

References

1. Berry SD et al. J Am Geriatr Soc. 2021 May;69(5):1140-6.

2. Achua JK et al. World J Men’s Health. 2021 Jan;39(1):65-74.

3. Broderick JM. Urology Times. 2021 June.

4. Huang C et al. Andrology. 2021 Jan;9(1):80-7.

5. Sajjadi NB et al. J Osteopath Med. 2021 Apr 12;121(6):583-7.

6. Sallam M et al. Vaccines. 2021 Jan;9(1):42.

7. Islam MS et al. PloS One. 2021 May 12;16(5):e0251605.

8. Tesarik J. J Fertil Preserv. 2021;2:art246111.

9. Adiga SK et al. Reprod BioMed Online. 2020 Dec;41(6):991-7.

10. FAQs related to COVID-19. Q: If I get sick or test positive for COVID-19, when is it safe to become pregnant? American Society for Reproductive Medicine.

11. Cross C. Wellness and Prevention: Why can’t I get pregnant? John Hopkins Medicine.

Acids peels are used to elicit a chemical exfoliation of the skin by hydrolyzing amide bonds between keratinocytes, reducing corneocyte adhesion, as well as inducing an inflammatory reaction stimulating tissue remodeling. Release of cytokines such as interleukin (IL)-1 and IL-6 by keratinocytes activates fibroblasts to increase the production of matrix metalloproteinases. These are involved in the production of hyaluronic acid and new collagen formation.

Mandelic acid was derived from bitter almonds (mandel is the German word for almond). It is a white powder originally used as an antibiotic for the treatment of urinary tract infections. Its antibacterial properties make it an excellent product for the topical treatment of acne, as well as for use in topical preparations to treat hyperpigmentation and photoaging. In cosmetic use, mandelic acid is a slow acting chemical peel that can be used in all skin types, including sensitive and rosacea-prone skin, as well as skin of color. Its large molecular size allows for the slow penetration of the acid on the skin and thus it can be carefully titrated.

Studies have shown its efficacy in reducing sebum content, acne, acne scarring, and hyperpigmentation. In clinical practice however, the most effective use of this acid is on sensitive skin. It is a great tool for clinicians to use as an effective exfoliant in less acid tolerant skin types. In commercially available concentrations of 5%-45%, mandelic acid can be used alone or in combination with other beta hydroxy peels, depending on the indication.

Most dermatologists and patients prefer in-office peels that induce noticeable peeling and resurfacing of the skin. Mandelic acid is one of the largest alpha hydroxy acids, a lipophilic acid that penetrates the skin slowly and uniformly, making it an ideal peel in sensitive or aging and thin skin types. Although many mandelic acid peels are available, however, there is a paucity of studies comparing their benefits and efficacies.

Dr. Lily Talakoub and Dr. Naissan O. Wesley are cocontributors to this column. Dr. Talakoub is in private practice in McLean, Va. Dr. Wesley practices dermatology in Beverly Hills, Calif. This month’s column is by Dr. Talakoub. Write to them at dermnews@mdedge.com. They had no relevant disclosures.

References

1. Wójcik A et al. Dermatol Alergol. 2013 Jun;30(3):140-5.

2. Soleymani T et al. J Clin Aesthet Dermatol. 2018;11(8):21-8.

Acids peels are used to elicit a chemical exfoliation of the skin by hydrolyzing amide bonds between keratinocytes, reducing corneocyte adhesion, as well as inducing an inflammatory reaction stimulating tissue remodeling. Release of cytokines such as interleukin (IL)-1 and IL-6 by keratinocytes activates fibroblasts to increase the production of matrix metalloproteinases. These are involved in the production of hyaluronic acid and new collagen formation.

Mandelic acid was derived from bitter almonds (mandel is the German word for almond). It is a white powder originally used as an antibiotic for the treatment of urinary tract infections. Its antibacterial properties make it an excellent product for the topical treatment of acne, as well as for use in topical preparations to treat hyperpigmentation and photoaging. In cosmetic use, mandelic acid is a slow acting chemical peel that can be used in all skin types, including sensitive and rosacea-prone skin, as well as skin of color. Its large molecular size allows for the slow penetration of the acid on the skin and thus it can be carefully titrated.

Studies have shown its efficacy in reducing sebum content, acne, acne scarring, and hyperpigmentation. In clinical practice however, the most effective use of this acid is on sensitive skin. It is a great tool for clinicians to use as an effective exfoliant in less acid tolerant skin types. In commercially available concentrations of 5%-45%, mandelic acid can be used alone or in combination with other beta hydroxy peels, depending on the indication.

Most dermatologists and patients prefer in-office peels that induce noticeable peeling and resurfacing of the skin. Mandelic acid is one of the largest alpha hydroxy acids, a lipophilic acid that penetrates the skin slowly and uniformly, making it an ideal peel in sensitive or aging and thin skin types. Although many mandelic acid peels are available, however, there is a paucity of studies comparing their benefits and efficacies.

Dr. Lily Talakoub and Dr. Naissan O. Wesley are cocontributors to this column. Dr. Talakoub is in private practice in McLean, Va. Dr. Wesley practices dermatology in Beverly Hills, Calif. This month’s column is by Dr. Talakoub. Write to them at dermnews@mdedge.com. They had no relevant disclosures.

References

1. Wójcik A et al. Dermatol Alergol. 2013 Jun;30(3):140-5.

2. Soleymani T et al. J Clin Aesthet Dermatol. 2018;11(8):21-8.

Acids peels are used to elicit a chemical exfoliation of the skin by hydrolyzing amide bonds between keratinocytes, reducing corneocyte adhesion, as well as inducing an inflammatory reaction stimulating tissue remodeling. Release of cytokines such as interleukin (IL)-1 and IL-6 by keratinocytes activates fibroblasts to increase the production of matrix metalloproteinases. These are involved in the production of hyaluronic acid and new collagen formation.

Mandelic acid was derived from bitter almonds (mandel is the German word for almond). It is a white powder originally used as an antibiotic for the treatment of urinary tract infections. Its antibacterial properties make it an excellent product for the topical treatment of acne, as well as for use in topical preparations to treat hyperpigmentation and photoaging. In cosmetic use, mandelic acid is a slow acting chemical peel that can be used in all skin types, including sensitive and rosacea-prone skin, as well as skin of color. Its large molecular size allows for the slow penetration of the acid on the skin and thus it can be carefully titrated.

Studies have shown its efficacy in reducing sebum content, acne, acne scarring, and hyperpigmentation. In clinical practice however, the most effective use of this acid is on sensitive skin. It is a great tool for clinicians to use as an effective exfoliant in less acid tolerant skin types. In commercially available concentrations of 5%-45%, mandelic acid can be used alone or in combination with other beta hydroxy peels, depending on the indication.

Most dermatologists and patients prefer in-office peels that induce noticeable peeling and resurfacing of the skin. Mandelic acid is one of the largest alpha hydroxy acids, a lipophilic acid that penetrates the skin slowly and uniformly, making it an ideal peel in sensitive or aging and thin skin types. Although many mandelic acid peels are available, however, there is a paucity of studies comparing their benefits and efficacies.

Dr. Lily Talakoub and Dr. Naissan O. Wesley are cocontributors to this column. Dr. Talakoub is in private practice in McLean, Va. Dr. Wesley practices dermatology in Beverly Hills, Calif. This month’s column is by Dr. Talakoub. Write to them at dermnews@mdedge.com. They had no relevant disclosures.

References

1. Wójcik A et al. Dermatol Alergol. 2013 Jun;30(3):140-5.

2. Soleymani T et al. J Clin Aesthet Dermatol. 2018;11(8):21-8.

Starting this month, I will be joining Dr. Leslie S. Baumann as a cocontributor to the Cosmeceutical Critique column, and since this is my first column, I would like to formally introduce myself. I am a cosmetic and general dermatologist in private practice in Miami and a longtime skin care enthusiast. My path toward becoming a dermatologist began when I was working in New York City, my hometown, as a scientific researcher, fulfilling my passion for scientific inquiry. After realizing that I most enjoyed applying discoveries made in the lab directly to patient care, I decided to pursue medical school at New York University before completing a dermatology residency at the University of Miami, serving as Chief Resident during my final year. Although I was born and raised in New York, staying in Miami was an obvious decision for me. In addition to the tropical weather and amazing lifestyle, the medical community in Miami supports adventure, creativity, and innovation, which are key aspects that drew me to the University of Miami and continue to drive my personal evolution in private practice.

I now practice at Baumann Cosmetic & Research Institute alongside my mentor, Dr. Baumann. I truly have my dream job – I get to talk skin care and do a wide array of cosmetics procedures, perform skin surgeries, and solve complex medical dermatology cases all in a day’s work. My career sits at the intersection of my passions for science, critical thinking, beauty, aesthetics, and most importantly, engaging with patients.

For my first column, I want to provide a newly minted dermatologist’s perspective on cosmeceuticals. I will focus this discussion on the limited training in cosmeceuticals during residency and the importance of learning about cosmeceuticals, and I will provide a simple framework to approach the design of skin care regimens and utilization of cosmeceuticals in practice.

The focus of a dermatology residency is on medical and surgical skills. We become experts in diagnosing and treating conditions ranging from life-threatening drug reactions like Stevens-Johnson Syndrome to complex diseases like dermatomyositis, utilizing medications and treatments ranging from cyclosporine and methotrexate to biologics and intravenous immunoglobulin, and performing advanced skin surgeries utilizing flaps and grafts to repair defects.

