Feature

Sudeep Taksali, MD, thought he’d won his battle to avoid a steep price tag on a medicine for his daughter. He was wrong.

In 2020, he’d fought to get insurance to cover a lower-priced version of a drug his then-8-year-old needed. She’d been diagnosed with central precocious puberty, a rare condition marked by early onset of sexual development – often years earlier than one’s peers. KHN and NPR wrote about Dr. Taksali and his family as part of the Bill of the Month series.

The girl’s doctors and the Taksalis decided to put her puberty on pause with a hormone-blocking drug implant that would be placed under the skin in her arm and release a little bit of the medication each day.

Dr. Taksali, an orthopedic surgeon, learned there were two nearly identical drug products made by Endo Pharmaceuticals, both containing 50 mg of the hormone blocker histrelin. One cost more than eight times more than the other. He wanted to use the cheaper one, Vantas, which costs about $4,800 per implant. But his insurer would not initially cover it, instead preferring Supprelin LA, which is approved by the Food and Drug Administration to treat central precocious puberty, and costs about $43,000.

Vantas can be prescribed off label for the condition, and after much back-and-forth dialogue, Dr. Taksali finally got the insurer to cover it.

Then this summer, it was time to replace the implant.

“I thought we would just get a Vantas replacement,” Dr. Taksali said. “In my mind, I was like: ‘Well, she got it the first time, and we’ve already kind of fought the battle with the insurance company and, you know, got it approved.”

But during a virtual appointment with his daughter’s doctor, he learned they couldn’t get Vantas. No one could. There was a Vantas shortage.

Endo cited a manufacturing problem. Batches of Vantas weren’t coming out right and couldn’t be released to the public, the company’s vice president of corporate affairs, Heather Zoumas Lubeski, said in an email. Vantas and Supprelin were made in the same facility, but the problem affected only Vantas, she wrote, stressing that the drugs are “not identical products.”

In August, Endo’s president and CEO, Blaise Coleman, told investors Supprelin was doing particularly well for the company. Revenue had grown by 79%, compared with the same quarter the year before. The growth was driven in part, Mr. Coleman explained, “by stronger-than-expected demand resulting from expanded patient awareness and a competitor product shortage,” he said.

What competitor product shortage? Could that be Vantas?

Asked about this, Ms. Zoumas Lubeski said Mr. Coleman wasn’t referring to Vantas. Since Vantas isn’t approved to treat central precocious puberty, it can’t technically be considered a competitor to Supprelin. Mr. Coleman was referring to the rival product Lupron Depot-Ped, not an implant, but an injection made by AbbVie, Ms. Zoumas Lubeski said.

Dr. Taksali was skeptical.

“It’s all very curious, like, huh, you know, when this particular option went away and your profits went up nearly 80% from the more expensive drug,” he said.

Then, in September, Endo told the FDA it stopped making Vantas for good.

Ms. Zoumas Lubeski said that, when Endo investigated its Vantas manufacturing problem, it wasn’t able to find “a suitable corrective action that resolves the issue.”

“As a result, and after analysis of the market for the availability of alternative therapies, we made the difficult decision to discontinue the supply of this product,” she said via email. “Endo is committed to maintaining the highest quality standards for all of its products.”

Dr. Taksali said he felt resigned to giving his daughter Supprelin even before the shortage turned into a discontinuation. Ultimately, he won’t pay much more out-of-pocket, but his insurance will pay the rest. And that could raise his business’s premiums.

The FDA cannot force Endo to keep making the drug or set a lower price for the remaining one. It doesn’t have the authority. That decision lies with Endo Pharmaceuticals. A drugmaker discontinuing a product isn’t anything new, said Erin Fox, who directs drug information and support services at University of Utah Health hospitals.

“The FDA has very little leverage because there is no requirement for any company to make any drug, no matter how lifesaving,” she said. “We have a capitalist society. We have a free market. And so any company can discontinue anything ... at any time for any reason.”

Still, companies are supposed to tell the FDA about potential shortages and discontinuations ahead of time so it can minimize the impact on public health. It can help a firm resolve a manufacturing issue, decide whether it’s safe to extend an expiration date or help a company making an alternative product to ramp up production.

“The FDA expects that manufacturers will notify the agency before a meaningful disruption in their own supply occurs,” FDA spokesperson Jeremy Kahn wrote in an email. “When the FDA does not receive timely, informative notifications, the agency’s ability to respond appropriately is limited.”

But the rules are somewhat flexible. A company is required to notify the FDA of an upcoming drug supply disruption 6 months before it affects consumers or “as soon as practicable” after that. But their true deadline is 5 business days after manufacturing stops, according to the FDA website.

“They’re supposed to tell the FDA, but even if they don’t, there’s no penalty,” Ms. Fox said. “There’s no teeth in that law. ... Their name can go on the FDA naughty list. That’s pretty much it.”

In rare cases, the FDA will send a noncompliance letter to the drugmaker and require it to explain itself. This has happened only five times since 2015. There is no such letter about Vantas, suggesting that Endo met the FDA’s requirements for notification.

Concerned about potential drug shortages caused by COVID-19 in March 2020, a bipartisan group of legislators introduced the Preventing Drug Shortages Act, which aimed to increase transparency around shortages. But the legislation gained no traction.

As a result of limited FDA power, the intricacies of drug shortages remain opaque, Ms. Fox said. Companies don’t have to make the reasons for shortages public. That sets the Vantas shortage and discontinuation apart from many others. The company is saying more about what happened than most do.

“Many companies will actually just put drugs on temporarily unavailable or long-term backorder, and sometimes that can last years before the company finally makes a decision” on whether to discontinue a product, she said. “It can take a long time, and so it can be frustrating to not know – or to kind of stake your hopes on a product coming back to the market once it’s been in shortage for so long.”

It’s hard to know exactly how many children will be affected by the Vantas discontinuation because data about off-label use is hard to come by.

Erica Eugster, MD, a professor of pediatrics at Indiana University, Indianapolis, said central precocious puberty patients weren’t her first thought when she learned of the Vantas discontinuation.

“I immediately thought about our transgender population,” she said. “They’re the ones that are really going to suffer from this.”

No medications have been FDA approved to treat patients with gender dysphoria, the medical term for when the sex assigned at birth doesn’t match someone’s gender identity, causing them psychological distress. As a result, any drug to stop puberty in this population would be off label, making it difficult for families to get health insurance coverage. Vantas had been a lower-cost option.

The number of transgender patients receiving histrelin implants rose significantly from 2004 to 2016, according to a study published in the Journal of Pediatric Endocrinology and Metabolism.

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

Sudeep Taksali, MD, thought he’d won his battle to avoid a steep price tag on a medicine for his daughter. He was wrong.

In 2020, he’d fought to get insurance to cover a lower-priced version of a drug his then-8-year-old needed. She’d been diagnosed with central precocious puberty, a rare condition marked by early onset of sexual development – often years earlier than one’s peers. KHN and NPR wrote about Dr. Taksali and his family as part of the Bill of the Month series.

The girl’s doctors and the Taksalis decided to put her puberty on pause with a hormone-blocking drug implant that would be placed under the skin in her arm and release a little bit of the medication each day.

Dr. Taksali, an orthopedic surgeon, learned there were two nearly identical drug products made by Endo Pharmaceuticals, both containing 50 mg of the hormone blocker histrelin. One cost more than eight times more than the other. He wanted to use the cheaper one, Vantas, which costs about $4,800 per implant. But his insurer would not initially cover it, instead preferring Supprelin LA, which is approved by the Food and Drug Administration to treat central precocious puberty, and costs about $43,000.

Vantas can be prescribed off label for the condition, and after much back-and-forth dialogue, Dr. Taksali finally got the insurer to cover it.

Then this summer, it was time to replace the implant.

“I thought we would just get a Vantas replacement,” Dr. Taksali said. “In my mind, I was like: ‘Well, she got it the first time, and we’ve already kind of fought the battle with the insurance company and, you know, got it approved.”

But during a virtual appointment with his daughter’s doctor, he learned they couldn’t get Vantas. No one could. There was a Vantas shortage.

Endo cited a manufacturing problem. Batches of Vantas weren’t coming out right and couldn’t be released to the public, the company’s vice president of corporate affairs, Heather Zoumas Lubeski, said in an email. Vantas and Supprelin were made in the same facility, but the problem affected only Vantas, she wrote, stressing that the drugs are “not identical products.”

In August, Endo’s president and CEO, Blaise Coleman, told investors Supprelin was doing particularly well for the company. Revenue had grown by 79%, compared with the same quarter the year before. The growth was driven in part, Mr. Coleman explained, “by stronger-than-expected demand resulting from expanded patient awareness and a competitor product shortage,” he said.

What competitor product shortage? Could that be Vantas?

Asked about this, Ms. Zoumas Lubeski said Mr. Coleman wasn’t referring to Vantas. Since Vantas isn’t approved to treat central precocious puberty, it can’t technically be considered a competitor to Supprelin. Mr. Coleman was referring to the rival product Lupron Depot-Ped, not an implant, but an injection made by AbbVie, Ms. Zoumas Lubeski said.

Dr. Taksali was skeptical.

“It’s all very curious, like, huh, you know, when this particular option went away and your profits went up nearly 80% from the more expensive drug,” he said.

Then, in September, Endo told the FDA it stopped making Vantas for good.

Ms. Zoumas Lubeski said that, when Endo investigated its Vantas manufacturing problem, it wasn’t able to find “a suitable corrective action that resolves the issue.”

“As a result, and after analysis of the market for the availability of alternative therapies, we made the difficult decision to discontinue the supply of this product,” she said via email. “Endo is committed to maintaining the highest quality standards for all of its products.”

Dr. Taksali said he felt resigned to giving his daughter Supprelin even before the shortage turned into a discontinuation. Ultimately, he won’t pay much more out-of-pocket, but his insurance will pay the rest. And that could raise his business’s premiums.

The FDA cannot force Endo to keep making the drug or set a lower price for the remaining one. It doesn’t have the authority. That decision lies with Endo Pharmaceuticals. A drugmaker discontinuing a product isn’t anything new, said Erin Fox, who directs drug information and support services at University of Utah Health hospitals.

“The FDA has very little leverage because there is no requirement for any company to make any drug, no matter how lifesaving,” she said. “We have a capitalist society. We have a free market. And so any company can discontinue anything ... at any time for any reason.”

Still, companies are supposed to tell the FDA about potential shortages and discontinuations ahead of time so it can minimize the impact on public health. It can help a firm resolve a manufacturing issue, decide whether it’s safe to extend an expiration date or help a company making an alternative product to ramp up production.

“The FDA expects that manufacturers will notify the agency before a meaningful disruption in their own supply occurs,” FDA spokesperson Jeremy Kahn wrote in an email. “When the FDA does not receive timely, informative notifications, the agency’s ability to respond appropriately is limited.”

But the rules are somewhat flexible. A company is required to notify the FDA of an upcoming drug supply disruption 6 months before it affects consumers or “as soon as practicable” after that. But their true deadline is 5 business days after manufacturing stops, according to the FDA website.

“They’re supposed to tell the FDA, but even if they don’t, there’s no penalty,” Ms. Fox said. “There’s no teeth in that law. ... Their name can go on the FDA naughty list. That’s pretty much it.”

In rare cases, the FDA will send a noncompliance letter to the drugmaker and require it to explain itself. This has happened only five times since 2015. There is no such letter about Vantas, suggesting that Endo met the FDA’s requirements for notification.

Concerned about potential drug shortages caused by COVID-19 in March 2020, a bipartisan group of legislators introduced the Preventing Drug Shortages Act, which aimed to increase transparency around shortages. But the legislation gained no traction.

As a result of limited FDA power, the intricacies of drug shortages remain opaque, Ms. Fox said. Companies don’t have to make the reasons for shortages public. That sets the Vantas shortage and discontinuation apart from many others. The company is saying more about what happened than most do.

“Many companies will actually just put drugs on temporarily unavailable or long-term backorder, and sometimes that can last years before the company finally makes a decision” on whether to discontinue a product, she said. “It can take a long time, and so it can be frustrating to not know – or to kind of stake your hopes on a product coming back to the market once it’s been in shortage for so long.”

It’s hard to know exactly how many children will be affected by the Vantas discontinuation because data about off-label use is hard to come by.

Erica Eugster, MD, a professor of pediatrics at Indiana University, Indianapolis, said central precocious puberty patients weren’t her first thought when she learned of the Vantas discontinuation.

“I immediately thought about our transgender population,” she said. “They’re the ones that are really going to suffer from this.”

No medications have been FDA approved to treat patients with gender dysphoria, the medical term for when the sex assigned at birth doesn’t match someone’s gender identity, causing them psychological distress. As a result, any drug to stop puberty in this population would be off label, making it difficult for families to get health insurance coverage. Vantas had been a lower-cost option.

The number of transgender patients receiving histrelin implants rose significantly from 2004 to 2016, according to a study published in the Journal of Pediatric Endocrinology and Metabolism.

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

Sudeep Taksali, MD, thought he’d won his battle to avoid a steep price tag on a medicine for his daughter. He was wrong.

In 2020, he’d fought to get insurance to cover a lower-priced version of a drug his then-8-year-old needed. She’d been diagnosed with central precocious puberty, a rare condition marked by early onset of sexual development – often years earlier than one’s peers. KHN and NPR wrote about Dr. Taksali and his family as part of the Bill of the Month series.

The girl’s doctors and the Taksalis decided to put her puberty on pause with a hormone-blocking drug implant that would be placed under the skin in her arm and release a little bit of the medication each day.

Dr. Taksali, an orthopedic surgeon, learned there were two nearly identical drug products made by Endo Pharmaceuticals, both containing 50 mg of the hormone blocker histrelin. One cost more than eight times more than the other. He wanted to use the cheaper one, Vantas, which costs about $4,800 per implant. But his insurer would not initially cover it, instead preferring Supprelin LA, which is approved by the Food and Drug Administration to treat central precocious puberty, and costs about $43,000.

Vantas can be prescribed off label for the condition, and after much back-and-forth dialogue, Dr. Taksali finally got the insurer to cover it.

Then this summer, it was time to replace the implant.

“I thought we would just get a Vantas replacement,” Dr. Taksali said. “In my mind, I was like: ‘Well, she got it the first time, and we’ve already kind of fought the battle with the insurance company and, you know, got it approved.”

But during a virtual appointment with his daughter’s doctor, he learned they couldn’t get Vantas. No one could. There was a Vantas shortage.

Endo cited a manufacturing problem. Batches of Vantas weren’t coming out right and couldn’t be released to the public, the company’s vice president of corporate affairs, Heather Zoumas Lubeski, said in an email. Vantas and Supprelin were made in the same facility, but the problem affected only Vantas, she wrote, stressing that the drugs are “not identical products.”

In August, Endo’s president and CEO, Blaise Coleman, told investors Supprelin was doing particularly well for the company. Revenue had grown by 79%, compared with the same quarter the year before. The growth was driven in part, Mr. Coleman explained, “by stronger-than-expected demand resulting from expanded patient awareness and a competitor product shortage,” he said.

What competitor product shortage? Could that be Vantas?

Asked about this, Ms. Zoumas Lubeski said Mr. Coleman wasn’t referring to Vantas. Since Vantas isn’t approved to treat central precocious puberty, it can’t technically be considered a competitor to Supprelin. Mr. Coleman was referring to the rival product Lupron Depot-Ped, not an implant, but an injection made by AbbVie, Ms. Zoumas Lubeski said.

Dr. Taksali was skeptical.

“It’s all very curious, like, huh, you know, when this particular option went away and your profits went up nearly 80% from the more expensive drug,” he said.

Then, in September, Endo told the FDA it stopped making Vantas for good.

Ms. Zoumas Lubeski said that, when Endo investigated its Vantas manufacturing problem, it wasn’t able to find “a suitable corrective action that resolves the issue.”

“As a result, and after analysis of the market for the availability of alternative therapies, we made the difficult decision to discontinue the supply of this product,” she said via email. “Endo is committed to maintaining the highest quality standards for all of its products.”

Dr. Taksali said he felt resigned to giving his daughter Supprelin even before the shortage turned into a discontinuation. Ultimately, he won’t pay much more out-of-pocket, but his insurance will pay the rest. And that could raise his business’s premiums.

The FDA cannot force Endo to keep making the drug or set a lower price for the remaining one. It doesn’t have the authority. That decision lies with Endo Pharmaceuticals. A drugmaker discontinuing a product isn’t anything new, said Erin Fox, who directs drug information and support services at University of Utah Health hospitals.

“The FDA has very little leverage because there is no requirement for any company to make any drug, no matter how lifesaving,” she said. “We have a capitalist society. We have a free market. And so any company can discontinue anything ... at any time for any reason.”

Still, companies are supposed to tell the FDA about potential shortages and discontinuations ahead of time so it can minimize the impact on public health. It can help a firm resolve a manufacturing issue, decide whether it’s safe to extend an expiration date or help a company making an alternative product to ramp up production.

“The FDA expects that manufacturers will notify the agency before a meaningful disruption in their own supply occurs,” FDA spokesperson Jeremy Kahn wrote in an email. “When the FDA does not receive timely, informative notifications, the agency’s ability to respond appropriately is limited.”

But the rules are somewhat flexible. A company is required to notify the FDA of an upcoming drug supply disruption 6 months before it affects consumers or “as soon as practicable” after that. But their true deadline is 5 business days after manufacturing stops, according to the FDA website.

“They’re supposed to tell the FDA, but even if they don’t, there’s no penalty,” Ms. Fox said. “There’s no teeth in that law. ... Their name can go on the FDA naughty list. That’s pretty much it.”

In rare cases, the FDA will send a noncompliance letter to the drugmaker and require it to explain itself. This has happened only five times since 2015. There is no such letter about Vantas, suggesting that Endo met the FDA’s requirements for notification.

Concerned about potential drug shortages caused by COVID-19 in March 2020, a bipartisan group of legislators introduced the Preventing Drug Shortages Act, which aimed to increase transparency around shortages. But the legislation gained no traction.

As a result of limited FDA power, the intricacies of drug shortages remain opaque, Ms. Fox said. Companies don’t have to make the reasons for shortages public. That sets the Vantas shortage and discontinuation apart from many others. The company is saying more about what happened than most do.

“Many companies will actually just put drugs on temporarily unavailable or long-term backorder, and sometimes that can last years before the company finally makes a decision” on whether to discontinue a product, she said. “It can take a long time, and so it can be frustrating to not know – or to kind of stake your hopes on a product coming back to the market once it’s been in shortage for so long.”

It’s hard to know exactly how many children will be affected by the Vantas discontinuation because data about off-label use is hard to come by.

Erica Eugster, MD, a professor of pediatrics at Indiana University, Indianapolis, said central precocious puberty patients weren’t her first thought when she learned of the Vantas discontinuation.

“I immediately thought about our transgender population,” she said. “They’re the ones that are really going to suffer from this.”

No medications have been FDA approved to treat patients with gender dysphoria, the medical term for when the sex assigned at birth doesn’t match someone’s gender identity, causing them psychological distress. As a result, any drug to stop puberty in this population would be off label, making it difficult for families to get health insurance coverage. Vantas had been a lower-cost option.

The number of transgender patients receiving histrelin implants rose significantly from 2004 to 2016, according to a study published in the Journal of Pediatric Endocrinology and Metabolism.

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

Should doctors seeking healthcare disclose that they are a doctor? 

The question drew spirited debate when urologist Ashley Winter, MD, made a simple, straightforward request on Twitter: “If you are a doctor & you come to an appointment please tell me you are a doctor, not because I will treat you differently but because it’s easier to speak in jargon.”

She later added, “This doesn’t’ mean I would be less patient-focused or emotional with a physician or other [healthcare worker]. Just means that, instead of saying ‘you will have a catheter draining your urine to a bag,’ I can say, ‘you will have a Foley.’ ”

The Tweet followed an encounter with a patient who told Dr. Winter that he was a doctor only after she had gone to some length explaining a surgical procedure in lay terms.

“I explained the surgery, obviously assuming he was an intelligent adult, but using fully layman’s terms,” she said in an interview. The patient then told her that he was a doctor. “I guess I felt this embarrassment — I wouldn’t have treated him differently, but I just could have discussed the procedure with him in more professional terms.” 

“To some extent, it was my own fault,” she commented in an interview. “I didn’t take the time to ask [about his work] at the beginning of the consultation, but that’s a fine line, also,” added Dr. Winter, a urologist and sexual medicine physician in Portland, Ore.

“You know that patient is there because they want care from you and it’s not necessarily always at the forefront of importance to be asking them what they do for their work, but alternatively, if you don’t ask then you put them in this position where they have to find a way to go ahead and tell you.”

Several people chimed in on the thread to voice their thoughts on the matter. Some commiserated with Dr. Winter’s experience:

“I took care of a retired cardiologist in the hospital as a second-year resident and honest to god he let me ramble on ‘explaining’ his echo result and never told me. I found out a couple days later and wanted to die,” posted @MaddyAndrewsMD.

