Commentary

I applaud the joint statement by the editors of the family medicine journals to commit to the eradication of systemic racism in medicine ( J Fam Pract . 2021;70:3 -4). These are crucial times in our history, where proactive change is necessary. The leadership they have shown is important.

Even in systems where insurance status is the same, there are documented differences in care.

No one wants health disparities. So, to eliminate them, we need to know what they are and where they came from. In my presentations on health disparities to students, residents, and health care providers, I use 3 definitions of health disparities. My definitions are slightly different from those proposed in the seminal report, Unequal Treatment: Confronting Racial and Ethnic Disparities in Health Care, from the National Academy of Medicine (then Institute of Medicine).¹ I like to think that my definitions elicit the information needed to guide change.

The first definition focuses on health statistics. When there are different outcomes for different demographic groups for the same disease, that is a disparity. This could be Black vs white, male vs female, or 1 zip code vs another.² We owe ourselves an explanation for these differences if we are to be able to propose solutions.

Second, there are disparities in the provision of health care. If there are 2 individuals who present with the exact same symptoms, we need to ask ourselves why they would be treated differently. Even in systems where insurance status is the same, there are documented differences in care. A well-studied example of this is pain. In 1 such study, a ­meta-analysis showed that Blacks were less likely than whites to receive medication for acute pain in the emergency department (OR = 0.60 [95% CI, 0.43-0.83]).³ Other examples of differences by race include cardiac ­services,⁴ lung cancer screening,⁵ and stroke ­interventions.⁶ 

The third definition of health disparities involves differences in health-seeking behavior. This is not to blame the “victim,” but to understand the reason why the difference exists so that adequate interventions can be designed to improve outcomes. Traditionally, the concept of access referenced whether or not the patient had health insurance. But the provision of health insurance is insufficient to explain issues of access.⁷

Extrinsic and intrinsic factors at work. Factors related to insurance are an example of the extrinsic factors related to access. However, there are intrinsic factors related to access, most of which involve health literacy. We must ask ourselves: What are the best practices to educate patients to get the care they need? I will take this 1 step further; it is the duty of all health care professionals to improve health literacy 1 patient, 1 community at a time.

The next point that I make in my presentations on health disparities is that if you control for socioeconomic status, some of the health disparities go away. However, they rarely disappear. We measure socioeconomic status in a variety of ways: education, insurance status, income, and wealth. And as would be expected, these variables are usually correlated. We also know that these variables are not distributed equally by race. This is by design. This has been intentional. This has been, in many cases, our country’s policy. This is the result of systemic racism. 

Continue to: It is necessary...

It is necessary for us to be willing to accept the toxicity of racism. This we can assess in 2 major ways. First, if we apply the Koch postulates or the Bradford Hill criteria for causation to racism, we can assess the degree to which racism is an explanation for health disparities. These principles offer methods for determining the relationship between risk and outcome.

Second, when we analyze the historical antecedents of health disparities, we find that racism is directly responsible not only for the current toxicity that Black people face today, but for the socioeconomic disparities that continue to exist. Let me give just a few examples. 

1. The Farm Security Administration was created in 1937 to avoid the collapse of the farming industry. As a compromise to southern legislators, a model was approved to allow local administration of support to farmers that essentially condoned the discrimination that had been occurring and would continue to occur—especially in the South.
2. The National Housing Act of 1934 was created to provide stability to the banking industry at a time of national crisis. It subsidized a massive building program, and many of the units had restrictive covenants that prevented the sale to Blacks. It also codified redlining that prevented insured mortgages from being provided to Black communities.
3. The Social Security Act of 1935 was created to provide benefits for the elderly and disabled. All workers were included except domestic workers and farm workers—the majority of whom were Black. This was another compromise that was made with southern congressman to get this act passed.  
4. The Servicemen’s Readjustment Act of 1944 (also known as the GI Bill) was passed to support veterans returning from World War II. Two major functions of the bill were to support educational opportunities for veterans and their families and to support the purchase of homes. From 1945 to 1954, the US added 13 million new homes. In 1946 and 1947, the Veterans Administration financed 40% of all single-­family houses in the United States. Additionally, there were educational benefits for veterans to go to college or to learn a trade. These provisions, education, and housing were not equally available to Blacks. Columbia University professor Ira Katznelson called this act and others “affirmative action for whites.” ⁸

In 2019, the median income in white households was $76,057 and in Black households it was $46,073. ⁹ So, when we look at disparities of income, we must acknowledge this difference within the context of the current environment and the historical conditions that created these disparities. If we go 1 step further and look at disparities of wealth, we find that in 2019, the median wealth for white families was $188,200 and the median wealth for Black families was $24,100. ¹⁰

When one considers that a major contributor of wealth is home ownership, these differences seem logical—particularly related to points 1, 2, and 4 that I've just described. These economic disparities would not be as great today if the 4 examples given here (not to mention numerous other examples) had been administered equitably. The same applies to disparities in housing, employment, and education. Systemic racism is the causative agent. Systemic racism must be neutralized if we are to obtain anything close to health equity. ¹¹

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) has recently taken new steps to recognize the role of racism in health. ¹² The CDC plans to use “science to investigate and better understand the intersection of racism and health, and then to take action.” ¹³ 

It is time for the entire nation to recognize the links between racism and health outcomes and examine how we can design, implement, and evaluate interventions that will permanently correct these inequities.

I applaud the joint statement by the editors of the family medicine journals to commit to the eradication of systemic racism in medicine ( J Fam Pract . 2021;70:3 -4). These are crucial times in our history, where proactive change is necessary. The leadership they have shown is important.

Even in systems where insurance status is the same, there are documented differences in care.

No one wants health disparities. So, to eliminate them, we need to know what they are and where they came from. In my presentations on health disparities to students, residents, and health care providers, I use 3 definitions of health disparities. My definitions are slightly different from those proposed in the seminal report, Unequal Treatment: Confronting Racial and Ethnic Disparities in Health Care, from the National Academy of Medicine (then Institute of Medicine).¹ I like to think that my definitions elicit the information needed to guide change.

The first definition focuses on health statistics. When there are different outcomes for different demographic groups for the same disease, that is a disparity. This could be Black vs white, male vs female, or 1 zip code vs another.² We owe ourselves an explanation for these differences if we are to be able to propose solutions.

Second, there are disparities in the provision of health care. If there are 2 individuals who present with the exact same symptoms, we need to ask ourselves why they would be treated differently. Even in systems where insurance status is the same, there are documented differences in care. A well-studied example of this is pain. In 1 such study, a ­meta-analysis showed that Blacks were less likely than whites to receive medication for acute pain in the emergency department (OR = 0.60 [95% CI, 0.43-0.83]).³ Other examples of differences by race include cardiac ­services,⁴ lung cancer screening,⁵ and stroke ­interventions.⁶ 

The third definition of health disparities involves differences in health-seeking behavior. This is not to blame the “victim,” but to understand the reason why the difference exists so that adequate interventions can be designed to improve outcomes. Traditionally, the concept of access referenced whether or not the patient had health insurance. But the provision of health insurance is insufficient to explain issues of access.⁷

Extrinsic and intrinsic factors at work. Factors related to insurance are an example of the extrinsic factors related to access. However, there are intrinsic factors related to access, most of which involve health literacy. We must ask ourselves: What are the best practices to educate patients to get the care they need? I will take this 1 step further; it is the duty of all health care professionals to improve health literacy 1 patient, 1 community at a time.

The next point that I make in my presentations on health disparities is that if you control for socioeconomic status, some of the health disparities go away. However, they rarely disappear. We measure socioeconomic status in a variety of ways: education, insurance status, income, and wealth. And as would be expected, these variables are usually correlated. We also know that these variables are not distributed equally by race. This is by design. This has been intentional. This has been, in many cases, our country’s policy. This is the result of systemic racism. 

Continue to: It is necessary...

It is necessary for us to be willing to accept the toxicity of racism. This we can assess in 2 major ways. First, if we apply the Koch postulates or the Bradford Hill criteria for causation to racism, we can assess the degree to which racism is an explanation for health disparities. These principles offer methods for determining the relationship between risk and outcome.

Second, when we analyze the historical antecedents of health disparities, we find that racism is directly responsible not only for the current toxicity that Black people face today, but for the socioeconomic disparities that continue to exist. Let me give just a few examples. 

1. The Farm Security Administration was created in 1937 to avoid the collapse of the farming industry. As a compromise to southern legislators, a model was approved to allow local administration of support to farmers that essentially condoned the discrimination that had been occurring and would continue to occur—especially in the South.
2. The National Housing Act of 1934 was created to provide stability to the banking industry at a time of national crisis. It subsidized a massive building program, and many of the units had restrictive covenants that prevented the sale to Blacks. It also codified redlining that prevented insured mortgages from being provided to Black communities.
3. The Social Security Act of 1935 was created to provide benefits for the elderly and disabled. All workers were included except domestic workers and farm workers—the majority of whom were Black. This was another compromise that was made with southern congressman to get this act passed.  
4. The Servicemen’s Readjustment Act of 1944 (also known as the GI Bill) was passed to support veterans returning from World War II. Two major functions of the bill were to support educational opportunities for veterans and their families and to support the purchase of homes. From 1945 to 1954, the US added 13 million new homes. In 1946 and 1947, the Veterans Administration financed 40% of all single-­family houses in the United States. Additionally, there were educational benefits for veterans to go to college or to learn a trade. These provisions, education, and housing were not equally available to Blacks. Columbia University professor Ira Katznelson called this act and others “affirmative action for whites.” ⁸

In 2019, the median income in white households was $76,057 and in Black households it was $46,073. ⁹ So, when we look at disparities of income, we must acknowledge this difference within the context of the current environment and the historical conditions that created these disparities. If we go 1 step further and look at disparities of wealth, we find that in 2019, the median wealth for white families was $188,200 and the median wealth for Black families was $24,100. ¹⁰

When one considers that a major contributor of wealth is home ownership, these differences seem logical—particularly related to points 1, 2, and 4 that I've just described. These economic disparities would not be as great today if the 4 examples given here (not to mention numerous other examples) had been administered equitably. The same applies to disparities in housing, employment, and education. Systemic racism is the causative agent. Systemic racism must be neutralized if we are to obtain anything close to health equity. ¹¹

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) has recently taken new steps to recognize the role of racism in health. ¹² The CDC plans to use “science to investigate and better understand the intersection of racism and health, and then to take action.” ¹³ 

It is time for the entire nation to recognize the links between racism and health outcomes and examine how we can design, implement, and evaluate interventions that will permanently correct these inequities.

I applaud the joint statement by the editors of the family medicine journals to commit to the eradication of systemic racism in medicine ( J Fam Pract . 2021;70:3 -4). These are crucial times in our history, where proactive change is necessary. The leadership they have shown is important.

Even in systems where insurance status is the same, there are documented differences in care.

No one wants health disparities. So, to eliminate them, we need to know what they are and where they came from. In my presentations on health disparities to students, residents, and health care providers, I use 3 definitions of health disparities. My definitions are slightly different from those proposed in the seminal report, Unequal Treatment: Confronting Racial and Ethnic Disparities in Health Care, from the National Academy of Medicine (then Institute of Medicine).¹ I like to think that my definitions elicit the information needed to guide change.

The first definition focuses on health statistics. When there are different outcomes for different demographic groups for the same disease, that is a disparity. This could be Black vs white, male vs female, or 1 zip code vs another.² We owe ourselves an explanation for these differences if we are to be able to propose solutions.

Second, there are disparities in the provision of health care. If there are 2 individuals who present with the exact same symptoms, we need to ask ourselves why they would be treated differently. Even in systems where insurance status is the same, there are documented differences in care. A well-studied example of this is pain. In 1 such study, a ­meta-analysis showed that Blacks were less likely than whites to receive medication for acute pain in the emergency department (OR = 0.60 [95% CI, 0.43-0.83]).³ Other examples of differences by race include cardiac ­services,⁴ lung cancer screening,⁵ and stroke ­interventions.⁶ 

The third definition of health disparities involves differences in health-seeking behavior. This is not to blame the “victim,” but to understand the reason why the difference exists so that adequate interventions can be designed to improve outcomes. Traditionally, the concept of access referenced whether or not the patient had health insurance. But the provision of health insurance is insufficient to explain issues of access.⁷

Extrinsic and intrinsic factors at work. Factors related to insurance are an example of the extrinsic factors related to access. However, there are intrinsic factors related to access, most of which involve health literacy. We must ask ourselves: What are the best practices to educate patients to get the care they need? I will take this 1 step further; it is the duty of all health care professionals to improve health literacy 1 patient, 1 community at a time.

The next point that I make in my presentations on health disparities is that if you control for socioeconomic status, some of the health disparities go away. However, they rarely disappear. We measure socioeconomic status in a variety of ways: education, insurance status, income, and wealth. And as would be expected, these variables are usually correlated. We also know that these variables are not distributed equally by race. This is by design. This has been intentional. This has been, in many cases, our country’s policy. This is the result of systemic racism. 

Continue to: It is necessary...

It is necessary for us to be willing to accept the toxicity of racism. This we can assess in 2 major ways. First, if we apply the Koch postulates or the Bradford Hill criteria for causation to racism, we can assess the degree to which racism is an explanation for health disparities. These principles offer methods for determining the relationship between risk and outcome.

Second, when we analyze the historical antecedents of health disparities, we find that racism is directly responsible not only for the current toxicity that Black people face today, but for the socioeconomic disparities that continue to exist. Let me give just a few examples. 

1. The Farm Security Administration was created in 1937 to avoid the collapse of the farming industry. As a compromise to southern legislators, a model was approved to allow local administration of support to farmers that essentially condoned the discrimination that had been occurring and would continue to occur—especially in the South.
2. The National Housing Act of 1934 was created to provide stability to the banking industry at a time of national crisis. It subsidized a massive building program, and many of the units had restrictive covenants that prevented the sale to Blacks. It also codified redlining that prevented insured mortgages from being provided to Black communities.
3. The Social Security Act of 1935 was created to provide benefits for the elderly and disabled. All workers were included except domestic workers and farm workers—the majority of whom were Black. This was another compromise that was made with southern congressman to get this act passed.  
4. The Servicemen’s Readjustment Act of 1944 (also known as the GI Bill) was passed to support veterans returning from World War II. Two major functions of the bill were to support educational opportunities for veterans and their families and to support the purchase of homes. From 1945 to 1954, the US added 13 million new homes. In 1946 and 1947, the Veterans Administration financed 40% of all single-­family houses in the United States. Additionally, there were educational benefits for veterans to go to college or to learn a trade. These provisions, education, and housing were not equally available to Blacks. Columbia University professor Ira Katznelson called this act and others “affirmative action for whites.” ⁸

In 2019, the median income in white households was $76,057 and in Black households it was $46,073. ⁹ So, when we look at disparities of income, we must acknowledge this difference within the context of the current environment and the historical conditions that created these disparities. If we go 1 step further and look at disparities of wealth, we find that in 2019, the median wealth for white families was $188,200 and the median wealth for Black families was $24,100. ¹⁰

When one considers that a major contributor of wealth is home ownership, these differences seem logical—particularly related to points 1, 2, and 4 that I've just described. These economic disparities would not be as great today if the 4 examples given here (not to mention numerous other examples) had been administered equitably. The same applies to disparities in housing, employment, and education. Systemic racism is the causative agent. Systemic racism must be neutralized if we are to obtain anything close to health equity. ¹¹

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) has recently taken new steps to recognize the role of racism in health. ¹² The CDC plans to use “science to investigate and better understand the intersection of racism and health, and then to take action.” ¹³ 

It is time for the entire nation to recognize the links between racism and health outcomes and examine how we can design, implement, and evaluate interventions that will permanently correct these inequities.

Rheumatology News and the Coalition of State Rheumatology Organizations have partnered together to keep rheumatologists regularly informed on the advocacy issues of the day and perhaps inspire those who may be on the fence about finding “room” in their lives for action. This inaugural piece tells how CSRO President Dr. Madelaine (Mattie) A. Feldman views advocacy and how she found her way to action.

As a rheumatologist in private practice for 30 years, with husband and kids (and now grandkids), an active social life, and an exercise regimen, I realized if I were to become active in advocacy I would have to make room for it in my busy schedule. We all come up against the question of where will we find the time for a new hobby, exercise, joining a new organization, or even just eating right? Next comes the priority list discussion. How important is advocacy for my patients, my specialty, and my profession? Ultimately, how important is it for me? Where did that desire to get involved even come from? Why have I become so passionate about the issues?

For me, the answer to these questions goes back to the 1960s when I was growing up in New Orleans. My mom participated in civil rights protests, which did not make our family popular in the neighborhood, back when the KKK put flyers on everyone’s screen door. My mother didn’t care and told me that, no matter what people said, it was our duty to stand up for what was right. That was a long time ago and sadly my mom passed away just a year after I was old enough to vote. Her words have stayed with me and are more important now than ever.

Striving for justice despite how formidable the foe is requires an inner knowing that what you are doing is meaningful and will make a difference maybe not now, maybe not next year. At some point you must believe that your efforts will create a change for the better, small as it may be. My “saying” on Twitter (@MattieRheumMD) is “I’ll keep doing what I’m doing until my cynicism catches up to my passion.”

The story about my mom is just one of the many stories in my life taking me to where I am today. We all have them. I think the reason many of us go into rheumatology may be similar to the reasoning that leads one to advocacy efforts. At this point in time we can’t yet offer a cure, but we can point to a path that leads to improvements in the lives of our patients. I have to remind myself of that, every time there is an advocacy battle ahead, whether with insurance companies or the government ... increments are important.
 