The discipline of cosmetic dermatology, let alone cosmeceuticals, accounts for a fraction of our didactic and hands-on training. I completed a top dermatology residency program that prepared me to treat any dermatologic condition; however, I honestly felt like I didn’t have a strong understanding of cosmeceuticals and skin care and how to integrate them with prescription therapies when I completed residency, which is a sentiment shared by residents across the country. I remember a study break while preparing for my final board exam when I went into a tailspin for an entire day trying to decode an ingredient list of a new “antiaging serum” and researching its mechanisms of action and the clinical data supporting the active ingredients in the serum, which included bakuchiol and a blend of peptides. As a dermatologist who likes to treat and provide recommendations based on scientific rationale and data to deliver the highest level of care, I admit that I felt insecure not being as knowledgeable about cosmeceuticals as I was about more complex dermatology treatments. As both a cosmetic and general dermatologist, discussing skin care and cosmeceuticals independent of or in conjunction with medical management occurs daily, and I recognized that becoming an expert in this area is essential to becoming a top, well-rounded dermatologist.
 

A gap in cosmeceutical education in dermatology residency

Multiple studies have established that the field of cosmetic dermatology comprises a fraction of dermatology residency training. In 2013, Kirby et al. published a survey of dermatology instructors and chief residents across the country and found that only 67% of responders reported having received formal lectures on cosmetic dermatology.¹ In 2014, Bauer et al. published a survey of dermatology program directors assessing attitudes toward cosmetic dermatology and reported that only 38% of program directors believed that cosmetic dermatology should be a necessary aspect of residency training.² A survey sent to dermatology residents published in 2012 found that among respondents, more than 58% of residency programs have an “encouraging or somewhat encouraging” attitude toward teaching cosmetic dermatology, yet 22% of programs had a “somewhat discouraging” or “discouraging” attitude.³ While these noted studies have focused on procedural aspects of cosmetic dermatology training, Feetham et al. surveyed dermatology residents and faculty to assess attitudes toward and training on skin care and cosmeceuticals specifically. Among resident respondents, most (74.5%) reported their education on skin care and cosmeceuticals has been “too little or nonexistent” during residency and 76.5% “agree or strongly agree” that it should be part of their education.4 In contrast, 60% of faculty reported resident education on skin care and cosmeceuticals is “just the right amount or too much” (P < .001).

In my personal experience as a resident, discussing skin care was emphasized when treating patients with eczema, contact dermatitis, acne, and hair disorders, but otherwise, the majority of skin care discussions relied on having a stock list of recommended cleansers, moisturizers, and sunscreens. In regards to cosmeceuticals for facial skin specifically, there were only a handful of instances in which alternative ingredients, such as vitamin C for hyperpigmentation, were discussed and specific brands were mentioned. Upon reflection, I wish I had more opportunity to see the clinical benefits of cosmeceuticals first hand, just like when I observe dupilumab clear patients with severe atopic dermatitis, rather than reading about it in textbooks and journals.

While one hypothesis for programs’ limited attention given to cosmetic training may be that it detracts from medical training, the survey by Bauer et al. found that residents did not feel less prepared (94.9%) or less interested (97.4%) in medical dermatology as a result of their cosmetic training.² In addition, providers in an academic dermatology residency may limit discussions of skin care because of the high patient volume and because extensive skin care discussions will not impact insurance billings. Academic dermatology programs often service patients with more financial constraints, which further limits OTC cosmeceutical discussions. In my residency experience, I had the opportunity to regularly treat more severe and rare dermatologic cases than those I encounter in private practice; therefore, I spent more time focusing on systemic therapies, with fewer opportunities to dedicate time to cosmeceuticals.
 

Why skin care and cosmeceuticals should be an essential aspect of residency training

Discussing skin care and cosmeceuticals is a valuable aspect of medical and general dermatology, not just aesthetic dermatology. When treating general dermatologic conditions, guidance on proper skin care can improve both adherence and efficacy of medical treatments. For example, an acne study by de Lucas et al. demonstrated that adherence to adjuvant treatment of acne (such as the use of moisturizers) was associated not only with a 2.4-fold increase in the probability of adherence to pharmacological treatment, but also with a significant reduction in acne severity.⁵ Aside from skin care, cosmeceuticals themselves have efficacy in treating general dermatologic conditions. In the treatment of acne, topical niacinamide, a popular cosmeceutical ingredient, has been shown to have sebosuppressive and anti-inflammatory effects, addressing key aspects of acne pathogenesis.⁶ A double-blind study by Draelos et al. reported topical 2% niacinamide was effective in reducing the rate of sebum excretion in 50 Japanese patients over 4 weeks.⁶ In several double-blind studies that have compared twice daily application of 4% nicotinamide gel with the same application of 1% clindamycin gel in moderate inflammatory acne over 8 weeks, nicotinamide gel reduced the number of inflammatory papules and acne lesions to a level comparable with clindamycin gel.6 These studies support the use of niacinamide cosmeceutical products as an adjunctive treatment for acne.

With increased clinical data supporting cosmeceuticals, it can be expected that some cosmeceuticals will substitute traditional prescription medications in the dermatologists’ arsenal. For example, hydroquinone – both prescription strength and OTC 2% – is a workhorse in treating melasma; however, there is increasing interest in hydroquinone-free treatments, especially since OTC cosmeceuticals containing 2% hydroquinone were banned in 2020 because of safety concerns. Dermatologists will therefore need to provide guidance about hydroquinone alternatives for skin lightening, including soy, licorice extracts, kojic acid, arbutin, niacinamide, N-acetylglucosamine, and vitamin C, among others.⁷ Utilizing knowledge of a cosmeceutical’s mechanisms of action and clinical data, the dermatologist is in the best position to guide patients toward optimal ingredients and dispel cosmeceutical myths. Given that cosmeceuticals are not regulated by the Food and Drug Administration, it is even more important that the dermatologist serves as an authority on cosmeceuticals.
 

How to become a master skin care and cosmeceutical prescriber

A common pitfall I have observed among practitioners less experienced with aesthetic-focused skin care and cosmeceuticals is adapting a one-size-fits-all approach. In the one-size-fits-all approach, every patient concerned about aging gets the same vitamin C serum and retinoid, and every patient with hyperpigmentation gets the same hydroquinone prescription, for example. This approach, however, does not take into account unique differences in patients’ skin. Below

is the basic skin care framework that I follow, taught to me by Dr. Baumann. It utilizes an individualized approach based on the patient’s skin qualities to achieve optimal results.

Determine the patient’s skin type (dry vs. oily; sensitive vs. not sensitive; pigmentation issues vs. no hyperpigmentation; wrinkled and mature vs. nonwrinkled) and identify concerns (e.g., dark spots, redness, acne, dehydration).

Separate products into categories of cleansers, eye creams, moisturizers, sun protection, and treatments. Treatments refers to any additional products in a skin care regimen intended to ameliorate a particular condition (e.g., vitamin C for hyperpigmentation, retinoids for fine lines).

Choose products for each category in step 2 (cleansers, eye creams, moisturizers, sun protection, treatments) that are complementary to the patient’s skin type (determined in step 1) and aid the patient in meeting their particular skin goals. For example, a salicylic acid cleanser would be beneficial for a patient with oily skin and acne, but this same cleanser may be too drying and irritating for an acne patient with dry skin.

Ensure that chosen ingredients and products work together harmoniously. For example, while the acne patient may benefit from a salicylic acid cleanser and retinoid cream, using them in succession initially may be overly drying for some patients.

Spend the time to make sure patients understand the appropriate order of application and recognize when efficacy of a product is impacted by another product in the regimen. For example, a low pH cleanser can increase penetration of an ascorbic acid product that follows it in the regimen.

After establishing a basic skin care framework, the next step for beginners is learning about ingredients and their mechanisms of action and familiarizing themselves with scientific and clinical studies. Until cosmeceuticals become an integral part of the training curriculum, dermatologists can gain knowledge independently by reading literature and studies on cosmeceutical active ingredients and experimenting with consumer products. I look forward to regularly contributing to this column to further our awareness and understanding of the mechanisms of and data supporting cosmeceuticals so that we can better guide our patients.

Please feel free to email me at chloe@derm.net or message me on Instagram @DrChloeGoldman with ideas that you would like me to address in this column.
 

Dr. Goldman is a dermatologist in private practice in Miami, and specializes in cosmetic and general dermatology. She practices at Baumann Cosmetic & Research Institute and is also opening a new general dermatology practice. Dr. Goldman receives compensation to create social media content for Replenix, a skin care company. She has no other relevant disclosures.

References

1. Kirby JS et al. J Am Acad Dermatol. 2013;68(2):e23-8.

2. Bauer et al. JAMA Dermatol. 2014;150(2):125-9.

3. Group A et al. Dermatol Surg. 2012;38(12):1975-80.

4. Feetham HJ et al. J Cosmet Dermatol. 2018;17(2):220-6.

5. de Lucas R et al. BMC Dermatol. 2015;15:17.