Another recalled a similarly embarrassing experience when she “went on and on” discussing headaches with a patient whose husband “was in the corner smirking.”

“They told my attending later [that the] husband was a retired FM doc who practiced medicine longer than I’ve been alive. I wanted to die,” posted @JSinghDO.

Many on the thread, though, were doctors and other healthcare professionals speaking as patients. Some said they didn’t want to disclose their status as a healthcare provider because they felt it affected the care they received.

For example, @drhelenrainford commented: “In my experience my care is less ‘caring’ when they know I am a [doctor]. I get spoken to like they are discussing a patient with me — no empathy just facts and difficult results just blurted out without consideration. Awful awful time as an inpatient …but that’s another story!”

@Dr_B_Ring said: “Nope – You and I speak different jargon – I would want you to speak to me like a human that doesn’t know your jargon. My ego would get in the way of asking about the acronyms I don’t know if you knew I was a fellow physician.”

Conversely, @lozzlemcfozzle said: “Honestly I prefer not to tell my Doctors — I’ve found people skip explanations assuming I ‘know,’ or seem a little nervous when I tell them!”

Others said they felt uncomfortable — pretentious, even — in announcing their status, or worried that they might come across as expecting special care.

“It’s such a tough needle to thread. Want to tell people early but not come off as demanding special treatment, but don’t want to wait too long and it seems like a trap,” said @MDaware.

Twitter user @MsBabyCatcher wrote: “I have a hard time doing this because I don’t want people to think I’m being pretentious or going to micromanage/dictate care.”

Replying to @MsBabyCatcher, @RedStethoscope wrote: “I used to think this too until I got [very poor] care a few times, and was advised by other doctor moms to ‘play the doctor card.’ I have gotten better/more compassionate care by making sure it’s clear that I’m a physician (which is junk, but here we are).”

Several of those responding used the words “tricky” and “awkward,” suggesting a common theme for doctors presenting as patients.

“I struggle with this. My 5-year-old broke her arm this weekend, we spent hours in the ED, of my own hospital, I never mentioned it because I didn’t want to get preferential care. But as they were explaining her type of fracture, it felt awkward and inefficient,” said @lindsay_petty.

To avoid the awkwardness, a number of respondents said they purposefully use medical jargon to open up a conversation rather than just offering up the information that they are a doctor.

Still others offered suggestions on how to broach the subject more directly when presenting as a patient:

‘”Just FYI I’m a X doc but I’m here because I really want your help and advice!” That’s what I usually do,” wrote @drcakefm.

@BeeSting14618 Tweeted: “I usually say ‘I know some of this but I’m here because I want YOUR guidance. Also I may ask dumb questions, and I’ll tell you if a question is asking your opinion or making a request.’”

A few others injected a bit of humor: “I just do the 14-part handshake that only doctors know. Is that not customary?” quipped @Branmiz25.

“Ah yes, that transmits the entire [history of present illness],” replied Dr. Winter.

Jokes aside, the topic is obviously one that touched on a shared experience among healthcare providers, Dr. Winter commented. The Twitter thread she started just “blew up.”

That’s typically a sign that the Tweet is relatable for a lot of people, she said.

“It’s definitely something that all of us as care providers and as patients understand. It’s a funny, awkward thing that can really change an interaction, so we probably all feel pretty strongly about our experiences related to that,” she added.

The debate begs the question: Is there a duty or ethical reason to disclose?

“I definitely think it is very reasonable to disclose that one is a medical professional to another doctor,” medical ethicist Charlotte Blease, PhD, said in an interview. “There are good reasons to believe doing so might make a difference to the quality of communication and transparency.”

If the ability to use medical terminology or jargon more freely improves patient understanding, autonomy, and shared decision-making, then it may be of benefit, said Dr. Blease, a Keane OpenNotes Scholar at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center in Boston.

“Since doctors should strive to communicate effectively with every patient and to respect their unique needs and level of understanding, then I see no reason to deny that one is a medic,” she added.”

Knowing how to share the information is another story.

“This is something that affects all of us as physicians — we’re going to be patients at some point, right?” Dr. Winter commented. “But I don’t think how to disclose that is something that was ever brought up in my medical training.”

“Maybe there should just be a discussion of this one day when people are in medical school — maybe in a professionalism course — to broach this topic or look at if there’s any literature on outcomes related to disclosure of status or what are best practices,” she suggested. 

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

Should doctors seeking healthcare disclose that they are a doctor? 

The question drew spirited debate when urologist Ashley Winter, MD, made a simple, straightforward request on Twitter: “If you are a doctor & you come to an appointment please tell me you are a doctor, not because I will treat you differently but because it’s easier to speak in jargon.”

She later added, “This doesn’t’ mean I would be less patient-focused or emotional with a physician or other [healthcare worker]. Just means that, instead of saying ‘you will have a catheter draining your urine to a bag,’ I can say, ‘you will have a Foley.’ ”

The Tweet followed an encounter with a patient who told Dr. Winter that he was a doctor only after she had gone to some length explaining a surgical procedure in lay terms.

“I explained the surgery, obviously assuming he was an intelligent adult, but using fully layman’s terms,” she said in an interview. The patient then told her that he was a doctor. “I guess I felt this embarrassment — I wouldn’t have treated him differently, but I just could have discussed the procedure with him in more professional terms.” 

“To some extent, it was my own fault,” she commented in an interview. “I didn’t take the time to ask [about his work] at the beginning of the consultation, but that’s a fine line, also,” added Dr. Winter, a urologist and sexual medicine physician in Portland, Ore.

“You know that patient is there because they want care from you and it’s not necessarily always at the forefront of importance to be asking them what they do for their work, but alternatively, if you don’t ask then you put them in this position where they have to find a way to go ahead and tell you.”

Several people chimed in on the thread to voice their thoughts on the matter. Some commiserated with Dr. Winter’s experience:

“I took care of a retired cardiologist in the hospital as a second-year resident and honest to god he let me ramble on ‘explaining’ his echo result and never told me. I found out a couple days later and wanted to die,” posted @MaddyAndrewsMD.

Another recalled a similarly embarrassing experience when she “went on and on” discussing headaches with a patient whose husband “was in the corner smirking.”

“They told my attending later [that the] husband was a retired FM doc who practiced medicine longer than I’ve been alive. I wanted to die,” posted @JSinghDO.

Many on the thread, though, were doctors and other healthcare professionals speaking as patients. Some said they didn’t want to disclose their status as a healthcare provider because they felt it affected the care they received.

For example, @drhelenrainford commented: “In my experience my care is less ‘caring’ when they know I am a [doctor]. I get spoken to like they are discussing a patient with me — no empathy just facts and difficult results just blurted out without consideration. Awful awful time as an inpatient …but that’s another story!”

@Dr_B_Ring said: “Nope – You and I speak different jargon – I would want you to speak to me like a human that doesn’t know your jargon. My ego would get in the way of asking about the acronyms I don’t know if you knew I was a fellow physician.”

Conversely, @lozzlemcfozzle said: “Honestly I prefer not to tell my Doctors — I’ve found people skip explanations assuming I ‘know,’ or seem a little nervous when I tell them!”

Others said they felt uncomfortable — pretentious, even — in announcing their status, or worried that they might come across as expecting special care.

“It’s such a tough needle to thread. Want to tell people early but not come off as demanding special treatment, but don’t want to wait too long and it seems like a trap,” said @MDaware.

Twitter user @MsBabyCatcher wrote: “I have a hard time doing this because I don’t want people to think I’m being pretentious or going to micromanage/dictate care.”

Replying to @MsBabyCatcher, @RedStethoscope wrote: “I used to think this too until I got [very poor] care a few times, and was advised by other doctor moms to ‘play the doctor card.’ I have gotten better/more compassionate care by making sure it’s clear that I’m a physician (which is junk, but here we are).”

Several of those responding used the words “tricky” and “awkward,” suggesting a common theme for doctors presenting as patients.

“I struggle with this. My 5-year-old broke her arm this weekend, we spent hours in the ED, of my own hospital, I never mentioned it because I didn’t want to get preferential care. But as they were explaining her type of fracture, it felt awkward and inefficient,” said @lindsay_petty.

To avoid the awkwardness, a number of respondents said they purposefully use medical jargon to open up a conversation rather than just offering up the information that they are a doctor.

Still others offered suggestions on how to broach the subject more directly when presenting as a patient:

‘”Just FYI I’m a X doc but I’m here because I really want your help and advice!” That’s what I usually do,” wrote @drcakefm.

@BeeSting14618 Tweeted: “I usually say ‘I know some of this but I’m here because I want YOUR guidance. Also I may ask dumb questions, and I’ll tell you if a question is asking your opinion or making a request.’”

A few others injected a bit of humor: “I just do the 14-part handshake that only doctors know. Is that not customary?” quipped @Branmiz25.

“Ah yes, that transmits the entire [history of present illness],” replied Dr. Winter.

Jokes aside, the topic is obviously one that touched on a shared experience among healthcare providers, Dr. Winter commented. The Twitter thread she started just “blew up.”

That’s typically a sign that the Tweet is relatable for a lot of people, she said.

“It’s definitely something that all of us as care providers and as patients understand. It’s a funny, awkward thing that can really change an interaction, so we probably all feel pretty strongly about our experiences related to that,” she added.

The debate begs the question: Is there a duty or ethical reason to disclose?

“I definitely think it is very reasonable to disclose that one is a medical professional to another doctor,” medical ethicist Charlotte Blease, PhD, said in an interview. “There are good reasons to believe doing so might make a difference to the quality of communication and transparency.”

If the ability to use medical terminology or jargon more freely improves patient understanding, autonomy, and shared decision-making, then it may be of benefit, said Dr. Blease, a Keane OpenNotes Scholar at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center in Boston.

“Since doctors should strive to communicate effectively with every patient and to respect their unique needs and level of understanding, then I see no reason to deny that one is a medic,” she added.”

Knowing how to share the information is another story.

“This is something that affects all of us as physicians — we’re going to be patients at some point, right?” Dr. Winter commented. “But I don’t think how to disclose that is something that was ever brought up in my medical training.”

“Maybe there should just be a discussion of this one day when people are in medical school — maybe in a professionalism course — to broach this topic or look at if there’s any literature on outcomes related to disclosure of status or what are best practices,” she suggested. 

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

Should doctors seeking healthcare disclose that they are a doctor? 

The question drew spirited debate when urologist Ashley Winter, MD, made a simple, straightforward request on Twitter: “If you are a doctor & you come to an appointment please tell me you are a doctor, not because I will treat you differently but because it’s easier to speak in jargon.”

She later added, “This doesn’t’ mean I would be less patient-focused or emotional with a physician or other [healthcare worker]. Just means that, instead of saying ‘you will have a catheter draining your urine to a bag,’ I can say, ‘you will have a Foley.’ ”

The Tweet followed an encounter with a patient who told Dr. Winter that he was a doctor only after she had gone to some length explaining a surgical procedure in lay terms.

“I explained the surgery, obviously assuming he was an intelligent adult, but using fully layman’s terms,” she said in an interview. The patient then told her that he was a doctor. “I guess I felt this embarrassment — I wouldn’t have treated him differently, but I just could have discussed the procedure with him in more professional terms.” 

“To some extent, it was my own fault,” she commented in an interview. “I didn’t take the time to ask [about his work] at the beginning of the consultation, but that’s a fine line, also,” added Dr. Winter, a urologist and sexual medicine physician in Portland, Ore.

“You know that patient is there because they want care from you and it’s not necessarily always at the forefront of importance to be asking them what they do for their work, but alternatively, if you don’t ask then you put them in this position where they have to find a way to go ahead and tell you.”

Several people chimed in on the thread to voice their thoughts on the matter. Some commiserated with Dr. Winter’s experience:

“I took care of a retired cardiologist in the hospital as a second-year resident and honest to god he let me ramble on ‘explaining’ his echo result and never told me. I found out a couple days later and wanted to die,” posted @MaddyAndrewsMD.

Another recalled a similarly embarrassing experience when she “went on and on” discussing headaches with a patient whose husband “was in the corner smirking.”

“They told my attending later [that the] husband was a retired FM doc who practiced medicine longer than I’ve been alive. I wanted to die,” posted @JSinghDO.

Many on the thread, though, were doctors and other healthcare professionals speaking as patients. Some said they didn’t want to disclose their status as a healthcare provider because they felt it affected the care they received.

For example, @drhelenrainford commented: “In my experience my care is less ‘caring’ when they know I am a [doctor]. I get spoken to like they are discussing a patient with me — no empathy just facts and difficult results just blurted out without consideration. Awful awful time as an inpatient …but that’s another story!”

@Dr_B_Ring said: “Nope – You and I speak different jargon – I would want you to speak to me like a human that doesn’t know your jargon. My ego would get in the way of asking about the acronyms I don’t know if you knew I was a fellow physician.”

Conversely, @lozzlemcfozzle said: “Honestly I prefer not to tell my Doctors — I’ve found people skip explanations assuming I ‘know,’ or seem a little nervous when I tell them!”

Others said they felt uncomfortable — pretentious, even — in announcing their status, or worried that they might come across as expecting special care.

“It’s such a tough needle to thread. Want to tell people early but not come off as demanding special treatment, but don’t want to wait too long and it seems like a trap,” said @MDaware.

Twitter user @MsBabyCatcher wrote: “I have a hard time doing this because I don’t want people to think I’m being pretentious or going to micromanage/dictate care.”

Replying to @MsBabyCatcher, @RedStethoscope wrote: “I used to think this too until I got [very poor] care a few times, and was advised by other doctor moms to ‘play the doctor card.’ I have gotten better/more compassionate care by making sure it’s clear that I’m a physician (which is junk, but here we are).”

Several of those responding used the words “tricky” and “awkward,” suggesting a common theme for doctors presenting as patients.

“I struggle with this. My 5-year-old broke her arm this weekend, we spent hours in the ED, of my own hospital, I never mentioned it because I didn’t want to get preferential care. But as they were explaining her type of fracture, it felt awkward and inefficient,” said @lindsay_petty.

To avoid the awkwardness, a number of respondents said they purposefully use medical jargon to open up a conversation rather than just offering up the information that they are a doctor.

Still others offered suggestions on how to broach the subject more directly when presenting as a patient:

‘”Just FYI I’m a X doc but I’m here because I really want your help and advice!” That’s what I usually do,” wrote @drcakefm.

@BeeSting14618 Tweeted: “I usually say ‘I know some of this but I’m here because I want YOUR guidance. Also I may ask dumb questions, and I’ll tell you if a question is asking your opinion or making a request.’”

A few others injected a bit of humor: “I just do the 14-part handshake that only doctors know. Is that not customary?” quipped @Branmiz25.

“Ah yes, that transmits the entire [history of present illness],” replied Dr. Winter.

Jokes aside, the topic is obviously one that touched on a shared experience among healthcare providers, Dr. Winter commented. The Twitter thread she started just “blew up.”

That’s typically a sign that the Tweet is relatable for a lot of people, she said.

“It’s definitely something that all of us as care providers and as patients understand. It’s a funny, awkward thing that can really change an interaction, so we probably all feel pretty strongly about our experiences related to that,” she added.

The debate begs the question: Is there a duty or ethical reason to disclose?

“I definitely think it is very reasonable to disclose that one is a medical professional to another doctor,” medical ethicist Charlotte Blease, PhD, said in an interview. “There are good reasons to believe doing so might make a difference to the quality of communication and transparency.”

If the ability to use medical terminology or jargon more freely improves patient understanding, autonomy, and shared decision-making, then it may be of benefit, said Dr. Blease, a Keane OpenNotes Scholar at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center in Boston.

“Since doctors should strive to communicate effectively with every patient and to respect their unique needs and level of understanding, then I see no reason to deny that one is a medic,” she added.”

Knowing how to share the information is another story.

“This is something that affects all of us as physicians — we’re going to be patients at some point, right?” Dr. Winter commented. “But I don’t think how to disclose that is something that was ever brought up in my medical training.”

“Maybe there should just be a discussion of this one day when people are in medical school — maybe in a professionalism course — to broach this topic or look at if there’s any literature on outcomes related to disclosure of status or what are best practices,” she suggested. 

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

In September, when Texas’ near-total abortion ban took effect, Planned Parenthood clinics in the Lone Star State started offering every patient who walked in information on Senate Bill 8, as well as emergency contraception, condoms, and two pregnancy tests. The plan is to distribute 22,000 “empowerment kits” this year.

“We felt it was very important for patients to have as many tools on hand to help them meet this really onerous law,” said Elizabeth Cardwell, lead clinician at Planned Parenthood of Greater Texas, which has 24 clinics across the northern and central regions of the state and provides care to tens of thousands of people annually.

Most of their patients – who tend to be uninsured and have annual household incomes of less than $25,000 – had not known about SB 8 the first several weeks after implementation, said Dr. Cardwell. But once they learned about it, patients seemed to rush to get on birth control, she said.

SB 8 allows private citizens, in Texas or elsewhere, to sue anyone who performs an abortion in the state or who “aided or abetted” someone getting an abortion once fetal cardiac activity is detected. This is generally around six weeks, before most people know they’re pregnant. It’s had a chilling effect in Texas, where access to abortion was already limited.

Medical staffs are doubling down on educating patients about birth control. They recognize the strategy isn’t foolproof but are desperate to prevent unintended pregnancies, nearly half of which nationwide end in abortion.

“It’s more important now than it ever has been,” said Dr. Cardwell. “I’ve been in abortion care 30-plus years, and my go-to line was ‘You’ve got plenty of time. You don’t have to feel rushed. Talk with your partner. Talk with your family,’” she said. “Now we don’t have that luxury.”

Patients, too, seem to feel a sense of urgency. During September, according to data from Planned Parenthood of Greater Texas, medical staff provided patients with some form of birth control — for example, pill packs, Depo-Provera shots or IUD implant insertions – in more than 3,750 visits, 5% more than in Sept. 2020.

Dr. Jennifer Liedtke, a family physician in West Texas, said she and her nurse practitioners explain SB 8 to every patient who comes to their private practice and saw a 20% increase in requests for long-acting reversible contraceptive methods, known as LARCs, in September.

LARCs, a category that includes intrauterine devices and hormonal implants, have become increasingly appealing because they are 99% effective at preventing pregnancy and last several years. They are also simpler than the pill, which needs to be taken daily, or the vaginal ring, which needs to be changed monthly.

Still, LARCs are not everyone’s preferred method. For example, inserting an IUD can be painful.

A doctor’s office is one of the few opportunities for reliable birth control education. Texas law doesn’t require schools to teach sex education, and if they do, educators must stress abstinence as the preferred birth control method. Some doctors opt to explain abortion access in the state when naming birth control options.

Dr. Liedtke is used to having to explain new laws passed by the Texas legislature. “It happens all the time,” she said. But the controversy surrounding SB 8 confuses patients all the more as the law works its way through the court system with differing rulings, one of which briefly blocked the measure. The U.S. Supreme Court heard related arguments Nov. 1.

“People just don’t understand,” said Dr. Liedtke. “It was tied up for 48 hours, so they are like, ‘It’s not a law anymore?’ Well, no, technically it is.”

Not all providers are able to talk freely about abortion access. In 2019, the Trump administration barred providers that participate in the federally funded family planning program, Title X, from mentioning abortion care to patients, even if patients themselves raise questions. In early October, the Biden administration reversed that rule. The change will kick in this month. Planned Parenthood can discuss SB 8 in Texas because Texas affiliates do not receive Title X dollars.

Dr. Lindsey Vasquez of Legacy Community Health, the largest federally qualified health center in Texas and a recipient of Title X dollars, said she and other staff members have not discussed abortion or SB 8 because they also must juggle a variety of other priorities. Legacy’s patients are underserved, she said. A majority live at or below the federal poverty level.

Nearly two years into the Covid-19 pandemic, “we’re literally maximizing those visits,” Dr. Vasquez said. Their jobs go beyond offering reproductive care. “We’re making sure they have food resources, that they have their housing stable,” she said. “We really are trying to make sure that all of their needs are met because we know for these types of populations – patients that we serve – this may be our only moment that we get to meet them.”

Specialized family planning clinics that receive Title X dollars do have proactive conversations about contraceptive methods, according to Every Body Texas, the Title X grantee for the state.

Discussions of long-acting reversible contraception must be handled with sensitivity because these forms of birth control have a questionable history among certain populations, primarily lower-income patients. In the 1990s, lawmakers in several states, including Texas, introduced bills to offer cash assistance recipients financial incentives to get an implant or mandate insertion for people on government benefits, a move seen as reproductive coercion.

“It’s important for a client to get on the contraceptive method of their choice,” said Mimi Garcia, communications director for Every Body Texas. “Some people will just say, ‘Let’s get everyone on IUDs’ or ‘Let’s get everybody on hormonal implants’ because those are the most effective methods. ... That’s not something that’s going to work for [every] individual. ... Either they don’t agree with it philosophically, or they don’t like how it makes their body feel.”