The four Ps of advocacy

Living with compromise is hard, particularly when working within a system that needs a complete overhaul. Still, compromise is the key to getting anything done. Compromise is one of the four Ps of advocacy. I realize that compromise doesn’t start with a P, but it is such an integral part of advocacy, I am making allowances for it. The other Ps include patience, persistence/perseverance, and passion. I’m sure there are many others that could be part of the P family, like planning and performance, but let’s stick with these.

You don’t need to have all of these qualities when you start on the road to action in advocacy. For example, my passion came first. It developed when my patients could not get access to the treatments they needed. For many reasons, the medications were either unavailable (i.e., not on formulary, tiered very high) or unaffordable (i.e., copay too high, deductible too high). My passion deepened when I saw the hypocrisy within the drug-supply channel and the mistruths being told by those who profit from this channel. It wasn’t the “profit” part that bothered me, as I’m a believer in the free market. But this was not free market, and the companies were actually profiteering on the backs of my patients and justifying it by claiming they were saving the health care system billions of dollars. The fallacy of that claim and the players in this broken system are stories for another day.

Persistence came next for me. If you let up on the message, things might not only stay the same but could get worse. Perseverance is part of persistence because you need it to keep knocking on the same door even after that door is metaphorically (hopefully not literally) slammed in your face. Often, I will feel like a broken record and think that everyone has already heard the issues, not only from me but also from my fellow advocates. But never underestimate how many times a message, particularly on a difficult issue to understand, needs to be heard before it is fully comprehended.

Patience is one of the more difficult attributes to practice when you want action. I want things to happen yesterday – not tomorrow and definitely not next year. I have learned that the wheels of change turn quite slowly in this arena, sometimes pausing for inordinately long periods of time. I realize now that during the long wait, new facts can arise, allowing me to shape a different advocacy approach, one that ultimately bolsters my case. It still is very difficult to hear that a piece of legislation that seemed to be moving forward suddenly died and won’t be heard again until the next session. With patience you move forward with a smile, maybe a half-hearted one, but a smile nonetheless. This just makes life better.

Then there is compromise. This took me the longest to understand, particularly on the issues where my passion ran the deepest. Here is where passion could potentially get in the way of action. Feeling very strongly about an issue makes it difficult to let any piece of your ideal end result fall by the wayside. Here is where the saying “the perfect is the enemy of the good” comes into play. Just because you can’t have it all, doesn’t mean you can’t do good by achieving just part of what you have been striving for. Remember if you seek perfection, without compromise, you may lose the entire battle. Is there such a thing as compromising too much? I think so, but that may just be my passion speaking.

Rheumatology News and the Coalition of State Rheumatology Organizations started this column to keep you informed about current advocacy issues in rheumatology and perhaps inspire those who may be on the fence about finding “room” in their lives for action.

Advocacy doesn’t have to take up much room in your life. It can be as simple as clicking on CSRO.info/map, finding your state, and taking action by writing a letter to your representative on an important piece of legislation, like an accumulator adjustment ban (lots more on that in future columns). Or maybe just finding the time to read this column is all the action you have room for. We all have different amounts of space for any particular activity in our busy lives. It seems one of my stories from childhood created that space for advocacy in my life. I guess you could say it created a “Rheum” for Action.

Dr. Feldman is a rheumatologist in private practice with The Rheumatology Group in New Orleans. She is President of the CSRO, chair of the Alliance for Safe Biologic Medicines, and a past member of the American College of Rheumatology insurance subcommittee. You can reach her at rhnews@mdedge.com.

Rheumatology News and the Coalition of State Rheumatology Organizations have partnered together to keep rheumatologists regularly informed on the advocacy issues of the day and perhaps inspire those who may be on the fence about finding “room” in their lives for action. This inaugural piece tells how CSRO President Dr. Madelaine (Mattie) A. Feldman views advocacy and how she found her way to action.

As a rheumatologist in private practice for 30 years, with husband and kids (and now grandkids), an active social life, and an exercise regimen, I realized if I were to become active in advocacy I would have to make room for it in my busy schedule. We all come up against the question of where will we find the time for a new hobby, exercise, joining a new organization, or even just eating right? Next comes the priority list discussion. How important is advocacy for my patients, my specialty, and my profession? Ultimately, how important is it for me? Where did that desire to get involved even come from? Why have I become so passionate about the issues?

For me, the answer to these questions goes back to the 1960s when I was growing up in New Orleans. My mom participated in civil rights protests, which did not make our family popular in the neighborhood, back when the KKK put flyers on everyone’s screen door. My mother didn’t care and told me that, no matter what people said, it was our duty to stand up for what was right. That was a long time ago and sadly my mom passed away just a year after I was old enough to vote. Her words have stayed with me and are more important now than ever.

Striving for justice despite how formidable the foe is requires an inner knowing that what you are doing is meaningful and will make a difference maybe not now, maybe not next year. At some point you must believe that your efforts will create a change for the better, small as it may be. My “saying” on Twitter (@MattieRheumMD) is “I’ll keep doing what I’m doing until my cynicism catches up to my passion.”

The story about my mom is just one of the many stories in my life taking me to where I am today. We all have them. I think the reason many of us go into rheumatology may be similar to the reasoning that leads one to advocacy efforts. At this point in time we can’t yet offer a cure, but we can point to a path that leads to improvements in the lives of our patients. I have to remind myself of that, every time there is an advocacy battle ahead, whether with insurance companies or the government ... increments are important.
 

The four Ps of advocacy

Living with compromise is hard, particularly when working within a system that needs a complete overhaul. Still, compromise is the key to getting anything done. Compromise is one of the four Ps of advocacy. I realize that compromise doesn’t start with a P, but it is such an integral part of advocacy, I am making allowances for it. The other Ps include patience, persistence/perseverance, and passion. I’m sure there are many others that could be part of the P family, like planning and performance, but let’s stick with these.

You don’t need to have all of these qualities when you start on the road to action in advocacy. For example, my passion came first. It developed when my patients could not get access to the treatments they needed. For many reasons, the medications were either unavailable (i.e., not on formulary, tiered very high) or unaffordable (i.e., copay too high, deductible too high). My passion deepened when I saw the hypocrisy within the drug-supply channel and the mistruths being told by those who profit from this channel. It wasn’t the “profit” part that bothered me, as I’m a believer in the free market. But this was not free market, and the companies were actually profiteering on the backs of my patients and justifying it by claiming they were saving the health care system billions of dollars. The fallacy of that claim and the players in this broken system are stories for another day.

Persistence came next for me. If you let up on the message, things might not only stay the same but could get worse. Perseverance is part of persistence because you need it to keep knocking on the same door even after that door is metaphorically (hopefully not literally) slammed in your face. Often, I will feel like a broken record and think that everyone has already heard the issues, not only from me but also from my fellow advocates. But never underestimate how many times a message, particularly on a difficult issue to understand, needs to be heard before it is fully comprehended.

Patience is one of the more difficult attributes to practice when you want action. I want things to happen yesterday – not tomorrow and definitely not next year. I have learned that the wheels of change turn quite slowly in this arena, sometimes pausing for inordinately long periods of time. I realize now that during the long wait, new facts can arise, allowing me to shape a different advocacy approach, one that ultimately bolsters my case. It still is very difficult to hear that a piece of legislation that seemed to be moving forward suddenly died and won’t be heard again until the next session. With patience you move forward with a smile, maybe a half-hearted one, but a smile nonetheless. This just makes life better.

Then there is compromise. This took me the longest to understand, particularly on the issues where my passion ran the deepest. Here is where passion could potentially get in the way of action. Feeling very strongly about an issue makes it difficult to let any piece of your ideal end result fall by the wayside. Here is where the saying “the perfect is the enemy of the good” comes into play. Just because you can’t have it all, doesn’t mean you can’t do good by achieving just part of what you have been striving for. Remember if you seek perfection, without compromise, you may lose the entire battle. Is there such a thing as compromising too much? I think so, but that may just be my passion speaking.

Rheumatology News and the Coalition of State Rheumatology Organizations started this column to keep you informed about current advocacy issues in rheumatology and perhaps inspire those who may be on the fence about finding “room” in their lives for action.

Advocacy doesn’t have to take up much room in your life. It can be as simple as clicking on CSRO.info/map, finding your state, and taking action by writing a letter to your representative on an important piece of legislation, like an accumulator adjustment ban (lots more on that in future columns). Or maybe just finding the time to read this column is all the action you have room for. We all have different amounts of space for any particular activity in our busy lives. It seems one of my stories from childhood created that space for advocacy in my life. I guess you could say it created a “Rheum” for Action.

Dr. Feldman is a rheumatologist in private practice with The Rheumatology Group in New Orleans. She is President of the CSRO, chair of the Alliance for Safe Biologic Medicines, and a past member of the American College of Rheumatology insurance subcommittee. You can reach her at rhnews@mdedge.com.

Rheumatology News and the Coalition of State Rheumatology Organizations have partnered together to keep rheumatologists regularly informed on the advocacy issues of the day and perhaps inspire those who may be on the fence about finding “room” in their lives for action. This inaugural piece tells how CSRO President Dr. Madelaine (Mattie) A. Feldman views advocacy and how she found her way to action.

As a rheumatologist in private practice for 30 years, with husband and kids (and now grandkids), an active social life, and an exercise regimen, I realized if I were to become active in advocacy I would have to make room for it in my busy schedule. We all come up against the question of where will we find the time for a new hobby, exercise, joining a new organization, or even just eating right? Next comes the priority list discussion. How important is advocacy for my patients, my specialty, and my profession? Ultimately, how important is it for me? Where did that desire to get involved even come from? Why have I become so passionate about the issues?

For me, the answer to these questions goes back to the 1960s when I was growing up in New Orleans. My mom participated in civil rights protests, which did not make our family popular in the neighborhood, back when the KKK put flyers on everyone’s screen door. My mother didn’t care and told me that, no matter what people said, it was our duty to stand up for what was right. That was a long time ago and sadly my mom passed away just a year after I was old enough to vote. Her words have stayed with me and are more important now than ever.

Striving for justice despite how formidable the foe is requires an inner knowing that what you are doing is meaningful and will make a difference maybe not now, maybe not next year. At some point you must believe that your efforts will create a change for the better, small as it may be. My “saying” on Twitter (@MattieRheumMD) is “I’ll keep doing what I’m doing until my cynicism catches up to my passion.”

The story about my mom is just one of the many stories in my life taking me to where I am today. We all have them. I think the reason many of us go into rheumatology may be similar to the reasoning that leads one to advocacy efforts. At this point in time we can’t yet offer a cure, but we can point to a path that leads to improvements in the lives of our patients. I have to remind myself of that, every time there is an advocacy battle ahead, whether with insurance companies or the government ... increments are important.
 

The four Ps of advocacy

Living with compromise is hard, particularly when working within a system that needs a complete overhaul. Still, compromise is the key to getting anything done. Compromise is one of the four Ps of advocacy. I realize that compromise doesn’t start with a P, but it is such an integral part of advocacy, I am making allowances for it. The other Ps include patience, persistence/perseverance, and passion. I’m sure there are many others that could be part of the P family, like planning and performance, but let’s stick with these.

You don’t need to have all of these qualities when you start on the road to action in advocacy. For example, my passion came first. It developed when my patients could not get access to the treatments they needed. For many reasons, the medications were either unavailable (i.e., not on formulary, tiered very high) or unaffordable (i.e., copay too high, deductible too high). My passion deepened when I saw the hypocrisy within the drug-supply channel and the mistruths being told by those who profit from this channel. It wasn’t the “profit” part that bothered me, as I’m a believer in the free market. But this was not free market, and the companies were actually profiteering on the backs of my patients and justifying it by claiming they were saving the health care system billions of dollars. The fallacy of that claim and the players in this broken system are stories for another day.

Persistence came next for me. If you let up on the message, things might not only stay the same but could get worse. Perseverance is part of persistence because you need it to keep knocking on the same door even after that door is metaphorically (hopefully not literally) slammed in your face. Often, I will feel like a broken record and think that everyone has already heard the issues, not only from me but also from my fellow advocates. But never underestimate how many times a message, particularly on a difficult issue to understand, needs to be heard before it is fully comprehended.

Patience is one of the more difficult attributes to practice when you want action. I want things to happen yesterday – not tomorrow and definitely not next year. I have learned that the wheels of change turn quite slowly in this arena, sometimes pausing for inordinately long periods of time. I realize now that during the long wait, new facts can arise, allowing me to shape a different advocacy approach, one that ultimately bolsters my case. It still is very difficult to hear that a piece of legislation that seemed to be moving forward suddenly died and won’t be heard again until the next session. With patience you move forward with a smile, maybe a half-hearted one, but a smile nonetheless. This just makes life better.

Then there is compromise. This took me the longest to understand, particularly on the issues where my passion ran the deepest. Here is where passion could potentially get in the way of action. Feeling very strongly about an issue makes it difficult to let any piece of your ideal end result fall by the wayside. Here is where the saying “the perfect is the enemy of the good” comes into play. Just because you can’t have it all, doesn’t mean you can’t do good by achieving just part of what you have been striving for. Remember if you seek perfection, without compromise, you may lose the entire battle. Is there such a thing as compromising too much? I think so, but that may just be my passion speaking.

Rheumatology News and the Coalition of State Rheumatology Organizations started this column to keep you informed about current advocacy issues in rheumatology and perhaps inspire those who may be on the fence about finding “room” in their lives for action.

Advocacy doesn’t have to take up much room in your life. It can be as simple as clicking on CSRO.info/map, finding your state, and taking action by writing a letter to your representative on an important piece of legislation, like an accumulator adjustment ban (lots more on that in future columns). Or maybe just finding the time to read this column is all the action you have room for. We all have different amounts of space for any particular activity in our busy lives. It seems one of my stories from childhood created that space for advocacy in my life. I guess you could say it created a “Rheum” for Action.

Dr. Feldman is a rheumatologist in private practice with The Rheumatology Group in New Orleans. She is President of the CSRO, chair of the Alliance for Safe Biologic Medicines, and a past member of the American College of Rheumatology insurance subcommittee. You can reach her at rhnews@mdedge.com.

Many events both personal and public have been deferred during the 15 plus months of the pandemic. Almost everyone has an example of a friend or family member who would have been sitting at what President Biden, during his memorial speech for the 500,000 victims of the virus referred to as the “empty chair” at a holiday gathering sans COVID-19.² For many in our country, part of the agonizing effort to awaken from the long nightmare of the pandemic is to resume the rhythm of rituals national, local, and personal that mark the year with meaning and offer rest and rejuvenation from the daily toil of duty. There are family dinners now cautiously resumed due to vaccinations; small celebrations of belated birthdays in family pods; socially distanced outdoor gatherings suspended in the cold communicable winter now gingerly possible with the warmth of spring.

As a nation, one of the events that was put on hold was the commemoration of the Vietnam War. On March 16, 2021, following guidance from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the US Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) announced it was postponing commemoration events “until further notice.”³ Annually, the VA partners with the US Department of Defense, state, and local organizations to recognize “the service and sacrifices made by the nearly 3 million service members who served in Vietnam.”⁴

In 2012, President Barak Obama signed a proclamation establishing a 13-year commemoration of the 50th anniversary of the Vietnam War.⁵ Five years later, President Donald Trump signed the War Veterans Recognition Act of 2017, designating March 29 annually as National Vietnam War Veterans Day.⁶ Though many of the events planned for March and April could not take place, the Vietnam War Commemoration (https://www.vietnamwar50th.com) offers information and ideas for honoring and supporting Vietnam War veterans. As Memorial Day approaches in this year of so much loss and heroism, I encourage you to find a way to thank Vietnam veterans who may have received the opposite of gratitude when they initially returned home.

As my small contribution to the commemoration, this editorial will focus on the psychiatric disorder of memory: posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and how the Vietnam War brought definition—albeit delayed—to the agonizing diagnosis that too many veterans experience.

The known clinical entity of PTSD is ancient. Narrative descriptions of the disorder are written in the Mesopotamian Epic of Gilgamesh and in Deuteronomy 20:1-9.⁷ American and European military physicians have given various names to the destructive effects of combat on body and mind from “soldier’s heart” in the American Civil War, to “shell shock” in World War I to “battle fatigue” during World War II.⁸ These were all descriptive diagnoses field practitioners used to grasp the psychosomatic decompensation they observed in service members who had been exposed to the horrors of war. The VA was the impetus and agent of the earliest attempts at scientific definition. The American Psychiatric Association further developed this nosology in 1952 with the diagnosis of gross stress reaction in the first Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM)-1.⁹

The combat experience shaped the definition: the stressor had to be extreme, the civilian comparison would be a natural disaster; the reaction could occur only in a previously normal individual, it would be attributed to the extant psychiatric condition in anyone with a premorbid illness; and if it did not remit by 6 months, another primary psychiatric diagnosis must be assigned.

From our vantage point, this set of criteria is obviously woefully inadequate, yet it was at least a beginning of formal recognition of the experience that veterans endured in wartime and real progress compared with what happened next. When DSM-1 was revised in 1968, the diagnosis of gross stress reaction was eliminated without explanation. Researcher Andreasen and others speculate that its disappearance can be attributed to association of the diagnosis with war in a country that had been at peace since the end of the Korean War in 1953.¹⁰ Yet military historians among my readers will immediately counter that the Vietnam War began 2 years later and that the year of the revision saw major combat operations.