6. Araviiskaia E and Dreno BJ. Eur Acad Dermatol Venereol. 2016;30(6):926-35.

7. Leyden JJ et al. J Eur Acad Dermatol Venereol. 2011;25(10):1140-5.

Starting this month, I will be joining Dr. Leslie S. Baumann as a cocontributor to the Cosmeceutical Critique column, and since this is my first column, I would like to formally introduce myself. I am a cosmetic and general dermatologist in private practice in Miami and a longtime skin care enthusiast. My path toward becoming a dermatologist began when I was working in New York City, my hometown, as a scientific researcher, fulfilling my passion for scientific inquiry. After realizing that I most enjoyed applying discoveries made in the lab directly to patient care, I decided to pursue medical school at New York University before completing a dermatology residency at the University of Miami, serving as Chief Resident during my final year. Although I was born and raised in New York, staying in Miami was an obvious decision for me. In addition to the tropical weather and amazing lifestyle, the medical community in Miami supports adventure, creativity, and innovation, which are key aspects that drew me to the University of Miami and continue to drive my personal evolution in private practice.

I now practice at Baumann Cosmetic & Research Institute alongside my mentor, Dr. Baumann. I truly have my dream job – I get to talk skin care and do a wide array of cosmetics procedures, perform skin surgeries, and solve complex medical dermatology cases all in a day’s work. My career sits at the intersection of my passions for science, critical thinking, beauty, aesthetics, and most importantly, engaging with patients.

For my first column, I want to provide a newly minted dermatologist’s perspective on cosmeceuticals. I will focus this discussion on the limited training in cosmeceuticals during residency and the importance of learning about cosmeceuticals, and I will provide a simple framework to approach the design of skin care regimens and utilization of cosmeceuticals in practice.

The focus of a dermatology residency is on medical and surgical skills. We become experts in diagnosing and treating conditions ranging from life-threatening drug reactions like Stevens-Johnson Syndrome to complex diseases like dermatomyositis, utilizing medications and treatments ranging from cyclosporine and methotrexate to biologics and intravenous immunoglobulin, and performing advanced skin surgeries utilizing flaps and grafts to repair defects.

The discipline of cosmetic dermatology, let alone cosmeceuticals, accounts for a fraction of our didactic and hands-on training. I completed a top dermatology residency program that prepared me to treat any dermatologic condition; however, I honestly felt like I didn’t have a strong understanding of cosmeceuticals and skin care and how to integrate them with prescription therapies when I completed residency, which is a sentiment shared by residents across the country. I remember a study break while preparing for my final board exam when I went into a tailspin for an entire day trying to decode an ingredient list of a new “antiaging serum” and researching its mechanisms of action and the clinical data supporting the active ingredients in the serum, which included bakuchiol and a blend of peptides. As a dermatologist who likes to treat and provide recommendations based on scientific rationale and data to deliver the highest level of care, I admit that I felt insecure not being as knowledgeable about cosmeceuticals as I was about more complex dermatology treatments. As both a cosmetic and general dermatologist, discussing skin care and cosmeceuticals independent of or in conjunction with medical management occurs daily, and I recognized that becoming an expert in this area is essential to becoming a top, well-rounded dermatologist.
 

A gap in cosmeceutical education in dermatology residency

Multiple studies have established that the field of cosmetic dermatology comprises a fraction of dermatology residency training. In 2013, Kirby et al. published a survey of dermatology instructors and chief residents across the country and found that only 67% of responders reported having received formal lectures on cosmetic dermatology.¹ In 2014, Bauer et al. published a survey of dermatology program directors assessing attitudes toward cosmetic dermatology and reported that only 38% of program directors believed that cosmetic dermatology should be a necessary aspect of residency training.² A survey sent to dermatology residents published in 2012 found that among respondents, more than 58% of residency programs have an “encouraging or somewhat encouraging” attitude toward teaching cosmetic dermatology, yet 22% of programs had a “somewhat discouraging” or “discouraging” attitude.³ While these noted studies have focused on procedural aspects of cosmetic dermatology training, Feetham et al. surveyed dermatology residents and faculty to assess attitudes toward and training on skin care and cosmeceuticals specifically. Among resident respondents, most (74.5%) reported their education on skin care and cosmeceuticals has been “too little or nonexistent” during residency and 76.5% “agree or strongly agree” that it should be part of their education.4 In contrast, 60% of faculty reported resident education on skin care and cosmeceuticals is “just the right amount or too much” (P < .001).

In my personal experience as a resident, discussing skin care was emphasized when treating patients with eczema, contact dermatitis, acne, and hair disorders, but otherwise, the majority of skin care discussions relied on having a stock list of recommended cleansers, moisturizers, and sunscreens. In regards to cosmeceuticals for facial skin specifically, there were only a handful of instances in which alternative ingredients, such as vitamin C for hyperpigmentation, were discussed and specific brands were mentioned. Upon reflection, I wish I had more opportunity to see the clinical benefits of cosmeceuticals first hand, just like when I observe dupilumab clear patients with severe atopic dermatitis, rather than reading about it in textbooks and journals.

While one hypothesis for programs’ limited attention given to cosmetic training may be that it detracts from medical training, the survey by Bauer et al. found that residents did not feel less prepared (94.9%) or less interested (97.4%) in medical dermatology as a result of their cosmetic training.² In addition, providers in an academic dermatology residency may limit discussions of skin care because of the high patient volume and because extensive skin care discussions will not impact insurance billings. Academic dermatology programs often service patients with more financial constraints, which further limits OTC cosmeceutical discussions. In my residency experience, I had the opportunity to regularly treat more severe and rare dermatologic cases than those I encounter in private practice; therefore, I spent more time focusing on systemic therapies, with fewer opportunities to dedicate time to cosmeceuticals.
 

Why skin care and cosmeceuticals should be an essential aspect of residency training

Discussing skin care and cosmeceuticals is a valuable aspect of medical and general dermatology, not just aesthetic dermatology. When treating general dermatologic conditions, guidance on proper skin care can improve both adherence and efficacy of medical treatments. For example, an acne study by de Lucas et al. demonstrated that adherence to adjuvant treatment of acne (such as the use of moisturizers) was associated not only with a 2.4-fold increase in the probability of adherence to pharmacological treatment, but also with a significant reduction in acne severity.⁵ Aside from skin care, cosmeceuticals themselves have efficacy in treating general dermatologic conditions. In the treatment of acne, topical niacinamide, a popular cosmeceutical ingredient, has been shown to have sebosuppressive and anti-inflammatory effects, addressing key aspects of acne pathogenesis.⁶ A double-blind study by Draelos et al. reported topical 2% niacinamide was effective in reducing the rate of sebum excretion in 50 Japanese patients over 4 weeks.⁶ In several double-blind studies that have compared twice daily application of 4% nicotinamide gel with the same application of 1% clindamycin gel in moderate inflammatory acne over 8 weeks, nicotinamide gel reduced the number of inflammatory papules and acne lesions to a level comparable with clindamycin gel.6 These studies support the use of niacinamide cosmeceutical products as an adjunctive treatment for acne.

With increased clinical data supporting cosmeceuticals, it can be expected that some cosmeceuticals will substitute traditional prescription medications in the dermatologists’ arsenal. For example, hydroquinone – both prescription strength and OTC 2% – is a workhorse in treating melasma; however, there is increasing interest in hydroquinone-free treatments, especially since OTC cosmeceuticals containing 2% hydroquinone were banned in 2020 because of safety concerns. Dermatologists will therefore need to provide guidance about hydroquinone alternatives for skin lightening, including soy, licorice extracts, kojic acid, arbutin, niacinamide, N-acetylglucosamine, and vitamin C, among others.⁷ Utilizing knowledge of a cosmeceutical’s mechanisms of action and clinical data, the dermatologist is in the best position to guide patients toward optimal ingredients and dispel cosmeceutical myths. Given that cosmeceuticals are not regulated by the Food and Drug Administration, it is even more important that the dermatologist serves as an authority on cosmeceuticals.
 

How to become a master skin care and cosmeceutical prescriber

A common pitfall I have observed among practitioners less experienced with aesthetic-focused skin care and cosmeceuticals is adapting a one-size-fits-all approach. In the one-size-fits-all approach, every patient concerned about aging gets the same vitamin C serum and retinoid, and every patient with hyperpigmentation gets the same hydroquinone prescription, for example. This approach, however, does not take into account unique differences in patients’ skin. Below

is the basic skin care framework that I follow, taught to me by Dr. Baumann. It utilizes an individualized approach based on the patient’s skin qualities to achieve optimal results.

Determine the patient’s skin type (dry vs. oily; sensitive vs. not sensitive; pigmentation issues vs. no hyperpigmentation; wrinkled and mature vs. nonwrinkled) and identify concerns (e.g., dark spots, redness, acne, dehydration).

Separate products into categories of cleansers, eye creams, moisturizers, sun protection, and treatments. Treatments refers to any additional products in a skin care regimen intended to ameliorate a particular condition (e.g., vitamin C for hyperpigmentation, retinoids for fine lines).

Choose products for each category in step 2 (cleansers, eye creams, moisturizers, sun protection, treatments) that are complementary to the patient’s skin type (determined in step 1) and aid the patient in meeting their particular skin goals. For example, a salicylic acid cleanser would be beneficial for a patient with oily skin and acne, but this same cleanser may be too drying and irritating for an acne patient with dry skin.

Ensure that chosen ingredients and products work together harmoniously. For example, while the acne patient may benefit from a salicylic acid cleanser and retinoid cream, using them in succession initially may be overly drying for some patients.

Spend the time to make sure patients understand the appropriate order of application and recognize when efficacy of a product is impacted by another product in the regimen. For example, a low pH cleanser can increase penetration of an ascorbic acid product that follows it in the regimen.