It’s a nuanced subject for providers to broach, so some suggest starting the conversation by asking the patient about their future.

“The best question to ask is ‘When do you want to have another baby?’” said Dr. Liedtke. And then if they say, ‘Oh, gosh, I’m not even sure I want to have more kids’ or ‘Five or six years from now,’ then we start talking LARCs. ... But if it’s like, ‘Man, I really want to start trying in a year,’ then I don’t talk to them about putting one of those in.”

The Biden administration expected more demand for birth control in Texas, so Health & Human Services Secretary Xavier Becerra announced in mid-September that Every Body Texas would receive additional Title X funding, as would local providers experiencing an influx of clients as a result of SB 8.

But providers said improved access to contraception will not blunt the law’s effects. It will not protect patients who want to get pregnant but ultimately decide on abortion because they receive a diagnosis of a serious complication, their relationship status changes, or they lose financial or social support, said Dr. Elissa Serapio, an OB-GYN in the Rio Grande Valley and a fellow with Physicians for Reproductive Health.

“It’s the very best that we can do,” said Dr. Cardwell, of Planned Parenthood of Greater Texas. “There’s no 100% effective method of birth control.”

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

In September, when Texas’ near-total abortion ban took effect, Planned Parenthood clinics in the Lone Star State started offering every patient who walked in information on Senate Bill 8, as well as emergency contraception, condoms, and two pregnancy tests. The plan is to distribute 22,000 “empowerment kits” this year.

“We felt it was very important for patients to have as many tools on hand to help them meet this really onerous law,” said Elizabeth Cardwell, lead clinician at Planned Parenthood of Greater Texas, which has 24 clinics across the northern and central regions of the state and provides care to tens of thousands of people annually.

Most of their patients – who tend to be uninsured and have annual household incomes of less than $25,000 – had not known about SB 8 the first several weeks after implementation, said Dr. Cardwell. But once they learned about it, patients seemed to rush to get on birth control, she said.

SB 8 allows private citizens, in Texas or elsewhere, to sue anyone who performs an abortion in the state or who “aided or abetted” someone getting an abortion once fetal cardiac activity is detected. This is generally around six weeks, before most people know they’re pregnant. It’s had a chilling effect in Texas, where access to abortion was already limited.

Medical staffs are doubling down on educating patients about birth control. They recognize the strategy isn’t foolproof but are desperate to prevent unintended pregnancies, nearly half of which nationwide end in abortion.

“It’s more important now than it ever has been,” said Dr. Cardwell. “I’ve been in abortion care 30-plus years, and my go-to line was ‘You’ve got plenty of time. You don’t have to feel rushed. Talk with your partner. Talk with your family,’” she said. “Now we don’t have that luxury.”

Patients, too, seem to feel a sense of urgency. During September, according to data from Planned Parenthood of Greater Texas, medical staff provided patients with some form of birth control — for example, pill packs, Depo-Provera shots or IUD implant insertions – in more than 3,750 visits, 5% more than in Sept. 2020.

Dr. Jennifer Liedtke, a family physician in West Texas, said she and her nurse practitioners explain SB 8 to every patient who comes to their private practice and saw a 20% increase in requests for long-acting reversible contraceptive methods, known as LARCs, in September.

LARCs, a category that includes intrauterine devices and hormonal implants, have become increasingly appealing because they are 99% effective at preventing pregnancy and last several years. They are also simpler than the pill, which needs to be taken daily, or the vaginal ring, which needs to be changed monthly.

Still, LARCs are not everyone’s preferred method. For example, inserting an IUD can be painful.

A doctor’s office is one of the few opportunities for reliable birth control education. Texas law doesn’t require schools to teach sex education, and if they do, educators must stress abstinence as the preferred birth control method. Some doctors opt to explain abortion access in the state when naming birth control options.

Dr. Liedtke is used to having to explain new laws passed by the Texas legislature. “It happens all the time,” she said. But the controversy surrounding SB 8 confuses patients all the more as the law works its way through the court system with differing rulings, one of which briefly blocked the measure. The U.S. Supreme Court heard related arguments Nov. 1.

“People just don’t understand,” said Dr. Liedtke. “It was tied up for 48 hours, so they are like, ‘It’s not a law anymore?’ Well, no, technically it is.”

Not all providers are able to talk freely about abortion access. In 2019, the Trump administration barred providers that participate in the federally funded family planning program, Title X, from mentioning abortion care to patients, even if patients themselves raise questions. In early October, the Biden administration reversed that rule. The change will kick in this month. Planned Parenthood can discuss SB 8 in Texas because Texas affiliates do not receive Title X dollars.

Dr. Lindsey Vasquez of Legacy Community Health, the largest federally qualified health center in Texas and a recipient of Title X dollars, said she and other staff members have not discussed abortion or SB 8 because they also must juggle a variety of other priorities. Legacy’s patients are underserved, she said. A majority live at or below the federal poverty level.

Nearly two years into the Covid-19 pandemic, “we’re literally maximizing those visits,” Dr. Vasquez said. Their jobs go beyond offering reproductive care. “We’re making sure they have food resources, that they have their housing stable,” she said. “We really are trying to make sure that all of their needs are met because we know for these types of populations – patients that we serve – this may be our only moment that we get to meet them.”

Specialized family planning clinics that receive Title X dollars do have proactive conversations about contraceptive methods, according to Every Body Texas, the Title X grantee for the state.

Discussions of long-acting reversible contraception must be handled with sensitivity because these forms of birth control have a questionable history among certain populations, primarily lower-income patients. In the 1990s, lawmakers in several states, including Texas, introduced bills to offer cash assistance recipients financial incentives to get an implant or mandate insertion for people on government benefits, a move seen as reproductive coercion.

“It’s important for a client to get on the contraceptive method of their choice,” said Mimi Garcia, communications director for Every Body Texas. “Some people will just say, ‘Let’s get everyone on IUDs’ or ‘Let’s get everybody on hormonal implants’ because those are the most effective methods. ... That’s not something that’s going to work for [every] individual. ... Either they don’t agree with it philosophically, or they don’t like how it makes their body feel.”

It’s a nuanced subject for providers to broach, so some suggest starting the conversation by asking the patient about their future.

“The best question to ask is ‘When do you want to have another baby?’” said Dr. Liedtke. And then if they say, ‘Oh, gosh, I’m not even sure I want to have more kids’ or ‘Five or six years from now,’ then we start talking LARCs. ... But if it’s like, ‘Man, I really want to start trying in a year,’ then I don’t talk to them about putting one of those in.”

The Biden administration expected more demand for birth control in Texas, so Health & Human Services Secretary Xavier Becerra announced in mid-September that Every Body Texas would receive additional Title X funding, as would local providers experiencing an influx of clients as a result of SB 8.

But providers said improved access to contraception will not blunt the law’s effects. It will not protect patients who want to get pregnant but ultimately decide on abortion because they receive a diagnosis of a serious complication, their relationship status changes, or they lose financial or social support, said Dr. Elissa Serapio, an OB-GYN in the Rio Grande Valley and a fellow with Physicians for Reproductive Health.

“It’s the very best that we can do,” said Dr. Cardwell, of Planned Parenthood of Greater Texas. “There’s no 100% effective method of birth control.”

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

In September, when Texas’ near-total abortion ban took effect, Planned Parenthood clinics in the Lone Star State started offering every patient who walked in information on Senate Bill 8, as well as emergency contraception, condoms, and two pregnancy tests. The plan is to distribute 22,000 “empowerment kits” this year.

“We felt it was very important for patients to have as many tools on hand to help them meet this really onerous law,” said Elizabeth Cardwell, lead clinician at Planned Parenthood of Greater Texas, which has 24 clinics across the northern and central regions of the state and provides care to tens of thousands of people annually.

Most of their patients – who tend to be uninsured and have annual household incomes of less than $25,000 – had not known about SB 8 the first several weeks after implementation, said Dr. Cardwell. But once they learned about it, patients seemed to rush to get on birth control, she said.

SB 8 allows private citizens, in Texas or elsewhere, to sue anyone who performs an abortion in the state or who “aided or abetted” someone getting an abortion once fetal cardiac activity is detected. This is generally around six weeks, before most people know they’re pregnant. It’s had a chilling effect in Texas, where access to abortion was already limited.

Medical staffs are doubling down on educating patients about birth control. They recognize the strategy isn’t foolproof but are desperate to prevent unintended pregnancies, nearly half of which nationwide end in abortion.

“It’s more important now than it ever has been,” said Dr. Cardwell. “I’ve been in abortion care 30-plus years, and my go-to line was ‘You’ve got plenty of time. You don’t have to feel rushed. Talk with your partner. Talk with your family,’” she said. “Now we don’t have that luxury.”

Patients, too, seem to feel a sense of urgency. During September, according to data from Planned Parenthood of Greater Texas, medical staff provided patients with some form of birth control — for example, pill packs, Depo-Provera shots or IUD implant insertions – in more than 3,750 visits, 5% more than in Sept. 2020.

Dr. Jennifer Liedtke, a family physician in West Texas, said she and her nurse practitioners explain SB 8 to every patient who comes to their private practice and saw a 20% increase in requests for long-acting reversible contraceptive methods, known as LARCs, in September.

LARCs, a category that includes intrauterine devices and hormonal implants, have become increasingly appealing because they are 99% effective at preventing pregnancy and last several years. They are also simpler than the pill, which needs to be taken daily, or the vaginal ring, which needs to be changed monthly.

Still, LARCs are not everyone’s preferred method. For example, inserting an IUD can be painful.

A doctor’s office is one of the few opportunities for reliable birth control education. Texas law doesn’t require schools to teach sex education, and if they do, educators must stress abstinence as the preferred birth control method. Some doctors opt to explain abortion access in the state when naming birth control options.

Dr. Liedtke is used to having to explain new laws passed by the Texas legislature. “It happens all the time,” she said. But the controversy surrounding SB 8 confuses patients all the more as the law works its way through the court system with differing rulings, one of which briefly blocked the measure. The U.S. Supreme Court heard related arguments Nov. 1.

“People just don’t understand,” said Dr. Liedtke. “It was tied up for 48 hours, so they are like, ‘It’s not a law anymore?’ Well, no, technically it is.”

Not all providers are able to talk freely about abortion access. In 2019, the Trump administration barred providers that participate in the federally funded family planning program, Title X, from mentioning abortion care to patients, even if patients themselves raise questions. In early October, the Biden administration reversed that rule. The change will kick in this month. Planned Parenthood can discuss SB 8 in Texas because Texas affiliates do not receive Title X dollars.

Dr. Lindsey Vasquez of Legacy Community Health, the largest federally qualified health center in Texas and a recipient of Title X dollars, said she and other staff members have not discussed abortion or SB 8 because they also must juggle a variety of other priorities. Legacy’s patients are underserved, she said. A majority live at or below the federal poverty level.

Nearly two years into the Covid-19 pandemic, “we’re literally maximizing those visits,” Dr. Vasquez said. Their jobs go beyond offering reproductive care. “We’re making sure they have food resources, that they have their housing stable,” she said. “We really are trying to make sure that all of their needs are met because we know for these types of populations – patients that we serve – this may be our only moment that we get to meet them.”

Specialized family planning clinics that receive Title X dollars do have proactive conversations about contraceptive methods, according to Every Body Texas, the Title X grantee for the state.

Discussions of long-acting reversible contraception must be handled with sensitivity because these forms of birth control have a questionable history among certain populations, primarily lower-income patients. In the 1990s, lawmakers in several states, including Texas, introduced bills to offer cash assistance recipients financial incentives to get an implant or mandate insertion for people on government benefits, a move seen as reproductive coercion.

“It’s important for a client to get on the contraceptive method of their choice,” said Mimi Garcia, communications director for Every Body Texas. “Some people will just say, ‘Let’s get everyone on IUDs’ or ‘Let’s get everybody on hormonal implants’ because those are the most effective methods. ... That’s not something that’s going to work for [every] individual. ... Either they don’t agree with it philosophically, or they don’t like how it makes their body feel.”

It’s a nuanced subject for providers to broach, so some suggest starting the conversation by asking the patient about their future.

“The best question to ask is ‘When do you want to have another baby?’” said Dr. Liedtke. And then if they say, ‘Oh, gosh, I’m not even sure I want to have more kids’ or ‘Five or six years from now,’ then we start talking LARCs. ... But if it’s like, ‘Man, I really want to start trying in a year,’ then I don’t talk to them about putting one of those in.”

The Biden administration expected more demand for birth control in Texas, so Health & Human Services Secretary Xavier Becerra announced in mid-September that Every Body Texas would receive additional Title X funding, as would local providers experiencing an influx of clients as a result of SB 8.

But providers said improved access to contraception will not blunt the law’s effects. It will not protect patients who want to get pregnant but ultimately decide on abortion because they receive a diagnosis of a serious complication, their relationship status changes, or they lose financial or social support, said Dr. Elissa Serapio, an OB-GYN in the Rio Grande Valley and a fellow with Physicians for Reproductive Health.

“It’s the very best that we can do,” said Dr. Cardwell, of Planned Parenthood of Greater Texas. “There’s no 100% effective method of birth control.”

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

When state senators in South Carolina held two hearings in September about COVID-19 treatments, they got an earful on the benefits of ivermectin — which many of the lawmakers echoed, sharing experiences of their own loved ones.

The demands for access to the drug were loud and insistent, despite federal regulators’ recent warning against using the drug to treat COVID.

Ivermectin is a generic drug  that has been used for decades to treat river blindness, scabies, and even head lice. Veterinarians also use it, in different formulations and dosages, to treat animals for parasites like worms.

At one of the South Carolina hearings, Pressley Stutts III reminded the panel that his father, a prominent GOP leader in the state, had died of COVID a month earlier. He believed ivermectin could have helped him. But doctors at the hospital wouldn’t discuss it.

“I went every bit as far as I could without getting myself thrown in jail trying to save my father’s life,” he told the panel, as lawmakers offered condolences.

“What is going on here?” he asked, with the passion in his voice growing. “My dad’s dead!”

The pleas to public officials have been building. And now politicians are beginning to act, largely to satisfy their conservative constituents.

After the pandemic began, scientists launched clinical trials to see if ivermectin could help as a treatment for COVID. Some are still ongoing. But providers in mainstream medicine have rejected it as a COVID treatment, citing the poor quality of the studies to date, and two notorious “preprint” studies that were circulated before they were peer-reviewed, and later taken off the internet because of inaccurate and flawed data.

On Aug. 26, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention advised clinicians not to use ivermectin, citing insufficient evidence of benefit and pointing out that unauthorized use had led to accidental poisonings. Vaccination, the CDC reiterated, is still the best way to avoid serious illness and death from the coronavirus.

But many Americans remain convinced ivermectin could be beneficial, and some politicians appear to be listening to them.

“If we have medications out here that are working — or seem to be working — I think it’s absolutely horrible that we’re not trying them,” said Republican state Sen. Tom Corbin in South Carolina. He questioned doctors who had come to the Statehouse to counter efforts to move ivermectin into mainstream use.

The doctors challenged the implied insult that they weren’t following best practices: “Any implication that any of us would do anything to withhold effective treatments from our patients is really insulting to our profession,” said Dr. Annie Andrews, a professor at the Medical University of South Carolina who has cared for COVID patients throughout the pandemic.

Instead of listening to the medical consensus, some politicians in states like South Carolina seem to be taking cues from doctors on the fringe. During one September hearing, state senators patched in a call from Dr. Pierre Kory.

They know better now, she said.

“My first attempt would have been to keep her out of the hospital,” Ms. Berry said. “Because right now when you go to the hospital, they only give you what’s on the CDC protocol.”

Ms. Berry and her husband have purchased their own supply of ivermectin, which they keep at home.

This story is from a partnership that includes NPR, Nashville Public Radio and  KHN. KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

When state senators in South Carolina held two hearings in September about COVID-19 treatments, they got an earful on the benefits of ivermectin — which many of the lawmakers echoed, sharing experiences of their own loved ones.

The demands for access to the drug were loud and insistent, despite federal regulators’ recent warning against using the drug to treat COVID.

Ivermectin is a generic drug  that has been used for decades to treat river blindness, scabies, and even head lice. Veterinarians also use it, in different formulations and dosages, to treat animals for parasites like worms.

At one of the South Carolina hearings, Pressley Stutts III reminded the panel that his father, a prominent GOP leader in the state, had died of COVID a month earlier. He believed ivermectin could have helped him. But doctors at the hospital wouldn’t discuss it.

“I went every bit as far as I could without getting myself thrown in jail trying to save my father’s life,” he told the panel, as lawmakers offered condolences.

“What is going on here?” he asked, with the passion in his voice growing. “My dad’s dead!”

The pleas to public officials have been building. And now politicians are beginning to act, largely to satisfy their conservative constituents.

After the pandemic began, scientists launched clinical trials to see if ivermectin could help as a treatment for COVID. Some are still ongoing. But providers in mainstream medicine have rejected it as a COVID treatment, citing the poor quality of the studies to date, and two notorious “preprint” studies that were circulated before they were peer-reviewed, and later taken off the internet because of inaccurate and flawed data.

On Aug. 26, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention advised clinicians not to use ivermectin, citing insufficient evidence of benefit and pointing out that unauthorized use had led to accidental poisonings. Vaccination, the CDC reiterated, is still the best way to avoid serious illness and death from the coronavirus.

But many Americans remain convinced ivermectin could be beneficial, and some politicians appear to be listening to them.

“If we have medications out here that are working — or seem to be working — I think it’s absolutely horrible that we’re not trying them,” said Republican state Sen. Tom Corbin in South Carolina. He questioned doctors who had come to the Statehouse to counter efforts to move ivermectin into mainstream use.

The doctors challenged the implied insult that they weren’t following best practices: “Any implication that any of us would do anything to withhold effective treatments from our patients is really insulting to our profession,” said Dr. Annie Andrews, a professor at the Medical University of South Carolina who has cared for COVID patients throughout the pandemic.

Instead of listening to the medical consensus, some politicians in states like South Carolina seem to be taking cues from doctors on the fringe. During one September hearing, state senators patched in a call from Dr. Pierre Kory.

They know better now, she said.

“My first attempt would have been to keep her out of the hospital,” Ms. Berry said. “Because right now when you go to the hospital, they only give you what’s on the CDC protocol.”

Ms. Berry and her husband have purchased their own supply of ivermectin, which they keep at home.

This story is from a partnership that includes NPR, Nashville Public Radio and  KHN. KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

When state senators in South Carolina held two hearings in September about COVID-19 treatments, they got an earful on the benefits of ivermectin — which many of the lawmakers echoed, sharing experiences of their own loved ones.

The demands for access to the drug were loud and insistent, despite federal regulators’ recent warning against using the drug to treat COVID.

Ivermectin is a generic drug  that has been used for decades to treat river blindness, scabies, and even head lice. Veterinarians also use it, in different formulations and dosages, to treat animals for parasites like worms.

At one of the South Carolina hearings, Pressley Stutts III reminded the panel that his father, a prominent GOP leader in the state, had died of COVID a month earlier. He believed ivermectin could have helped him. But doctors at the hospital wouldn’t discuss it.

“I went every bit as far as I could without getting myself thrown in jail trying to save my father’s life,” he told the panel, as lawmakers offered condolences.

“What is going on here?” he asked, with the passion in his voice growing. “My dad’s dead!”

The pleas to public officials have been building. And now politicians are beginning to act, largely to satisfy their conservative constituents.

After the pandemic began, scientists launched clinical trials to see if ivermectin could help as a treatment for COVID. Some are still ongoing. But providers in mainstream medicine have rejected it as a COVID treatment, citing the poor quality of the studies to date, and two notorious “preprint” studies that were circulated before they were peer-reviewed, and later taken off the internet because of inaccurate and flawed data.

On Aug. 26, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention advised clinicians not to use ivermectin, citing insufficient evidence of benefit and pointing out that unauthorized use had led to accidental poisonings. Vaccination, the CDC reiterated, is still the best way to avoid serious illness and death from the coronavirus.

But many Americans remain convinced ivermectin could be beneficial, and some politicians appear to be listening to them.

“If we have medications out here that are working — or seem to be working — I think it’s absolutely horrible that we’re not trying them,” said Republican state Sen. Tom Corbin in South Carolina. He questioned doctors who had come to the Statehouse to counter efforts to move ivermectin into mainstream use.

The doctors challenged the implied insult that they weren’t following best practices: “Any implication that any of us would do anything to withhold effective treatments from our patients is really insulting to our profession,” said Dr. Annie Andrews, a professor at the Medical University of South Carolina who has cared for COVID patients throughout the pandemic.

Instead of listening to the medical consensus, some politicians in states like South Carolina seem to be taking cues from doctors on the fringe. During one September hearing, state senators patched in a call from Dr. Pierre Kory.

They know better now, she said.

“My first attempt would have been to keep her out of the hospital,” Ms. Berry said. “Because right now when you go to the hospital, they only give you what’s on the CDC protocol.”