Many veterans living with the psychological and physical suffering of their service in Vietnam and the organizations that supported them advocated for the psychiatric profession to formally acknowledge post-Vietnam syndrome.¹¹ Five years after the end of the Vietnam War, the experts who authored DSM-III, decided to include a new stress-induced diagnosis.¹² Although the manual did not limit the traumatic experience to combat in Vietnam as some veterans wanted, there is no doubt that the criteria reflect the extensive research validating the illness narratives of thousands of service men and women.

The DSM-III criteria clearly had war in mind when it stipulated that the stressor had to be outside the range of usual human experience that would likely trigger significant symptoms in almost anyone as well as specifying chronic symptoms lasting more than 6 months. Despite the controversy about the diagnosis, Vietnam veterans helped bring the PTSD diagnosis to official psychiatric nomenclature and in a more recognizable form that began to capture the intensity of their reexperiencing of the trauma, the psychosocial difficulties numbing caused, and the pervasive interference of hyperarousal and vigilance many aspects and areas of life.¹³

The National Vietnam Veterans Longitudinal Study examined the course of PTSD over 25 years, using the newly formulated diagnostic criteria for PTSD.¹⁴ Results were reported to Congress in 2012 and showed that 11% of men and 7% of women who were in a war theater were still struggling with PTSD 40 years after the war. Of those, 37% met major depressive disorder criteria. Male veterans who in 1987 still met criteria for PTSD were twice as likely to have died than the comparator group of veterans without PTSD. Two-thirds of veterans with PTSD from war zone exposure discussed behavioral health or substance misuse concerns with a health care provider, and 37% of those were receiving VA care.¹⁴

Given these disturbing data, perhaps the best way we can pay homage to the aging Vietnam veterans is to support continued research into effective evidence-based treatments for PTSD and funding for the training and recruiting of mental health practitioners to all 3 branches of federal health care who can deliver that care compassionately and competently.

Many events both personal and public have been deferred during the 15 plus months of the pandemic. Almost everyone has an example of a friend or family member who would have been sitting at what President Biden, during his memorial speech for the 500,000 victims of the virus referred to as the “empty chair” at a holiday gathering sans COVID-19.² For many in our country, part of the agonizing effort to awaken from the long nightmare of the pandemic is to resume the rhythm of rituals national, local, and personal that mark the year with meaning and offer rest and rejuvenation from the daily toil of duty. There are family dinners now cautiously resumed due to vaccinations; small celebrations of belated birthdays in family pods; socially distanced outdoor gatherings suspended in the cold communicable winter now gingerly possible with the warmth of spring.

As a nation, one of the events that was put on hold was the commemoration of the Vietnam War. On March 16, 2021, following guidance from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the US Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) announced it was postponing commemoration events “until further notice.”³ Annually, the VA partners with the US Department of Defense, state, and local organizations to recognize “the service and sacrifices made by the nearly 3 million service members who served in Vietnam.”⁴

In 2012, President Barak Obama signed a proclamation establishing a 13-year commemoration of the 50th anniversary of the Vietnam War.⁵ Five years later, President Donald Trump signed the War Veterans Recognition Act of 2017, designating March 29 annually as National Vietnam War Veterans Day.⁶ Though many of the events planned for March and April could not take place, the Vietnam War Commemoration (https://www.vietnamwar50th.com) offers information and ideas for honoring and supporting Vietnam War veterans. As Memorial Day approaches in this year of so much loss and heroism, I encourage you to find a way to thank Vietnam veterans who may have received the opposite of gratitude when they initially returned home.

As my small contribution to the commemoration, this editorial will focus on the psychiatric disorder of memory: posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and how the Vietnam War brought definition—albeit delayed—to the agonizing diagnosis that too many veterans experience.

The known clinical entity of PTSD is ancient. Narrative descriptions of the disorder are written in the Mesopotamian Epic of Gilgamesh and in Deuteronomy 20:1-9.⁷ American and European military physicians have given various names to the destructive effects of combat on body and mind from “soldier’s heart” in the American Civil War, to “shell shock” in World War I to “battle fatigue” during World War II.⁸ These were all descriptive diagnoses field practitioners used to grasp the psychosomatic decompensation they observed in service members who had been exposed to the horrors of war. The VA was the impetus and agent of the earliest attempts at scientific definition. The American Psychiatric Association further developed this nosology in 1952 with the diagnosis of gross stress reaction in the first Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM)-1.⁹

The combat experience shaped the definition: the stressor had to be extreme, the civilian comparison would be a natural disaster; the reaction could occur only in a previously normal individual, it would be attributed to the extant psychiatric condition in anyone with a premorbid illness; and if it did not remit by 6 months, another primary psychiatric diagnosis must be assigned.

From our vantage point, this set of criteria is obviously woefully inadequate, yet it was at least a beginning of formal recognition of the experience that veterans endured in wartime and real progress compared with what happened next. When DSM-1 was revised in 1968, the diagnosis of gross stress reaction was eliminated without explanation. Researcher Andreasen and others speculate that its disappearance can be attributed to association of the diagnosis with war in a country that had been at peace since the end of the Korean War in 1953.¹⁰ Yet military historians among my readers will immediately counter that the Vietnam War began 2 years later and that the year of the revision saw major combat operations.

Many veterans living with the psychological and physical suffering of their service in Vietnam and the organizations that supported them advocated for the psychiatric profession to formally acknowledge post-Vietnam syndrome.¹¹ Five years after the end of the Vietnam War, the experts who authored DSM-III, decided to include a new stress-induced diagnosis.¹² Although the manual did not limit the traumatic experience to combat in Vietnam as some veterans wanted, there is no doubt that the criteria reflect the extensive research validating the illness narratives of thousands of service men and women.

The DSM-III criteria clearly had war in mind when it stipulated that the stressor had to be outside the range of usual human experience that would likely trigger significant symptoms in almost anyone as well as specifying chronic symptoms lasting more than 6 months. Despite the controversy about the diagnosis, Vietnam veterans helped bring the PTSD diagnosis to official psychiatric nomenclature and in a more recognizable form that began to capture the intensity of their reexperiencing of the trauma, the psychosocial difficulties numbing caused, and the pervasive interference of hyperarousal and vigilance many aspects and areas of life.¹³

The National Vietnam Veterans Longitudinal Study examined the course of PTSD over 25 years, using the newly formulated diagnostic criteria for PTSD.¹⁴ Results were reported to Congress in 2012 and showed that 11% of men and 7% of women who were in a war theater were still struggling with PTSD 40 years after the war. Of those, 37% met major depressive disorder criteria. Male veterans who in 1987 still met criteria for PTSD were twice as likely to have died than the comparator group of veterans without PTSD. Two-thirds of veterans with PTSD from war zone exposure discussed behavioral health or substance misuse concerns with a health care provider, and 37% of those were receiving VA care.¹⁴

Given these disturbing data, perhaps the best way we can pay homage to the aging Vietnam veterans is to support continued research into effective evidence-based treatments for PTSD and funding for the training and recruiting of mental health practitioners to all 3 branches of federal health care who can deliver that care compassionately and competently.

Many events both personal and public have been deferred during the 15 plus months of the pandemic. Almost everyone has an example of a friend or family member who would have been sitting at what President Biden, during his memorial speech for the 500,000 victims of the virus referred to as the “empty chair” at a holiday gathering sans COVID-19.² For many in our country, part of the agonizing effort to awaken from the long nightmare of the pandemic is to resume the rhythm of rituals national, local, and personal that mark the year with meaning and offer rest and rejuvenation from the daily toil of duty. There are family dinners now cautiously resumed due to vaccinations; small celebrations of belated birthdays in family pods; socially distanced outdoor gatherings suspended in the cold communicable winter now gingerly possible with the warmth of spring.

As a nation, one of the events that was put on hold was the commemoration of the Vietnam War. On March 16, 2021, following guidance from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the US Department of Veterans Affairs (VA) announced it was postponing commemoration events “until further notice.”³ Annually, the VA partners with the US Department of Defense, state, and local organizations to recognize “the service and sacrifices made by the nearly 3 million service members who served in Vietnam.”⁴

In 2012, President Barak Obama signed a proclamation establishing a 13-year commemoration of the 50th anniversary of the Vietnam War.⁵ Five years later, President Donald Trump signed the War Veterans Recognition Act of 2017, designating March 29 annually as National Vietnam War Veterans Day.⁶ Though many of the events planned for March and April could not take place, the Vietnam War Commemoration (https://www.vietnamwar50th.com) offers information and ideas for honoring and supporting Vietnam War veterans. As Memorial Day approaches in this year of so much loss and heroism, I encourage you to find a way to thank Vietnam veterans who may have received the opposite of gratitude when they initially returned home.

As my small contribution to the commemoration, this editorial will focus on the psychiatric disorder of memory: posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and how the Vietnam War brought definition—albeit delayed—to the agonizing diagnosis that too many veterans experience.

The known clinical entity of PTSD is ancient. Narrative descriptions of the disorder are written in the Mesopotamian Epic of Gilgamesh and in Deuteronomy 20:1-9.⁷ American and European military physicians have given various names to the destructive effects of combat on body and mind from “soldier’s heart” in the American Civil War, to “shell shock” in World War I to “battle fatigue” during World War II.⁸ These were all descriptive diagnoses field practitioners used to grasp the psychosomatic decompensation they observed in service members who had been exposed to the horrors of war. The VA was the impetus and agent of the earliest attempts at scientific definition. The American Psychiatric Association further developed this nosology in 1952 with the diagnosis of gross stress reaction in the first Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM)-1.⁹

The combat experience shaped the definition: the stressor had to be extreme, the civilian comparison would be a natural disaster; the reaction could occur only in a previously normal individual, it would be attributed to the extant psychiatric condition in anyone with a premorbid illness; and if it did not remit by 6 months, another primary psychiatric diagnosis must be assigned.

From our vantage point, this set of criteria is obviously woefully inadequate, yet it was at least a beginning of formal recognition of the experience that veterans endured in wartime and real progress compared with what happened next. When DSM-1 was revised in 1968, the diagnosis of gross stress reaction was eliminated without explanation. Researcher Andreasen and others speculate that its disappearance can be attributed to association of the diagnosis with war in a country that had been at peace since the end of the Korean War in 1953.¹⁰ Yet military historians among my readers will immediately counter that the Vietnam War began 2 years later and that the year of the revision saw major combat operations.

Many veterans living with the psychological and physical suffering of their service in Vietnam and the organizations that supported them advocated for the psychiatric profession to formally acknowledge post-Vietnam syndrome.¹¹ Five years after the end of the Vietnam War, the experts who authored DSM-III, decided to include a new stress-induced diagnosis.¹² Although the manual did not limit the traumatic experience to combat in Vietnam as some veterans wanted, there is no doubt that the criteria reflect the extensive research validating the illness narratives of thousands of service men and women.

The DSM-III criteria clearly had war in mind when it stipulated that the stressor had to be outside the range of usual human experience that would likely trigger significant symptoms in almost anyone as well as specifying chronic symptoms lasting more than 6 months. Despite the controversy about the diagnosis, Vietnam veterans helped bring the PTSD diagnosis to official psychiatric nomenclature and in a more recognizable form that began to capture the intensity of their reexperiencing of the trauma, the psychosocial difficulties numbing caused, and the pervasive interference of hyperarousal and vigilance many aspects and areas of life.¹³

The National Vietnam Veterans Longitudinal Study examined the course of PTSD over 25 years, using the newly formulated diagnostic criteria for PTSD.¹⁴ Results were reported to Congress in 2012 and showed that 11% of men and 7% of women who were in a war theater were still struggling with PTSD 40 years after the war. Of those, 37% met major depressive disorder criteria. Male veterans who in 1987 still met criteria for PTSD were twice as likely to have died than the comparator group of veterans without PTSD. Two-thirds of veterans with PTSD from war zone exposure discussed behavioral health or substance misuse concerns with a health care provider, and 37% of those were receiving VA care.¹⁴

Given these disturbing data, perhaps the best way we can pay homage to the aging Vietnam veterans is to support continued research into effective evidence-based treatments for PTSD and funding for the training and recruiting of mental health practitioners to all 3 branches of federal health care who can deliver that care compassionately and competently.

Information is scarce regarding the impact of COVID-19 on pregnant women and newborns; health care workers (HCWs), particularly pregnant women,¹ who are caring for patients during the pandemic might experience concern and uncertainty. The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG) released recommendations, based on expert consensus, regarding pregnant HCWs on December 14, 2020.² We propose an appropriation of the ACOG recommendations for dermatologists and their teams caring for patients during the COVID-19 pandemic.

Risks to Pregnant HCWs

Worldwide, viral pneumonia is a leading cause of death during pregnancy,³ with higher mortality documented among pregnant patients during the 1918 influenza pandemic and the 2003 severe acute respiratory syndrome–associated coronavirus pandemic,³ and an increased rate of hospital admission documented among these patients compared to the general population during the 2009 H1N1 influenza pandemic.⁴

Data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) suggest that pregnant women with symptomatic COVID-19 (n=30,415) are at increased risk for the following (compared to nonpregnant women with symptomatic COVID-19 [n=431,410])⁵:

• Admission to the intensive care unit (10.5 of every 1000 cases vs 3.9 of every 1000 cases; adjusted risk ratio [aRR]=3.0; 95% CI, 2.6-3.4)

• Receipt of invasive ventilation (2.9 of every 1000 cases vs 1.1 of every 1000 cases; aRR=2.9; 95% CI, 2.2-3.8)

• Receipt of extracorporeal membrane oxygenation (0.7 of every 1000 cases vs 0.3 of every 1000 cases; aRR=2.4; 95% CI, 1.5-4.0)

• Death (1.5 of every 1000 cases vs 1.2 of every 1000 cases; aRR=1.7; 95% CI, 1.2-2.4).

Although the absolute risk of severe COVID-19–related outcomes is low, the CDC includes pregnant women in its increased risk category for COVID-19. Furthermore, in a systematic review of 61 studies comprising 790 COVID-19–positive pregnant women and 548 newborns, the rates of cesarean delivery, premature birth, low birth weight, and adverse pregnancy events (the latter comprising preterm birth, death or stillbirth, and early termination of pregnancy) were estimated to be 72%, 23%, 7%, and 27%, respectively.⁶ In a systematic review of 39 studies (case series and cohort studies), comprising 936 SARS-CoV-2–tested newborns of mothers with COVID-19, mother-to-fetus transmission of SARS-CoV-2 occurred during the third trimester in approximately 3.2% of infected mothers.⁷

In pregnant women with COVID-19 who develop cytokine storm syndrome, a fetal inflammatory response syndrome can ensue, which has been shown to cause ventricular expansion and bleeding in animal models.⁸ In addition, underlying conditions, such as cardiovascular disease, diabetes mellitus, pre-existing lung disease, and obesity, which are well-established risks factors for severe COVID-19 in nonpregnant patients, can increase the severity of COVID-19 in pregnant women.^5,9-11

Recommendations From ACOG for Pregnant HCWs

The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists recommends that health care facilities consider limiting the exposure of pregnant HCWs to patients with confirmed or suspected COVID-19. They also recommend that pregnant women continue to work in patient-facing roles if they want to, if recommended personal protective equipment (PPE) is available for them to wear.² The US Food and Drug Administration issued an Emergency Use Authorization for 2 messenger RNA COVID-19 vaccines. Although these vaccines have not been tested in pregnant women, ACOG recommends that COVID-19 vaccines not be withheld from pregnant women who fulfill the criteria for vaccination; pregnant women who decline vaccination should be supported in their decision.¹² In dermatology, telemedicine is an effective alternative to face-to-face visits, reducing the risk of transmitting SARS-CoV-2 to physicians and patients.

Ideally, pregnant dermatology attending physicians and residents can continue to provide care through teledermatology. They also can continue to provide in-person care, if they choose to; however, higher-risk procedures should be avoided.¹² In dermatology, that might include ablative laser procedures to the face, prolonged surgery, such as hair transplantation, and intraoral or intranasal procedures. Alternatively, pregnant dermatology residents can be allocated to clinical rotations in which face-to-face contact with patients is not required such as dermatopathology and a research rotation. Likewise, telework options can be encouraged for other pregnant members of dermatology teams, including front-desk staff, nurses, medical assistants, and remaining ancillary staff.

Guidance on Face Masks for Pregnant HCWs

Universal masking of HCWs has been shown to reduce the rate of health care–related acquisition of SARS-CoV-2.¹³ However, extended use or reuse of N95 respirators might contribute to SARS-CoV-2 transmission.¹⁴ The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists recommends that all HCWs wear a face mask at all times while working in a health care facility, even if patients are wearing a face covering or face mask.² Based on CDC guidelines,¹⁵ HCWs in regions where community transmission is moderate or substantial should wear eye protection in addition to a face mask, and they should wear an N95, N95-equivalent, or higher-level respirator instead of a face mask when performing aerosol-generating procedures and surgical procedures. If working in a patient-facing role caring for patients with suspected or confirmed COVID-19, HCWs should wear an N95, N95-equivalent, or higher-level respirator; gown; gloves; and eye protection (goggles or a disposable face shield).¹⁵

Final Thoughts

COVID-19 has brought about acute and likely permanent changes to the US health care system. Dermatologists are integral members of that system and are essential to the treatment of patients with skin, hair, and nail disorders. Pregnant dermatologists and residents should refrain from patient-facing roles when feasible; however, when all recommended PPE are available, they may continue to work in patient-facing roles until they give birth if they desire to do so. Alternatively, teledermatology and non–face-to-face rotations should be encouraged. Higher-risk and aerosol-generating procedures are of particular concern regarding the risk for transmitting SARS-CoV-2 and should be avoided. Correct and universal use of PPE is paramount; when all recommended PPE is not available, pregnant HCWs should avoid exposure to patients with suspected or confirmed COVID-19. These recommendations will help safeguard pregnant members of dermatology teams during the COVID-19 pandemic while maximizing patient care.