After establishing a basic skin care framework, the next step for beginners is learning about ingredients and their mechanisms of action and familiarizing themselves with scientific and clinical studies. Until cosmeceuticals become an integral part of the training curriculum, dermatologists can gain knowledge independently by reading literature and studies on cosmeceutical active ingredients and experimenting with consumer products. I look forward to regularly contributing to this column to further our awareness and understanding of the mechanisms of and data supporting cosmeceuticals so that we can better guide our patients.

Please feel free to email me at chloe@derm.net or message me on Instagram @DrChloeGoldman with ideas that you would like me to address in this column.
 

Dr. Goldman is a dermatologist in private practice in Miami, and specializes in cosmetic and general dermatology. She practices at Baumann Cosmetic & Research Institute and is also opening a new general dermatology practice. Dr. Goldman receives compensation to create social media content for Replenix, a skin care company. She has no other relevant disclosures.

References

1. Kirby JS et al. J Am Acad Dermatol. 2013;68(2):e23-8.

2. Bauer et al. JAMA Dermatol. 2014;150(2):125-9.

3. Group A et al. Dermatol Surg. 2012;38(12):1975-80.

4. Feetham HJ et al. J Cosmet Dermatol. 2018;17(2):220-6.

5. de Lucas R et al. BMC Dermatol. 2015;15:17.

6. Araviiskaia E and Dreno BJ. Eur Acad Dermatol Venereol. 2016;30(6):926-35.

7. Leyden JJ et al. J Eur Acad Dermatol Venereol. 2011;25(10):1140-5.

Starting this month, I will be joining Dr. Leslie S. Baumann as a cocontributor to the Cosmeceutical Critique column, and since this is my first column, I would like to formally introduce myself. I am a cosmetic and general dermatologist in private practice in Miami and a longtime skin care enthusiast. My path toward becoming a dermatologist began when I was working in New York City, my hometown, as a scientific researcher, fulfilling my passion for scientific inquiry. After realizing that I most enjoyed applying discoveries made in the lab directly to patient care, I decided to pursue medical school at New York University before completing a dermatology residency at the University of Miami, serving as Chief Resident during my final year. Although I was born and raised in New York, staying in Miami was an obvious decision for me. In addition to the tropical weather and amazing lifestyle, the medical community in Miami supports adventure, creativity, and innovation, which are key aspects that drew me to the University of Miami and continue to drive my personal evolution in private practice.

I now practice at Baumann Cosmetic & Research Institute alongside my mentor, Dr. Baumann. I truly have my dream job – I get to talk skin care and do a wide array of cosmetics procedures, perform skin surgeries, and solve complex medical dermatology cases all in a day’s work. My career sits at the intersection of my passions for science, critical thinking, beauty, aesthetics, and most importantly, engaging with patients.

For my first column, I want to provide a newly minted dermatologist’s perspective on cosmeceuticals. I will focus this discussion on the limited training in cosmeceuticals during residency and the importance of learning about cosmeceuticals, and I will provide a simple framework to approach the design of skin care regimens and utilization of cosmeceuticals in practice.

The focus of a dermatology residency is on medical and surgical skills. We become experts in diagnosing and treating conditions ranging from life-threatening drug reactions like Stevens-Johnson Syndrome to complex diseases like dermatomyositis, utilizing medications and treatments ranging from cyclosporine and methotrexate to biologics and intravenous immunoglobulin, and performing advanced skin surgeries utilizing flaps and grafts to repair defects.

The discipline of cosmetic dermatology, let alone cosmeceuticals, accounts for a fraction of our didactic and hands-on training. I completed a top dermatology residency program that prepared me to treat any dermatologic condition; however, I honestly felt like I didn’t have a strong understanding of cosmeceuticals and skin care and how to integrate them with prescription therapies when I completed residency, which is a sentiment shared by residents across the country. I remember a study break while preparing for my final board exam when I went into a tailspin for an entire day trying to decode an ingredient list of a new “antiaging serum” and researching its mechanisms of action and the clinical data supporting the active ingredients in the serum, which included bakuchiol and a blend of peptides. As a dermatologist who likes to treat and provide recommendations based on scientific rationale and data to deliver the highest level of care, I admit that I felt insecure not being as knowledgeable about cosmeceuticals as I was about more complex dermatology treatments. As both a cosmetic and general dermatologist, discussing skin care and cosmeceuticals independent of or in conjunction with medical management occurs daily, and I recognized that becoming an expert in this area is essential to becoming a top, well-rounded dermatologist.
 

A gap in cosmeceutical education in dermatology residency

Multiple studies have established that the field of cosmetic dermatology comprises a fraction of dermatology residency training. In 2013, Kirby et al. published a survey of dermatology instructors and chief residents across the country and found that only 67% of responders reported having received formal lectures on cosmetic dermatology.¹ In 2014, Bauer et al. published a survey of dermatology program directors assessing attitudes toward cosmetic dermatology and reported that only 38% of program directors believed that cosmetic dermatology should be a necessary aspect of residency training.² A survey sent to dermatology residents published in 2012 found that among respondents, more than 58% of residency programs have an “encouraging or somewhat encouraging” attitude toward teaching cosmetic dermatology, yet 22% of programs had a “somewhat discouraging” or “discouraging” attitude.³ While these noted studies have focused on procedural aspects of cosmetic dermatology training, Feetham et al. surveyed dermatology residents and faculty to assess attitudes toward and training on skin care and cosmeceuticals specifically. Among resident respondents, most (74.5%) reported their education on skin care and cosmeceuticals has been “too little or nonexistent” during residency and 76.5% “agree or strongly agree” that it should be part of their education.4 In contrast, 60% of faculty reported resident education on skin care and cosmeceuticals is “just the right amount or too much” (P < .001).

In my personal experience as a resident, discussing skin care was emphasized when treating patients with eczema, contact dermatitis, acne, and hair disorders, but otherwise, the majority of skin care discussions relied on having a stock list of recommended cleansers, moisturizers, and sunscreens. In regards to cosmeceuticals for facial skin specifically, there were only a handful of instances in which alternative ingredients, such as vitamin C for hyperpigmentation, were discussed and specific brands were mentioned. Upon reflection, I wish I had more opportunity to see the clinical benefits of cosmeceuticals first hand, just like when I observe dupilumab clear patients with severe atopic dermatitis, rather than reading about it in textbooks and journals.

While one hypothesis for programs’ limited attention given to cosmetic training may be that it detracts from medical training, the survey by Bauer et al. found that residents did not feel less prepared (94.9%) or less interested (97.4%) in medical dermatology as a result of their cosmetic training.² In addition, providers in an academic dermatology residency may limit discussions of skin care because of the high patient volume and because extensive skin care discussions will not impact insurance billings. Academic dermatology programs often service patients with more financial constraints, which further limits OTC cosmeceutical discussions. In my residency experience, I had the opportunity to regularly treat more severe and rare dermatologic cases than those I encounter in private practice; therefore, I spent more time focusing on systemic therapies, with fewer opportunities to dedicate time to cosmeceuticals.
 

Why skin care and cosmeceuticals should be an essential aspect of residency training

Discussing skin care and cosmeceuticals is a valuable aspect of medical and general dermatology, not just aesthetic dermatology. When treating general dermatologic conditions, guidance on proper skin care can improve both adherence and efficacy of medical treatments. For example, an acne study by de Lucas et al. demonstrated that adherence to adjuvant treatment of acne (such as the use of moisturizers) was associated not only with a 2.4-fold increase in the probability of adherence to pharmacological treatment, but also with a significant reduction in acne severity.⁵ Aside from skin care, cosmeceuticals themselves have efficacy in treating general dermatologic conditions. In the treatment of acne, topical niacinamide, a popular cosmeceutical ingredient, has been shown to have sebosuppressive and anti-inflammatory effects, addressing key aspects of acne pathogenesis.⁶ A double-blind study by Draelos et al. reported topical 2% niacinamide was effective in reducing the rate of sebum excretion in 50 Japanese patients over 4 weeks.⁶ In several double-blind studies that have compared twice daily application of 4% nicotinamide gel with the same application of 1% clindamycin gel in moderate inflammatory acne over 8 weeks, nicotinamide gel reduced the number of inflammatory papules and acne lesions to a level comparable with clindamycin gel.6 These studies support the use of niacinamide cosmeceutical products as an adjunctive treatment for acne.

With increased clinical data supporting cosmeceuticals, it can be expected that some cosmeceuticals will substitute traditional prescription medications in the dermatologists’ arsenal. For example, hydroquinone – both prescription strength and OTC 2% – is a workhorse in treating melasma; however, there is increasing interest in hydroquinone-free treatments, especially since OTC cosmeceuticals containing 2% hydroquinone were banned in 2020 because of safety concerns. Dermatologists will therefore need to provide guidance about hydroquinone alternatives for skin lightening, including soy, licorice extracts, kojic acid, arbutin, niacinamide, N-acetylglucosamine, and vitamin C, among others.⁷ Utilizing knowledge of a cosmeceutical’s mechanisms of action and clinical data, the dermatologist is in the best position to guide patients toward optimal ingredients and dispel cosmeceutical myths. Given that cosmeceuticals are not regulated by the Food and Drug Administration, it is even more important that the dermatologist serves as an authority on cosmeceuticals.
 