Ms. Berry and her husband have purchased their own supply of ivermectin, which they keep at home.

This story is from a partnership that includes NPR, Nashville Public Radio and  KHN. KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

Over half of people who believed they were transgender, transitioned to the opposite sex, but then regretted it and transitioned back – known as detransitioners – felt they did not receive adequate evaluation from a doctor or mental health professional before starting transition, new research indicates.

In what is thought to be the first study to ask whether detransitioners informed their original clinicians of their regret at transitioning, only 24 of the 100 surveyed said they had done so.

This strongly suggests that records on detransition may understate the real numbers, said Lisa Littman, MD, MPH, president of The Institute for Comprehensive Gender Dysphoria Research (ICGDR), who is the sole author of the study, published in Archives of Sexual Behavior.

She stressed that the findings illustrate the complexity surrounding gender dysphoria. “We need to recognize that there are many different types of experiences around gender dysphoria, transition, and detransition,” she told this news organization.

She said there is some resistance among certain health care professionals, and in society in general, to the idea that transitioning is not always successful.
 

‘We need to understand why this is happening’

“Detransition exists and we need to understand why this is happening,” Dr. Littman emphasized.

She observed that some supporters of “rapid transition” do not want to accept that transitioning helps some individuals but harms others.

“In the end, our goals should be providing the right treatment for the right patient, and without a thorough evaluation, clinicians are at serious risk of giving patients the wrong treatment,” she urged.

She noted that, despite some individuals feeling better after transition, these people still felt inclined to detransition because of discrimination and pressure.

“Individuals should not be pressured to detransition, nor should they be pressured to transition. Both types of pressure were reported by respondents.” 

The recently recognized shift from mostly natal males to natal females seeking to transition was borne out by her study data, with the proportion of natal girls who detransitioned at 69%.
 

‘Shedding light’ on often ignored population

Asked to comment on the study, Laura Edwards-Leeper, PhD, a clinical psychologist from Beaverton, Ore., who specializes in gender-diverse and transgender children, welcomed Dr. Littman’s study.

It is, said Dr. Edwards-Leeper, a “critical preliminary step toward shedding light on this often-ignored and dismissed population of individuals who deserve support, compassion, and sometimes medical intervention from health care providers.”

She added that multiple online reports attest to detransitioners feeling they had not received adequate evaluation prior to medically transitioning, as well as many who expressed feeling too ashamed or angry to return to their same clinicians to detransition.

“Littman’s study provides quantitative support for both of these reported experiences, further emphasizing the importance of the field taking a closer look at the processes currently in place for those experiencing gender dysphoria,” said Dr. Edwards-Leeper.

And Miroslav L. Djordjevic, MD, PhD, professor of surgery/urology, University of Belgrade (Serbia), who is a specialist in urogenital reconstructive surgery and has performed over 2,000 gender-reassignment surgeries in transgender individuals, has recently seen many cases of regret after such surgeries, with requests for reversal operations.

“Despite the fact that medical detransition is relatively safe and without severe consequences, surgical detransition presents one of the most difficult issues in transgender medicine,” Dr. Djordjevic told this news organization.

Commending Dr. Littman on her study, he drew attention to some of the bioethical questions that arise relating to those who detransition.

“I ask what happened in the period before medical transitioning? Was there proper psychological care during medical transitioning? Who confirmed their desire for detransition – the same professionals who did the transition?” or someone else, he continued. “And who accepted these individuals for gender-affirming surgery and what were the criteria for this decision?”
 

Substantial study of reasons for both transitioning and detransitioning 

In her article, Dr. Littman describes a 100-strong population of individuals (66 Americans, 9 British, 9 Canadian, 4 Australians, and 12 from “other” nations), ranging in age from 18 years to over 60 years with a mean age of 29.2 years, who had experienced gender dysphoria, chosen to undergo medical and/or surgical transition, and then detransitioned by discontinuing medications, having reversal surgery, or both.

Participants completed a 115-question survey providing data including age at first experience of gender dysphoria, when participants first sought transitioning care and from whom, and whether they felt pressured to do so. Friendship group dynamics were also explored.

Various narratives of participants’ transitioning-detransitioning experiences were gathered and grouped, for example, those related to discrimination pressures, experiences of trauma or mental health conditions prior to transition, and reports of internalized homophobia.

Dr. Edwards-Leeper observed that the study offers a more extensive assessment of reasons for detransitioning than any other prior research in the field, which has been sparse.

A survey published in April found that detransitioners report significant unmet medical and psychological needs, and a lack of compassion and help from medical and mental health practitioners.

But another 2021 study concluded most detransitioners only reverted to their birth sex because of societal or family pressure, discrimination, or shift to a nonbinary identity.

“However, [Dr.] Littman’s study found that only a small percentage actually detransitioned for that reason [23%], whereas the majority detransitioned because of a change in how the individual understood being a male or female, resulting in becoming comfortable in their assigned gender [60%],” noted Dr. Edwards-Leeper.
 

Reasons for detransitioning

Asked to expand upon the motives for detransition identified in her study, Dr. Littman told this news organization: “We found remarkable breadth in the reasons given for detransitioning.” 

“I believe that we were able to capture the diversity of experiences around detransition because we reached out to communities that were strongly ‘protransition’ – like the World Professional Association for Transgender Health – and communities where individuals might be more skeptical about transition being universally beneficial, like detransition forums,” she said.

Speaking to the complexity of the experiences, 87% selected more than one reason for detransitioning.

The most common reason (60%) was becoming more comfortable identifying with their birth sex, followed by having concerns about potential medical complications from transitioning (49.0%).

Regarding those who became more comfortable with their natal sex, Dr. Littman noted that the finding adds “further support that gender dysphoria is not always permanent.”

She added that, “because most gender-dysphoric youth who are allowed to go through puberty grow up to be lesbian, gay, or bisexual (LGB) nontransgender adults, intervening too soon with medical treatments risks derailing their development as LGB individuals.”

Internalized homophobia or difficulty accepting themselves as lesbian, gay, or bisexual was reported by 23% of participants as a reason for transition and subsequent detransition. 

“For these people, transitioning could be interpreted as an attempt to escape the reality of being same-sex attracted and detransitioning was part of accepting themselves as homosexual or bisexual,” explained Dr. Littman.

“Exploring their distress and discomfort around sexual orientation issues may have been more helpful to them than medical and surgical transition or at least an important part of exploration,” she added in the article.
 

Societal pressure, friends, and social media also play a role

The latest first-hand reports also support prior work by Dr. Littman when she first identified the concept she termed rapid-onset gender dysphoria (ROGD) to describe a sudden transgender identification, usually in the early teenage years, and with no prior indication of any gender questioning.

ROGD, Dr. Littman believes, is strongly related to psychosocial factors, such as trauma, mental health problems, or social influence contributing to the development of gender dysphoria.

The current study found that 58% of respondents expressed the belief that the cause of their gender dysphoria was something specific, such as trauma, abuse, or a mental health condition, with respondents suggesting that transitioning prevented, or delayed, them from addressing their underlying mental health conditions. 

One participant is quoted as saying: “I was deeply uncomfortable with my secondary sex characteristics, which I now understand was a result of childhood trauma and associating my secondary sex characteristics with those events.”

Reflecting on their previous identification as transgender, more than a third of respondents reported that someone else told them their feelings meant they were transgender, and they believed them.

“This speaks to the effect social influence can have on people’s interpretation of their own feelings and their development of a transgender identity,” Dr. Littman remarked.

“Participants also listed several social media sources that encouraged them to believe that transitioning would help them,” she added.

Several friendship group dynamics suggestive of social influence were reported by a subset of respondents, including the fact that their friendship groups mocked people who were not transgender and their popularity increased when they announced they were going to transition. 
 

Pendulum has swung too far the other way

Natal females, who in recent years have made up most referrals, were younger than natal males when they sought transition and decided to detransition; and they stayed “transitioned” for a shorter period than natal males. They were also more likely to have experienced a trauma less than 1 year before the onset of gender dysphoria and were more likely to have felt pressured to transition. 

“Because the females in the study transitioned more recently than the males, they may have experienced a culture where there is more of a ‘push’ to transition,” Dr. Littman pointed out.

She added that, “20 years ago, gender-dysphoric patients were most likely to be underdiagnosed and undertreated. Now, the pendulum has swung the other way and patients are, in my opinion, more likely to be overdiagnosed and overtreated. I think we need to aim for somewhere between these two extremes and prioritize people getting the right treatment for the right reason for their distress.”

Dr. Djordjevic added that, with colleagues from Belgrade and the Netherlands, he has published accounts of the experiences of seven individuals who showed regret after gender-affirming surgery.

All of them were born male, “and we confirmed the very poor evaluation and transition process they underwent. We conclude that clinicians should be aware that not everyone with gender identity disorders need or want all elements of hormonal or surgical therapy,” he told this news organization.

Dr. Edwards-Leeper said that more long-term longitudinal studies are needed that follow individuals who undergo transition under different models of care.

“My prediction is that those who first engage in supportive, gender exploratory therapy, followed by comprehensive assessment, will have the best outcomes, perhaps even if they ultimately detransition, as these individuals will know that they did not jump into irreversible interventions too quickly and had time to make the best decision for themselves at the time,” she concluded.

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

Over half of people who believed they were transgender, transitioned to the opposite sex, but then regretted it and transitioned back – known as detransitioners – felt they did not receive adequate evaluation from a doctor or mental health professional before starting transition, new research indicates.

In what is thought to be the first study to ask whether detransitioners informed their original clinicians of their regret at transitioning, only 24 of the 100 surveyed said they had done so.

This strongly suggests that records on detransition may understate the real numbers, said Lisa Littman, MD, MPH, president of The Institute for Comprehensive Gender Dysphoria Research (ICGDR), who is the sole author of the study, published in Archives of Sexual Behavior.

She stressed that the findings illustrate the complexity surrounding gender dysphoria. “We need to recognize that there are many different types of experiences around gender dysphoria, transition, and detransition,” she told this news organization.

She said there is some resistance among certain health care professionals, and in society in general, to the idea that transitioning is not always successful.
 

‘We need to understand why this is happening’

“Detransition exists and we need to understand why this is happening,” Dr. Littman emphasized.

She observed that some supporters of “rapid transition” do not want to accept that transitioning helps some individuals but harms others.

“In the end, our goals should be providing the right treatment for the right patient, and without a thorough evaluation, clinicians are at serious risk of giving patients the wrong treatment,” she urged.

She noted that, despite some individuals feeling better after transition, these people still felt inclined to detransition because of discrimination and pressure.

“Individuals should not be pressured to detransition, nor should they be pressured to transition. Both types of pressure were reported by respondents.” 

The recently recognized shift from mostly natal males to natal females seeking to transition was borne out by her study data, with the proportion of natal girls who detransitioned at 69%.
 

‘Shedding light’ on often ignored population

Asked to comment on the study, Laura Edwards-Leeper, PhD, a clinical psychologist from Beaverton, Ore., who specializes in gender-diverse and transgender children, welcomed Dr. Littman’s study.

It is, said Dr. Edwards-Leeper, a “critical preliminary step toward shedding light on this often-ignored and dismissed population of individuals who deserve support, compassion, and sometimes medical intervention from health care providers.”

She added that multiple online reports attest to detransitioners feeling they had not received adequate evaluation prior to medically transitioning, as well as many who expressed feeling too ashamed or angry to return to their same clinicians to detransition.

“Littman’s study provides quantitative support for both of these reported experiences, further emphasizing the importance of the field taking a closer look at the processes currently in place for those experiencing gender dysphoria,” said Dr. Edwards-Leeper.

And Miroslav L. Djordjevic, MD, PhD, professor of surgery/urology, University of Belgrade (Serbia), who is a specialist in urogenital reconstructive surgery and has performed over 2,000 gender-reassignment surgeries in transgender individuals, has recently seen many cases of regret after such surgeries, with requests for reversal operations.

“Despite the fact that medical detransition is relatively safe and without severe consequences, surgical detransition presents one of the most difficult issues in transgender medicine,” Dr. Djordjevic told this news organization.

Commending Dr. Littman on her study, he drew attention to some of the bioethical questions that arise relating to those who detransition.

“I ask what happened in the period before medical transitioning? Was there proper psychological care during medical transitioning? Who confirmed their desire for detransition – the same professionals who did the transition?” or someone else, he continued. “And who accepted these individuals for gender-affirming surgery and what were the criteria for this decision?”
 

Substantial study of reasons for both transitioning and detransitioning 

In her article, Dr. Littman describes a 100-strong population of individuals (66 Americans, 9 British, 9 Canadian, 4 Australians, and 12 from “other” nations), ranging in age from 18 years to over 60 years with a mean age of 29.2 years, who had experienced gender dysphoria, chosen to undergo medical and/or surgical transition, and then detransitioned by discontinuing medications, having reversal surgery, or both.

Participants completed a 115-question survey providing data including age at first experience of gender dysphoria, when participants first sought transitioning care and from whom, and whether they felt pressured to do so. Friendship group dynamics were also explored.

Various narratives of participants’ transitioning-detransitioning experiences were gathered and grouped, for example, those related to discrimination pressures, experiences of trauma or mental health conditions prior to transition, and reports of internalized homophobia.

Dr. Edwards-Leeper observed that the study offers a more extensive assessment of reasons for detransitioning than any other prior research in the field, which has been sparse.

A survey published in April found that detransitioners report significant unmet medical and psychological needs, and a lack of compassion and help from medical and mental health practitioners.

But another 2021 study concluded most detransitioners only reverted to their birth sex because of societal or family pressure, discrimination, or shift to a nonbinary identity.

“However, [Dr.] Littman’s study found that only a small percentage actually detransitioned for that reason [23%], whereas the majority detransitioned because of a change in how the individual understood being a male or female, resulting in becoming comfortable in their assigned gender [60%],” noted Dr. Edwards-Leeper.
 

Reasons for detransitioning

Asked to expand upon the motives for detransition identified in her study, Dr. Littman told this news organization: “We found remarkable breadth in the reasons given for detransitioning.” 

“I believe that we were able to capture the diversity of experiences around detransition because we reached out to communities that were strongly ‘protransition’ – like the World Professional Association for Transgender Health – and communities where individuals might be more skeptical about transition being universally beneficial, like detransition forums,” she said.

Speaking to the complexity of the experiences, 87% selected more than one reason for detransitioning.

The most common reason (60%) was becoming more comfortable identifying with their birth sex, followed by having concerns about potential medical complications from transitioning (49.0%).

Regarding those who became more comfortable with their natal sex, Dr. Littman noted that the finding adds “further support that gender dysphoria is not always permanent.”

She added that, “because most gender-dysphoric youth who are allowed to go through puberty grow up to be lesbian, gay, or bisexual (LGB) nontransgender adults, intervening too soon with medical treatments risks derailing their development as LGB individuals.”

Internalized homophobia or difficulty accepting themselves as lesbian, gay, or bisexual was reported by 23% of participants as a reason for transition and subsequent detransition. 

“For these people, transitioning could be interpreted as an attempt to escape the reality of being same-sex attracted and detransitioning was part of accepting themselves as homosexual or bisexual,” explained Dr. Littman.

“Exploring their distress and discomfort around sexual orientation issues may have been more helpful to them than medical and surgical transition or at least an important part of exploration,” she added in the article.
 

Societal pressure, friends, and social media also play a role

The latest first-hand reports also support prior work by Dr. Littman when she first identified the concept she termed rapid-onset gender dysphoria (ROGD) to describe a sudden transgender identification, usually in the early teenage years, and with no prior indication of any gender questioning.

ROGD, Dr. Littman believes, is strongly related to psychosocial factors, such as trauma, mental health problems, or social influence contributing to the development of gender dysphoria.

The current study found that 58% of respondents expressed the belief that the cause of their gender dysphoria was something specific, such as trauma, abuse, or a mental health condition, with respondents suggesting that transitioning prevented, or delayed, them from addressing their underlying mental health conditions. 

One participant is quoted as saying: “I was deeply uncomfortable with my secondary sex characteristics, which I now understand was a result of childhood trauma and associating my secondary sex characteristics with those events.”

Reflecting on their previous identification as transgender, more than a third of respondents reported that someone else told them their feelings meant they were transgender, and they believed them.

“This speaks to the effect social influence can have on people’s interpretation of their own feelings and their development of a transgender identity,” Dr. Littman remarked.

“Participants also listed several social media sources that encouraged them to believe that transitioning would help them,” she added.

Several friendship group dynamics suggestive of social influence were reported by a subset of respondents, including the fact that their friendship groups mocked people who were not transgender and their popularity increased when they announced they were going to transition. 
 

Pendulum has swung too far the other way

Natal females, who in recent years have made up most referrals, were younger than natal males when they sought transition and decided to detransition; and they stayed “transitioned” for a shorter period than natal males. They were also more likely to have experienced a trauma less than 1 year before the onset of gender dysphoria and were more likely to have felt pressured to transition. 

“Because the females in the study transitioned more recently than the males, they may have experienced a culture where there is more of a ‘push’ to transition,” Dr. Littman pointed out.

She added that, “20 years ago, gender-dysphoric patients were most likely to be underdiagnosed and undertreated. Now, the pendulum has swung the other way and patients are, in my opinion, more likely to be overdiagnosed and overtreated. I think we need to aim for somewhere between these two extremes and prioritize people getting the right treatment for the right reason for their distress.”

Dr. Djordjevic added that, with colleagues from Belgrade and the Netherlands, he has published accounts of the experiences of seven individuals who showed regret after gender-affirming surgery.

All of them were born male, “and we confirmed the very poor evaluation and transition process they underwent. We conclude that clinicians should be aware that not everyone with gender identity disorders need or want all elements of hormonal or surgical therapy,” he told this news organization.

Dr. Edwards-Leeper said that more long-term longitudinal studies are needed that follow individuals who undergo transition under different models of care.

“My prediction is that those who first engage in supportive, gender exploratory therapy, followed by comprehensive assessment, will have the best outcomes, perhaps even if they ultimately detransition, as these individuals will know that they did not jump into irreversible interventions too quickly and had time to make the best decision for themselves at the time,” she concluded.

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

Over half of people who believed they were transgender, transitioned to the opposite sex, but then regretted it and transitioned back – known as detransitioners – felt they did not receive adequate evaluation from a doctor or mental health professional before starting transition, new research indicates.

In what is thought to be the first study to ask whether detransitioners informed their original clinicians of their regret at transitioning, only 24 of the 100 surveyed said they had done so.

This strongly suggests that records on detransition may understate the real numbers, said Lisa Littman, MD, MPH, president of The Institute for Comprehensive Gender Dysphoria Research (ICGDR), who is the sole author of the study, published in Archives of Sexual Behavior.

She stressed that the findings illustrate the complexity surrounding gender dysphoria. “We need to recognize that there are many different types of experiences around gender dysphoria, transition, and detransition,” she told this news organization.

She said there is some resistance among certain health care professionals, and in society in general, to the idea that transitioning is not always successful.
 

‘We need to understand why this is happening’

“Detransition exists and we need to understand why this is happening,” Dr. Littman emphasized.

She observed that some supporters of “rapid transition” do not want to accept that transitioning helps some individuals but harms others.

“In the end, our goals should be providing the right treatment for the right patient, and without a thorough evaluation, clinicians are at serious risk of giving patients the wrong treatment,” she urged.

She noted that, despite some individuals feeling better after transition, these people still felt inclined to detransition because of discrimination and pressure.

“Individuals should not be pressured to detransition, nor should they be pressured to transition. Both types of pressure were reported by respondents.” 

The recently recognized shift from mostly natal males to natal females seeking to transition was borne out by her study data, with the proportion of natal girls who detransitioned at 69%.
 

‘Shedding light’ on often ignored population

Asked to comment on the study, Laura Edwards-Leeper, PhD, a clinical psychologist from Beaverton, Ore., who specializes in gender-diverse and transgender children, welcomed Dr. Littman’s study.

It is, said Dr. Edwards-Leeper, a “critical preliminary step toward shedding light on this often-ignored and dismissed population of individuals who deserve support, compassion, and sometimes medical intervention from health care providers.”

She added that multiple online reports attest to detransitioners feeling they had not received adequate evaluation prior to medically transitioning, as well as many who expressed feeling too ashamed or angry to return to their same clinicians to detransition.

“Littman’s study provides quantitative support for both of these reported experiences, further emphasizing the importance of the field taking a closer look at the processes currently in place for those experiencing gender dysphoria,” said Dr. Edwards-Leeper.

And Miroslav L. Djordjevic, MD, PhD, professor of surgery/urology, University of Belgrade (Serbia), who is a specialist in urogenital reconstructive surgery and has performed over 2,000 gender-reassignment surgeries in transgender individuals, has recently seen many cases of regret after such surgeries, with requests for reversal operations.

“Despite the fact that medical detransition is relatively safe and without severe consequences, surgical detransition presents one of the most difficult issues in transgender medicine,” Dr. Djordjevic told this news organization.