Information is scarce regarding the impact of COVID-19 on pregnant women and newborns; health care workers (HCWs), particularly pregnant women,¹ who are caring for patients during the pandemic might experience concern and uncertainty. The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG) released recommendations, based on expert consensus, regarding pregnant HCWs on December 14, 2020.² We propose an appropriation of the ACOG recommendations for dermatologists and their teams caring for patients during the COVID-19 pandemic.

Risks to Pregnant HCWs

Worldwide, viral pneumonia is a leading cause of death during pregnancy,³ with higher mortality documented among pregnant patients during the 1918 influenza pandemic and the 2003 severe acute respiratory syndrome–associated coronavirus pandemic,³ and an increased rate of hospital admission documented among these patients compared to the general population during the 2009 H1N1 influenza pandemic.⁴

Data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) suggest that pregnant women with symptomatic COVID-19 (n=30,415) are at increased risk for the following (compared to nonpregnant women with symptomatic COVID-19 [n=431,410])⁵:

• Admission to the intensive care unit (10.5 of every 1000 cases vs 3.9 of every 1000 cases; adjusted risk ratio [aRR]=3.0; 95% CI, 2.6-3.4)

• Receipt of invasive ventilation (2.9 of every 1000 cases vs 1.1 of every 1000 cases; aRR=2.9; 95% CI, 2.2-3.8)

• Receipt of extracorporeal membrane oxygenation (0.7 of every 1000 cases vs 0.3 of every 1000 cases; aRR=2.4; 95% CI, 1.5-4.0)

• Death (1.5 of every 1000 cases vs 1.2 of every 1000 cases; aRR=1.7; 95% CI, 1.2-2.4).

Although the absolute risk of severe COVID-19–related outcomes is low, the CDC includes pregnant women in its increased risk category for COVID-19. Furthermore, in a systematic review of 61 studies comprising 790 COVID-19–positive pregnant women and 548 newborns, the rates of cesarean delivery, premature birth, low birth weight, and adverse pregnancy events (the latter comprising preterm birth, death or stillbirth, and early termination of pregnancy) were estimated to be 72%, 23%, 7%, and 27%, respectively.⁶ In a systematic review of 39 studies (case series and cohort studies), comprising 936 SARS-CoV-2–tested newborns of mothers with COVID-19, mother-to-fetus transmission of SARS-CoV-2 occurred during the third trimester in approximately 3.2% of infected mothers.⁷

In pregnant women with COVID-19 who develop cytokine storm syndrome, a fetal inflammatory response syndrome can ensue, which has been shown to cause ventricular expansion and bleeding in animal models.⁸ In addition, underlying conditions, such as cardiovascular disease, diabetes mellitus, pre-existing lung disease, and obesity, which are well-established risks factors for severe COVID-19 in nonpregnant patients, can increase the severity of COVID-19 in pregnant women.^5,9-11

Recommendations From ACOG for Pregnant HCWs

The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists recommends that health care facilities consider limiting the exposure of pregnant HCWs to patients with confirmed or suspected COVID-19. They also recommend that pregnant women continue to work in patient-facing roles if they want to, if recommended personal protective equipment (PPE) is available for them to wear.² The US Food and Drug Administration issued an Emergency Use Authorization for 2 messenger RNA COVID-19 vaccines. Although these vaccines have not been tested in pregnant women, ACOG recommends that COVID-19 vaccines not be withheld from pregnant women who fulfill the criteria for vaccination; pregnant women who decline vaccination should be supported in their decision.¹² In dermatology, telemedicine is an effective alternative to face-to-face visits, reducing the risk of transmitting SARS-CoV-2 to physicians and patients.

Ideally, pregnant dermatology attending physicians and residents can continue to provide care through teledermatology. They also can continue to provide in-person care, if they choose to; however, higher-risk procedures should be avoided.¹² In dermatology, that might include ablative laser procedures to the face, prolonged surgery, such as hair transplantation, and intraoral or intranasal procedures. Alternatively, pregnant dermatology residents can be allocated to clinical rotations in which face-to-face contact with patients is not required such as dermatopathology and a research rotation. Likewise, telework options can be encouraged for other pregnant members of dermatology teams, including front-desk staff, nurses, medical assistants, and remaining ancillary staff.

Guidance on Face Masks for Pregnant HCWs

Universal masking of HCWs has been shown to reduce the rate of health care–related acquisition of SARS-CoV-2.¹³ However, extended use or reuse of N95 respirators might contribute to SARS-CoV-2 transmission.¹⁴ The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists recommends that all HCWs wear a face mask at all times while working in a health care facility, even if patients are wearing a face covering or face mask.² Based on CDC guidelines,¹⁵ HCWs in regions where community transmission is moderate or substantial should wear eye protection in addition to a face mask, and they should wear an N95, N95-equivalent, or higher-level respirator instead of a face mask when performing aerosol-generating procedures and surgical procedures. If working in a patient-facing role caring for patients with suspected or confirmed COVID-19, HCWs should wear an N95, N95-equivalent, or higher-level respirator; gown; gloves; and eye protection (goggles or a disposable face shield).¹⁵

Final Thoughts

COVID-19 has brought about acute and likely permanent changes to the US health care system. Dermatologists are integral members of that system and are essential to the treatment of patients with skin, hair, and nail disorders. Pregnant dermatologists and residents should refrain from patient-facing roles when feasible; however, when all recommended PPE are available, they may continue to work in patient-facing roles until they give birth if they desire to do so. Alternatively, teledermatology and non–face-to-face rotations should be encouraged. Higher-risk and aerosol-generating procedures are of particular concern regarding the risk for transmitting SARS-CoV-2 and should be avoided. Correct and universal use of PPE is paramount; when all recommended PPE is not available, pregnant HCWs should avoid exposure to patients with suspected or confirmed COVID-19. These recommendations will help safeguard pregnant members of dermatology teams during the COVID-19 pandemic while maximizing patient care.

Information is scarce regarding the impact of COVID-19 on pregnant women and newborns; health care workers (HCWs), particularly pregnant women,¹ who are caring for patients during the pandemic might experience concern and uncertainty. The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG) released recommendations, based on expert consensus, regarding pregnant HCWs on December 14, 2020.² We propose an appropriation of the ACOG recommendations for dermatologists and their teams caring for patients during the COVID-19 pandemic.

Risks to Pregnant HCWs

Worldwide, viral pneumonia is a leading cause of death during pregnancy,³ with higher mortality documented among pregnant patients during the 1918 influenza pandemic and the 2003 severe acute respiratory syndrome–associated coronavirus pandemic,³ and an increased rate of hospital admission documented among these patients compared to the general population during the 2009 H1N1 influenza pandemic.⁴

Data from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) suggest that pregnant women with symptomatic COVID-19 (n=30,415) are at increased risk for the following (compared to nonpregnant women with symptomatic COVID-19 [n=431,410])⁵:

• Admission to the intensive care unit (10.5 of every 1000 cases vs 3.9 of every 1000 cases; adjusted risk ratio [aRR]=3.0; 95% CI, 2.6-3.4)

• Receipt of invasive ventilation (2.9 of every 1000 cases vs 1.1 of every 1000 cases; aRR=2.9; 95% CI, 2.2-3.8)

• Receipt of extracorporeal membrane oxygenation (0.7 of every 1000 cases vs 0.3 of every 1000 cases; aRR=2.4; 95% CI, 1.5-4.0)

• Death (1.5 of every 1000 cases vs 1.2 of every 1000 cases; aRR=1.7; 95% CI, 1.2-2.4).

Although the absolute risk of severe COVID-19–related outcomes is low, the CDC includes pregnant women in its increased risk category for COVID-19. Furthermore, in a systematic review of 61 studies comprising 790 COVID-19–positive pregnant women and 548 newborns, the rates of cesarean delivery, premature birth, low birth weight, and adverse pregnancy events (the latter comprising preterm birth, death or stillbirth, and early termination of pregnancy) were estimated to be 72%, 23%, 7%, and 27%, respectively.⁶ In a systematic review of 39 studies (case series and cohort studies), comprising 936 SARS-CoV-2–tested newborns of mothers with COVID-19, mother-to-fetus transmission of SARS-CoV-2 occurred during the third trimester in approximately 3.2% of infected mothers.⁷

In pregnant women with COVID-19 who develop cytokine storm syndrome, a fetal inflammatory response syndrome can ensue, which has been shown to cause ventricular expansion and bleeding in animal models.⁸ In addition, underlying conditions, such as cardiovascular disease, diabetes mellitus, pre-existing lung disease, and obesity, which are well-established risks factors for severe COVID-19 in nonpregnant patients, can increase the severity of COVID-19 in pregnant women.^5,9-11

Recommendations From ACOG for Pregnant HCWs

The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists recommends that health care facilities consider limiting the exposure of pregnant HCWs to patients with confirmed or suspected COVID-19. They also recommend that pregnant women continue to work in patient-facing roles if they want to, if recommended personal protective equipment (PPE) is available for them to wear.² The US Food and Drug Administration issued an Emergency Use Authorization for 2 messenger RNA COVID-19 vaccines. Although these vaccines have not been tested in pregnant women, ACOG recommends that COVID-19 vaccines not be withheld from pregnant women who fulfill the criteria for vaccination; pregnant women who decline vaccination should be supported in their decision.¹² In dermatology, telemedicine is an effective alternative to face-to-face visits, reducing the risk of transmitting SARS-CoV-2 to physicians and patients.

Ideally, pregnant dermatology attending physicians and residents can continue to provide care through teledermatology. They also can continue to provide in-person care, if they choose to; however, higher-risk procedures should be avoided.¹² In dermatology, that might include ablative laser procedures to the face, prolonged surgery, such as hair transplantation, and intraoral or intranasal procedures. Alternatively, pregnant dermatology residents can be allocated to clinical rotations in which face-to-face contact with patients is not required such as dermatopathology and a research rotation. Likewise, telework options can be encouraged for other pregnant members of dermatology teams, including front-desk staff, nurses, medical assistants, and remaining ancillary staff.

Guidance on Face Masks for Pregnant HCWs

Universal masking of HCWs has been shown to reduce the rate of health care–related acquisition of SARS-CoV-2.¹³ However, extended use or reuse of N95 respirators might contribute to SARS-CoV-2 transmission.¹⁴ The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists recommends that all HCWs wear a face mask at all times while working in a health care facility, even if patients are wearing a face covering or face mask.² Based on CDC guidelines,¹⁵ HCWs in regions where community transmission is moderate or substantial should wear eye protection in addition to a face mask, and they should wear an N95, N95-equivalent, or higher-level respirator instead of a face mask when performing aerosol-generating procedures and surgical procedures. If working in a patient-facing role caring for patients with suspected or confirmed COVID-19, HCWs should wear an N95, N95-equivalent, or higher-level respirator; gown; gloves; and eye protection (goggles or a disposable face shield).¹⁵

Final Thoughts

COVID-19 has brought about acute and likely permanent changes to the US health care system. Dermatologists are integral members of that system and are essential to the treatment of patients with skin, hair, and nail disorders. Pregnant dermatologists and residents should refrain from patient-facing roles when feasible; however, when all recommended PPE are available, they may continue to work in patient-facing roles until they give birth if they desire to do so. Alternatively, teledermatology and non–face-to-face rotations should be encouraged. Higher-risk and aerosol-generating procedures are of particular concern regarding the risk for transmitting SARS-CoV-2 and should be avoided. Correct and universal use of PPE is paramount; when all recommended PPE is not available, pregnant HCWs should avoid exposure to patients with suspected or confirmed COVID-19. These recommendations will help safeguard pregnant members of dermatology teams during the COVID-19 pandemic while maximizing patient care.

The past year presented unprecedented challenges for many. In addition, mental health services have also been stretched to capacity. Anecdotally, some hospitals and emergency departments note that more youth have been presenting in mental health crises, and the severity of symptoms has also been higher. Safety planning is important, including working with patients to identify skills they can use in distress. Even those who do not experience suicidal thoughts may struggle with dysregulation or may use coping strategies that may not be the healthiest in the long term.

Within my practice, I see some families who are still waiting for an available therapist, or some may not wish to participate in therapy despite its being recommended. For these families, supporting them in using strategies that they may be willing and able to use in the moment to help them get through the moment of crisis can been helpful:
 

Case example (identifying details have been changed)

Emily is a 17-year-old girl who has a history of generalized anxiety disorder and obsessive-compulsive disorder. She has had multiple medication trials and a course of cognitive behavioral therapy when younger, with significant improvement in symptoms. She returns to clinic because of increased anxiety related to stressors of the pandemic. She wishes to not return to therapy because of feeling that she received maximal benefit and that further sessions would not be fruitful. However, she struggles with identifying what skills she can use, and her anxiety heightens significantly to near-panic and hyperventilating with even cursory exploration of triggers for her symptoms. Medications are also discussed during this appointment, and it is noted that it may take some time to see therapeutic effect. Of note, she reports no acute safety concerns. She has engaged in skin picking. No reported substance use. As she hyperventilates, she was asked to identify items in the room matching the colors of the rainbow in order. She was able to quickly do this, and then was asked to do it again. Afterward, she noted feeling much less anxious because it distracted her from her thoughts.

Distress tolerance skills can be very helpful to navigate getting through a crisis. When under stress, some may be more likely to engage in behaviors that are not helpful in the long term such as using avoidance; procrastinating; consuming tobacco, alcohol, or other substances; spending too much time on screens; or engaging in self-harm behaviors. While some of these activities may be okay in moderation, others are always harmful. At times, when encouraging patients to use skills with which they may be more familiar, e.g., deep breathing, progressive muscle relaxation, the response may be, “these don’t work!” It can be important to distinguish that the function of these skills is not to make someone feel good or to eliminate the stressor, but to “take some of the edge off” so they are less likely to slide into problematic behaviors. It can be beneficial to have multiple tools at one’s disposal because not all skills will always be effective or available.

TIPP skills (temperature, intense exercise, paced breathing, progressive muscle relaxation) are distress tolerance skills from dialectical behavioral therapy (DBT),¹ which was initially developed to treat individuals with borderline personality disorder. More recently, the therapy modality has been applied to individuals who may struggle with emotion regulation for a variety of reasons. TIPP skills work quickly (within seconds to minutes) with the aim to decrease physiological arousal. They do not require a lot of thinking, and many are portable or easy to use. Given the speed of effect, these skills can also be used in lieu of p.r.n. medications or patients can be counseled about trying these instead of turning to substance use. The effect is brief (5-20 minutes), although this may lower the affective temperature sufficiently for someone to get through the intense moment or to be able to then utilize other skills that may require more cognitive reserves.
 

T – Temperature

Holding one’s breath and placing one’s face in cold water (above 50°) for 10-20 seconds to stimulate the diving response and decrease heart rate. Patients can repeat this up to 3 times. Alternatively, cold compresses or gel eye masks can be used.

I – Intense exercise

Aerobic exercise for 10-20 minutes. This can include running, jumping jacks, dancing to loud music in a way that feels intense. The parasympathetic nervous system (PNS) is activated for approximately 20 minutes after cessation of intense exercise.

P – Paced breathing

Decreasing rate of breathing, with each inhalation/exhalation cycle lasting 10-12 seconds and the exhale being longer than the inhale also activates the PNS.

P – Progressive muscle relaxation (PMR)

Sequentially tensing and relaxing muscles from head to toes. Having at least 5-10 minutes to perform this exercise is preferred.² Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia offerssample PMR recordings.

Body scans can also be helpful. This practice differs from PMR in that it is a mindfulness practice noting body sensations without trying to change them. The University of Vermont offers some sample exercises.³

These skills were described to Emily. She noted that dunking her face in cold water was effective and it was reassuring knowing she had a tool to help her anxiety. She started to push herself to go outside to exercise. We additionally incorporated other distraction techniques such as identifying items from colors of the rainbow that were around her. She appreciated that she could even do this discreetly while at school. At times she had to do a couple of rounds, but this could help stop her repetitive thoughts so she could use other skills.

Helping patients identify skills that can help in the moment can help them feel supported and gain traction in other areas.
 

Dr. Strange is an assistant professor in the department of psychiatry at the University of Vermont Medical Center and University of Vermont Robert Larner College of Medicine, both in Burlington. She works with children and adolescents. She has no relevant financial disclosures

References

1. Rathus JH, Miller AL. DBT® Skills manual for adolescents. 2015. Guilford Press.

2. Guided Relaxation Exercises, Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia.

3. Vermont Center for Children, Youth, and Families: Staying Close While Keeping Your Distance.
 

The past year presented unprecedented challenges for many. In addition, mental health services have also been stretched to capacity. Anecdotally, some hospitals and emergency departments note that more youth have been presenting in mental health crises, and the severity of symptoms has also been higher. Safety planning is important, including working with patients to identify skills they can use in distress. Even those who do not experience suicidal thoughts may struggle with dysregulation or may use coping strategies that may not be the healthiest in the long term.