How to become a master skin care and cosmeceutical prescriber

A common pitfall I have observed among practitioners less experienced with aesthetic-focused skin care and cosmeceuticals is adapting a one-size-fits-all approach. In the one-size-fits-all approach, every patient concerned about aging gets the same vitamin C serum and retinoid, and every patient with hyperpigmentation gets the same hydroquinone prescription, for example. This approach, however, does not take into account unique differences in patients’ skin. Below

is the basic skin care framework that I follow, taught to me by Dr. Baumann. It utilizes an individualized approach based on the patient’s skin qualities to achieve optimal results.

Determine the patient’s skin type (dry vs. oily; sensitive vs. not sensitive; pigmentation issues vs. no hyperpigmentation; wrinkled and mature vs. nonwrinkled) and identify concerns (e.g., dark spots, redness, acne, dehydration).

Separate products into categories of cleansers, eye creams, moisturizers, sun protection, and treatments. Treatments refers to any additional products in a skin care regimen intended to ameliorate a particular condition (e.g., vitamin C for hyperpigmentation, retinoids for fine lines).

Choose products for each category in step 2 (cleansers, eye creams, moisturizers, sun protection, treatments) that are complementary to the patient’s skin type (determined in step 1) and aid the patient in meeting their particular skin goals. For example, a salicylic acid cleanser would be beneficial for a patient with oily skin and acne, but this same cleanser may be too drying and irritating for an acne patient with dry skin.

Ensure that chosen ingredients and products work together harmoniously. For example, while the acne patient may benefit from a salicylic acid cleanser and retinoid cream, using them in succession initially may be overly drying for some patients.

Spend the time to make sure patients understand the appropriate order of application and recognize when efficacy of a product is impacted by another product in the regimen. For example, a low pH cleanser can increase penetration of an ascorbic acid product that follows it in the regimen.

After establishing a basic skin care framework, the next step for beginners is learning about ingredients and their mechanisms of action and familiarizing themselves with scientific and clinical studies. Until cosmeceuticals become an integral part of the training curriculum, dermatologists can gain knowledge independently by reading literature and studies on cosmeceutical active ingredients and experimenting with consumer products. I look forward to regularly contributing to this column to further our awareness and understanding of the mechanisms of and data supporting cosmeceuticals so that we can better guide our patients.

Please feel free to email me at chloe@derm.net or message me on Instagram @DrChloeGoldman with ideas that you would like me to address in this column.
 

Dr. Goldman is a dermatologist in private practice in Miami, and specializes in cosmetic and general dermatology. She practices at Baumann Cosmetic & Research Institute and is also opening a new general dermatology practice. Dr. Goldman receives compensation to create social media content for Replenix, a skin care company. She has no other relevant disclosures.

References

1. Kirby JS et al. J Am Acad Dermatol. 2013;68(2):e23-8.

2. Bauer et al. JAMA Dermatol. 2014;150(2):125-9.

3. Group A et al. Dermatol Surg. 2012;38(12):1975-80.

4. Feetham HJ et al. J Cosmet Dermatol. 2018;17(2):220-6.

5. de Lucas R et al. BMC Dermatol. 2015;15:17.

6. Araviiskaia E and Dreno BJ. Eur Acad Dermatol Venereol. 2016;30(6):926-35.

7. Leyden JJ et al. J Eur Acad Dermatol Venereol. 2011;25(10):1140-5.

The purpose of this commentary is to provide a brief summary of discussions centering around reproductive health experiences and obstetrical care for gender-diverse patients from the recent Society of Maternal & Fetal Medicine meeting. Two presentations featured patient perspectives combined with physician lectures to provide a comprehensive outlook on unique reproductive care needs for this growing population.

One of the speakers, Trystan Reese, is a transgender activist, educator, and transgender male who chose to carry his own pregnancy and subsequently delivered his son in 2017. During the summit, he described many barriers that he faced during his pregnancy and offered providers suggestions on how to improve the care for members of the gender-diverse community seeking to start a family.

We often think of conception and pregnancy as experiences unique to one gender. This is simply not the case. In discussing preconceptual care and pregnancy, it is paramount for providers to make the distinction between gender identity and natal sex. Gender identity is an internal sense of self in relation to natal sex. Depending on this intrinsic feeling, people may identify as cisgender, transgender, or as a gender outside of the standard binary. Natal sex describes biologic characteristics such as chromosomal makeup, reproductive anatomy, and secondary sexual changes. In keeping these distinctions in mind, pregnancy is therefore exclusive to a person’s natal sex, not gender identity. One of the biggest challenges in caring for transgender patients who desire pregnancy, is the psychological distress related to the gendered notions surrounding this experience.¹

There are many ways in which patients encounter unintentional marginalization within the medical system. For example, many electronic medical record systems don’t allow for pronouns or give error messages if the patient’s gender identity is different from their sex assigned at birth. Patients who attend prenatal appointments or birth classes are given documents that center around cisgender women and heterosexual relationships. The labor and delivery wards themselves typically include language such as “maternity,” and birth certificates have distinct “mother” and “father” denotations.¹ Insurance coverage for prenatal care and delivery can be problematic if a patient who is assigned female at birth has changed their gender marker to “male” on their insurance card.

Many of these roadblocks can be ameliorated by utilizing more inclusive terminology. Terms such as “maternal” can be replaced with “pregnant patients, parent, or patients giving birth.” Names of maternity wards can be altered to perinatal units, which is more inclusive and more descriptive of the wide variety of patients that may experience childbirth and parenthood.¹ Introducing “you-centered” language can also be helpful. Instead of saying “women may find ...” providers can try saying “patients may find ...” or “individuals may find.”¹

Most of the medical and obstetrical care of gender-diverse patients is routine. Prenatal labs, aneuploidy screening, ultrasounds, and fetal surveillance do not differ between transgender and cisgender patients. However, the experience of pregnancy itself can significantly heighten feelings of dysphoria as it inherently leads to patients confronting aspects of their biological sex.² Because of the teratogenic nature of testosterone, patients are required to stop taking testosterone prior to conception and for the duration of pregnancy. This can also heighten dysphoria and lead to increased rates of anxiety and depression.³

Many transgender patients can safely achieve a normal vaginal birth.⁴ A small survey of 41 people demonstrated that more transgender men who had taken testosterone were delivered by cesarean section (36% vs. 19%).³ Staff training is an important aspect of caring for a transgender patient in labor to ensure that all members of the labor unit are cognizant of appropriate name and pronoun usage. Another interesting, although unsurprising, fact is that many transgender gestational parents chose a community-based (out-of-hospital) birth according to a 2014 study.¹ This is predominantly because of the discrimination patients face when delivering within a hospital setting.

Postpartum depression screening should be conducted prior to patients leaving the hospital and individualized during postpartum appointments. Reinitiation of testosterone can occur 4-6 weeks after delivery.¹

While pregnancy can pose some unique challenges to gender-diverse individuals, these intricacies are not insurmountable. The result of pregnancy, regardless of one’s gender identity, is the same – parenthood. One patient’s description of his experience was particularly poignant: “Pregnancy and childbirth were very male experiences for me. When I birthed my children, I was born into fatherhood.”¹ It is up to all providers to modify clinical settings, as well as our patient interactions and use of language, if we are to provide inclusion in obstetrics.^1,5

Dr. Brandt is an ob.gyn. and fellowship-trained gender-affirming surgeon in West Reading, Pa.

References

1. Brandt JS et al. “Understanding intersections: Care for transgender and gender diverse patient populations.” SMFM 2022 annual meeting. 2022 Feb 2.

2. Hoffkling A et al. BMC Pregnancy Childbirth. 2017 Nov 8;17(Suppl 2):332.

3. Light AD et al. Obstet Gynecol. 2014;124:1120-7.

4. Moseson H et al. Int J Transgend Health. 2021 Nov 17;22(1-2):30-41.

5. Brandt JS et al. Obstetrical care for trans*person, in “Trans*gynecology: Managing transgender patients in obstetrics and gynecology practice.” (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 2022).

The purpose of this commentary is to provide a brief summary of discussions centering around reproductive health experiences and obstetrical care for gender-diverse patients from the recent Society of Maternal & Fetal Medicine meeting. Two presentations featured patient perspectives combined with physician lectures to provide a comprehensive outlook on unique reproductive care needs for this growing population.

One of the speakers, Trystan Reese, is a transgender activist, educator, and transgender male who chose to carry his own pregnancy and subsequently delivered his son in 2017. During the summit, he described many barriers that he faced during his pregnancy and offered providers suggestions on how to improve the care for members of the gender-diverse community seeking to start a family.

We often think of conception and pregnancy as experiences unique to one gender. This is simply not the case. In discussing preconceptual care and pregnancy, it is paramount for providers to make the distinction between gender identity and natal sex. Gender identity is an internal sense of self in relation to natal sex. Depending on this intrinsic feeling, people may identify as cisgender, transgender, or as a gender outside of the standard binary. Natal sex describes biologic characteristics such as chromosomal makeup, reproductive anatomy, and secondary sexual changes. In keeping these distinctions in mind, pregnancy is therefore exclusive to a person’s natal sex, not gender identity. One of the biggest challenges in caring for transgender patients who desire pregnancy, is the psychological distress related to the gendered notions surrounding this experience.¹

There are many ways in which patients encounter unintentional marginalization within the medical system. For example, many electronic medical record systems don’t allow for pronouns or give error messages if the patient’s gender identity is different from their sex assigned at birth. Patients who attend prenatal appointments or birth classes are given documents that center around cisgender women and heterosexual relationships. The labor and delivery wards themselves typically include language such as “maternity,” and birth certificates have distinct “mother” and “father” denotations.¹ Insurance coverage for prenatal care and delivery can be problematic if a patient who is assigned female at birth has changed their gender marker to “male” on their insurance card.