Commending Dr. Littman on her study, he drew attention to some of the bioethical questions that arise relating to those who detransition.

“I ask what happened in the period before medical transitioning? Was there proper psychological care during medical transitioning? Who confirmed their desire for detransition – the same professionals who did the transition?” or someone else, he continued. “And who accepted these individuals for gender-affirming surgery and what were the criteria for this decision?”
 

Substantial study of reasons for both transitioning and detransitioning 

In her article, Dr. Littman describes a 100-strong population of individuals (66 Americans, 9 British, 9 Canadian, 4 Australians, and 12 from “other” nations), ranging in age from 18 years to over 60 years with a mean age of 29.2 years, who had experienced gender dysphoria, chosen to undergo medical and/or surgical transition, and then detransitioned by discontinuing medications, having reversal surgery, or both.

Participants completed a 115-question survey providing data including age at first experience of gender dysphoria, when participants first sought transitioning care and from whom, and whether they felt pressured to do so. Friendship group dynamics were also explored.

Various narratives of participants’ transitioning-detransitioning experiences were gathered and grouped, for example, those related to discrimination pressures, experiences of trauma or mental health conditions prior to transition, and reports of internalized homophobia.

Dr. Edwards-Leeper observed that the study offers a more extensive assessment of reasons for detransitioning than any other prior research in the field, which has been sparse.

A survey published in April found that detransitioners report significant unmet medical and psychological needs, and a lack of compassion and help from medical and mental health practitioners.

But another 2021 study concluded most detransitioners only reverted to their birth sex because of societal or family pressure, discrimination, or shift to a nonbinary identity.

“However, [Dr.] Littman’s study found that only a small percentage actually detransitioned for that reason [23%], whereas the majority detransitioned because of a change in how the individual understood being a male or female, resulting in becoming comfortable in their assigned gender [60%],” noted Dr. Edwards-Leeper.
 

Reasons for detransitioning

Asked to expand upon the motives for detransition identified in her study, Dr. Littman told this news organization: “We found remarkable breadth in the reasons given for detransitioning.” 

“I believe that we were able to capture the diversity of experiences around detransition because we reached out to communities that were strongly ‘protransition’ – like the World Professional Association for Transgender Health – and communities where individuals might be more skeptical about transition being universally beneficial, like detransition forums,” she said.

Speaking to the complexity of the experiences, 87% selected more than one reason for detransitioning.

The most common reason (60%) was becoming more comfortable identifying with their birth sex, followed by having concerns about potential medical complications from transitioning (49.0%).

Regarding those who became more comfortable with their natal sex, Dr. Littman noted that the finding adds “further support that gender dysphoria is not always permanent.”

She added that, “because most gender-dysphoric youth who are allowed to go through puberty grow up to be lesbian, gay, or bisexual (LGB) nontransgender adults, intervening too soon with medical treatments risks derailing their development as LGB individuals.”

Internalized homophobia or difficulty accepting themselves as lesbian, gay, or bisexual was reported by 23% of participants as a reason for transition and subsequent detransition. 

“For these people, transitioning could be interpreted as an attempt to escape the reality of being same-sex attracted and detransitioning was part of accepting themselves as homosexual or bisexual,” explained Dr. Littman.

“Exploring their distress and discomfort around sexual orientation issues may have been more helpful to them than medical and surgical transition or at least an important part of exploration,” she added in the article.
 

Societal pressure, friends, and social media also play a role

The latest first-hand reports also support prior work by Dr. Littman when she first identified the concept she termed rapid-onset gender dysphoria (ROGD) to describe a sudden transgender identification, usually in the early teenage years, and with no prior indication of any gender questioning.

ROGD, Dr. Littman believes, is strongly related to psychosocial factors, such as trauma, mental health problems, or social influence contributing to the development of gender dysphoria.

The current study found that 58% of respondents expressed the belief that the cause of their gender dysphoria was something specific, such as trauma, abuse, or a mental health condition, with respondents suggesting that transitioning prevented, or delayed, them from addressing their underlying mental health conditions. 

One participant is quoted as saying: “I was deeply uncomfortable with my secondary sex characteristics, which I now understand was a result of childhood trauma and associating my secondary sex characteristics with those events.”

Reflecting on their previous identification as transgender, more than a third of respondents reported that someone else told them their feelings meant they were transgender, and they believed them.

“This speaks to the effect social influence can have on people’s interpretation of their own feelings and their development of a transgender identity,” Dr. Littman remarked.

“Participants also listed several social media sources that encouraged them to believe that transitioning would help them,” she added.

Several friendship group dynamics suggestive of social influence were reported by a subset of respondents, including the fact that their friendship groups mocked people who were not transgender and their popularity increased when they announced they were going to transition. 
 

Pendulum has swung too far the other way

Natal females, who in recent years have made up most referrals, were younger than natal males when they sought transition and decided to detransition; and they stayed “transitioned” for a shorter period than natal males. They were also more likely to have experienced a trauma less than 1 year before the onset of gender dysphoria and were more likely to have felt pressured to transition. 

“Because the females in the study transitioned more recently than the males, they may have experienced a culture where there is more of a ‘push’ to transition,” Dr. Littman pointed out.

She added that, “20 years ago, gender-dysphoric patients were most likely to be underdiagnosed and undertreated. Now, the pendulum has swung the other way and patients are, in my opinion, more likely to be overdiagnosed and overtreated. I think we need to aim for somewhere between these two extremes and prioritize people getting the right treatment for the right reason for their distress.”

Dr. Djordjevic added that, with colleagues from Belgrade and the Netherlands, he has published accounts of the experiences of seven individuals who showed regret after gender-affirming surgery.

All of them were born male, “and we confirmed the very poor evaluation and transition process they underwent. We conclude that clinicians should be aware that not everyone with gender identity disorders need or want all elements of hormonal or surgical therapy,” he told this news organization.

Dr. Edwards-Leeper said that more long-term longitudinal studies are needed that follow individuals who undergo transition under different models of care.

“My prediction is that those who first engage in supportive, gender exploratory therapy, followed by comprehensive assessment, will have the best outcomes, perhaps even if they ultimately detransition, as these individuals will know that they did not jump into irreversible interventions too quickly and had time to make the best decision for themselves at the time,” she concluded.

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

The Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has unanimously voted to recommend universal hepatitis B (HBV) immunization in all unvaccinated adults aged 59 years or younger. The group also voted to expand recommendations for vaccinating people at risk for occupational exposure to Ebola and to recommend Jynneos, a smallpox and monkeypox vaccine, for at-risk populations.

The recommendations were approved Nov. 3.

Previously, ACIP recommended HBV vaccination for unvaccinated adults at increased risk for infection because of sexual exposure, percutaneous or mucosal exposure to blood, hepatitis C infection, chronic liver disease, end-stage renal disease, HIV infection, and travel to areas with high to intermediate levels of HBV infection. But experts agreed a new strategy was needed, as previously falling rates of HBV have plateaued. “The past decade has illustrated that risk-based screening has got us as far as it can take us,” Mark Weng, MD, a lieutenant commander in the U.S. Public Health Service and lead of the ACIP Hepatitis Vaccine Working Group, said during the meeting.

There are 1.9 million people living with chronic HBV in the United States, with over 20,000 new acute infections every year. Rates are highest among those in their 40s and 50s, Dr. Weng noted.

The group debated whether to apply the universal recommendation to all ages, but in a close vote (eight yes, seven no), ACIP included an age cutoff of 59. The majority argued that adults 60 and older are at lower risk for infection and vaccination efforts targeting younger adults would be more effective. Those 60 and older would continue to follow the risk-based guidelines, but anyone, regardless of age, can receive the vaccine if they wish to be protected, the group added.

The CDC director as well as several professional societies need to approve the recommendation before it becomes public policy.

ACIP also voted to recommend the following:

• Adding updated recommendations to the 2022 immunization schedules for children, adolescents, and adults, including dengue vaccination for children aged 9-16 years in endemic areas and in adults over 65 and those aged 19-64 with certain chronic conditions.
• The use of Jynneos, a smallpox and monkeypox vaccine, as an alternative to ACAM2000 for those at risk for occupational exposure.
• Pre-exposure vaccination of health care personnel involved in the transport and treatment of suspected Ebola patients at special treatment centers, or lab and support staff working with or handling specimens that may contain the Ebola virus.

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

The Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has unanimously voted to recommend universal hepatitis B (HBV) immunization in all unvaccinated adults aged 59 years or younger. The group also voted to expand recommendations for vaccinating people at risk for occupational exposure to Ebola and to recommend Jynneos, a smallpox and monkeypox vaccine, for at-risk populations.

The recommendations were approved Nov. 3.

Previously, ACIP recommended HBV vaccination for unvaccinated adults at increased risk for infection because of sexual exposure, percutaneous or mucosal exposure to blood, hepatitis C infection, chronic liver disease, end-stage renal disease, HIV infection, and travel to areas with high to intermediate levels of HBV infection. But experts agreed a new strategy was needed, as previously falling rates of HBV have plateaued. “The past decade has illustrated that risk-based screening has got us as far as it can take us,” Mark Weng, MD, a lieutenant commander in the U.S. Public Health Service and lead of the ACIP Hepatitis Vaccine Working Group, said during the meeting.

There are 1.9 million people living with chronic HBV in the United States, with over 20,000 new acute infections every year. Rates are highest among those in their 40s and 50s, Dr. Weng noted.

The group debated whether to apply the universal recommendation to all ages, but in a close vote (eight yes, seven no), ACIP included an age cutoff of 59. The majority argued that adults 60 and older are at lower risk for infection and vaccination efforts targeting younger adults would be more effective. Those 60 and older would continue to follow the risk-based guidelines, but anyone, regardless of age, can receive the vaccine if they wish to be protected, the group added.

The CDC director as well as several professional societies need to approve the recommendation before it becomes public policy.

ACIP also voted to recommend the following:

• Adding updated recommendations to the 2022 immunization schedules for children, adolescents, and adults, including dengue vaccination for children aged 9-16 years in endemic areas and in adults over 65 and those aged 19-64 with certain chronic conditions.
• The use of Jynneos, a smallpox and monkeypox vaccine, as an alternative to ACAM2000 for those at risk for occupational exposure.
• Pre-exposure vaccination of health care personnel involved in the transport and treatment of suspected Ebola patients at special treatment centers, or lab and support staff working with or handling specimens that may contain the Ebola virus.

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

The Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention has unanimously voted to recommend universal hepatitis B (HBV) immunization in all unvaccinated adults aged 59 years or younger. The group also voted to expand recommendations for vaccinating people at risk for occupational exposure to Ebola and to recommend Jynneos, a smallpox and monkeypox vaccine, for at-risk populations.

The recommendations were approved Nov. 3.

Previously, ACIP recommended HBV vaccination for unvaccinated adults at increased risk for infection because of sexual exposure, percutaneous or mucosal exposure to blood, hepatitis C infection, chronic liver disease, end-stage renal disease, HIV infection, and travel to areas with high to intermediate levels of HBV infection. But experts agreed a new strategy was needed, as previously falling rates of HBV have plateaued. “The past decade has illustrated that risk-based screening has got us as far as it can take us,” Mark Weng, MD, a lieutenant commander in the U.S. Public Health Service and lead of the ACIP Hepatitis Vaccine Working Group, said during the meeting.

There are 1.9 million people living with chronic HBV in the United States, with over 20,000 new acute infections every year. Rates are highest among those in their 40s and 50s, Dr. Weng noted.

The group debated whether to apply the universal recommendation to all ages, but in a close vote (eight yes, seven no), ACIP included an age cutoff of 59. The majority argued that adults 60 and older are at lower risk for infection and vaccination efforts targeting younger adults would be more effective. Those 60 and older would continue to follow the risk-based guidelines, but anyone, regardless of age, can receive the vaccine if they wish to be protected, the group added.

The CDC director as well as several professional societies need to approve the recommendation before it becomes public policy.

ACIP also voted to recommend the following:

• Adding updated recommendations to the 2022 immunization schedules for children, adolescents, and adults, including dengue vaccination for children aged 9-16 years in endemic areas and in adults over 65 and those aged 19-64 with certain chronic conditions.
• The use of Jynneos, a smallpox and monkeypox vaccine, as an alternative to ACAM2000 for those at risk for occupational exposure.
• Pre-exposure vaccination of health care personnel involved in the transport and treatment of suspected Ebola patients at special treatment centers, or lab and support staff working with or handling specimens that may contain the Ebola virus.

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

They went into hospitals with heart attacks, kidney failure or in a psychiatric crisis.

They left with COVID-19 — if they left at all.

More than 10,000 patients were diagnosed with COVID in a U.S. hospital last year after they were admitted for something else, according to federal and state records analyzed exclusively for KHN. The number is certainly an undercount, since it includes mostly patients 65 and older, plus California and Florida patients of all ages.

Yet in the scheme of things that can go wrong in a hospital, it is catastrophic: About 21% of the patients who contracted COVID in the hospital from April to September last year died, the data shows. In contrast, nearly 8% of other Medicare patients died in the hospital at the time.

Steven Johnson, 66, was expecting to get an infection cut out of his hip flesh and bone at Blake Medical Center in Bradenton, Fla., last November. The retired pharmacist had survived colon cancer and was meticulous to avoid contracting COVID. He could not have known that, from April through September, 8% of that hospital’s Medicare COVID patients were diagnosed with the virus after they were admitted for another concern.

Mr. Johnson had tested negative for COVID two days before he was admitted. After 13 days in the hospital, he tested positive, said his wife, Cindy Johnson, also a retired pharmacist.

Soon he was struggling to clear a glue-like phlegm from his lungs. A medical team could hardly control his pain. They prompted Cindy to share his final wishes. She asked: “Honey, do you want to be intubated?” He responded with an emphatic “no.” He died three days later.

After her husband tested positive, Cindy Johnson, trained in contact tracing, quickly got a COVID test. She tested negative. Then she thought about the large number of hospital staffers flowing into and out of his room — where he was often unmasked — and suspected a staff member had infected him. That the hospital, part of the HCA Healthcare chain, still has not mandated staff vaccinations is “appalling,” she said.

“I’m furious,” she said.

“How can they say on their website,” she asked, “that the safety precautions ‘we’ve put into place make our facilities among the safest possible places to receive healthcare at this time’?”

Blake Medical Center spokesperson Lisa Kirkland said the hospital is “strongly encouraging vaccination” and noted that it follows Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and federal and state guidelines to protect patients. President Joe Biden has called for all hospital employees to be vaccinated, but the requirement could face resistance in a dozen states, including Florida, that have banned vaccine mandates.

Overall, the rate of in-hospital spread among Medicare and other patients was lower than in other countries, including the United Kingdom, which makes such data public and openly discusses it. On average, about 1.7% of U.S. hospitalized COVID patients were diagnosed with the virus in U.S. hospitals, according to an analysis of Medicare records from April 1 to Sept. 30, 2020, provided by Dr. James Kennedy, founder of CDIMD, a Nashville-based consulting and data analytics company.

Yet the rate of infection was far higher in 38 hospitals where 5% or more of the Medicare COVID cases were documented as hospital-acquired. The data is from a challenging stretch last year when protective gear was in short supply and tests were scarce or slow to produce results. The Medicare data for the fourth quarter of 2020 and this year isn’t available yet, and the state data reflects April 1 through Dec. 31, 2020.

A KHN review of work-safety records, medical literature and interviews with staff at high-spread hospitals points to why the virus took hold: Hospital leaders were slow to appreciate its airborne nature, which made coughing patients hazardous to roommates and staff members, who often wore less-protective surgical masks instead of N95s. Hospitals failed to test every admitted patient, enabled by CDC guidance that leaves such testing to the “discretion of the facility.” Management often failed to inform workers when they’d been exposed to COVID and so were at risk of spreading it themselves.

Spread among patients and staffers seemed to go hand in hand. At Beaumont Hospital, Taylor, in Michigan, 139 employee COVID infections were logged between April 6 to Oct. 20 last year, a hospital inspection report shows. Nearly 7% of the Medicare patients with COVID tested positive after they were admitted to that hospital for something else, the federal data shows. A hospital spokesperson said tests were not available to screen all patients last year, resulting in some late diagnoses. He said all incoming patients are tested now.

Tracking COVID inside health facilities is no new task to federal officials, who publicly report new staff and resident cases weekly for each U.S. nursing home. Yet the Department of Health and Human Services reports data on COVID’s spread in hospitals only on a statewide basis, so patients are in the dark about which facilities have cases.

KHN commissioned analyses of hospital billing records, which are also used more broadly to spot various hospital-acquired infections. For COVID, the data has limitations. It can pick up some community-acquired cases that were slow to show up, as it can take two to 14 days from exposure to the virus for symptoms to appear, with the average being four to five days. The records do not account for cases picked up in an emergency room or diagnosed after a hospital patient was discharged.

Linda Moore, 71, tested positive at least 15 days into a hospital stay for spinal surgery, according to her daughter Trisha Tavolazzi. Her mother was at Havasu Regional Medical Center in Lake Havasu City, Ariz., which did not have a higher-than-average rate of internal spread last summer.

The hospital implemented “rigorous health and safety protocols to protect all of our patients” during the pandemic, said hospital spokesperson Corey Santoriello, who would not comment on Ms. Moore’s case, citing privacy laws.

Ms. Moore was airlifted to another hospital, where her condition only declined further, her daughter said. After the ventilator was removed, she clung to life fitfully for 5½ hours, as her daughter prayed for her mother to find her way to heaven.

“I asked her mom and her dad and her family and prayed to God, ‘Please just come show her the way,’” Ms. Tavolazzi said. “I relive it every day.”

When Ms. Tavolazzi sought answers from the hospital about where her mom got the virus, she said, she got none: “No one ever called me back.”
 

Two negative COVID tests, then ‘patient zero’

As the second surge of COVID subsided last September, doctors from the prestigious Brigham and Women’s Hospital published a reassuringstudy: With careful infection control, only two of 697 COVID patients acquired the virus within the Boston hospital. That is about 0.3% of patients --about six times lower than the overall Medicare rate. Brigham tested every patient it admitted, exceeding CDC recommendations. It was transparent and open about safety concerns.

But the study, published in the high-profile JAMA Network Open journal, conveyed the wrong message, according to Dr. Manoj Jain, an infectious-disease physician and adjunct professor at the Rollins School of Public Health at Emory University. COVID was spreading in hospitals, he said, and the study buried “the problem under the rug.”

Before the virtual ink on the study was dry, the virus began a stealthy streak through the elite hospital. It slipped in with a patient who tested negative twice -- but turned out to be positive. She was “patient zero” in an outbreak affecting 38 staffers and 14 patients, according to a study in Annals of Internal Medicine initially published Feb. 9.

That study’s authors sequenced the genome of the virus to confirm which cases were related and precisely how it traveled through the hospital.

As patients were moved from room to room in the early days of the outbreak, COVID spread among roommates 8 out of 9 times, likely through aerosol transmission, the study says. A survey of staff members revealed that those caring for coughing patients were more likely to get sick.

The virus also appeared to have breached the CDC-OK’d protective gear. Two staff members who had close patient contact while wearing a surgical mask and face shield still wound up infected. The findings suggested that more-protective N95 respirators could help safeguard staff.

Brigham and Women’s now tests every patient upon admission and again soon after. Nurses are encouraged to test again if they see a subtle sign of COVID, said Dr. Erica Shenoy, associate chief of the Infection Control Unit at Massachusetts General Hospital, who helped craft policy at Brigham.

She said nurses and environmental services workers are at the table for policymaking: “I personally make it a point to say, ‘Tell me what you’re thinking,’” Dr. Shenoy said. “‘There’s no retribution because we need to know.’”

CDC guidelines, though, left wide latitude on protective gear and testing. To this day, Dr. Shenoy said, hospitals employ a wide range of policies.

The CDC said in a statement that its guidelines “provide a comprehensive and layered approach to preventing transmission of SARS-CoV-2 in healthcare settings,” and include testing patients with “even mild symptoms” or recent exposure to someone with COVID.

Infection control policies are rarely apparent to patients or visitors, beyond whether they’re asked to wear a mask. But reviews of public records and interviews with more than a dozen people show that at hospitals with high rates of COVID spread, staff members were often alarmed by the lack of safety practices.
 

Nurses sound the alarm on COVID spread

As COVID crept into Florida in spring 2020, nurse Victoria Holland clashed with managers at Blake Medical Center in Bradenton, where Steven Johnson died.

She said managers suspended her early in the pandemic after taking part in a protest and “having a hissy fit” when she was denied a new N95 respirator before an “aerosol-generating” procedure. The CDC warns that such procedures can spread the virus through the air. Before the pandemic, nurses were trained to dispose of an N95 after each patient encounter.

When the suspension was over, Ms. Holland said, she felt unsafe. “They told us nothing,” she said. “It was all a little whisper between the doctors. You had potential COVIDs and you’d get a little surgical mask because [they didn’t] want to waste” an N95 unless they knew the patient was positive.