Within my practice, I see some families who are still waiting for an available therapist, or some may not wish to participate in therapy despite its being recommended. For these families, supporting them in using strategies that they may be willing and able to use in the moment to help them get through the moment of crisis can been helpful:
 

Case example (identifying details have been changed)

Emily is a 17-year-old girl who has a history of generalized anxiety disorder and obsessive-compulsive disorder. She has had multiple medication trials and a course of cognitive behavioral therapy when younger, with significant improvement in symptoms. She returns to clinic because of increased anxiety related to stressors of the pandemic. She wishes to not return to therapy because of feeling that she received maximal benefit and that further sessions would not be fruitful. However, she struggles with identifying what skills she can use, and her anxiety heightens significantly to near-panic and hyperventilating with even cursory exploration of triggers for her symptoms. Medications are also discussed during this appointment, and it is noted that it may take some time to see therapeutic effect. Of note, she reports no acute safety concerns. She has engaged in skin picking. No reported substance use. As she hyperventilates, she was asked to identify items in the room matching the colors of the rainbow in order. She was able to quickly do this, and then was asked to do it again. Afterward, she noted feeling much less anxious because it distracted her from her thoughts.

Distress tolerance skills can be very helpful to navigate getting through a crisis. When under stress, some may be more likely to engage in behaviors that are not helpful in the long term such as using avoidance; procrastinating; consuming tobacco, alcohol, or other substances; spending too much time on screens; or engaging in self-harm behaviors. While some of these activities may be okay in moderation, others are always harmful. At times, when encouraging patients to use skills with which they may be more familiar, e.g., deep breathing, progressive muscle relaxation, the response may be, “these don’t work!” It can be important to distinguish that the function of these skills is not to make someone feel good or to eliminate the stressor, but to “take some of the edge off” so they are less likely to slide into problematic behaviors. It can be beneficial to have multiple tools at one’s disposal because not all skills will always be effective or available.

TIPP skills (temperature, intense exercise, paced breathing, progressive muscle relaxation) are distress tolerance skills from dialectical behavioral therapy (DBT),¹ which was initially developed to treat individuals with borderline personality disorder. More recently, the therapy modality has been applied to individuals who may struggle with emotion regulation for a variety of reasons. TIPP skills work quickly (within seconds to minutes) with the aim to decrease physiological arousal. They do not require a lot of thinking, and many are portable or easy to use. Given the speed of effect, these skills can also be used in lieu of p.r.n. medications or patients can be counseled about trying these instead of turning to substance use. The effect is brief (5-20 minutes), although this may lower the affective temperature sufficiently for someone to get through the intense moment or to be able to then utilize other skills that may require more cognitive reserves.
 

T – Temperature

Holding one’s breath and placing one’s face in cold water (above 50°) for 10-20 seconds to stimulate the diving response and decrease heart rate. Patients can repeat this up to 3 times. Alternatively, cold compresses or gel eye masks can be used.

I – Intense exercise

Aerobic exercise for 10-20 minutes. This can include running, jumping jacks, dancing to loud music in a way that feels intense. The parasympathetic nervous system (PNS) is activated for approximately 20 minutes after cessation of intense exercise.

P – Paced breathing

Decreasing rate of breathing, with each inhalation/exhalation cycle lasting 10-12 seconds and the exhale being longer than the inhale also activates the PNS.

P – Progressive muscle relaxation (PMR)

Sequentially tensing and relaxing muscles from head to toes. Having at least 5-10 minutes to perform this exercise is preferred.² Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia offerssample PMR recordings.

Body scans can also be helpful. This practice differs from PMR in that it is a mindfulness practice noting body sensations without trying to change them. The University of Vermont offers some sample exercises.³

These skills were described to Emily. She noted that dunking her face in cold water was effective and it was reassuring knowing she had a tool to help her anxiety. She started to push herself to go outside to exercise. We additionally incorporated other distraction techniques such as identifying items from colors of the rainbow that were around her. She appreciated that she could even do this discreetly while at school. At times she had to do a couple of rounds, but this could help stop her repetitive thoughts so she could use other skills.

Helping patients identify skills that can help in the moment can help them feel supported and gain traction in other areas.
 

Dr. Strange is an assistant professor in the department of psychiatry at the University of Vermont Medical Center and University of Vermont Robert Larner College of Medicine, both in Burlington. She works with children and adolescents. She has no relevant financial disclosures

References

1. Rathus JH, Miller AL. DBT® Skills manual for adolescents. 2015. Guilford Press.

2. Guided Relaxation Exercises, Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia.

3. Vermont Center for Children, Youth, and Families: Staying Close While Keeping Your Distance.
 

The past year presented unprecedented challenges for many. In addition, mental health services have also been stretched to capacity. Anecdotally, some hospitals and emergency departments note that more youth have been presenting in mental health crises, and the severity of symptoms has also been higher. Safety planning is important, including working with patients to identify skills they can use in distress. Even those who do not experience suicidal thoughts may struggle with dysregulation or may use coping strategies that may not be the healthiest in the long term.

Within my practice, I see some families who are still waiting for an available therapist, or some may not wish to participate in therapy despite its being recommended. For these families, supporting them in using strategies that they may be willing and able to use in the moment to help them get through the moment of crisis can been helpful:
 

Case example (identifying details have been changed)

Emily is a 17-year-old girl who has a history of generalized anxiety disorder and obsessive-compulsive disorder. She has had multiple medication trials and a course of cognitive behavioral therapy when younger, with significant improvement in symptoms. She returns to clinic because of increased anxiety related to stressors of the pandemic. She wishes to not return to therapy because of feeling that she received maximal benefit and that further sessions would not be fruitful. However, she struggles with identifying what skills she can use, and her anxiety heightens significantly to near-panic and hyperventilating with even cursory exploration of triggers for her symptoms. Medications are also discussed during this appointment, and it is noted that it may take some time to see therapeutic effect. Of note, she reports no acute safety concerns. She has engaged in skin picking. No reported substance use. As she hyperventilates, she was asked to identify items in the room matching the colors of the rainbow in order. She was able to quickly do this, and then was asked to do it again. Afterward, she noted feeling much less anxious because it distracted her from her thoughts.

Distress tolerance skills can be very helpful to navigate getting through a crisis. When under stress, some may be more likely to engage in behaviors that are not helpful in the long term such as using avoidance; procrastinating; consuming tobacco, alcohol, or other substances; spending too much time on screens; or engaging in self-harm behaviors. While some of these activities may be okay in moderation, others are always harmful. At times, when encouraging patients to use skills with which they may be more familiar, e.g., deep breathing, progressive muscle relaxation, the response may be, “these don’t work!” It can be important to distinguish that the function of these skills is not to make someone feel good or to eliminate the stressor, but to “take some of the edge off” so they are less likely to slide into problematic behaviors. It can be beneficial to have multiple tools at one’s disposal because not all skills will always be effective or available.

TIPP skills (temperature, intense exercise, paced breathing, progressive muscle relaxation) are distress tolerance skills from dialectical behavioral therapy (DBT),¹ which was initially developed to treat individuals with borderline personality disorder. More recently, the therapy modality has been applied to individuals who may struggle with emotion regulation for a variety of reasons. TIPP skills work quickly (within seconds to minutes) with the aim to decrease physiological arousal. They do not require a lot of thinking, and many are portable or easy to use. Given the speed of effect, these skills can also be used in lieu of p.r.n. medications or patients can be counseled about trying these instead of turning to substance use. The effect is brief (5-20 minutes), although this may lower the affective temperature sufficiently for someone to get through the intense moment or to be able to then utilize other skills that may require more cognitive reserves.
 

T – Temperature

Holding one’s breath and placing one’s face in cold water (above 50°) for 10-20 seconds to stimulate the diving response and decrease heart rate. Patients can repeat this up to 3 times. Alternatively, cold compresses or gel eye masks can be used.

I – Intense exercise

Aerobic exercise for 10-20 minutes. This can include running, jumping jacks, dancing to loud music in a way that feels intense. The parasympathetic nervous system (PNS) is activated for approximately 20 minutes after cessation of intense exercise.

P – Paced breathing

Decreasing rate of breathing, with each inhalation/exhalation cycle lasting 10-12 seconds and the exhale being longer than the inhale also activates the PNS.

P – Progressive muscle relaxation (PMR)

Sequentially tensing and relaxing muscles from head to toes. Having at least 5-10 minutes to perform this exercise is preferred.² Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia offerssample PMR recordings.

Body scans can also be helpful. This practice differs from PMR in that it is a mindfulness practice noting body sensations without trying to change them. The University of Vermont offers some sample exercises.³

These skills were described to Emily. She noted that dunking her face in cold water was effective and it was reassuring knowing she had a tool to help her anxiety. She started to push herself to go outside to exercise. We additionally incorporated other distraction techniques such as identifying items from colors of the rainbow that were around her. She appreciated that she could even do this discreetly while at school. At times she had to do a couple of rounds, but this could help stop her repetitive thoughts so she could use other skills.

Helping patients identify skills that can help in the moment can help them feel supported and gain traction in other areas.
 

Dr. Strange is an assistant professor in the department of psychiatry at the University of Vermont Medical Center and University of Vermont Robert Larner College of Medicine, both in Burlington. She works with children and adolescents. She has no relevant financial disclosures

References

1. Rathus JH, Miller AL. DBT® Skills manual for adolescents. 2015. Guilford Press.

2. Guided Relaxation Exercises, Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia.

3. Vermont Center for Children, Youth, and Families: Staying Close While Keeping Your Distance.
 

Guidelines on Skin Cancer Surgeries During the COVID-19 Pandemic

At the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention issued recommendations to decrease the spread of SARS-CoV-2 and optimize the use of personal protective equipment (PPE) for frontline workers.¹ In the field of dermatologic surgery, the American College of Mohs Surgery, the National Comprehensive Cancer Network, the American Society for Dermatologic Surgery, and the American Academy of Dermatology made recommendations to postpone nonessential and nonurgent procedures.^2-4 The initial guidelines of the American College of Mohs Surgery advised cancellation of all elective surgeries and deferred treatment of most cases of basal cell carcinoma for as long as 3 months; low-risk squamous cell carcinoma (SCC) and melanoma in situ treatment was deferred for as long as 2 or 3 months.³ Additional recommendations were made to reserve inpatient visits for suspicious lesions and high-risk cancers, postpone other nonessential and nonurgent appointments, and utilize telemedicine whenever possible.⁵

These recommendations led to great uncertainty and stress for patients and providers. Although numerous important variables, such as patient risk factors, severity of disease, availability of PPE and staff, and patient-to-provider transmission were considered when creating these guidelines, the patient’s experience likely was not a contributing factor.

COVID-19 Transmission During Mohs Surgery

There have been concerns that surgeons performing Mohs micrographic surgery (MMS) might be at an increased risk for COVID-19, given their close contact with high-risk sites (ie, nose, mouth) and cautery-generated aerosols; most of the estimated transmission risk associated with MMS has been based on head and neck surgery experience and publications.^6-8 Tee and colleagues⁹ recently published their institution’s MMS COVID-19 preventive measures, which, to their knowledge, have prevented all intraoperative transmission of SARS-CoV-2, even in disease-positive patients. Currently, evidence is lacking to support a high risk for SARS-CoV-2 transmission during MMS when proper PPE and personal hygiene measures as well as strict infection control protocols—presurgical COVID-19 testing in high-risk cases, COVID-19 screening optimization, visitor restrictions, and appropriate disinfection between patients—are in place.

The Impact of Postponing Treatment on Patients

Although studies have focused on the effects of the COVID-19 pandemic on physicians practicing MMS,¹⁰ little is known about the effects of delays in skin cancer treatment on patients. A survey conducted in the United Kingdom investigating the patient’s perspective found that patients expressed worry and concern about the possibility that their MMS would be postponed and greatly appreciated continuation of treatment during the pandemic.¹¹

Other medical specialties have reported their patient experiences during the pandemic. In a study examining patient perception of postponed surgical treatment of pelvic floor disorders due to COVID-19, nearly half of survey respondents were unhappy with the delay in receiving care. Furthermore, patients who reported being unhappy were more likely to report feelings of isolation and anxiety because their surgery was postponed.¹² In another study involving patients with lung cancer, 9.1% (N=15) of patients postponed their treatment during the COVID-19 pandemic because of pandemic-related anxiety.¹³

With the goal of improving care at our institution, we conducted a brief institutional review board–approved survey to evaluate how postponing MMS treatment due to the COVID-19 pandemic affected patients. All MMS patients undergoing surgery in June 2020 and July 2020 (N=99) were asked to complete our voluntary and anonymous 23-question survey in person during their procedure. We obtained 88 responses (response rate, 89%). Twenty percent of surveyed patients (n=18) reported that their MMS had been postponed; 78% of those whose MMS was postponed (n=14) indicated some level of anxiety during the waiting period. It was unclear which patients had their treatment postponed based on national guidelines and which ones elected to postpone surgery.

Tips for Health Care Providers

Patient-provider communication highlighting specific skin cancer risk and the risk vs benefit of postponing treatment might reduce anxiety and stress during the waiting period.¹⁴ A study found that COVID-19 posed a bigger threat than most noninvasive skin cancers; therefore, the authors of that study concluded that treatment for most skin cancers could be safely postponed.¹⁵ Specifically, those authors recommended prioritizing treatment for Merkel cell carcinoma, invasive SCC, and melanoma with positive margins or macroscopic residual disease. They proposed that all other skin cancers, including basal cell carcinoma, SCC in situ, and melanoma with negative margins and no macroscopic residual disease, could be safely delayed for as long as 3 months.¹⁵

For patients with multiple risk factors for COVID-19–related morbidity or mortality, delaying skin cancer treatment likely has less risk than contracting the virus.¹⁵ This information should be communicated with patients. Investigation of specific patient concerns is warranted, and case-by-case evaluation of patients’ risk factors and skin cancer risk should be considered.

Based on the current, though limited, literature, delaying medical treatment can have a negative impact on the patient experience. Furthermore, proper precautions have been shown to limit intraoperative transmission of SARS-CoV-2 during MMS, but research is lacking. Practitioners should utilize shared decision-making and evaluate a given patient’s risk factors and concerns when deciding whether to postpone treatment. We encourage other institutions to evaluate the effects that delaying MMS has had on their patients, as further studies would improve understanding of patients’ experiences during a pandemic and potentially influence future dermatology guidelines.

Guidelines on Skin Cancer Surgeries During the COVID-19 Pandemic

At the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention issued recommendations to decrease the spread of SARS-CoV-2 and optimize the use of personal protective equipment (PPE) for frontline workers.¹ In the field of dermatologic surgery, the American College of Mohs Surgery, the National Comprehensive Cancer Network, the American Society for Dermatologic Surgery, and the American Academy of Dermatology made recommendations to postpone nonessential and nonurgent procedures.^2-4 The initial guidelines of the American College of Mohs Surgery advised cancellation of all elective surgeries and deferred treatment of most cases of basal cell carcinoma for as long as 3 months; low-risk squamous cell carcinoma (SCC) and melanoma in situ treatment was deferred for as long as 2 or 3 months.³ Additional recommendations were made to reserve inpatient visits for suspicious lesions and high-risk cancers, postpone other nonessential and nonurgent appointments, and utilize telemedicine whenever possible.⁵

These recommendations led to great uncertainty and stress for patients and providers. Although numerous important variables, such as patient risk factors, severity of disease, availability of PPE and staff, and patient-to-provider transmission were considered when creating these guidelines, the patient’s experience likely was not a contributing factor.

COVID-19 Transmission During Mohs Surgery

There have been concerns that surgeons performing Mohs micrographic surgery (MMS) might be at an increased risk for COVID-19, given their close contact with high-risk sites (ie, nose, mouth) and cautery-generated aerosols; most of the estimated transmission risk associated with MMS has been based on head and neck surgery experience and publications.^6-8 Tee and colleagues⁹ recently published their institution’s MMS COVID-19 preventive measures, which, to their knowledge, have prevented all intraoperative transmission of SARS-CoV-2, even in disease-positive patients. Currently, evidence is lacking to support a high risk for SARS-CoV-2 transmission during MMS when proper PPE and personal hygiene measures as well as strict infection control protocols—presurgical COVID-19 testing in high-risk cases, COVID-19 screening optimization, visitor restrictions, and appropriate disinfection between patients—are in place.

The Impact of Postponing Treatment on Patients

Although studies have focused on the effects of the COVID-19 pandemic on physicians practicing MMS,¹⁰ little is known about the effects of delays in skin cancer treatment on patients. A survey conducted in the United Kingdom investigating the patient’s perspective found that patients expressed worry and concern about the possibility that their MMS would be postponed and greatly appreciated continuation of treatment during the pandemic.¹¹

Other medical specialties have reported their patient experiences during the pandemic. In a study examining patient perception of postponed surgical treatment of pelvic floor disorders due to COVID-19, nearly half of survey respondents were unhappy with the delay in receiving care. Furthermore, patients who reported being unhappy were more likely to report feelings of isolation and anxiety because their surgery was postponed.¹² In another study involving patients with lung cancer, 9.1% (N=15) of patients postponed their treatment during the COVID-19 pandemic because of pandemic-related anxiety.¹³

With the goal of improving care at our institution, we conducted a brief institutional review board–approved survey to evaluate how postponing MMS treatment due to the COVID-19 pandemic affected patients. All MMS patients undergoing surgery in June 2020 and July 2020 (N=99) were asked to complete our voluntary and anonymous 23-question survey in person during their procedure. We obtained 88 responses (response rate, 89%). Twenty percent of surveyed patients (n=18) reported that their MMS had been postponed; 78% of those whose MMS was postponed (n=14) indicated some level of anxiety during the waiting period. It was unclear which patients had their treatment postponed based on national guidelines and which ones elected to postpone surgery.