Many of these roadblocks can be ameliorated by utilizing more inclusive terminology. Terms such as “maternal” can be replaced with “pregnant patients, parent, or patients giving birth.” Names of maternity wards can be altered to perinatal units, which is more inclusive and more descriptive of the wide variety of patients that may experience childbirth and parenthood.¹ Introducing “you-centered” language can also be helpful. Instead of saying “women may find ...” providers can try saying “patients may find ...” or “individuals may find.”¹

Most of the medical and obstetrical care of gender-diverse patients is routine. Prenatal labs, aneuploidy screening, ultrasounds, and fetal surveillance do not differ between transgender and cisgender patients. However, the experience of pregnancy itself can significantly heighten feelings of dysphoria as it inherently leads to patients confronting aspects of their biological sex.² Because of the teratogenic nature of testosterone, patients are required to stop taking testosterone prior to conception and for the duration of pregnancy. This can also heighten dysphoria and lead to increased rates of anxiety and depression.³

Many transgender patients can safely achieve a normal vaginal birth.⁴ A small survey of 41 people demonstrated that more transgender men who had taken testosterone were delivered by cesarean section (36% vs. 19%).³ Staff training is an important aspect of caring for a transgender patient in labor to ensure that all members of the labor unit are cognizant of appropriate name and pronoun usage. Another interesting, although unsurprising, fact is that many transgender gestational parents chose a community-based (out-of-hospital) birth according to a 2014 study.¹ This is predominantly because of the discrimination patients face when delivering within a hospital setting.

Postpartum depression screening should be conducted prior to patients leaving the hospital and individualized during postpartum appointments. Reinitiation of testosterone can occur 4-6 weeks after delivery.¹

While pregnancy can pose some unique challenges to gender-diverse individuals, these intricacies are not insurmountable. The result of pregnancy, regardless of one’s gender identity, is the same – parenthood. One patient’s description of his experience was particularly poignant: “Pregnancy and childbirth were very male experiences for me. When I birthed my children, I was born into fatherhood.”¹ It is up to all providers to modify clinical settings, as well as our patient interactions and use of language, if we are to provide inclusion in obstetrics.^1,5

Dr. Brandt is an ob.gyn. and fellowship-trained gender-affirming surgeon in West Reading, Pa.

References

1. Brandt JS et al. “Understanding intersections: Care for transgender and gender diverse patient populations.” SMFM 2022 annual meeting. 2022 Feb 2.

2. Hoffkling A et al. BMC Pregnancy Childbirth. 2017 Nov 8;17(Suppl 2):332.

3. Light AD et al. Obstet Gynecol. 2014;124:1120-7.

4. Moseson H et al. Int J Transgend Health. 2021 Nov 17;22(1-2):30-41.

5. Brandt JS et al. Obstetrical care for trans*person, in “Trans*gynecology: Managing transgender patients in obstetrics and gynecology practice.” (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 2022).

The purpose of this commentary is to provide a brief summary of discussions centering around reproductive health experiences and obstetrical care for gender-diverse patients from the recent Society of Maternal & Fetal Medicine meeting. Two presentations featured patient perspectives combined with physician lectures to provide a comprehensive outlook on unique reproductive care needs for this growing population.

One of the speakers, Trystan Reese, is a transgender activist, educator, and transgender male who chose to carry his own pregnancy and subsequently delivered his son in 2017. During the summit, he described many barriers that he faced during his pregnancy and offered providers suggestions on how to improve the care for members of the gender-diverse community seeking to start a family.

We often think of conception and pregnancy as experiences unique to one gender. This is simply not the case. In discussing preconceptual care and pregnancy, it is paramount for providers to make the distinction between gender identity and natal sex. Gender identity is an internal sense of self in relation to natal sex. Depending on this intrinsic feeling, people may identify as cisgender, transgender, or as a gender outside of the standard binary. Natal sex describes biologic characteristics such as chromosomal makeup, reproductive anatomy, and secondary sexual changes. In keeping these distinctions in mind, pregnancy is therefore exclusive to a person’s natal sex, not gender identity. One of the biggest challenges in caring for transgender patients who desire pregnancy, is the psychological distress related to the gendered notions surrounding this experience.¹

There are many ways in which patients encounter unintentional marginalization within the medical system. For example, many electronic medical record systems don’t allow for pronouns or give error messages if the patient’s gender identity is different from their sex assigned at birth. Patients who attend prenatal appointments or birth classes are given documents that center around cisgender women and heterosexual relationships. The labor and delivery wards themselves typically include language such as “maternity,” and birth certificates have distinct “mother” and “father” denotations.¹ Insurance coverage for prenatal care and delivery can be problematic if a patient who is assigned female at birth has changed their gender marker to “male” on their insurance card.

Many of these roadblocks can be ameliorated by utilizing more inclusive terminology. Terms such as “maternal” can be replaced with “pregnant patients, parent, or patients giving birth.” Names of maternity wards can be altered to perinatal units, which is more inclusive and more descriptive of the wide variety of patients that may experience childbirth and parenthood.¹ Introducing “you-centered” language can also be helpful. Instead of saying “women may find ...” providers can try saying “patients may find ...” or “individuals may find.”¹

Most of the medical and obstetrical care of gender-diverse patients is routine. Prenatal labs, aneuploidy screening, ultrasounds, and fetal surveillance do not differ between transgender and cisgender patients. However, the experience of pregnancy itself can significantly heighten feelings of dysphoria as it inherently leads to patients confronting aspects of their biological sex.² Because of the teratogenic nature of testosterone, patients are required to stop taking testosterone prior to conception and for the duration of pregnancy. This can also heighten dysphoria and lead to increased rates of anxiety and depression.³

Many transgender patients can safely achieve a normal vaginal birth.⁴ A small survey of 41 people demonstrated that more transgender men who had taken testosterone were delivered by cesarean section (36% vs. 19%).³ Staff training is an important aspect of caring for a transgender patient in labor to ensure that all members of the labor unit are cognizant of appropriate name and pronoun usage. Another interesting, although unsurprising, fact is that many transgender gestational parents chose a community-based (out-of-hospital) birth according to a 2014 study.¹ This is predominantly because of the discrimination patients face when delivering within a hospital setting.

Postpartum depression screening should be conducted prior to patients leaving the hospital and individualized during postpartum appointments. Reinitiation of testosterone can occur 4-6 weeks after delivery.¹

While pregnancy can pose some unique challenges to gender-diverse individuals, these intricacies are not insurmountable. The result of pregnancy, regardless of one’s gender identity, is the same – parenthood. One patient’s description of his experience was particularly poignant: “Pregnancy and childbirth were very male experiences for me. When I birthed my children, I was born into fatherhood.”¹ It is up to all providers to modify clinical settings, as well as our patient interactions and use of language, if we are to provide inclusion in obstetrics.^1,5

Dr. Brandt is an ob.gyn. and fellowship-trained gender-affirming surgeon in West Reading, Pa.

References

1. Brandt JS et al. “Understanding intersections: Care for transgender and gender diverse patient populations.” SMFM 2022 annual meeting. 2022 Feb 2.

2. Hoffkling A et al. BMC Pregnancy Childbirth. 2017 Nov 8;17(Suppl 2):332.

3. Light AD et al. Obstet Gynecol. 2014;124:1120-7.

4. Moseson H et al. Int J Transgend Health. 2021 Nov 17;22(1-2):30-41.

5. Brandt JS et al. Obstetrical care for trans*person, in “Trans*gynecology: Managing transgender patients in obstetrics and gynecology practice.” (Cambridge, England: Cambridge University Press, 2022).

The vitamin D story exudes teaching points: It offers a master class in critical appraisal, connecting the concepts of biologic plausibility, flawed surrogate markers, confounded observational studies, and slews of randomized controlled trials (RCTs) showing no benefits on health outcomes.

Yet despite the utter lack of benefit seen in trials, the hype continues. And the pandemic has only enhanced this hype as an onslaught of papers have reported the association of low vitamin D levels and COVID-19 disease.

My questions are simple: Why doesn’t the evidence persuade people? How many nonsignificant trials do we need before researchers stop studying vitamin D, doctors stop (routinely) measuring levels, and patients stop wasting money on the unhelpful supplement? What are the implications for this lack of persuasion?

Before exploring these questions, I want to set out that symptomatic vitamin deficiencies of any sort ought to be corrected. 
 

Biologic plausibility and the pull of observational studies

It has long been known that vitamin D is crucial for bone health and that it can be produced in the skin with sun exposure. In the last decade, however, experts note that nearly every tissue and cell in our body has a vitamin D receptor. It then follows that if this many cells in the body can activate vitamin D, it must be vital for cardiovascular health, immune function, cancer prevention: basically, everything health related.

Oodles of observational studies have found that low serum levels of vitamin D correlate with higher mortality from all causes, cancer, cardiovascular disease, and now even COVID-19. Yet no matter the amount of statistical adjustment in these studies, we cannot know whether these associations are due to true causality.