Ms. Holland said she quit in mid-April. Her nursing colleagues lodged a complaint with the Occupational Safety and Health Administration in late June alleging that staff “working around possible COVID-19 positive cases” had been denied PPE. Staff members protested outside the hospital in July and filed another OSHA complaint that said the hospital was allowing COVID-exposed employees to keep working.

Ms. Kirkland, the Blake spokesperson, said the hospital responded to OSHA and “no deficiencies were identified.”

The Medicare analysis shows that 22 of 273 patients with COVID, or 8%, were diagnosed with the virus after they were admitted to Blake. That’s about five times as high as the national average.

Ms. Kirkland said “there is no standard way for measuring COVID-19 hospital-associated transmissions” and “there is no evidence to suggest the risk of transmission at Blake Medical Center is different than what you would find at other hospitals.”

In Washington, D.C., 34 Medicare COVID patients contracted the virus at MedStar Washington Hospital Center, or nearly 6% of its total, the analysis shows.

Unhappy with the safety practices — which included gas sterilization and reuse of N95s — National Nurses United members protested on the hospital lawn in July 2020. At the protest, nurse Zoe Bendixen said one nurse had died of the virus and 50 had gotten sick: “[Nurses] can become a source for spreading the disease to other patients, co-workers and family members.”

Nurse Yuhana Gidey said she caught COVID after treating a patient who turned out to be infected. Another nurse, not managers doing contact tracing, told her she’d been exposed, she said.

Nurse Kimberly Walsh said in an interview there was an outbreak in a geriatric unit where she worked in September 2020. She said management blamed nurses for bringing the virus into the unit. But Ms. Walsh pointed to another problem: The hospital wasn’t COVID-testing patients coming in from nursing homes, where spread was rampant last year.

MedStar declined a request for an interview about its infection control practices and did not respond to specific questions.

While hospitals must track and publicly report rates of persistent infections like C. diff, antibiotic-resistant staph and surgical site infections, similar hospital-acquired COVID rates are not reported.

KHN examined a different source of data that Congress required hospitals to document about “hospital-acquired conditions.” The Medicare data, which notes whether each COVID case was “present on admission” or not, becomes available months after a hospitalization in obscure files that require a data-use agreement typically granted to researchers. KHN counted cases, as federal officials do, in some instances in which the documentation is deemed insufficient to categorize a case (see data methodology on the KHN website).

For this data, whether to deem a COVID case hospital-acquired lies with medical coders who review doctors’ notes and discharge summaries and ask doctors questions if the status is unclear, said Sue Bowman, senior director of coding policy and compliance at American Health Information Management Association.

She said medical coders are aware that the data is used for hospital quality measures and would be careful to review the contract tracing or other information in the medical record.

If a case was in the data KHN used, “that would mean it was acquired during the hospital stay either from a health care worker or another patient or maybe if a hospital allowed visitors, from a visitor,” Ms. Bowman said. “That would be a fair interpretation of the data.”

The high death rate for those diagnosed with COVID during a hospital stay — about 21% — mirrors the death rate for other Medicare COVID patients last year, when doctors had few proven methods to help patients. It also highlights the hazard unvaccinated staffers pose to patients, said Dr. Jain, the infectious-disease doctor. The American Hospital Association estimates that about 42% of U.S. hospitals have mandated that all staff members be vaccinated.

“We don’t need [unvaccinated staff] to be a threat to patients,” Dr. Jain said. “[Hospital] administration is too afraid to push the nursing staff, and the general public is clueless at what a threat a non-vaccinated person poses to a vulnerable population.”

Cindy Johnson said the hospital where she believes her husband contracted COVID faced minimal scrutiny in a state inspection, even after she said she reported that he caught COVID there. She explored suing, but an attorney told her it would be nearly impossible to win such a case. A 2021 state law requires proof of “at least gross negligence” to prevail in court. 

Ms. Johnson did ask a doctor who sees patients at the hospital for this: Please take down the big “OPEN & SAFE” sign outside. 

Within days, the sign was gone.

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

They went into hospitals with heart attacks, kidney failure or in a psychiatric crisis.

They left with COVID-19 — if they left at all.

More than 10,000 patients were diagnosed with COVID in a U.S. hospital last year after they were admitted for something else, according to federal and state records analyzed exclusively for KHN. The number is certainly an undercount, since it includes mostly patients 65 and older, plus California and Florida patients of all ages.

Yet in the scheme of things that can go wrong in a hospital, it is catastrophic: About 21% of the patients who contracted COVID in the hospital from April to September last year died, the data shows. In contrast, nearly 8% of other Medicare patients died in the hospital at the time.

Steven Johnson, 66, was expecting to get an infection cut out of his hip flesh and bone at Blake Medical Center in Bradenton, Fla., last November. The retired pharmacist had survived colon cancer and was meticulous to avoid contracting COVID. He could not have known that, from April through September, 8% of that hospital’s Medicare COVID patients were diagnosed with the virus after they were admitted for another concern.

Mr. Johnson had tested negative for COVID two days before he was admitted. After 13 days in the hospital, he tested positive, said his wife, Cindy Johnson, also a retired pharmacist.

Soon he was struggling to clear a glue-like phlegm from his lungs. A medical team could hardly control his pain. They prompted Cindy to share his final wishes. She asked: “Honey, do you want to be intubated?” He responded with an emphatic “no.” He died three days later.

After her husband tested positive, Cindy Johnson, trained in contact tracing, quickly got a COVID test. She tested negative. Then she thought about the large number of hospital staffers flowing into and out of his room — where he was often unmasked — and suspected a staff member had infected him. That the hospital, part of the HCA Healthcare chain, still has not mandated staff vaccinations is “appalling,” she said.

“I’m furious,” she said.

“How can they say on their website,” she asked, “that the safety precautions ‘we’ve put into place make our facilities among the safest possible places to receive healthcare at this time’?”

Blake Medical Center spokesperson Lisa Kirkland said the hospital is “strongly encouraging vaccination” and noted that it follows Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and federal and state guidelines to protect patients. President Joe Biden has called for all hospital employees to be vaccinated, but the requirement could face resistance in a dozen states, including Florida, that have banned vaccine mandates.

Overall, the rate of in-hospital spread among Medicare and other patients was lower than in other countries, including the United Kingdom, which makes such data public and openly discusses it. On average, about 1.7% of U.S. hospitalized COVID patients were diagnosed with the virus in U.S. hospitals, according to an analysis of Medicare records from April 1 to Sept. 30, 2020, provided by Dr. James Kennedy, founder of CDIMD, a Nashville-based consulting and data analytics company.

Yet the rate of infection was far higher in 38 hospitals where 5% or more of the Medicare COVID cases were documented as hospital-acquired. The data is from a challenging stretch last year when protective gear was in short supply and tests were scarce or slow to produce results. The Medicare data for the fourth quarter of 2020 and this year isn’t available yet, and the state data reflects April 1 through Dec. 31, 2020.

A KHN review of work-safety records, medical literature and interviews with staff at high-spread hospitals points to why the virus took hold: Hospital leaders were slow to appreciate its airborne nature, which made coughing patients hazardous to roommates and staff members, who often wore less-protective surgical masks instead of N95s. Hospitals failed to test every admitted patient, enabled by CDC guidance that leaves such testing to the “discretion of the facility.” Management often failed to inform workers when they’d been exposed to COVID and so were at risk of spreading it themselves.

Spread among patients and staffers seemed to go hand in hand. At Beaumont Hospital, Taylor, in Michigan, 139 employee COVID infections were logged between April 6 to Oct. 20 last year, a hospital inspection report shows. Nearly 7% of the Medicare patients with COVID tested positive after they were admitted to that hospital for something else, the federal data shows. A hospital spokesperson said tests were not available to screen all patients last year, resulting in some late diagnoses. He said all incoming patients are tested now.

Tracking COVID inside health facilities is no new task to federal officials, who publicly report new staff and resident cases weekly for each U.S. nursing home. Yet the Department of Health and Human Services reports data on COVID’s spread in hospitals only on a statewide basis, so patients are in the dark about which facilities have cases.

KHN commissioned analyses of hospital billing records, which are also used more broadly to spot various hospital-acquired infections. For COVID, the data has limitations. It can pick up some community-acquired cases that were slow to show up, as it can take two to 14 days from exposure to the virus for symptoms to appear, with the average being four to five days. The records do not account for cases picked up in an emergency room or diagnosed after a hospital patient was discharged.

Linda Moore, 71, tested positive at least 15 days into a hospital stay for spinal surgery, according to her daughter Trisha Tavolazzi. Her mother was at Havasu Regional Medical Center in Lake Havasu City, Ariz., which did not have a higher-than-average rate of internal spread last summer.

The hospital implemented “rigorous health and safety protocols to protect all of our patients” during the pandemic, said hospital spokesperson Corey Santoriello, who would not comment on Ms. Moore’s case, citing privacy laws.

Ms. Moore was airlifted to another hospital, where her condition only declined further, her daughter said. After the ventilator was removed, she clung to life fitfully for 5½ hours, as her daughter prayed for her mother to find her way to heaven.

“I asked her mom and her dad and her family and prayed to God, ‘Please just come show her the way,’” Ms. Tavolazzi said. “I relive it every day.”

When Ms. Tavolazzi sought answers from the hospital about where her mom got the virus, she said, she got none: “No one ever called me back.”
 

Two negative COVID tests, then ‘patient zero’

As the second surge of COVID subsided last September, doctors from the prestigious Brigham and Women’s Hospital published a reassuringstudy: With careful infection control, only two of 697 COVID patients acquired the virus within the Boston hospital. That is about 0.3% of patients --about six times lower than the overall Medicare rate. Brigham tested every patient it admitted, exceeding CDC recommendations. It was transparent and open about safety concerns.

But the study, published in the high-profile JAMA Network Open journal, conveyed the wrong message, according to Dr. Manoj Jain, an infectious-disease physician and adjunct professor at the Rollins School of Public Health at Emory University. COVID was spreading in hospitals, he said, and the study buried “the problem under the rug.”

Before the virtual ink on the study was dry, the virus began a stealthy streak through the elite hospital. It slipped in with a patient who tested negative twice -- but turned out to be positive. She was “patient zero” in an outbreak affecting 38 staffers and 14 patients, according to a study in Annals of Internal Medicine initially published Feb. 9.

That study’s authors sequenced the genome of the virus to confirm which cases were related and precisely how it traveled through the hospital.

As patients were moved from room to room in the early days of the outbreak, COVID spread among roommates 8 out of 9 times, likely through aerosol transmission, the study says. A survey of staff members revealed that those caring for coughing patients were more likely to get sick.

The virus also appeared to have breached the CDC-OK’d protective gear. Two staff members who had close patient contact while wearing a surgical mask and face shield still wound up infected. The findings suggested that more-protective N95 respirators could help safeguard staff.

Brigham and Women’s now tests every patient upon admission and again soon after. Nurses are encouraged to test again if they see a subtle sign of COVID, said Dr. Erica Shenoy, associate chief of the Infection Control Unit at Massachusetts General Hospital, who helped craft policy at Brigham.

She said nurses and environmental services workers are at the table for policymaking: “I personally make it a point to say, ‘Tell me what you’re thinking,’” Dr. Shenoy said. “‘There’s no retribution because we need to know.’”

CDC guidelines, though, left wide latitude on protective gear and testing. To this day, Dr. Shenoy said, hospitals employ a wide range of policies.

The CDC said in a statement that its guidelines “provide a comprehensive and layered approach to preventing transmission of SARS-CoV-2 in healthcare settings,” and include testing patients with “even mild symptoms” or recent exposure to someone with COVID.

Infection control policies are rarely apparent to patients or visitors, beyond whether they’re asked to wear a mask. But reviews of public records and interviews with more than a dozen people show that at hospitals with high rates of COVID spread, staff members were often alarmed by the lack of safety practices.
 

Nurses sound the alarm on COVID spread

As COVID crept into Florida in spring 2020, nurse Victoria Holland clashed with managers at Blake Medical Center in Bradenton, where Steven Johnson died.

She said managers suspended her early in the pandemic after taking part in a protest and “having a hissy fit” when she was denied a new N95 respirator before an “aerosol-generating” procedure. The CDC warns that such procedures can spread the virus through the air. Before the pandemic, nurses were trained to dispose of an N95 after each patient encounter.

When the suspension was over, Ms. Holland said, she felt unsafe. “They told us nothing,” she said. “It was all a little whisper between the doctors. You had potential COVIDs and you’d get a little surgical mask because [they didn’t] want to waste” an N95 unless they knew the patient was positive.

Ms. Holland said she quit in mid-April. Her nursing colleagues lodged a complaint with the Occupational Safety and Health Administration in late June alleging that staff “working around possible COVID-19 positive cases” had been denied PPE. Staff members protested outside the hospital in July and filed another OSHA complaint that said the hospital was allowing COVID-exposed employees to keep working.

Ms. Kirkland, the Blake spokesperson, said the hospital responded to OSHA and “no deficiencies were identified.”

The Medicare analysis shows that 22 of 273 patients with COVID, or 8%, were diagnosed with the virus after they were admitted to Blake. That’s about five times as high as the national average.

Ms. Kirkland said “there is no standard way for measuring COVID-19 hospital-associated transmissions” and “there is no evidence to suggest the risk of transmission at Blake Medical Center is different than what you would find at other hospitals.”

In Washington, D.C., 34 Medicare COVID patients contracted the virus at MedStar Washington Hospital Center, or nearly 6% of its total, the analysis shows.

Unhappy with the safety practices — which included gas sterilization and reuse of N95s — National Nurses United members protested on the hospital lawn in July 2020. At the protest, nurse Zoe Bendixen said one nurse had died of the virus and 50 had gotten sick: “[Nurses] can become a source for spreading the disease to other patients, co-workers and family members.”

Nurse Yuhana Gidey said she caught COVID after treating a patient who turned out to be infected. Another nurse, not managers doing contact tracing, told her she’d been exposed, she said.

Nurse Kimberly Walsh said in an interview there was an outbreak in a geriatric unit where she worked in September 2020. She said management blamed nurses for bringing the virus into the unit. But Ms. Walsh pointed to another problem: The hospital wasn’t COVID-testing patients coming in from nursing homes, where spread was rampant last year.

MedStar declined a request for an interview about its infection control practices and did not respond to specific questions.

While hospitals must track and publicly report rates of persistent infections like C. diff, antibiotic-resistant staph and surgical site infections, similar hospital-acquired COVID rates are not reported.

KHN examined a different source of data that Congress required hospitals to document about “hospital-acquired conditions.” The Medicare data, which notes whether each COVID case was “present on admission” or not, becomes available months after a hospitalization in obscure files that require a data-use agreement typically granted to researchers. KHN counted cases, as federal officials do, in some instances in which the documentation is deemed insufficient to categorize a case (see data methodology on the KHN website).

For this data, whether to deem a COVID case hospital-acquired lies with medical coders who review doctors’ notes and discharge summaries and ask doctors questions if the status is unclear, said Sue Bowman, senior director of coding policy and compliance at American Health Information Management Association.

She said medical coders are aware that the data is used for hospital quality measures and would be careful to review the contract tracing or other information in the medical record.

If a case was in the data KHN used, “that would mean it was acquired during the hospital stay either from a health care worker or another patient or maybe if a hospital allowed visitors, from a visitor,” Ms. Bowman said. “That would be a fair interpretation of the data.”

The high death rate for those diagnosed with COVID during a hospital stay — about 21% — mirrors the death rate for other Medicare COVID patients last year, when doctors had few proven methods to help patients. It also highlights the hazard unvaccinated staffers pose to patients, said Dr. Jain, the infectious-disease doctor. The American Hospital Association estimates that about 42% of U.S. hospitals have mandated that all staff members be vaccinated.

“We don’t need [unvaccinated staff] to be a threat to patients,” Dr. Jain said. “[Hospital] administration is too afraid to push the nursing staff, and the general public is clueless at what a threat a non-vaccinated person poses to a vulnerable population.”

Cindy Johnson said the hospital where she believes her husband contracted COVID faced minimal scrutiny in a state inspection, even after she said she reported that he caught COVID there. She explored suing, but an attorney told her it would be nearly impossible to win such a case. A 2021 state law requires proof of “at least gross negligence” to prevail in court. 

Ms. Johnson did ask a doctor who sees patients at the hospital for this: Please take down the big “OPEN & SAFE” sign outside. 

Within days, the sign was gone.

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

They went into hospitals with heart attacks, kidney failure or in a psychiatric crisis.

They left with COVID-19 — if they left at all.

More than 10,000 patients were diagnosed with COVID in a U.S. hospital last year after they were admitted for something else, according to federal and state records analyzed exclusively for KHN. The number is certainly an undercount, since it includes mostly patients 65 and older, plus California and Florida patients of all ages.

Yet in the scheme of things that can go wrong in a hospital, it is catastrophic: About 21% of the patients who contracted COVID in the hospital from April to September last year died, the data shows. In contrast, nearly 8% of other Medicare patients died in the hospital at the time.

Steven Johnson, 66, was expecting to get an infection cut out of his hip flesh and bone at Blake Medical Center in Bradenton, Fla., last November. The retired pharmacist had survived colon cancer and was meticulous to avoid contracting COVID. He could not have known that, from April through September, 8% of that hospital’s Medicare COVID patients were diagnosed with the virus after they were admitted for another concern.

Mr. Johnson had tested negative for COVID two days before he was admitted. After 13 days in the hospital, he tested positive, said his wife, Cindy Johnson, also a retired pharmacist.

Soon he was struggling to clear a glue-like phlegm from his lungs. A medical team could hardly control his pain. They prompted Cindy to share his final wishes. She asked: “Honey, do you want to be intubated?” He responded with an emphatic “no.” He died three days later.

After her husband tested positive, Cindy Johnson, trained in contact tracing, quickly got a COVID test. She tested negative. Then she thought about the large number of hospital staffers flowing into and out of his room — where he was often unmasked — and suspected a staff member had infected him. That the hospital, part of the HCA Healthcare chain, still has not mandated staff vaccinations is “appalling,” she said.

“I’m furious,” she said.

“How can they say on their website,” she asked, “that the safety precautions ‘we’ve put into place make our facilities among the safest possible places to receive healthcare at this time’?”

Blake Medical Center spokesperson Lisa Kirkland said the hospital is “strongly encouraging vaccination” and noted that it follows Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and federal and state guidelines to protect patients. President Joe Biden has called for all hospital employees to be vaccinated, but the requirement could face resistance in a dozen states, including Florida, that have banned vaccine mandates.

Overall, the rate of in-hospital spread among Medicare and other patients was lower than in other countries, including the United Kingdom, which makes such data public and openly discusses it. On average, about 1.7% of U.S. hospitalized COVID patients were diagnosed with the virus in U.S. hospitals, according to an analysis of Medicare records from April 1 to Sept. 30, 2020, provided by Dr. James Kennedy, founder of CDIMD, a Nashville-based consulting and data analytics company.

Yet the rate of infection was far higher in 38 hospitals where 5% or more of the Medicare COVID cases were documented as hospital-acquired. The data is from a challenging stretch last year when protective gear was in short supply and tests were scarce or slow to produce results. The Medicare data for the fourth quarter of 2020 and this year isn’t available yet, and the state data reflects April 1 through Dec. 31, 2020.

A KHN review of work-safety records, medical literature and interviews with staff at high-spread hospitals points to why the virus took hold: Hospital leaders were slow to appreciate its airborne nature, which made coughing patients hazardous to roommates and staff members, who often wore less-protective surgical masks instead of N95s. Hospitals failed to test every admitted patient, enabled by CDC guidance that leaves such testing to the “discretion of the facility.” Management often failed to inform workers when they’d been exposed to COVID and so were at risk of spreading it themselves.

Spread among patients and staffers seemed to go hand in hand. At Beaumont Hospital, Taylor, in Michigan, 139 employee COVID infections were logged between April 6 to Oct. 20 last year, a hospital inspection report shows. Nearly 7% of the Medicare patients with COVID tested positive after they were admitted to that hospital for something else, the federal data shows. A hospital spokesperson said tests were not available to screen all patients last year, resulting in some late diagnoses. He said all incoming patients are tested now.

Tracking COVID inside health facilities is no new task to federal officials, who publicly report new staff and resident cases weekly for each U.S. nursing home. Yet the Department of Health and Human Services reports data on COVID’s spread in hospitals only on a statewide basis, so patients are in the dark about which facilities have cases.

KHN commissioned analyses of hospital billing records, which are also used more broadly to spot various hospital-acquired infections. For COVID, the data has limitations. It can pick up some community-acquired cases that were slow to show up, as it can take two to 14 days from exposure to the virus for symptoms to appear, with the average being four to five days. The records do not account for cases picked up in an emergency room or diagnosed after a hospital patient was discharged.

Linda Moore, 71, tested positive at least 15 days into a hospital stay for spinal surgery, according to her daughter Trisha Tavolazzi. Her mother was at Havasu Regional Medical Center in Lake Havasu City, Ariz., which did not have a higher-than-average rate of internal spread last summer.