Tips for Health Care Providers

Patient-provider communication highlighting specific skin cancer risk and the risk vs benefit of postponing treatment might reduce anxiety and stress during the waiting period.¹⁴ A study found that COVID-19 posed a bigger threat than most noninvasive skin cancers; therefore, the authors of that study concluded that treatment for most skin cancers could be safely postponed.¹⁵ Specifically, those authors recommended prioritizing treatment for Merkel cell carcinoma, invasive SCC, and melanoma with positive margins or macroscopic residual disease. They proposed that all other skin cancers, including basal cell carcinoma, SCC in situ, and melanoma with negative margins and no macroscopic residual disease, could be safely delayed for as long as 3 months.¹⁵

For patients with multiple risk factors for COVID-19–related morbidity or mortality, delaying skin cancer treatment likely has less risk than contracting the virus.¹⁵ This information should be communicated with patients. Investigation of specific patient concerns is warranted, and case-by-case evaluation of patients’ risk factors and skin cancer risk should be considered.

Based on the current, though limited, literature, delaying medical treatment can have a negative impact on the patient experience. Furthermore, proper precautions have been shown to limit intraoperative transmission of SARS-CoV-2 during MMS, but research is lacking. Practitioners should utilize shared decision-making and evaluate a given patient’s risk factors and concerns when deciding whether to postpone treatment. We encourage other institutions to evaluate the effects that delaying MMS has had on their patients, as further studies would improve understanding of patients’ experiences during a pandemic and potentially influence future dermatology guidelines.

Guidelines on Skin Cancer Surgeries During the COVID-19 Pandemic

At the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention issued recommendations to decrease the spread of SARS-CoV-2 and optimize the use of personal protective equipment (PPE) for frontline workers.¹ In the field of dermatologic surgery, the American College of Mohs Surgery, the National Comprehensive Cancer Network, the American Society for Dermatologic Surgery, and the American Academy of Dermatology made recommendations to postpone nonessential and nonurgent procedures.^2-4 The initial guidelines of the American College of Mohs Surgery advised cancellation of all elective surgeries and deferred treatment of most cases of basal cell carcinoma for as long as 3 months; low-risk squamous cell carcinoma (SCC) and melanoma in situ treatment was deferred for as long as 2 or 3 months.³ Additional recommendations were made to reserve inpatient visits for suspicious lesions and high-risk cancers, postpone other nonessential and nonurgent appointments, and utilize telemedicine whenever possible.⁵

These recommendations led to great uncertainty and stress for patients and providers. Although numerous important variables, such as patient risk factors, severity of disease, availability of PPE and staff, and patient-to-provider transmission were considered when creating these guidelines, the patient’s experience likely was not a contributing factor.

COVID-19 Transmission During Mohs Surgery

There have been concerns that surgeons performing Mohs micrographic surgery (MMS) might be at an increased risk for COVID-19, given their close contact with high-risk sites (ie, nose, mouth) and cautery-generated aerosols; most of the estimated transmission risk associated with MMS has been based on head and neck surgery experience and publications.^6-8 Tee and colleagues⁹ recently published their institution’s MMS COVID-19 preventive measures, which, to their knowledge, have prevented all intraoperative transmission of SARS-CoV-2, even in disease-positive patients. Currently, evidence is lacking to support a high risk for SARS-CoV-2 transmission during MMS when proper PPE and personal hygiene measures as well as strict infection control protocols—presurgical COVID-19 testing in high-risk cases, COVID-19 screening optimization, visitor restrictions, and appropriate disinfection between patients—are in place.

The Impact of Postponing Treatment on Patients

Although studies have focused on the effects of the COVID-19 pandemic on physicians practicing MMS,¹⁰ little is known about the effects of delays in skin cancer treatment on patients. A survey conducted in the United Kingdom investigating the patient’s perspective found that patients expressed worry and concern about the possibility that their MMS would be postponed and greatly appreciated continuation of treatment during the pandemic.¹¹

Other medical specialties have reported their patient experiences during the pandemic. In a study examining patient perception of postponed surgical treatment of pelvic floor disorders due to COVID-19, nearly half of survey respondents were unhappy with the delay in receiving care. Furthermore, patients who reported being unhappy were more likely to report feelings of isolation and anxiety because their surgery was postponed.¹² In another study involving patients with lung cancer, 9.1% (N=15) of patients postponed their treatment during the COVID-19 pandemic because of pandemic-related anxiety.¹³

With the goal of improving care at our institution, we conducted a brief institutional review board–approved survey to evaluate how postponing MMS treatment due to the COVID-19 pandemic affected patients. All MMS patients undergoing surgery in June 2020 and July 2020 (N=99) were asked to complete our voluntary and anonymous 23-question survey in person during their procedure. We obtained 88 responses (response rate, 89%). Twenty percent of surveyed patients (n=18) reported that their MMS had been postponed; 78% of those whose MMS was postponed (n=14) indicated some level of anxiety during the waiting period. It was unclear which patients had their treatment postponed based on national guidelines and which ones elected to postpone surgery.

Tips for Health Care Providers

Patient-provider communication highlighting specific skin cancer risk and the risk vs benefit of postponing treatment might reduce anxiety and stress during the waiting period.¹⁴ A study found that COVID-19 posed a bigger threat than most noninvasive skin cancers; therefore, the authors of that study concluded that treatment for most skin cancers could be safely postponed.¹⁵ Specifically, those authors recommended prioritizing treatment for Merkel cell carcinoma, invasive SCC, and melanoma with positive margins or macroscopic residual disease. They proposed that all other skin cancers, including basal cell carcinoma, SCC in situ, and melanoma with negative margins and no macroscopic residual disease, could be safely delayed for as long as 3 months.¹⁵

For patients with multiple risk factors for COVID-19–related morbidity or mortality, delaying skin cancer treatment likely has less risk than contracting the virus.¹⁵ This information should be communicated with patients. Investigation of specific patient concerns is warranted, and case-by-case evaluation of patients’ risk factors and skin cancer risk should be considered.

Based on the current, though limited, literature, delaying medical treatment can have a negative impact on the patient experience. Furthermore, proper precautions have been shown to limit intraoperative transmission of SARS-CoV-2 during MMS, but research is lacking. Practitioners should utilize shared decision-making and evaluate a given patient’s risk factors and concerns when deciding whether to postpone treatment. We encourage other institutions to evaluate the effects that delaying MMS has had on their patients, as further studies would improve understanding of patients’ experiences during a pandemic and potentially influence future dermatology guidelines.

Recent advances in the immunopathogenesis and therapy of cutaneous T-cell lymphoma (CTCL) have shown great promise for the care of patients with mycosis fungoides (MF) and Sézary syndrome (SS).^1-3 Research into the tumor microenvironment, microbiome, and molecular genetics may yield further information as we strive to develop MF/SS therapy from the bench to the bedside.³ Although progress has been made on multiple fronts in MF, some important—particularly epidemiologic and clinical—questions remain unanswered.

Racial disparities are well known to exist in CTCLs, particularly MF and SS.^4-7 The incidence of MF and SS in the United States is higher in African American/Black patients than in White patients⁴; in addition, MF has an earlier age at onset in Black patients compared with White patients.^4,5 Gender disparities also exist, with relatively more Black females than males affected with MF^4-6; in particular, early-onset MF (ie, <40 years of age) is more common in Black females than Black males.^6,7 According to Surveillance, Epidemiology, and End Results (SEER) data⁴ and the US National Cancer Database,⁵ African American/Black patients with MF have worse outcomes compared with other races (shorter overall survival and higher mortality) and also exhibit higher stages of disease at presentation (stage IIb or higher).⁵ Black race also was found to be a predictor of poor overall survival after accounting for disease characteristics, socioeconomicfactors, and types of treatment. The factors responsible for these racial disparities remain unclear.

A fortuitous collision of interests and technology may have helped to shed light on some of the reasons for these racial disparities in MF. Nearly 2 decades ago, high-quality, whole-body digital cutaneous photography was implemented by the Dermatology Service at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center Dermatology Service (New York, New York).⁸ Although the standardized 20-pose positioning images initially were used for the follow-up evaluation of patients with multiple nevi and melanomas, we incorporated the same photography technique into our multidisciplinary Cutaneous Lymphoma Clinic at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center. The multiplicity and clinical heterogeneity of MF lesions is well known, as is the fact that individual MF lesions may develop, respond to therapy, or change independently of other lesions in a given patient. We regularly reviewed these digital images with patients during their visits to assess treatment responses, discussed the need for changes in therapy in the face of progressive disease, and provided encouragement and positive reinforcement for those who improved with time-consuming regimens (eg, phototherapy).

Ultimately, as we became more familiar with looking at images in skin of color, we recognized different clinical features among our Black patients. In the literature, hypopigmented MF is a variant that typically is characterized by CD8⁺-predominant T cells and is seen more frequently in dark-skinned patients.⁹ In contrast, hyperpigmented MF has been considered a relatively rare presentation of MF.¹⁰ However, using only clinical and demographic information, we were able to identify 2 very different prognostic groups: those with hypopigmented lesions and those with only hyperpigmented and/or erythematous skin lesions.¹¹ In our retrospective review of 157 African American/Black MF patients at our institution—122 with early-stage and 35 with late-stage MF—45% of patients had hypopigmented lesions vs 52% with hyperpigmented and/or erythematous lesions but no hypopigmentation. Those with hypopigmentation had superior outcomes, with better overall survival (P=.002) and progression-free survival (P=.014). In addition, more than 80% of patients who progressed or died from disease had hyperpigmented and/or erythematous lesions without hypopigmentation.¹¹

Sometimes we have to go backward to go forward. Going from the bedside to the bench in our Black MF/SS patients—initially through the clinical recognition of prognostically different lesions, and then through clinicopathologic correlation with immunophenotyping and molecular studies—should provide important clues. Further investigation of Black patients who share similar pigmentary phenotypes of MF also may shed light on the pathogenetic mechanisms responsible for these prognostically significant skin findings. Through these efforts, we hope to identify higher-risk patients, which ultimately will lead to earlier intervention, more effective therapeutic regimens, and improved outcomes.

Recent advances in the immunopathogenesis and therapy of cutaneous T-cell lymphoma (CTCL) have shown great promise for the care of patients with mycosis fungoides (MF) and Sézary syndrome (SS).^1-3 Research into the tumor microenvironment, microbiome, and molecular genetics may yield further information as we strive to develop MF/SS therapy from the bench to the bedside.³ Although progress has been made on multiple fronts in MF, some important—particularly epidemiologic and clinical—questions remain unanswered.

Racial disparities are well known to exist in CTCLs, particularly MF and SS.^4-7 The incidence of MF and SS in the United States is higher in African American/Black patients than in White patients⁴; in addition, MF has an earlier age at onset in Black patients compared with White patients.^4,5 Gender disparities also exist, with relatively more Black females than males affected with MF^4-6; in particular, early-onset MF (ie, <40 years of age) is more common in Black females than Black males.^6,7 According to Surveillance, Epidemiology, and End Results (SEER) data⁴ and the US National Cancer Database,⁵ African American/Black patients with MF have worse outcomes compared with other races (shorter overall survival and higher mortality) and also exhibit higher stages of disease at presentation (stage IIb or higher).⁵ Black race also was found to be a predictor of poor overall survival after accounting for disease characteristics, socioeconomicfactors, and types of treatment. The factors responsible for these racial disparities remain unclear.

A fortuitous collision of interests and technology may have helped to shed light on some of the reasons for these racial disparities in MF. Nearly 2 decades ago, high-quality, whole-body digital cutaneous photography was implemented by the Dermatology Service at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center Dermatology Service (New York, New York).⁸ Although the standardized 20-pose positioning images initially were used for the follow-up evaluation of patients with multiple nevi and melanomas, we incorporated the same photography technique into our multidisciplinary Cutaneous Lymphoma Clinic at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center. The multiplicity and clinical heterogeneity of MF lesions is well known, as is the fact that individual MF lesions may develop, respond to therapy, or change independently of other lesions in a given patient. We regularly reviewed these digital images with patients during their visits to assess treatment responses, discussed the need for changes in therapy in the face of progressive disease, and provided encouragement and positive reinforcement for those who improved with time-consuming regimens (eg, phototherapy).

Ultimately, as we became more familiar with looking at images in skin of color, we recognized different clinical features among our Black patients. In the literature, hypopigmented MF is a variant that typically is characterized by CD8⁺-predominant T cells and is seen more frequently in dark-skinned patients.⁹ In contrast, hyperpigmented MF has been considered a relatively rare presentation of MF.¹⁰ However, using only clinical and demographic information, we were able to identify 2 very different prognostic groups: those with hypopigmented lesions and those with only hyperpigmented and/or erythematous skin lesions.¹¹ In our retrospective review of 157 African American/Black MF patients at our institution—122 with early-stage and 35 with late-stage MF—45% of patients had hypopigmented lesions vs 52% with hyperpigmented and/or erythematous lesions but no hypopigmentation. Those with hypopigmentation had superior outcomes, with better overall survival (P=.002) and progression-free survival (P=.014). In addition, more than 80% of patients who progressed or died from disease had hyperpigmented and/or erythematous lesions without hypopigmentation.¹¹

Sometimes we have to go backward to go forward. Going from the bedside to the bench in our Black MF/SS patients—initially through the clinical recognition of prognostically different lesions, and then through clinicopathologic correlation with immunophenotyping and molecular studies—should provide important clues. Further investigation of Black patients who share similar pigmentary phenotypes of MF also may shed light on the pathogenetic mechanisms responsible for these prognostically significant skin findings. Through these efforts, we hope to identify higher-risk patients, which ultimately will lead to earlier intervention, more effective therapeutic regimens, and improved outcomes.

Recent advances in the immunopathogenesis and therapy of cutaneous T-cell lymphoma (CTCL) have shown great promise for the care of patients with mycosis fungoides (MF) and Sézary syndrome (SS).^1-3 Research into the tumor microenvironment, microbiome, and molecular genetics may yield further information as we strive to develop MF/SS therapy from the bench to the bedside.³ Although progress has been made on multiple fronts in MF, some important—particularly epidemiologic and clinical—questions remain unanswered.

Racial disparities are well known to exist in CTCLs, particularly MF and SS.^4-7 The incidence of MF and SS in the United States is higher in African American/Black patients than in White patients⁴; in addition, MF has an earlier age at onset in Black patients compared with White patients.^4,5 Gender disparities also exist, with relatively more Black females than males affected with MF^4-6; in particular, early-onset MF (ie, <40 years of age) is more common in Black females than Black males.^6,7 According to Surveillance, Epidemiology, and End Results (SEER) data⁴ and the US National Cancer Database,⁵ African American/Black patients with MF have worse outcomes compared with other races (shorter overall survival and higher mortality) and also exhibit higher stages of disease at presentation (stage IIb or higher).⁵ Black race also was found to be a predictor of poor overall survival after accounting for disease characteristics, socioeconomicfactors, and types of treatment. The factors responsible for these racial disparities remain unclear.

A fortuitous collision of interests and technology may have helped to shed light on some of the reasons for these racial disparities in MF. Nearly 2 decades ago, high-quality, whole-body digital cutaneous photography was implemented by the Dermatology Service at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center Dermatology Service (New York, New York).⁸ Although the standardized 20-pose positioning images initially were used for the follow-up evaluation of patients with multiple nevi and melanomas, we incorporated the same photography technique into our multidisciplinary Cutaneous Lymphoma Clinic at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center. The multiplicity and clinical heterogeneity of MF lesions is well known, as is the fact that individual MF lesions may develop, respond to therapy, or change independently of other lesions in a given patient. We regularly reviewed these digital images with patients during their visits to assess treatment responses, discussed the need for changes in therapy in the face of progressive disease, and provided encouragement and positive reinforcement for those who improved with time-consuming regimens (eg, phototherapy).

Ultimately, as we became more familiar with looking at images in skin of color, we recognized different clinical features among our Black patients. In the literature, hypopigmented MF is a variant that typically is characterized by CD8⁺-predominant T cells and is seen more frequently in dark-skinned patients.⁹ In contrast, hyperpigmented MF has been considered a relatively rare presentation of MF.¹⁰ However, using only clinical and demographic information, we were able to identify 2 very different prognostic groups: those with hypopigmented lesions and those with only hyperpigmented and/or erythematous skin lesions.¹¹ In our retrospective review of 157 African American/Black MF patients at our institution—122 with early-stage and 35 with late-stage MF—45% of patients had hypopigmented lesions vs 52% with hyperpigmented and/or erythematous lesions but no hypopigmentation. Those with hypopigmentation had superior outcomes, with better overall survival (P=.002) and progression-free survival (P=.014). In addition, more than 80% of patients who progressed or died from disease had hyperpigmented and/or erythematous lesions without hypopigmentation.¹¹

Sometimes we have to go backward to go forward. Going from the bedside to the bench in our Black MF/SS patients—initially through the clinical recognition of prognostically different lesions, and then through clinicopathologic correlation with immunophenotyping and molecular studies—should provide important clues. Further investigation of Black patients who share similar pigmentary phenotypes of MF also may shed light on the pathogenetic mechanisms responsible for these prognostically significant skin findings. Through these efforts, we hope to identify higher-risk patients, which ultimately will lead to earlier intervention, more effective therapeutic regimens, and improved outcomes.

Recently, a patient excitedly told me during her session that she had been coming to see me for about 24 years. This was followed by positive remarks about where she was at the point when she first walked into my office.

Her progress has been slow but steady – and today, she finds herself at a much better place even within the context of having to deal with life’s complications. Her surprise about the longevity of this therapeutic relationship was easily and comfortably balanced by the pleasant feeling of well-being.

This interaction reminded me of a conversation I had with a friend of mine, an ophthalmologist who once asked me a related question: Why is it that people have been coming to see me for decades and I have not been able to “fix” them? Does that make me feel badly?