The major issue is confounding: That is, people with low vitamin D levels have other conditions or diseases that lead to higher rates of ill health. Consider a patient with obesity, arthritis, and cognitive decline; this person is unlikely to do much exercise in the sun and may have low vitamin D levels. The low vitamin D level is simply a marker of overall poor health.
 

The randomized controlled trials tell a clear story

There are hundreds of vitamin D RCTs. The results simplify into one sentence: Vitamin D supplements do not improve health outcomes.

Here is a short summary of some recent studies.

VITAL, a massive (N > 25,000) RCT with 5 years of follow-up, compared vitamin D supplements to placebo and found no differences in the primary endpoints of cancer or cardiac events. Rates of death from any cause were nearly identical. Crucially, in subgroup analyses, the effects did not vary according to vitamin D levels at baseline.

The D-Health investigators randomly assigned more than 21,000 adults to vitamin D or placebo and after 5.7 years of follow-up reported no differences in the primary endpoint of overall mortality. There also were no differences in cardiovascular disease mortality.

Then you have the Mendelian randomized studies, which some have called nature’s RCT. These studies take advantage of the fact that some people are born with gene variations that predispose to low vitamin D levels. More than 60 Mendelian randomization studies have evaluated the consequences of lifelong genetically lowered vitamin D levels on various outcomes; most of these have found null effects.

Then there are the meta-analyses and systematic reviews. I loved the conclusion of this review of systematic reviews from the BMJ (emphasis mine):

“Despite a few hundred systematic reviews and meta-analyses, highly convincing evidence of a clear role of vitamin D does not exist for any outcome, but associations with a selection of outcomes are probable.”

 

The failure to persuade

My original plan was to emphasize the power of the RCT. Despite strong associations of low vitamin D levels with poor outcomes, the trials show no benefit to treatment. This strongly suggests (or nearly proves) that low vitamin D levels are akin to premature ventricular complexes after myocardial infarction: a marker for risk but not a target for therapy.

But I now see the more important issue as why scientists, funders, clinicians, and patients are not persuaded by clear evidence. Every day in clinic I see patients on vitamin D supplements; the journals keep publishing vitamin D studies. The proponents of vitamin D remain positive. And lately there is outsized attention and hope that vitamin D will mitigate SARS-CoV2 infection – based only on observational data.

You might argue against this point by saying vitamin D is natural and relatively innocuous, so who cares?

I offer three rebuttals to that point: Opportunity costs, distraction, and the insidious danger of poor critical appraisal skills. If you are burning money on vitamin D research, there is less available to study other important issues. If a patient is distracted by low vitamin D levels, she may pay less attention to her high body mass index or hypertension. And on the matter of critical appraisal, trust in medicine requires clinicians to be competent in critical appraisal. And these days, what could be more important than trust in medical professionals?

One major reason for the failure of persuasion of evidence is spin – or language that distracts from the primary endpoint. Here are two (of many) examples:

A meta-analysis of 50 vitamin D trials set out to study mortality. The authors found no significant difference in that primary endpoint. But the second sentence in their conclusion was that vitamin D supplements reduced the risk for cancer deaths by 15%. That’s a secondary endpoint in a study with nonsignificance in the primary endpoint. That is spin. This meta-analysis was completed before the Australian D-Health trial found that cancer deaths were 15% higher in the vitamin D arm, a difference that did not reach statistical significance.

The following example is worse: The authors of the VITAL trial, which found that vitamin D supplements had no effect on the primary endpoint of invasive cancer or cardiovascular disease, published a secondary analysis of the trial looking at a different endpoint: A composite incidence of metastatic and fatal invasive total cancer. They reported a 0.4% lower rate for the vitamin D group, a difference that barely made statistical significance at a P value of .04. 

But everyone knows the dangers of reanalyzing data with a new endpoint after you have seen the data. What’s more, even if this were a reasonable post hoc analysis, the results are neither clinically meaningful nor statistically robust.  Yet the fatally flawed paper has been viewed 60,000 times and picked up by 48 news outlets.

Another way to distract from nonsignificant primary outcomes is to nitpick the trials. The vitamin D dose wasn’t high enough, for instance. This might persuade me if there were one or two vitamin D trials, but there are hundreds of trials and meta-analyses, and their results are consistently null.
 

Conclusion: No, it is not hopeless

A nihilist would argue that fighting spin is futile. They would say you can’t fight incentives and business models. The incentive structure to publish is strong, and the journals and media know vitamin D studies garner attention – which is their currency.

I am not a nihilist and believe strongly that we must continue to teach critical appraisal and numerical literacy.

In fact, I would speculate that decades of poor critical appraisal by the medical profession have fostered outsized hope and created erroneous norms.

Imagine a counter-factual world in which clinicians have taught society that the human body is unlike an engine that can be repaired by fixing one part (i.e., the vitamin D level), that magic bullets (insulin) are rare, that most treatments fail, or that you can’t rely on association studies to prove efficacy.

In this world, people would be immune from spin and hype.

The norm would be that pills, supplements, and procedures are not what delivers good health. What delivers health is an amalgam of good luck, healthy habits, and lots of time spent outside playing in the sun.
 

Dr. Mandrola practices cardiac electrophysiology in Louisville, Ky., and is a writer and podcaster for Medscape. He espouses a conservative approach to medical practice. He participates in clinical research and writes often about the state of medical evidence. He has disclosed no relevant financial relationships. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

The vitamin D story exudes teaching points: It offers a master class in critical appraisal, connecting the concepts of biologic plausibility, flawed surrogate markers, confounded observational studies, and slews of randomized controlled trials (RCTs) showing no benefits on health outcomes.

Yet despite the utter lack of benefit seen in trials, the hype continues. And the pandemic has only enhanced this hype as an onslaught of papers have reported the association of low vitamin D levels and COVID-19 disease.

My questions are simple: Why doesn’t the evidence persuade people? How many nonsignificant trials do we need before researchers stop studying vitamin D, doctors stop (routinely) measuring levels, and patients stop wasting money on the unhelpful supplement? What are the implications for this lack of persuasion?

Before exploring these questions, I want to set out that symptomatic vitamin deficiencies of any sort ought to be corrected. 
 

Biologic plausibility and the pull of observational studies

It has long been known that vitamin D is crucial for bone health and that it can be produced in the skin with sun exposure. In the last decade, however, experts note that nearly every tissue and cell in our body has a vitamin D receptor. It then follows that if this many cells in the body can activate vitamin D, it must be vital for cardiovascular health, immune function, cancer prevention: basically, everything health related.

Oodles of observational studies have found that low serum levels of vitamin D correlate with higher mortality from all causes, cancer, cardiovascular disease, and now even COVID-19. Yet no matter the amount of statistical adjustment in these studies, we cannot know whether these associations are due to true causality.

The major issue is confounding: That is, people with low vitamin D levels have other conditions or diseases that lead to higher rates of ill health. Consider a patient with obesity, arthritis, and cognitive decline; this person is unlikely to do much exercise in the sun and may have low vitamin D levels. The low vitamin D level is simply a marker of overall poor health.
 

The randomized controlled trials tell a clear story

There are hundreds of vitamin D RCTs. The results simplify into one sentence: Vitamin D supplements do not improve health outcomes.

Here is a short summary of some recent studies.

VITAL, a massive (N > 25,000) RCT with 5 years of follow-up, compared vitamin D supplements to placebo and found no differences in the primary endpoints of cancer or cardiac events. Rates of death from any cause were nearly identical. Crucially, in subgroup analyses, the effects did not vary according to vitamin D levels at baseline.

The D-Health investigators randomly assigned more than 21,000 adults to vitamin D or placebo and after 5.7 years of follow-up reported no differences in the primary endpoint of overall mortality. There also were no differences in cardiovascular disease mortality.

Then you have the Mendelian randomized studies, which some have called nature’s RCT. These studies take advantage of the fact that some people are born with gene variations that predispose to low vitamin D levels. More than 60 Mendelian randomization studies have evaluated the consequences of lifelong genetically lowered vitamin D levels on various outcomes; most of these have found null effects.

Then there are the meta-analyses and systematic reviews. I loved the conclusion of this review of systematic reviews from the BMJ (emphasis mine):

“Despite a few hundred systematic reviews and meta-analyses, highly convincing evidence of a clear role of vitamin D does not exist for any outcome, but associations with a selection of outcomes are probable.”

 

The failure to persuade

My original plan was to emphasize the power of the RCT. Despite strong associations of low vitamin D levels with poor outcomes, the trials show no benefit to treatment. This strongly suggests (or nearly proves) that low vitamin D levels are akin to premature ventricular complexes after myocardial infarction: a marker for risk but not a target for therapy.

But I now see the more important issue as why scientists, funders, clinicians, and patients are not persuaded by clear evidence. Every day in clinic I see patients on vitamin D supplements; the journals keep publishing vitamin D studies. The proponents of vitamin D remain positive. And lately there is outsized attention and hope that vitamin D will mitigate SARS-CoV2 infection – based only on observational data.

You might argue against this point by saying vitamin D is natural and relatively innocuous, so who cares?

I offer three rebuttals to that point: Opportunity costs, distraction, and the insidious danger of poor critical appraisal skills. If you are burning money on vitamin D research, there is less available to study other important issues. If a patient is distracted by low vitamin D levels, she may pay less attention to her high body mass index or hypertension. And on the matter of critical appraisal, trust in medicine requires clinicians to be competent in critical appraisal. And these days, what could be more important than trust in medical professionals?