The hospital implemented “rigorous health and safety protocols to protect all of our patients” during the pandemic, said hospital spokesperson Corey Santoriello, who would not comment on Ms. Moore’s case, citing privacy laws.

Ms. Moore was airlifted to another hospital, where her condition only declined further, her daughter said. After the ventilator was removed, she clung to life fitfully for 5½ hours, as her daughter prayed for her mother to find her way to heaven.

“I asked her mom and her dad and her family and prayed to God, ‘Please just come show her the way,’” Ms. Tavolazzi said. “I relive it every day.”

When Ms. Tavolazzi sought answers from the hospital about where her mom got the virus, she said, she got none: “No one ever called me back.”
 

Two negative COVID tests, then ‘patient zero’

As the second surge of COVID subsided last September, doctors from the prestigious Brigham and Women’s Hospital published a reassuringstudy: With careful infection control, only two of 697 COVID patients acquired the virus within the Boston hospital. That is about 0.3% of patients --about six times lower than the overall Medicare rate. Brigham tested every patient it admitted, exceeding CDC recommendations. It was transparent and open about safety concerns.

But the study, published in the high-profile JAMA Network Open journal, conveyed the wrong message, according to Dr. Manoj Jain, an infectious-disease physician and adjunct professor at the Rollins School of Public Health at Emory University. COVID was spreading in hospitals, he said, and the study buried “the problem under the rug.”

Before the virtual ink on the study was dry, the virus began a stealthy streak through the elite hospital. It slipped in with a patient who tested negative twice -- but turned out to be positive. She was “patient zero” in an outbreak affecting 38 staffers and 14 patients, according to a study in Annals of Internal Medicine initially published Feb. 9.

That study’s authors sequenced the genome of the virus to confirm which cases were related and precisely how it traveled through the hospital.

As patients were moved from room to room in the early days of the outbreak, COVID spread among roommates 8 out of 9 times, likely through aerosol transmission, the study says. A survey of staff members revealed that those caring for coughing patients were more likely to get sick.

The virus also appeared to have breached the CDC-OK’d protective gear. Two staff members who had close patient contact while wearing a surgical mask and face shield still wound up infected. The findings suggested that more-protective N95 respirators could help safeguard staff.

Brigham and Women’s now tests every patient upon admission and again soon after. Nurses are encouraged to test again if they see a subtle sign of COVID, said Dr. Erica Shenoy, associate chief of the Infection Control Unit at Massachusetts General Hospital, who helped craft policy at Brigham.

She said nurses and environmental services workers are at the table for policymaking: “I personally make it a point to say, ‘Tell me what you’re thinking,’” Dr. Shenoy said. “‘There’s no retribution because we need to know.’”

CDC guidelines, though, left wide latitude on protective gear and testing. To this day, Dr. Shenoy said, hospitals employ a wide range of policies.

The CDC said in a statement that its guidelines “provide a comprehensive and layered approach to preventing transmission of SARS-CoV-2 in healthcare settings,” and include testing patients with “even mild symptoms” or recent exposure to someone with COVID.

Infection control policies are rarely apparent to patients or visitors, beyond whether they’re asked to wear a mask. But reviews of public records and interviews with more than a dozen people show that at hospitals with high rates of COVID spread, staff members were often alarmed by the lack of safety practices.
 

Nurses sound the alarm on COVID spread

As COVID crept into Florida in spring 2020, nurse Victoria Holland clashed with managers at Blake Medical Center in Bradenton, where Steven Johnson died.

She said managers suspended her early in the pandemic after taking part in a protest and “having a hissy fit” when she was denied a new N95 respirator before an “aerosol-generating” procedure. The CDC warns that such procedures can spread the virus through the air. Before the pandemic, nurses were trained to dispose of an N95 after each patient encounter.

When the suspension was over, Ms. Holland said, she felt unsafe. “They told us nothing,” she said. “It was all a little whisper between the doctors. You had potential COVIDs and you’d get a little surgical mask because [they didn’t] want to waste” an N95 unless they knew the patient was positive.

Ms. Holland said she quit in mid-April. Her nursing colleagues lodged a complaint with the Occupational Safety and Health Administration in late June alleging that staff “working around possible COVID-19 positive cases” had been denied PPE. Staff members protested outside the hospital in July and filed another OSHA complaint that said the hospital was allowing COVID-exposed employees to keep working.

Ms. Kirkland, the Blake spokesperson, said the hospital responded to OSHA and “no deficiencies were identified.”

The Medicare analysis shows that 22 of 273 patients with COVID, or 8%, were diagnosed with the virus after they were admitted to Blake. That’s about five times as high as the national average.

Ms. Kirkland said “there is no standard way for measuring COVID-19 hospital-associated transmissions” and “there is no evidence to suggest the risk of transmission at Blake Medical Center is different than what you would find at other hospitals.”

In Washington, D.C., 34 Medicare COVID patients contracted the virus at MedStar Washington Hospital Center, or nearly 6% of its total, the analysis shows.

Unhappy with the safety practices — which included gas sterilization and reuse of N95s — National Nurses United members protested on the hospital lawn in July 2020. At the protest, nurse Zoe Bendixen said one nurse had died of the virus and 50 had gotten sick: “[Nurses] can become a source for spreading the disease to other patients, co-workers and family members.”

Nurse Yuhana Gidey said she caught COVID after treating a patient who turned out to be infected. Another nurse, not managers doing contact tracing, told her she’d been exposed, she said.

Nurse Kimberly Walsh said in an interview there was an outbreak in a geriatric unit where she worked in September 2020. She said management blamed nurses for bringing the virus into the unit. But Ms. Walsh pointed to another problem: The hospital wasn’t COVID-testing patients coming in from nursing homes, where spread was rampant last year.

MedStar declined a request for an interview about its infection control practices and did not respond to specific questions.

While hospitals must track and publicly report rates of persistent infections like C. diff, antibiotic-resistant staph and surgical site infections, similar hospital-acquired COVID rates are not reported.

KHN examined a different source of data that Congress required hospitals to document about “hospital-acquired conditions.” The Medicare data, which notes whether each COVID case was “present on admission” or not, becomes available months after a hospitalization in obscure files that require a data-use agreement typically granted to researchers. KHN counted cases, as federal officials do, in some instances in which the documentation is deemed insufficient to categorize a case (see data methodology on the KHN website).

For this data, whether to deem a COVID case hospital-acquired lies with medical coders who review doctors’ notes and discharge summaries and ask doctors questions if the status is unclear, said Sue Bowman, senior director of coding policy and compliance at American Health Information Management Association.

She said medical coders are aware that the data is used for hospital quality measures and would be careful to review the contract tracing or other information in the medical record.

If a case was in the data KHN used, “that would mean it was acquired during the hospital stay either from a health care worker or another patient or maybe if a hospital allowed visitors, from a visitor,” Ms. Bowman said. “That would be a fair interpretation of the data.”

The high death rate for those diagnosed with COVID during a hospital stay — about 21% — mirrors the death rate for other Medicare COVID patients last year, when doctors had few proven methods to help patients. It also highlights the hazard unvaccinated staffers pose to patients, said Dr. Jain, the infectious-disease doctor. The American Hospital Association estimates that about 42% of U.S. hospitals have mandated that all staff members be vaccinated.

“We don’t need [unvaccinated staff] to be a threat to patients,” Dr. Jain said. “[Hospital] administration is too afraid to push the nursing staff, and the general public is clueless at what a threat a non-vaccinated person poses to a vulnerable population.”

Cindy Johnson said the hospital where she believes her husband contracted COVID faced minimal scrutiny in a state inspection, even after she said she reported that he caught COVID there. She explored suing, but an attorney told her it would be nearly impossible to win such a case. A 2021 state law requires proof of “at least gross negligence” to prevail in court. 

Ms. Johnson did ask a doctor who sees patients at the hospital for this: Please take down the big “OPEN & SAFE” sign outside. 

Within days, the sign was gone.

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

Increased mental health needs, higher acuity from delayed appointments, and added questions and conversations surrounding COVID-19 are forcing primary care offices to rethink priorities in office visits.

Evidence of this came from the latest Primary Care Collaborative (PCC) survey, which found that primary care clinicians are seeing more complex patients requiring longer appointments in the wake of COVID-19.

The PCC with the Larry A. Green Center regularly surveys primary care clinicians. This round of questions came August 14-17 and included 1,263 respondents from 49 states, the District of Columbia, and two territories.

More than 7 in 10 (71%) respondents said their patients are more complex and nearly the same percentage said appointments are taking more time.

Ann Greiner, president and CEO of the PCC, said in an interview that 55% of respondents reported that clinicians are struggling to keep up with pent-up demand after patients have delayed or canceled care. Sixty-five percent in the survey said they had seen a rise in children’s mental health issues, and 58% said they were unsure how to help their patients with long COVID.

In addition, primary care clinicians are having repeated conversations with patients on why they should get a vaccine and which one.

“I think that’s adding to the complexity. There is a lot going on here with patient trust,” Ms. Greiner said.
 

‘We’re going to be playing catch-up’

Jacqueline Fincher, MD, an internist in Thompson, Ga., said in an interview that appointments have gotten longer and more complex in the wake of the pandemic – “no question.”

The immediate past president of the American College of Physicians is seeing patients with chronic disease that has gone untreated for sometimes a year or more, she said.

“Their blood pressure was not under good control, they were under more stress, their sugars were up and weren’t being followed as closely for conditions such as congestive heart failure,” she said.

Dr. Fincher, who works in a rural practice 40 miles from Augusta, Ga., with her physician husband and two other physicians, said patients are ready to come back in, “but I don’t have enough slots for them.”

She said she prioritizes what to help patients with first and schedules the next tier for the next appointment, but added, “honestly, over the next 2 years we’re going to be playing catch-up.”

At the same time, the CDC has estimated that 45% of U.S. adults are at increased risk for complications from COVID-19 because of cardiovascular disease, diabetes, respiratory disease, hypertension, or cancer. Rates ranged from 19.8% for people 18-29 years old to 80.7% for people over 80 years of age.
 

Long COVID could overwhelm existing health care capacity

Primary care physicians are also having to diagnose sometimes “invisible” symptoms after people have recovered from acute COVID-19 infection. Diagnosing takes intent listening to patients who describe symptoms that tests can’t confirm.

As this news organization has previously reported, half of COVID-19 survivors report postacute sequelae of COVID-19 (PASC) lasting longer than 6 months.

“These long-term PASC effects occur on a scale that could overwhelm existing health care capacity, particularly in low- and middle-income countries,” the authors wrote.
 

Anxiety, depression ‘have gone off the charts’

Danielle Loeb, MD, MPH, associate professor of internal medicine at the University of Colorado in Denver, who studies complexity in primary care, said in the wake of COVID-19, more patients have developed “new, serious anxiety.”

Courtesy Dr. Danielle Loeb

“That got extremely exacerbated during the pandemic. Anxiety and depression have gone off the charts,” said Dr. Loeb, who prefers the pronoun “they.”

Dr. Loeb cares for a large number of transgender patients. As offices reopen, some patients are having trouble reintegrating into the workplace and resuming social contacts. The primary care doctor says appointments can get longer because of the need to complete tasks, such as filling out forms for Family Medical Leave Act for those not yet ready to return to work.

COVID-19–related fears are keeping many patients from coming into the office, Dr. Loeb said, either from fear of exposure or because they have mental health issues that keep them from feeling safe leaving the house.

“That really affects my ability to care for them,” they said.

Loss of employment in the pandemic or fear of job loss and subsequent changing of insurance has complicated primary care in terms of treatment and administrative tasks, according to Dr. Loeb.

To help treat patients with acute mental health issues and manage other patients, Dr. Loeb’s practice has brought in a social worker and a therapist.

Team-based care is key in the survival of primary care practices, though providing that is difficult in the smaller clinics because of the critical mass of patients needed to make it viable, they said.

“It’s the only answer. It’s the only way you don’t drown,” Dr. Loeb added. “I’m not drowning, and I credit that to my clinic having the help to support the mental health piece of things.”
 

Rethinking workflow

Tricia McGinnis, MPP, MPH, executive vice president of the nonprofit Center for Health Care Strategies (CHCS) says complexity has forced rethinking workflow.

“A lot of the trends we’re seeing in primary care were there pre-COVID, but COVID has exacerbated those trends,” she said in an interview.

“The good news ... is that it was already becoming clear that primary care needed to provide basic mental health services and integrate with behavioral health. It had also become clear that effective primary care needed to address social issues that keep patients from accessing health care,” she said.

Expanding care teams, as Dr. Loeb mentioned, is a key strategy, according to Ms. McGinnis. Potential teams would include the clinical staff, but also social workers and community health workers – people who come from the community primary care is serving who can help build trust with patients and connect the patient to the primary care team.

“There’s a lot that needs to happen that the clinician doesn’t need to do,” she said.

Telehealth can be a big factor in coordinating the team, Ms. McGinnis added.

“It’s thinking less about who’s doing the work, but more about the work that needs to be done to keep people healthy. Then let’s think about the type of workers best suited to perform those tasks,” she said.

As for reimbursing more complex care, population-based, up-front capitated payments linked to high-quality care and better outcomes will need to replace fee-for-service models, according to Ms. McGinnis.

That will provide reliable incomes for primary care offices, but also flexibility in how each patient with different levels of complexity is managed, she said.

Ms. Greiner, Dr. Fincher, Dr. Loeb, and Ms. McGinnis have no relevant financial relationships.

Increased mental health needs, higher acuity from delayed appointments, and added questions and conversations surrounding COVID-19 are forcing primary care offices to rethink priorities in office visits.

Evidence of this came from the latest Primary Care Collaborative (PCC) survey, which found that primary care clinicians are seeing more complex patients requiring longer appointments in the wake of COVID-19.

The PCC with the Larry A. Green Center regularly surveys primary care clinicians. This round of questions came August 14-17 and included 1,263 respondents from 49 states, the District of Columbia, and two territories.

More than 7 in 10 (71%) respondents said their patients are more complex and nearly the same percentage said appointments are taking more time.

Ann Greiner, president and CEO of the PCC, said in an interview that 55% of respondents reported that clinicians are struggling to keep up with pent-up demand after patients have delayed or canceled care. Sixty-five percent in the survey said they had seen a rise in children’s mental health issues, and 58% said they were unsure how to help their patients with long COVID.

In addition, primary care clinicians are having repeated conversations with patients on why they should get a vaccine and which one.

“I think that’s adding to the complexity. There is a lot going on here with patient trust,” Ms. Greiner said.
 

‘We’re going to be playing catch-up’

Jacqueline Fincher, MD, an internist in Thompson, Ga., said in an interview that appointments have gotten longer and more complex in the wake of the pandemic – “no question.”

The immediate past president of the American College of Physicians is seeing patients with chronic disease that has gone untreated for sometimes a year or more, she said.

“Their blood pressure was not under good control, they were under more stress, their sugars were up and weren’t being followed as closely for conditions such as congestive heart failure,” she said.

Dr. Fincher, who works in a rural practice 40 miles from Augusta, Ga., with her physician husband and two other physicians, said patients are ready to come back in, “but I don’t have enough slots for them.”

She said she prioritizes what to help patients with first and schedules the next tier for the next appointment, but added, “honestly, over the next 2 years we’re going to be playing catch-up.”

At the same time, the CDC has estimated that 45% of U.S. adults are at increased risk for complications from COVID-19 because of cardiovascular disease, diabetes, respiratory disease, hypertension, or cancer. Rates ranged from 19.8% for people 18-29 years old to 80.7% for people over 80 years of age.
 

Long COVID could overwhelm existing health care capacity

Primary care physicians are also having to diagnose sometimes “invisible” symptoms after people have recovered from acute COVID-19 infection. Diagnosing takes intent listening to patients who describe symptoms that tests can’t confirm.

As this news organization has previously reported, half of COVID-19 survivors report postacute sequelae of COVID-19 (PASC) lasting longer than 6 months.

“These long-term PASC effects occur on a scale that could overwhelm existing health care capacity, particularly in low- and middle-income countries,” the authors wrote.
 

Anxiety, depression ‘have gone off the charts’

Danielle Loeb, MD, MPH, associate professor of internal medicine at the University of Colorado in Denver, who studies complexity in primary care, said in the wake of COVID-19, more patients have developed “new, serious anxiety.”

Courtesy Dr. Danielle Loeb

“That got extremely exacerbated during the pandemic. Anxiety and depression have gone off the charts,” said Dr. Loeb, who prefers the pronoun “they.”

Dr. Loeb cares for a large number of transgender patients. As offices reopen, some patients are having trouble reintegrating into the workplace and resuming social contacts. The primary care doctor says appointments can get longer because of the need to complete tasks, such as filling out forms for Family Medical Leave Act for those not yet ready to return to work.

COVID-19–related fears are keeping many patients from coming into the office, Dr. Loeb said, either from fear of exposure or because they have mental health issues that keep them from feeling safe leaving the house.

“That really affects my ability to care for them,” they said.

Loss of employment in the pandemic or fear of job loss and subsequent changing of insurance has complicated primary care in terms of treatment and administrative tasks, according to Dr. Loeb.

To help treat patients with acute mental health issues and manage other patients, Dr. Loeb’s practice has brought in a social worker and a therapist.

Team-based care is key in the survival of primary care practices, though providing that is difficult in the smaller clinics because of the critical mass of patients needed to make it viable, they said.

“It’s the only answer. It’s the only way you don’t drown,” Dr. Loeb added. “I’m not drowning, and I credit that to my clinic having the help to support the mental health piece of things.”
 

Rethinking workflow

Tricia McGinnis, MPP, MPH, executive vice president of the nonprofit Center for Health Care Strategies (CHCS) says complexity has forced rethinking workflow.

“A lot of the trends we’re seeing in primary care were there pre-COVID, but COVID has exacerbated those trends,” she said in an interview.

“The good news ... is that it was already becoming clear that primary care needed to provide basic mental health services and integrate with behavioral health. It had also become clear that effective primary care needed to address social issues that keep patients from accessing health care,” she said.

Expanding care teams, as Dr. Loeb mentioned, is a key strategy, according to Ms. McGinnis. Potential teams would include the clinical staff, but also social workers and community health workers – people who come from the community primary care is serving who can help build trust with patients and connect the patient to the primary care team.

“There’s a lot that needs to happen that the clinician doesn’t need to do,” she said.

Telehealth can be a big factor in coordinating the team, Ms. McGinnis added.

“It’s thinking less about who’s doing the work, but more about the work that needs to be done to keep people healthy. Then let’s think about the type of workers best suited to perform those tasks,” she said.

As for reimbursing more complex care, population-based, up-front capitated payments linked to high-quality care and better outcomes will need to replace fee-for-service models, according to Ms. McGinnis.

That will provide reliable incomes for primary care offices, but also flexibility in how each patient with different levels of complexity is managed, she said.

Ms. Greiner, Dr. Fincher, Dr. Loeb, and Ms. McGinnis have no relevant financial relationships.

Increased mental health needs, higher acuity from delayed appointments, and added questions and conversations surrounding COVID-19 are forcing primary care offices to rethink priorities in office visits.

Evidence of this came from the latest Primary Care Collaborative (PCC) survey, which found that primary care clinicians are seeing more complex patients requiring longer appointments in the wake of COVID-19.

The PCC with the Larry A. Green Center regularly surveys primary care clinicians. This round of questions came August 14-17 and included 1,263 respondents from 49 states, the District of Columbia, and two territories.

More than 7 in 10 (71%) respondents said their patients are more complex and nearly the same percentage said appointments are taking more time.

Ann Greiner, president and CEO of the PCC, said in an interview that 55% of respondents reported that clinicians are struggling to keep up with pent-up demand after patients have delayed or canceled care. Sixty-five percent in the survey said they had seen a rise in children’s mental health issues, and 58% said they were unsure how to help their patients with long COVID.

In addition, primary care clinicians are having repeated conversations with patients on why they should get a vaccine and which one.

“I think that’s adding to the complexity. There is a lot going on here with patient trust,” Ms. Greiner said.
 

‘We’re going to be playing catch-up’

Jacqueline Fincher, MD, an internist in Thompson, Ga., said in an interview that appointments have gotten longer and more complex in the wake of the pandemic – “no question.”

The immediate past president of the American College of Physicians is seeing patients with chronic disease that has gone untreated for sometimes a year or more, she said.

“Their blood pressure was not under good control, they were under more stress, their sugars were up and weren’t being followed as closely for conditions such as congestive heart failure,” she said.

Dr. Fincher, who works in a rural practice 40 miles from Augusta, Ga., with her physician husband and two other physicians, said patients are ready to come back in, “but I don’t have enough slots for them.”

She said she prioritizes what to help patients with first and schedules the next tier for the next appointment, but added, “honestly, over the next 2 years we’re going to be playing catch-up.”