I clearly remember my response, which started in more of a defensive mode but ended with some self-reflection. I reminded him that, in his specialty, like many other fields of medicine, we don’t get to “fix” a lot. In fact, the majority of the conditions we deal with are chronic and lingering.

However, during the process of reminding him to look in the mirror, I was also able to articulate that many of these patients came into my office in potentially dire situations, including experiencing severe depression and suicidal thoughts, ignoring basic needs such as hygiene, feeling paralyzed with panic attacks, or having complete inability to deal with day-to-day situations.

Decades later, many of these patients, while still struggling with some ongoing issues, appeared to be alive and well – and we have wonderful interactions in our office where I get to talk to them about exciting things they’re looking forward to doing with their families or for themselves. Similar analogies can be applied to almost all medical specialties. An endocrinologist might help a patient with severe diabetes or hypothyroid disease get the illness under control but is not able to fix the problem. Clearly, patients’ quality of life improves tremendously through treatment with medications and with education about lifestyle changes, such as exercise and diet.

Even in the case of surgeons who may successfully remove the problem tissue or tumor, the patient is not in fact “fixed” and still requires ongoing medical care, psychosocial interventions, and pharmacotherapy to maintain or improve upon quality of life.

My patient’s remarks led to a similar, delightful therapeutic session reflecting on her progress and what it meant to both of us. We physicians certainly find it very frustrating that we are unable to fix things and make people feel completely better. However, it is important to reflect on the difference our contribution to the process of healing makes for our patients and the impact it has on their quality of life – which is meaningful to them, however small it may be.

Even in the most severe medical or psychiatric cases, we can provide hope and encouragement, which could lead to minimal or no improvement in the pathological condition but may in fact improve patients’ outlook and willingness to carry on with dignity and satisfaction. It could do us all a lot of good to think of ourselves as healers – not fixers.
 

Dr. Awan, a psychiatrist, is medical director of Pennsylvania Counseling Services in Reading. He disclosed no conflicts of interest.

Recently, a patient excitedly told me during her session that she had been coming to see me for about 24 years. This was followed by positive remarks about where she was at the point when she first walked into my office.

Her progress has been slow but steady – and today, she finds herself at a much better place even within the context of having to deal with life’s complications. Her surprise about the longevity of this therapeutic relationship was easily and comfortably balanced by the pleasant feeling of well-being.

This interaction reminded me of a conversation I had with a friend of mine, an ophthalmologist who once asked me a related question: Why is it that people have been coming to see me for decades and I have not been able to “fix” them? Does that make me feel badly?

I clearly remember my response, which started in more of a defensive mode but ended with some self-reflection. I reminded him that, in his specialty, like many other fields of medicine, we don’t get to “fix” a lot. In fact, the majority of the conditions we deal with are chronic and lingering.

However, during the process of reminding him to look in the mirror, I was also able to articulate that many of these patients came into my office in potentially dire situations, including experiencing severe depression and suicidal thoughts, ignoring basic needs such as hygiene, feeling paralyzed with panic attacks, or having complete inability to deal with day-to-day situations.

Decades later, many of these patients, while still struggling with some ongoing issues, appeared to be alive and well – and we have wonderful interactions in our office where I get to talk to them about exciting things they’re looking forward to doing with their families or for themselves. Similar analogies can be applied to almost all medical specialties. An endocrinologist might help a patient with severe diabetes or hypothyroid disease get the illness under control but is not able to fix the problem. Clearly, patients’ quality of life improves tremendously through treatment with medications and with education about lifestyle changes, such as exercise and diet.

Even in the case of surgeons who may successfully remove the problem tissue or tumor, the patient is not in fact “fixed” and still requires ongoing medical care, psychosocial interventions, and pharmacotherapy to maintain or improve upon quality of life.

My patient’s remarks led to a similar, delightful therapeutic session reflecting on her progress and what it meant to both of us. We physicians certainly find it very frustrating that we are unable to fix things and make people feel completely better. However, it is important to reflect on the difference our contribution to the process of healing makes for our patients and the impact it has on their quality of life – which is meaningful to them, however small it may be.

Even in the most severe medical or psychiatric cases, we can provide hope and encouragement, which could lead to minimal or no improvement in the pathological condition but may in fact improve patients’ outlook and willingness to carry on with dignity and satisfaction. It could do us all a lot of good to think of ourselves as healers – not fixers.
 

Dr. Awan, a psychiatrist, is medical director of Pennsylvania Counseling Services in Reading. He disclosed no conflicts of interest.

Recently, a patient excitedly told me during her session that she had been coming to see me for about 24 years. This was followed by positive remarks about where she was at the point when she first walked into my office.

Her progress has been slow but steady – and today, she finds herself at a much better place even within the context of having to deal with life’s complications. Her surprise about the longevity of this therapeutic relationship was easily and comfortably balanced by the pleasant feeling of well-being.

This interaction reminded me of a conversation I had with a friend of mine, an ophthalmologist who once asked me a related question: Why is it that people have been coming to see me for decades and I have not been able to “fix” them? Does that make me feel badly?

I clearly remember my response, which started in more of a defensive mode but ended with some self-reflection. I reminded him that, in his specialty, like many other fields of medicine, we don’t get to “fix” a lot. In fact, the majority of the conditions we deal with are chronic and lingering.

However, during the process of reminding him to look in the mirror, I was also able to articulate that many of these patients came into my office in potentially dire situations, including experiencing severe depression and suicidal thoughts, ignoring basic needs such as hygiene, feeling paralyzed with panic attacks, or having complete inability to deal with day-to-day situations.

Decades later, many of these patients, while still struggling with some ongoing issues, appeared to be alive and well – and we have wonderful interactions in our office where I get to talk to them about exciting things they’re looking forward to doing with their families or for themselves. Similar analogies can be applied to almost all medical specialties. An endocrinologist might help a patient with severe diabetes or hypothyroid disease get the illness under control but is not able to fix the problem. Clearly, patients’ quality of life improves tremendously through treatment with medications and with education about lifestyle changes, such as exercise and diet.

Even in the case of surgeons who may successfully remove the problem tissue or tumor, the patient is not in fact “fixed” and still requires ongoing medical care, psychosocial interventions, and pharmacotherapy to maintain or improve upon quality of life.

My patient’s remarks led to a similar, delightful therapeutic session reflecting on her progress and what it meant to both of us. We physicians certainly find it very frustrating that we are unable to fix things and make people feel completely better. However, it is important to reflect on the difference our contribution to the process of healing makes for our patients and the impact it has on their quality of life – which is meaningful to them, however small it may be.

Even in the most severe medical or psychiatric cases, we can provide hope and encouragement, which could lead to minimal or no improvement in the pathological condition but may in fact improve patients’ outlook and willingness to carry on with dignity and satisfaction. It could do us all a lot of good to think of ourselves as healers – not fixers.
 

Dr. Awan, a psychiatrist, is medical director of Pennsylvania Counseling Services in Reading. He disclosed no conflicts of interest.

Words matter. So, hear me when I say: I am Asian. I am American. I am a woman. I am not COVID-19. I did not create this virus. I did not place it in my pocket and bring it to the world, sprinkling it like pixie dust, along each path I’ve crossed.

My words create a story, and not just those of one psychiatrist reaching out to others. It’s the story of how the powerful use of words throughout my life inflicted racism upon me, even when unacknowledged by my conscious self. I share my story to let you know you are not alone in your journey of unwinding the cumulative systemic racist words and actions that might have affected your self-identification and self-love. I hope you channel that renewed sense of discovery to empower you to use your own words to create a positive impact for yourself and others – whether it is for your patients, friends, or community.

Currently, I serve as a physician and an advocate. I lead telehealth and developed software that screens for suicide risk (with support of a digital health grant). I also joined friends to develop a by-clinician, for-clinician telemental health platform.

Outside of my Hippocratic Oath, my mission, at its core, was to destigmatize mental illness through cultivating thoughtful conversations. But I am also so much more; aren’t we all? I am a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a friend, and an American. I am working hard to create a life I love – the embodiment of the American Dream. If you meet me face to face, no curriculum vitae, no email, I’m Vietnamese. However, I am not the color of my skin or the shape of my eyes. I am no more defined by my lingering Vietnamese accent than I am by its Texan counterpart. Yet, throughout my life, my Vietnamese ethnicity has been a marker that others have used to define and objectify me.
 

Trauma emerges on national stage

I never thought it would happen to me, but as a resident physician, one of my most traumatic experiences of abusive power was when Donald Trump was running for president in 2016. He was using words and rhetoric that objectified women by classifying and quantifying their “attractiveness.” This culminated in a scandal surrounding a recording in which he said he would grab women by the $%&#@ ... and had been allowed to do so because he was a celebrity. That episode affected me profoundly, maybe more than most. As a child and adolescent psychiatrist, I knew the impact those words could have on future generations, and, as a woman and an aunt, I was appalled. But then, the effect turned to assault. Words matter.

I was living in New York City and as I made my nightly walk home on the Upper East Side, a man followed me. When I walked up the stairs to my building, he actually grabbed me ... by the $%&#@. He did this with the same casual manner that one might greet a coworker with a high-five. He then turned and walked away, laughing. I was overcome with shock; shocked that I could be so violated and yet thankful that he hadn’t taken any more aggressive liberties. He didn’t run away. He walked out as calmly as he had walked in, despite violating a most private piece of my femininity. And he laughed. As much as it jilted me, angered me, and made me feel demeaned and less-than, I know it’s a blessing that the story ended there; so often attacks against women end so much worse.

I questioned: “Why?” Why would this man do this to me? To anyone? I don’t know the answer, but I do know this: The things we normalize through the words we hear in the world, on the news, and at our dinner tables become action. It happened. This man didn’t skulk off into the alleyway. He didn’t hide. He laughed because he felt entitled. That’s because words matter.

My journey is paved with words that mattered. I was born in Vietnam; my family legally immigrated to the United States when I was 5 years old. Throughout grade school, I began to realize the power of spoken words, especially when I was frequently told to go back to where I came from. Questions flew at me like bullets, and whether innocent or borne of curiosity, were hurtful reminders that, through no choice of my own, I was an unwelcome foreigner. “Where are you from?” ... “No, where are you really, really from?” I felt eyes peering through me when my mother packed for me our culture’s traditional foods for lunch. “Ew, what’s that?” ... “That’s gross it smells.” How I longed for the cloak of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and blonde hair.

As I approached high school, college, and postgraduate work, the “where are you from?” questions didn’t stop but took on a new connotation, as if I were some exotic pet that men had seen walking down the street. “Ooh, what is that?” While history is riddled with the objectification of women, rarely would any woman expect to have a stranger approach her and objectify her with a statement such as: “I only date girls with breast implants.” For Asian women, however, experiencing verbal objectification has become the norm. Each approach I faced was followed by a story about Asian girlfriends of their past and a request for my phone number that felt more like a demand.

What these men probably meant as flirtation, I internalized as inescapable concerns of whether or not they had true desire to get to know me as a person. I became used to unsolicited words and attention from men who objectified me as an exotic fetish. I tried to pretend it was okay, but why? Objectifying Asian women is racism. Their words remind me, and I still hear them, that America has a long history of hypersexualizing Asian women. These words – at their core – dehumanize Asian women, and as we have seen, lead to violence.

Over the past few weeks, there’s been discourse about the mass shooting in Atlanta. We need to pause and remember that the victims, like us, were human. These women killed in Atlanta had husbands, children, siblings, parents, and communities that they were taken away from, senselessly, based solely on their outward appearance. Whether or not this act was perpetrated by someone with a sexual addiction doesn’t matter. What happened is rooted in the systemic racism that has stereotyped Asian women as sexual objects. The perpetrator targeted a group of people because of the systemic racism ingrained in him, plain and simple.

Everybody, no matter how evolved one’s thinking, is influenced by words. You don’t have to have mental illness or malicious intent to fall for propaganda – that’s what makes it so scary, it works so well. Even among my own friends and family, some of the most compassionate people I know, I’ve heard disparaging remarks against Chinese people, from other Asians, repeating the same rhetoric they’ve seen in American newspapers and Asian media outlets, echoing the former president’s coronavirus references to the “Chinese virus.”

But what makes something systemic? What feeds this virus of hate and gives these practices their longevity? Pointing out problems doesn’t make them go away; we have to cultivate conversation based around solutions. And that’s our next step. What can we do to make a positive impact?

Words have affected my life, and my words have given me power. I encourage others to engage in activities where they too can feel empowered. Since the beginning of the pandemic, I’ve leveraged my leadership position with the American Psychiatric Association’s Caucus of Asian American Psychiatrists and used my words to promote advocacy. I’ve also used my voice to raise national attention to the anti-Asian hate activities. Motivated by my own desire to seek a supportive space with others to reflect on our racial identities, I’ve also launched various free support groups for Asian American and Pacific Islanders (AAPI) professionals and health care providers. I want to feel a sense of connection with others who share my experiences, as I never underestimate the phenomenal force of comforting words from a healing community.

Clinicians need their own space for processing, too. It is vitally important for us to take care of ourselves, because our patients’ words can affect our own mental health. My colleagues are shocked by the amount of AAPI patients who are reaching out to them for care. Most of them have not worked with AAPI patients before, because so many people of AAPI descent do not often seek treatment. Many of our patients are dealing with anxiety surrounding their own health and wellness, coupled with financial uncertainties and social unrest. In particular, AAPI clinicians may start to experience bystander trauma, because, for the first time, they are thinking: “It could have been me.” AAPI clinicians are in a unique situation where they have the extra burden of providing a safe space for processing clients’ trauma while also processing their own. We may have experiences of discrimination or racially motivated assaults and can reexperience this trauma through our work. Before we can help others, we have to do a self-check and reflect on how we are doing and seek our own support.

If you are able to take care of yourself and feel empowered to make a difference, there are many ways to help fight against anti-Asian sentiment, both on a personal and more global scale.

We have to check our biases and those of our family, friends, and colleagues. Everyone, even mental health professionals, has biases and is affected by disinformation. We have to dig deep into our own unconscious biases, reflect on them, and commit to changing the biases around us. Do we, or our families, have unconscious biases against a particular minority group? If so, discuss it. No one is to blame. This is systemic, and no one is at fault. White men are not to be vilified. Conservative Republicans are not our enemy. Each of us is human, with our own flaws that can influence our own conscious and unconscious thoughts and actions. Let’s discuss racial issues with our family and friends. Whenever someone says something hateful or discriminatory toward another ethnic group or racial background, we have to call it out, and help them realize their biases and change them.

If you are able, use your words to write to your elected representatives. Send them a short email, no need to be fancy. For example, you can send a note of support for legislation that is similar to the COVID-19 Hate Crimes Act, which passed the Senate on Thursday, April 22, with 94:1 bipartisan support. This kind of legislation is a step in the right direction, but there is still more we must do to stop anti-Asian biases and hate. There is empowerment and healing through making your own voice heard. I hope that these tragic incidents will lead to impactful policy changes.

The next step in this journey of empowerment is speaking about your lived experiences publicly and promoting the voices of others. I dedicated a section of my social media platforms to amplifying Asian voices, sharing news, and updating my hashtags to support the #StopAsianHate movement. I made it a point to form relationships with other advocates, AAPI mental health professionals and those personally affected by anti-Asian hate. Speaking up and speaking out didn’t take away my worries, but it did remind me that I’m powerful and that I am not alone. I can take action and demand action. I do not have to hide in the shadows but can stand in the light, using my voice like a megaphone to call out injustice and intolerance.

I hope that, for AAPI clinicians who may be affected by these current events, this validates your experiences. You are not alone. This is a reminder to treat yourself with empathy as you would your patients. For others, I hope this helps you to learn the plight of many AAPI community members in this country. Together, we can use words to create better neighborhoods, a better country, and safe spaces for all communities, especially the marginalized. As we know, words matter.

Dr. Vo is a board-certified psychiatrist and is the medical director of telehealth for the department of child and adolescent psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. She is also a faculty member at the University of Pennsylvania, also in Philadelphia. Dr. Vo conducts digital health research focused on using automation and artificial intelligence for suicide risk screening and connecting patients to mental health care services. She disclosed serving as cofounder of telemental health software, Orchid, that eliminates burdensome administrative tasks so that clinicians can focus on their patients and have time for their loved ones.
 

Words matter. So, hear me when I say: I am Asian. I am American. I am a woman. I am not COVID-19. I did not create this virus. I did not place it in my pocket and bring it to the world, sprinkling it like pixie dust, along each path I’ve crossed.

My words create a story, and not just those of one psychiatrist reaching out to others. It’s the story of how the powerful use of words throughout my life inflicted racism upon me, even when unacknowledged by my conscious self. I share my story to let you know you are not alone in your journey of unwinding the cumulative systemic racist words and actions that might have affected your self-identification and self-love. I hope you channel that renewed sense of discovery to empower you to use your own words to create a positive impact for yourself and others – whether it is for your patients, friends, or community.

Currently, I serve as a physician and an advocate. I lead telehealth and developed software that screens for suicide risk (with support of a digital health grant). I also joined friends to develop a by-clinician, for-clinician telemental health platform.

Outside of my Hippocratic Oath, my mission, at its core, was to destigmatize mental illness through cultivating thoughtful conversations. But I am also so much more; aren’t we all? I am a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a friend, and an American. I am working hard to create a life I love – the embodiment of the American Dream. If you meet me face to face, no curriculum vitae, no email, I’m Vietnamese. However, I am not the color of my skin or the shape of my eyes. I am no more defined by my lingering Vietnamese accent than I am by its Texan counterpart. Yet, throughout my life, my Vietnamese ethnicity has been a marker that others have used to define and objectify me.
 