One major reason for the failure of persuasion of evidence is spin – or language that distracts from the primary endpoint. Here are two (of many) examples:

A meta-analysis of 50 vitamin D trials set out to study mortality. The authors found no significant difference in that primary endpoint. But the second sentence in their conclusion was that vitamin D supplements reduced the risk for cancer deaths by 15%. That’s a secondary endpoint in a study with nonsignificance in the primary endpoint. That is spin. This meta-analysis was completed before the Australian D-Health trial found that cancer deaths were 15% higher in the vitamin D arm, a difference that did not reach statistical significance.

The following example is worse: The authors of the VITAL trial, which found that vitamin D supplements had no effect on the primary endpoint of invasive cancer or cardiovascular disease, published a secondary analysis of the trial looking at a different endpoint: A composite incidence of metastatic and fatal invasive total cancer. They reported a 0.4% lower rate for the vitamin D group, a difference that barely made statistical significance at a P value of .04. 

But everyone knows the dangers of reanalyzing data with a new endpoint after you have seen the data. What’s more, even if this were a reasonable post hoc analysis, the results are neither clinically meaningful nor statistically robust.  Yet the fatally flawed paper has been viewed 60,000 times and picked up by 48 news outlets.

Another way to distract from nonsignificant primary outcomes is to nitpick the trials. The vitamin D dose wasn’t high enough, for instance. This might persuade me if there were one or two vitamin D trials, but there are hundreds of trials and meta-analyses, and their results are consistently null.
 

Conclusion: No, it is not hopeless

A nihilist would argue that fighting spin is futile. They would say you can’t fight incentives and business models. The incentive structure to publish is strong, and the journals and media know vitamin D studies garner attention – which is their currency.

I am not a nihilist and believe strongly that we must continue to teach critical appraisal and numerical literacy.

In fact, I would speculate that decades of poor critical appraisal by the medical profession have fostered outsized hope and created erroneous norms.

Imagine a counter-factual world in which clinicians have taught society that the human body is unlike an engine that can be repaired by fixing one part (i.e., the vitamin D level), that magic bullets (insulin) are rare, that most treatments fail, or that you can’t rely on association studies to prove efficacy.

In this world, people would be immune from spin and hype.

The norm would be that pills, supplements, and procedures are not what delivers good health. What delivers health is an amalgam of good luck, healthy habits, and lots of time spent outside playing in the sun.
 

Dr. Mandrola practices cardiac electrophysiology in Louisville, Ky., and is a writer and podcaster for Medscape. He espouses a conservative approach to medical practice. He participates in clinical research and writes often about the state of medical evidence. He has disclosed no relevant financial relationships. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

The vitamin D story exudes teaching points: It offers a master class in critical appraisal, connecting the concepts of biologic plausibility, flawed surrogate markers, confounded observational studies, and slews of randomized controlled trials (RCTs) showing no benefits on health outcomes.

Yet despite the utter lack of benefit seen in trials, the hype continues. And the pandemic has only enhanced this hype as an onslaught of papers have reported the association of low vitamin D levels and COVID-19 disease.

My questions are simple: Why doesn’t the evidence persuade people? How many nonsignificant trials do we need before researchers stop studying vitamin D, doctors stop (routinely) measuring levels, and patients stop wasting money on the unhelpful supplement? What are the implications for this lack of persuasion?

Before exploring these questions, I want to set out that symptomatic vitamin deficiencies of any sort ought to be corrected. 
 

Biologic plausibility and the pull of observational studies

It has long been known that vitamin D is crucial for bone health and that it can be produced in the skin with sun exposure. In the last decade, however, experts note that nearly every tissue and cell in our body has a vitamin D receptor. It then follows that if this many cells in the body can activate vitamin D, it must be vital for cardiovascular health, immune function, cancer prevention: basically, everything health related.

Oodles of observational studies have found that low serum levels of vitamin D correlate with higher mortality from all causes, cancer, cardiovascular disease, and now even COVID-19. Yet no matter the amount of statistical adjustment in these studies, we cannot know whether these associations are due to true causality.

The major issue is confounding: That is, people with low vitamin D levels have other conditions or diseases that lead to higher rates of ill health. Consider a patient with obesity, arthritis, and cognitive decline; this person is unlikely to do much exercise in the sun and may have low vitamin D levels. The low vitamin D level is simply a marker of overall poor health.
 

The randomized controlled trials tell a clear story

There are hundreds of vitamin D RCTs. The results simplify into one sentence: Vitamin D supplements do not improve health outcomes.

Here is a short summary of some recent studies.

VITAL, a massive (N > 25,000) RCT with 5 years of follow-up, compared vitamin D supplements to placebo and found no differences in the primary endpoints of cancer or cardiac events. Rates of death from any cause were nearly identical. Crucially, in subgroup analyses, the effects did not vary according to vitamin D levels at baseline.

The D-Health investigators randomly assigned more than 21,000 adults to vitamin D or placebo and after 5.7 years of follow-up reported no differences in the primary endpoint of overall mortality. There also were no differences in cardiovascular disease mortality.

Then you have the Mendelian randomized studies, which some have called nature’s RCT. These studies take advantage of the fact that some people are born with gene variations that predispose to low vitamin D levels. More than 60 Mendelian randomization studies have evaluated the consequences of lifelong genetically lowered vitamin D levels on various outcomes; most of these have found null effects.

Then there are the meta-analyses and systematic reviews. I loved the conclusion of this review of systematic reviews from the BMJ (emphasis mine):

“Despite a few hundred systematic reviews and meta-analyses, highly convincing evidence of a clear role of vitamin D does not exist for any outcome, but associations with a selection of outcomes are probable.”

 

The failure to persuade

My original plan was to emphasize the power of the RCT. Despite strong associations of low vitamin D levels with poor outcomes, the trials show no benefit to treatment. This strongly suggests (or nearly proves) that low vitamin D levels are akin to premature ventricular complexes after myocardial infarction: a marker for risk but not a target for therapy.

But I now see the more important issue as why scientists, funders, clinicians, and patients are not persuaded by clear evidence. Every day in clinic I see patients on vitamin D supplements; the journals keep publishing vitamin D studies. The proponents of vitamin D remain positive. And lately there is outsized attention and hope that vitamin D will mitigate SARS-CoV2 infection – based only on observational data.

You might argue against this point by saying vitamin D is natural and relatively innocuous, so who cares?

I offer three rebuttals to that point: Opportunity costs, distraction, and the insidious danger of poor critical appraisal skills. If you are burning money on vitamin D research, there is less available to study other important issues. If a patient is distracted by low vitamin D levels, she may pay less attention to her high body mass index or hypertension. And on the matter of critical appraisal, trust in medicine requires clinicians to be competent in critical appraisal. And these days, what could be more important than trust in medical professionals?

One major reason for the failure of persuasion of evidence is spin – or language that distracts from the primary endpoint. Here are two (of many) examples:

A meta-analysis of 50 vitamin D trials set out to study mortality. The authors found no significant difference in that primary endpoint. But the second sentence in their conclusion was that vitamin D supplements reduced the risk for cancer deaths by 15%. That’s a secondary endpoint in a study with nonsignificance in the primary endpoint. That is spin. This meta-analysis was completed before the Australian D-Health trial found that cancer deaths were 15% higher in the vitamin D arm, a difference that did not reach statistical significance.

The following example is worse: The authors of the VITAL trial, which found that vitamin D supplements had no effect on the primary endpoint of invasive cancer or cardiovascular disease, published a secondary analysis of the trial looking at a different endpoint: A composite incidence of metastatic and fatal invasive total cancer. They reported a 0.4% lower rate for the vitamin D group, a difference that barely made statistical significance at a P value of .04. 

But everyone knows the dangers of reanalyzing data with a new endpoint after you have seen the data. What’s more, even if this were a reasonable post hoc analysis, the results are neither clinically meaningful nor statistically robust.  Yet the fatally flawed paper has been viewed 60,000 times and picked up by 48 news outlets.

Another way to distract from nonsignificant primary outcomes is to nitpick the trials. The vitamin D dose wasn’t high enough, for instance. This might persuade me if there were one or two vitamin D trials, but there are hundreds of trials and meta-analyses, and their results are consistently null.
 

Conclusion: No, it is not hopeless

A nihilist would argue that fighting spin is futile. They would say you can’t fight incentives and business models. The incentive structure to publish is strong, and the journals and media know vitamin D studies garner attention – which is their currency.

I am not a nihilist and believe strongly that we must continue to teach critical appraisal and numerical literacy.

In fact, I would speculate that decades of poor critical appraisal by the medical profession have fostered outsized hope and created erroneous norms.

Imagine a counter-factual world in which clinicians have taught society that the human body is unlike an engine that can be repaired by fixing one part (i.e., the vitamin D level), that magic bullets (insulin) are rare, that most treatments fail, or that you can’t rely on association studies to prove efficacy.

In this world, people would be immune from spin and hype.

The norm would be that pills, supplements, and procedures are not what delivers good health. What delivers health is an amalgam of good luck, healthy habits, and lots of time spent outside playing in the sun.
 

Dr. Mandrola practices cardiac electrophysiology in Louisville, Ky., and is a writer and podcaster for Medscape. He espouses a conservative approach to medical practice. He participates in clinical research and writes often about the state of medical evidence. He has disclosed no relevant financial relationships. A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.