Trauma emerges on national stage

I never thought it would happen to me, but as a resident physician, one of my most traumatic experiences of abusive power was when Donald Trump was running for president in 2016. He was using words and rhetoric that objectified women by classifying and quantifying their “attractiveness.” This culminated in a scandal surrounding a recording in which he said he would grab women by the $%&#@ ... and had been allowed to do so because he was a celebrity. That episode affected me profoundly, maybe more than most. As a child and adolescent psychiatrist, I knew the impact those words could have on future generations, and, as a woman and an aunt, I was appalled. But then, the effect turned to assault. Words matter.

I was living in New York City and as I made my nightly walk home on the Upper East Side, a man followed me. When I walked up the stairs to my building, he actually grabbed me ... by the $%&#@. He did this with the same casual manner that one might greet a coworker with a high-five. He then turned and walked away, laughing. I was overcome with shock; shocked that I could be so violated and yet thankful that he hadn’t taken any more aggressive liberties. He didn’t run away. He walked out as calmly as he had walked in, despite violating a most private piece of my femininity. And he laughed. As much as it jilted me, angered me, and made me feel demeaned and less-than, I know it’s a blessing that the story ended there; so often attacks against women end so much worse.

I questioned: “Why?” Why would this man do this to me? To anyone? I don’t know the answer, but I do know this: The things we normalize through the words we hear in the world, on the news, and at our dinner tables become action. It happened. This man didn’t skulk off into the alleyway. He didn’t hide. He laughed because he felt entitled. That’s because words matter.

My journey is paved with words that mattered. I was born in Vietnam; my family legally immigrated to the United States when I was 5 years old. Throughout grade school, I began to realize the power of spoken words, especially when I was frequently told to go back to where I came from. Questions flew at me like bullets, and whether innocent or borne of curiosity, were hurtful reminders that, through no choice of my own, I was an unwelcome foreigner. “Where are you from?” ... “No, where are you really, really from?” I felt eyes peering through me when my mother packed for me our culture’s traditional foods for lunch. “Ew, what’s that?” ... “That’s gross it smells.” How I longed for the cloak of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and blonde hair.

As I approached high school, college, and postgraduate work, the “where are you from?” questions didn’t stop but took on a new connotation, as if I were some exotic pet that men had seen walking down the street. “Ooh, what is that?” While history is riddled with the objectification of women, rarely would any woman expect to have a stranger approach her and objectify her with a statement such as: “I only date girls with breast implants.” For Asian women, however, experiencing verbal objectification has become the norm. Each approach I faced was followed by a story about Asian girlfriends of their past and a request for my phone number that felt more like a demand.

What these men probably meant as flirtation, I internalized as inescapable concerns of whether or not they had true desire to get to know me as a person. I became used to unsolicited words and attention from men who objectified me as an exotic fetish. I tried to pretend it was okay, but why? Objectifying Asian women is racism. Their words remind me, and I still hear them, that America has a long history of hypersexualizing Asian women. These words – at their core – dehumanize Asian women, and as we have seen, lead to violence.

Over the past few weeks, there’s been discourse about the mass shooting in Atlanta. We need to pause and remember that the victims, like us, were human. These women killed in Atlanta had husbands, children, siblings, parents, and communities that they were taken away from, senselessly, based solely on their outward appearance. Whether or not this act was perpetrated by someone with a sexual addiction doesn’t matter. What happened is rooted in the systemic racism that has stereotyped Asian women as sexual objects. The perpetrator targeted a group of people because of the systemic racism ingrained in him, plain and simple.

Everybody, no matter how evolved one’s thinking, is influenced by words. You don’t have to have mental illness or malicious intent to fall for propaganda – that’s what makes it so scary, it works so well. Even among my own friends and family, some of the most compassionate people I know, I’ve heard disparaging remarks against Chinese people, from other Asians, repeating the same rhetoric they’ve seen in American newspapers and Asian media outlets, echoing the former president’s coronavirus references to the “Chinese virus.”

But what makes something systemic? What feeds this virus of hate and gives these practices their longevity? Pointing out problems doesn’t make them go away; we have to cultivate conversation based around solutions. And that’s our next step. What can we do to make a positive impact?

Words have affected my life, and my words have given me power. I encourage others to engage in activities where they too can feel empowered. Since the beginning of the pandemic, I’ve leveraged my leadership position with the American Psychiatric Association’s Caucus of Asian American Psychiatrists and used my words to promote advocacy. I’ve also used my voice to raise national attention to the anti-Asian hate activities. Motivated by my own desire to seek a supportive space with others to reflect on our racial identities, I’ve also launched various free support groups for Asian American and Pacific Islanders (AAPI) professionals and health care providers. I want to feel a sense of connection with others who share my experiences, as I never underestimate the phenomenal force of comforting words from a healing community.

Clinicians need their own space for processing, too. It is vitally important for us to take care of ourselves, because our patients’ words can affect our own mental health. My colleagues are shocked by the amount of AAPI patients who are reaching out to them for care. Most of them have not worked with AAPI patients before, because so many people of AAPI descent do not often seek treatment. Many of our patients are dealing with anxiety surrounding their own health and wellness, coupled with financial uncertainties and social unrest. In particular, AAPI clinicians may start to experience bystander trauma, because, for the first time, they are thinking: “It could have been me.” AAPI clinicians are in a unique situation where they have the extra burden of providing a safe space for processing clients’ trauma while also processing their own. We may have experiences of discrimination or racially motivated assaults and can reexperience this trauma through our work. Before we can help others, we have to do a self-check and reflect on how we are doing and seek our own support.

If you are able to take care of yourself and feel empowered to make a difference, there are many ways to help fight against anti-Asian sentiment, both on a personal and more global scale.

We have to check our biases and those of our family, friends, and colleagues. Everyone, even mental health professionals, has biases and is affected by disinformation. We have to dig deep into our own unconscious biases, reflect on them, and commit to changing the biases around us. Do we, or our families, have unconscious biases against a particular minority group? If so, discuss it. No one is to blame. This is systemic, and no one is at fault. White men are not to be vilified. Conservative Republicans are not our enemy. Each of us is human, with our own flaws that can influence our own conscious and unconscious thoughts and actions. Let’s discuss racial issues with our family and friends. Whenever someone says something hateful or discriminatory toward another ethnic group or racial background, we have to call it out, and help them realize their biases and change them.

If you are able, use your words to write to your elected representatives. Send them a short email, no need to be fancy. For example, you can send a note of support for legislation that is similar to the COVID-19 Hate Crimes Act, which passed the Senate on Thursday, April 22, with 94:1 bipartisan support. This kind of legislation is a step in the right direction, but there is still more we must do to stop anti-Asian biases and hate. There is empowerment and healing through making your own voice heard. I hope that these tragic incidents will lead to impactful policy changes.

The next step in this journey of empowerment is speaking about your lived experiences publicly and promoting the voices of others. I dedicated a section of my social media platforms to amplifying Asian voices, sharing news, and updating my hashtags to support the #StopAsianHate movement. I made it a point to form relationships with other advocates, AAPI mental health professionals and those personally affected by anti-Asian hate. Speaking up and speaking out didn’t take away my worries, but it did remind me that I’m powerful and that I am not alone. I can take action and demand action. I do not have to hide in the shadows but can stand in the light, using my voice like a megaphone to call out injustice and intolerance.

I hope that, for AAPI clinicians who may be affected by these current events, this validates your experiences. You are not alone. This is a reminder to treat yourself with empathy as you would your patients. For others, I hope this helps you to learn the plight of many AAPI community members in this country. Together, we can use words to create better neighborhoods, a better country, and safe spaces for all communities, especially the marginalized. As we know, words matter.

Dr. Vo is a board-certified psychiatrist and is the medical director of telehealth for the department of child and adolescent psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. She is also a faculty member at the University of Pennsylvania, also in Philadelphia. Dr. Vo conducts digital health research focused on using automation and artificial intelligence for suicide risk screening and connecting patients to mental health care services. She disclosed serving as cofounder of telemental health software, Orchid, that eliminates burdensome administrative tasks so that clinicians can focus on their patients and have time for their loved ones.
 

Words matter. So, hear me when I say: I am Asian. I am American. I am a woman. I am not COVID-19. I did not create this virus. I did not place it in my pocket and bring it to the world, sprinkling it like pixie dust, along each path I’ve crossed.

My words create a story, and not just those of one psychiatrist reaching out to others. It’s the story of how the powerful use of words throughout my life inflicted racism upon me, even when unacknowledged by my conscious self. I share my story to let you know you are not alone in your journey of unwinding the cumulative systemic racist words and actions that might have affected your self-identification and self-love. I hope you channel that renewed sense of discovery to empower you to use your own words to create a positive impact for yourself and others – whether it is for your patients, friends, or community.

Currently, I serve as a physician and an advocate. I lead telehealth and developed software that screens for suicide risk (with support of a digital health grant). I also joined friends to develop a by-clinician, for-clinician telemental health platform.

Outside of my Hippocratic Oath, my mission, at its core, was to destigmatize mental illness through cultivating thoughtful conversations. But I am also so much more; aren’t we all? I am a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a friend, and an American. I am working hard to create a life I love – the embodiment of the American Dream. If you meet me face to face, no curriculum vitae, no email, I’m Vietnamese. However, I am not the color of my skin or the shape of my eyes. I am no more defined by my lingering Vietnamese accent than I am by its Texan counterpart. Yet, throughout my life, my Vietnamese ethnicity has been a marker that others have used to define and objectify me.
 

Trauma emerges on national stage

I never thought it would happen to me, but as a resident physician, one of my most traumatic experiences of abusive power was when Donald Trump was running for president in 2016. He was using words and rhetoric that objectified women by classifying and quantifying their “attractiveness.” This culminated in a scandal surrounding a recording in which he said he would grab women by the $%&#@ ... and had been allowed to do so because he was a celebrity. That episode affected me profoundly, maybe more than most. As a child and adolescent psychiatrist, I knew the impact those words could have on future generations, and, as a woman and an aunt, I was appalled. But then, the effect turned to assault. Words matter.

I was living in New York City and as I made my nightly walk home on the Upper East Side, a man followed me. When I walked up the stairs to my building, he actually grabbed me ... by the $%&#@. He did this with the same casual manner that one might greet a coworker with a high-five. He then turned and walked away, laughing. I was overcome with shock; shocked that I could be so violated and yet thankful that he hadn’t taken any more aggressive liberties. He didn’t run away. He walked out as calmly as he had walked in, despite violating a most private piece of my femininity. And he laughed. As much as it jilted me, angered me, and made me feel demeaned and less-than, I know it’s a blessing that the story ended there; so often attacks against women end so much worse.

I questioned: “Why?” Why would this man do this to me? To anyone? I don’t know the answer, but I do know this: The things we normalize through the words we hear in the world, on the news, and at our dinner tables become action. It happened. This man didn’t skulk off into the alleyway. He didn’t hide. He laughed because he felt entitled. That’s because words matter.

My journey is paved with words that mattered. I was born in Vietnam; my family legally immigrated to the United States when I was 5 years old. Throughout grade school, I began to realize the power of spoken words, especially when I was frequently told to go back to where I came from. Questions flew at me like bullets, and whether innocent or borne of curiosity, were hurtful reminders that, through no choice of my own, I was an unwelcome foreigner. “Where are you from?” ... “No, where are you really, really from?” I felt eyes peering through me when my mother packed for me our culture’s traditional foods for lunch. “Ew, what’s that?” ... “That’s gross it smells.” How I longed for the cloak of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and blonde hair.

As I approached high school, college, and postgraduate work, the “where are you from?” questions didn’t stop but took on a new connotation, as if I were some exotic pet that men had seen walking down the street. “Ooh, what is that?” While history is riddled with the objectification of women, rarely would any woman expect to have a stranger approach her and objectify her with a statement such as: “I only date girls with breast implants.” For Asian women, however, experiencing verbal objectification has become the norm. Each approach I faced was followed by a story about Asian girlfriends of their past and a request for my phone number that felt more like a demand.

What these men probably meant as flirtation, I internalized as inescapable concerns of whether or not they had true desire to get to know me as a person. I became used to unsolicited words and attention from men who objectified me as an exotic fetish. I tried to pretend it was okay, but why? Objectifying Asian women is racism. Their words remind me, and I still hear them, that America has a long history of hypersexualizing Asian women. These words – at their core – dehumanize Asian women, and as we have seen, lead to violence.

Over the past few weeks, there’s been discourse about the mass shooting in Atlanta. We need to pause and remember that the victims, like us, were human. These women killed in Atlanta had husbands, children, siblings, parents, and communities that they were taken away from, senselessly, based solely on their outward appearance. Whether or not this act was perpetrated by someone with a sexual addiction doesn’t matter. What happened is rooted in the systemic racism that has stereotyped Asian women as sexual objects. The perpetrator targeted a group of people because of the systemic racism ingrained in him, plain and simple.

Everybody, no matter how evolved one’s thinking, is influenced by words. You don’t have to have mental illness or malicious intent to fall for propaganda – that’s what makes it so scary, it works so well. Even among my own friends and family, some of the most compassionate people I know, I’ve heard disparaging remarks against Chinese people, from other Asians, repeating the same rhetoric they’ve seen in American newspapers and Asian media outlets, echoing the former president’s coronavirus references to the “Chinese virus.”

But what makes something systemic? What feeds this virus of hate and gives these practices their longevity? Pointing out problems doesn’t make them go away; we have to cultivate conversation based around solutions. And that’s our next step. What can we do to make a positive impact?

Words have affected my life, and my words have given me power. I encourage others to engage in activities where they too can feel empowered. Since the beginning of the pandemic, I’ve leveraged my leadership position with the American Psychiatric Association’s Caucus of Asian American Psychiatrists and used my words to promote advocacy. I’ve also used my voice to raise national attention to the anti-Asian hate activities. Motivated by my own desire to seek a supportive space with others to reflect on our racial identities, I’ve also launched various free support groups for Asian American and Pacific Islanders (AAPI) professionals and health care providers. I want to feel a sense of connection with others who share my experiences, as I never underestimate the phenomenal force of comforting words from a healing community.

Clinicians need their own space for processing, too. It is vitally important for us to take care of ourselves, because our patients’ words can affect our own mental health. My colleagues are shocked by the amount of AAPI patients who are reaching out to them for care. Most of them have not worked with AAPI patients before, because so many people of AAPI descent do not often seek treatment. Many of our patients are dealing with anxiety surrounding their own health and wellness, coupled with financial uncertainties and social unrest. In particular, AAPI clinicians may start to experience bystander trauma, because, for the first time, they are thinking: “It could have been me.” AAPI clinicians are in a unique situation where they have the extra burden of providing a safe space for processing clients’ trauma while also processing their own. We may have experiences of discrimination or racially motivated assaults and can reexperience this trauma through our work. Before we can help others, we have to do a self-check and reflect on how we are doing and seek our own support.

If you are able to take care of yourself and feel empowered to make a difference, there are many ways to help fight against anti-Asian sentiment, both on a personal and more global scale.

We have to check our biases and those of our family, friends, and colleagues. Everyone, even mental health professionals, has biases and is affected by disinformation. We have to dig deep into our own unconscious biases, reflect on them, and commit to changing the biases around us. Do we, or our families, have unconscious biases against a particular minority group? If so, discuss it. No one is to blame. This is systemic, and no one is at fault. White men are not to be vilified. Conservative Republicans are not our enemy. Each of us is human, with our own flaws that can influence our own conscious and unconscious thoughts and actions. Let’s discuss racial issues with our family and friends. Whenever someone says something hateful or discriminatory toward another ethnic group or racial background, we have to call it out, and help them realize their biases and change them.

If you are able, use your words to write to your elected representatives. Send them a short email, no need to be fancy. For example, you can send a note of support for legislation that is similar to the COVID-19 Hate Crimes Act, which passed the Senate on Thursday, April 22, with 94:1 bipartisan support. This kind of legislation is a step in the right direction, but there is still more we must do to stop anti-Asian biases and hate. There is empowerment and healing through making your own voice heard. I hope that these tragic incidents will lead to impactful policy changes.

The next step in this journey of empowerment is speaking about your lived experiences publicly and promoting the voices of others. I dedicated a section of my social media platforms to amplifying Asian voices, sharing news, and updating my hashtags to support the #StopAsianHate movement. I made it a point to form relationships with other advocates, AAPI mental health professionals and those personally affected by anti-Asian hate. Speaking up and speaking out didn’t take away my worries, but it did remind me that I’m powerful and that I am not alone. I can take action and demand action. I do not have to hide in the shadows but can stand in the light, using my voice like a megaphone to call out injustice and intolerance.

I hope that, for AAPI clinicians who may be affected by these current events, this validates your experiences. You are not alone. This is a reminder to treat yourself with empathy as you would your patients. For others, I hope this helps you to learn the plight of many AAPI community members in this country. Together, we can use words to create better neighborhoods, a better country, and safe spaces for all communities, especially the marginalized. As we know, words matter.

Dr. Vo is a board-certified psychiatrist and is the medical director of telehealth for the department of child and adolescent psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. She is also a faculty member at the University of Pennsylvania, also in Philadelphia. Dr. Vo conducts digital health research focused on using automation and artificial intelligence for suicide risk screening and connecting patients to mental health care services. She disclosed serving as cofounder of telemental health software, Orchid, that eliminates burdensome administrative tasks so that clinicians can focus on their patients and have time for their loved ones.