At the same time, the CDC has estimated that 45% of U.S. adults are at increased risk for complications from COVID-19 because of cardiovascular disease, diabetes, respiratory disease, hypertension, or cancer. Rates ranged from 19.8% for people 18-29 years old to 80.7% for people over 80 years of age.
 

Long COVID could overwhelm existing health care capacity

Primary care physicians are also having to diagnose sometimes “invisible” symptoms after people have recovered from acute COVID-19 infection. Diagnosing takes intent listening to patients who describe symptoms that tests can’t confirm.

As this news organization has previously reported, half of COVID-19 survivors report postacute sequelae of COVID-19 (PASC) lasting longer than 6 months.

“These long-term PASC effects occur on a scale that could overwhelm existing health care capacity, particularly in low- and middle-income countries,” the authors wrote.
 

Anxiety, depression ‘have gone off the charts’

Danielle Loeb, MD, MPH, associate professor of internal medicine at the University of Colorado in Denver, who studies complexity in primary care, said in the wake of COVID-19, more patients have developed “new, serious anxiety.”

Courtesy Dr. Danielle Loeb

“That got extremely exacerbated during the pandemic. Anxiety and depression have gone off the charts,” said Dr. Loeb, who prefers the pronoun “they.”

Dr. Loeb cares for a large number of transgender patients. As offices reopen, some patients are having trouble reintegrating into the workplace and resuming social contacts. The primary care doctor says appointments can get longer because of the need to complete tasks, such as filling out forms for Family Medical Leave Act for those not yet ready to return to work.

COVID-19–related fears are keeping many patients from coming into the office, Dr. Loeb said, either from fear of exposure or because they have mental health issues that keep them from feeling safe leaving the house.

“That really affects my ability to care for them,” they said.

Loss of employment in the pandemic or fear of job loss and subsequent changing of insurance has complicated primary care in terms of treatment and administrative tasks, according to Dr. Loeb.

To help treat patients with acute mental health issues and manage other patients, Dr. Loeb’s practice has brought in a social worker and a therapist.

Team-based care is key in the survival of primary care practices, though providing that is difficult in the smaller clinics because of the critical mass of patients needed to make it viable, they said.

“It’s the only answer. It’s the only way you don’t drown,” Dr. Loeb added. “I’m not drowning, and I credit that to my clinic having the help to support the mental health piece of things.”
 

Rethinking workflow

Tricia McGinnis, MPP, MPH, executive vice president of the nonprofit Center for Health Care Strategies (CHCS) says complexity has forced rethinking workflow.

“A lot of the trends we’re seeing in primary care were there pre-COVID, but COVID has exacerbated those trends,” she said in an interview.

“The good news ... is that it was already becoming clear that primary care needed to provide basic mental health services and integrate with behavioral health. It had also become clear that effective primary care needed to address social issues that keep patients from accessing health care,” she said.

Expanding care teams, as Dr. Loeb mentioned, is a key strategy, according to Ms. McGinnis. Potential teams would include the clinical staff, but also social workers and community health workers – people who come from the community primary care is serving who can help build trust with patients and connect the patient to the primary care team.

“There’s a lot that needs to happen that the clinician doesn’t need to do,” she said.

Telehealth can be a big factor in coordinating the team, Ms. McGinnis added.

“It’s thinking less about who’s doing the work, but more about the work that needs to be done to keep people healthy. Then let’s think about the type of workers best suited to perform those tasks,” she said.

As for reimbursing more complex care, population-based, up-front capitated payments linked to high-quality care and better outcomes will need to replace fee-for-service models, according to Ms. McGinnis.

That will provide reliable incomes for primary care offices, but also flexibility in how each patient with different levels of complexity is managed, she said.

Ms. Greiner, Dr. Fincher, Dr. Loeb, and Ms. McGinnis have no relevant financial relationships.

In May 15, 1976, Family Practice News published its first “Residents’ Viewpoint,” a monthly column the publication established “in an effort to keep established practitioners as well as residents up to date.”

We are currently republishing an installment of this column as part of our continuing celebration of Family Practice News’s 50th anniversary.

MDedge News

Bruce A. Bagley, MD, wrote the first batch of these columns, when he was chief resident in family medicine at St. Joseph’s Hospital, Syracuse, N.Y. Joseph E. Scherger, MD, was the second writer for Family Practice News’s monthly “Residents’ Viewpoint.” At the time Dr. Scher­ger became a columnist, he was a 26-year-old, 2nd-year family practice resident at the Family Medical Center, University Hospital, University of Washington, Seattle.

Dr. Scherger’s first column was published on Feb. 5, 1977. We are republishing his “Residents’ Viewpoint” from June 15, 1977 (see below) and a new column by Victoria Persampiere, DO, who is currently a 2nd-year resident in the family medicine program at Abington Jefferson Health. (See “My experience as a family medicine resident in 2021” after Dr. Scherger’s column.).

We hope you will enjoy comparing and contrasting the experiences of a resident practicing family medicine today to those of a resident practicing family medicine nearly 4½ decades ago.To learn about Dr. Scherger’s current practice and long career, you can read his profile on the cover of the September 2021 issue of Family Practice News or on MDedge.com/FamilyMedicine in our “Family Practice News 50th Anniversary” section.
 

Art of medicine or deception?

Originally published in Family Practice News on June 15, 1977.

The practice of medicine can be divided into the scientific aspects of diagnosis and treatment and the nonscientific aspects of meeting patients’ needs, the art of medicine.

In medical school I learned the science of medicine. There I diligently studied the basic sciences and gained a thorough understanding of the pathophysiology of disease. In the clinical years I learned to apply this knowledge to a wide variety of interesting patients who came to the academic center.

Yet, when I started my family practice residency, I lacked the ability to care for patients. Though I could take a thorough history, perform a complete physical examination, and diagnose and treat specific illnesses, I had little idea how to satisfy patients by meeting their needs.

The art of medicine is the nonscientific part of a successful doctor-patient interaction. For a doctor-patient interaction to be successful, not only must the illness be appropriately addressed, but both patient and physician must be satisfied.

In the university environment, the art of medicine often gets inadequate attention. Indeed, most academic physicians think that only scientific medicine exists and that patients should be satisfied with a sophisticated approach to their problems. Some patients are satisfied, but many are disgruntled. It is not unusual for a patient, after a $1,000 work-up, to go to a family physician or chiropractor for satisfaction.

I was eager to discover the art of medicine at its finest during my rotation away from the university in a rural community. During these 2 months I looked for the pearls of wisdom that allowed community physicians to be so successful. I found that a very explicit technique was used by some physicians to achieve not only satisfaction but adoration from their patients. Unfortunately, this technique is dishonest.

Early in my community experience I was impressed by how often patients told me a doctor had saved them. I heard such statements as “Dr. X saved my leg,” or “Dr. X saved my life.” I know that it does occur, but not as often as I was hearing it.

Investigating these statements I found such stories as, “One day l twisted my ankle very badly, and it became quite swollen. My doctor told me 1 could lose my leg from this but that he would take x-rays, put my leg in an Ace bandage, and give me crutches. In 3 days I was well. I am so thankful he saved my leg.”

And, “One day I had a temperature of 104. All of my muscles ached, my head hurt, and I had a terrible sore throat and cough. My doctor told me l could die from this, but he gave me a medicine and made me stay home. I was sick for about 2 weeks, but I got better. He saved my life.”

Is the art of medicine the art of deception? This horrifying thought actually came to me after hearing several such stories, but I learned that most of the physicians involved in such stories were not well respected by their colleagues.

I learned many honest techniques for successfully caring for patients. The several family physicians with whom I worked, all clinical instructors associated with my residency, were impeccably honest and taught me to combine compassion and efficiency.

Despite learning many positive techniques and having good role models, I left the community experience somewhat saddened by the lack of integrity that can exist in the profession. I was naive in believing that all the nonscientific aspects of medi­cine that made patients happy must be good.

By experiencing deception, I learned why quackery continues to flourish despite the widespread availability of honest medical care. Most significantly, I learned the importance of a sometimes frustrating humility; my patients with sprained ankles and influenza will not believe I saved their lives.

My experience as a family medicine resident in 2021

I graduated medical school in May 2020, right as COVID was taking over the country, and the specter of the virus has hung over every aspect of my residency education thus far.

I did not get a medical school graduation; I was one of the many thousands of newly graduated students who simply left their 4th-year rotation sites one chilly day in March 2020 and just never went back. My medical school education didn’t end with me walking triumphantly across the stage – a first-generation college student finally achieving the greatest dream in her life. Instead, it ended with a Zoom “graduation” and a cross-country move from Georgia to Pennsylvania amidst the greatest pandemic in recent memory. To say my impostor syndrome was bad would be an understatement.
 

Residency in the COVID-19 era

The joy and the draw to family medicine for me has always been the broad scope of conditions that we see and treat. From day 1, however, much of my residency has been devoted to one very small subset of patients – those with COVID-19. At one point, our hospital was so strained that our family medicine program had to run a second inpatient service alongside our usual five-resident service team just to provide care to everybody. Patients were in the hallways. The ER was packed to the gills. We were sleepless, terrified, unvaccinated, and desperate to help our patients survive a disease that was incompletely understood, with very few tools in our toolbox to combat it.

I distinctly remember sitting in the workroom with a coresident of mine, our faces seemingly permanently lined from wearing N95s all shift, and saying to him, “I worry I will be a bad family medicine physician. I worry I haven’t seen enough, other than COVID.” It was midway through my intern year; the days were short, so I was driving to and from the hospital in chilly darkness. My patients, like many around the country, were doing poorly. Vaccines seemed like a promise too good to be true. Worst of all: Those of us who were interns, who had no triumphant podium moment to end our medical school education, were suffering with an intense sense of impostor syndrome, which was strengthened by every “there is nothing else we can offer your loved one at this time” conversation we had. My apprehension about not having seen a wider breadth of medicine during my training is a sentiment still widely shared by COVID-era residents.

Luckily, my coresident was supportive.

“We’re going to be great family medicine physicians,” he said. “We’re learning the hard stuff – the bread and butter of FM – up-front. You’ll see.”

In some ways, I think he was right. Clinical skills, empathy, humility, and forging strong relationships are at the center of every family medicine physician’s heart; my generation has had to learn these skills early and under pressure. Sometimes, there are no answers. Sometimes, the best thing a family doctor can do for a patient is to hear them, understand them, and hold their hand.
 

‘We watched Cinderella together’

Shortly after that conversation with my coresident, I had a particular case which moved me. This gentleman with intellectual disability and COVID had been declining steadily since his admission to the hospital. He was isolated from everybody he knew and loved, but it did not dampen his spirits. He was cheerful to every person who entered his room, clad in their shrouds of PPE, which more often than not felt more like mourning garb than protective wear. I remember very little about this patient’s clinical picture – the COVID, the superimposed pneumonia, the repeated intubations. What I do remember is he loved the Disney classic Cinderella. I knew this because I developed a very close relationship with his family during the course of his hospitalization. Amidst the torrential onslaught of patients, I made sure to call families every day – not because I wanted to, but because my mentors and attendings and coresidents had all drilled into me from day 1 that we are family medicine, and a large part of our role is to advocate for our patients, and to communicate with their loved ones. So I called. I learned a lot about him; his likes, his dislikes, his close bond with his siblings, and of course his lifelong love for Cinderella. On the last week of my ICU rotation, my patient passed peacefully. His nurse and I were bedside. We held his hand. We told him his family loved him. We watched Cinderella together on an iPad encased in protective plastic.

My next rotation was an outpatient one and it looked more like the “bread and butter” of family medicine. But as I whisked in and out of patient rooms, attending to patients with diabetes, with depression, with pain, I could not stop thinking about my hospitalized patients who my coresidents had assumed care of. Each exam room I entered, I rather morbidly thought “this patient could be next on our hospital service.” Without realizing it, I made more of an effort to get to know each patient holistically. I learned who they were as people. I found myself writing small, medically low-yield details in the chart: “Margaret loves to sing in her church choir;” “Katherine is a self-published author.”

I learned from my attendings. As I sat at the precepting table with them, observing their conversations about patients, their collective decades of experience were apparent.

“I’ve been seeing this patient every few weeks since I was a resident,” said one of my attendings.

“I don’t even see my parents that often,” I thought.

The depth of her relationship with, understanding of, and compassion for this patient struck me deeply. This was why I went into family medicine. My attending knew her patients; they were not faceless unknowns in a hospital gown to her. She would have known to play Cinderella for them in the end.

This is a unique time for trainees. We have been challenged, terrified, overwhelmed, and heartbroken. But at no point have we been isolated. We’ve had the generations of doctors before us to lead the way, to teach us the “hard stuff.” We’ve had senior residents to lean on, who have taken us aside and told us, “I can do the goals-of-care talk today; you need a break.” While the plague seems to have passed over our hospital for now, it has left behind a class of family medicine residents who are proud to carry on our specialty’s long tradition of compassionate, empathetic, lifelong care. “We care for all life stages, from cradle to grave,” says every family medicine physician.

My class, for better or for worse, has cared more often for patients in the twilight of their lives, and while it has been hard, I believe it has made us all better doctors. Now, when I hold a newborn in my arms for a well-child check, I am exceptionally grateful – for the opportunities I have been given, for new beginnings amidst so much sadness, and for the great privilege of being a family medicine physician. ■

Dr. Persampiere is a second-year resident in the family medicine residency program at Abington (Pa.) Jefferson Health. You can contact her directly at victoria.persampiere@jefferson.edu or via fpnews@mdedge.com.

klennon@mdedge.com

In May 15, 1976, Family Practice News published its first “Residents’ Viewpoint,” a monthly column the publication established “in an effort to keep established practitioners as well as residents up to date.”

We are currently republishing an installment of this column as part of our continuing celebration of Family Practice News’s 50th anniversary.

MDedge News

Bruce A. Bagley, MD, wrote the first batch of these columns, when he was chief resident in family medicine at St. Joseph’s Hospital, Syracuse, N.Y. Joseph E. Scherger, MD, was the second writer for Family Practice News’s monthly “Residents’ Viewpoint.” At the time Dr. Scher­ger became a columnist, he was a 26-year-old, 2nd-year family practice resident at the Family Medical Center, University Hospital, University of Washington, Seattle.

Dr. Scherger’s first column was published on Feb. 5, 1977. We are republishing his “Residents’ Viewpoint” from June 15, 1977 (see below) and a new column by Victoria Persampiere, DO, who is currently a 2nd-year resident in the family medicine program at Abington Jefferson Health. (See “My experience as a family medicine resident in 2021” after Dr. Scherger’s column.).

We hope you will enjoy comparing and contrasting the experiences of a resident practicing family medicine today to those of a resident practicing family medicine nearly 4½ decades ago.To learn about Dr. Scherger’s current practice and long career, you can read his profile on the cover of the September 2021 issue of Family Practice News or on MDedge.com/FamilyMedicine in our “Family Practice News 50th Anniversary” section.
 

Art of medicine or deception?

Originally published in Family Practice News on June 15, 1977.

The practice of medicine can be divided into the scientific aspects of diagnosis and treatment and the nonscientific aspects of meeting patients’ needs, the art of medicine.

In medical school I learned the science of medicine. There I diligently studied the basic sciences and gained a thorough understanding of the pathophysiology of disease. In the clinical years I learned to apply this knowledge to a wide variety of interesting patients who came to the academic center.

Yet, when I started my family practice residency, I lacked the ability to care for patients. Though I could take a thorough history, perform a complete physical examination, and diagnose and treat specific illnesses, I had little idea how to satisfy patients by meeting their needs.

The art of medicine is the nonscientific part of a successful doctor-patient interaction. For a doctor-patient interaction to be successful, not only must the illness be appropriately addressed, but both patient and physician must be satisfied.

In the university environment, the art of medicine often gets inadequate attention. Indeed, most academic physicians think that only scientific medicine exists and that patients should be satisfied with a sophisticated approach to their problems. Some patients are satisfied, but many are disgruntled. It is not unusual for a patient, after a $1,000 work-up, to go to a family physician or chiropractor for satisfaction.

I was eager to discover the art of medicine at its finest during my rotation away from the university in a rural community. During these 2 months I looked for the pearls of wisdom that allowed community physicians to be so successful. I found that a very explicit technique was used by some physicians to achieve not only satisfaction but adoration from their patients. Unfortunately, this technique is dishonest.

Early in my community experience I was impressed by how often patients told me a doctor had saved them. I heard such statements as “Dr. X saved my leg,” or “Dr. X saved my life.” I know that it does occur, but not as often as I was hearing it.

Investigating these statements I found such stories as, “One day l twisted my ankle very badly, and it became quite swollen. My doctor told me 1 could lose my leg from this but that he would take x-rays, put my leg in an Ace bandage, and give me crutches. In 3 days I was well. I am so thankful he saved my leg.”

And, “One day I had a temperature of 104. All of my muscles ached, my head hurt, and I had a terrible sore throat and cough. My doctor told me l could die from this, but he gave me a medicine and made me stay home. I was sick for about 2 weeks, but I got better. He saved my life.”

Is the art of medicine the art of deception? This horrifying thought actually came to me after hearing several such stories, but I learned that most of the physicians involved in such stories were not well respected by their colleagues.

I learned many honest techniques for successfully caring for patients. The several family physicians with whom I worked, all clinical instructors associated with my residency, were impeccably honest and taught me to combine compassion and efficiency.

Despite learning many positive techniques and having good role models, I left the community experience somewhat saddened by the lack of integrity that can exist in the profession. I was naive in believing that all the nonscientific aspects of medi­cine that made patients happy must be good.

By experiencing deception, I learned why quackery continues to flourish despite the widespread availability of honest medical care. Most significantly, I learned the importance of a sometimes frustrating humility; my patients with sprained ankles and influenza will not believe I saved their lives.

My experience as a family medicine resident in 2021

I graduated medical school in May 2020, right as COVID was taking over the country, and the specter of the virus has hung over every aspect of my residency education thus far.

I did not get a medical school graduation; I was one of the many thousands of newly graduated students who simply left their 4th-year rotation sites one chilly day in March 2020 and just never went back. My medical school education didn’t end with me walking triumphantly across the stage – a first-generation college student finally achieving the greatest dream in her life. Instead, it ended with a Zoom “graduation” and a cross-country move from Georgia to Pennsylvania amidst the greatest pandemic in recent memory. To say my impostor syndrome was bad would be an understatement.
 

Residency in the COVID-19 era

The joy and the draw to family medicine for me has always been the broad scope of conditions that we see and treat. From day 1, however, much of my residency has been devoted to one very small subset of patients – those with COVID-19. At one point, our hospital was so strained that our family medicine program had to run a second inpatient service alongside our usual five-resident service team just to provide care to everybody. Patients were in the hallways. The ER was packed to the gills. We were sleepless, terrified, unvaccinated, and desperate to help our patients survive a disease that was incompletely understood, with very few tools in our toolbox to combat it.

I distinctly remember sitting in the workroom with a coresident of mine, our faces seemingly permanently lined from wearing N95s all shift, and saying to him, “I worry I will be a bad family medicine physician. I worry I haven’t seen enough, other than COVID.” It was midway through my intern year; the days were short, so I was driving to and from the hospital in chilly darkness. My patients, like many around the country, were doing poorly. Vaccines seemed like a promise too good to be true. Worst of all: Those of us who were interns, who had no triumphant podium moment to end our medical school education, were suffering with an intense sense of impostor syndrome, which was strengthened by every “there is nothing else we can offer your loved one at this time” conversation we had. My apprehension about not having seen a wider breadth of medicine during my training is a sentiment still widely shared by COVID-era residents.

Luckily, my coresident was supportive.

“We’re going to be great family medicine physicians,” he said. “We’re learning the hard stuff – the bread and butter of FM – up-front. You’ll see.”

In some ways, I think he was right. Clinical skills, empathy, humility, and forging strong relationships are at the center of every family medicine physician’s heart; my generation has had to learn these skills early and under pressure. Sometimes, there are no answers. Sometimes, the best thing a family doctor can do for a patient is to hear them, understand them, and hold their hand.
 

‘We watched Cinderella together’

Shortly after that conversation with my coresident, I had a particular case which moved me. This gentleman with intellectual disability and COVID had been declining steadily since his admission to the hospital. He was isolated from everybody he knew and loved, but it did not dampen his spirits. He was cheerful to every person who entered his room, clad in their shrouds of PPE, which more often than not felt more like mourning garb than protective wear. I remember very little about this patient’s clinical picture – the COVID, the superimposed pneumonia, the repeated intubations. What I do remember is he loved the Disney classic Cinderella. I knew this because I developed a very close relationship with his family during the course of his hospitalization. Amidst the torrential onslaught of patients, I made sure to call families every day – not because I wanted to, but because my mentors and attendings and coresidents had all drilled into me from day 1 that we are family medicine, and a large part of our role is to advocate for our patients, and to communicate with their loved ones. So I called. I learned a lot about him; his likes, his dislikes, his close bond with his siblings, and of course his lifelong love for Cinderella. On the last week of my ICU rotation, my patient passed peacefully. His nurse and I were bedside. We held his hand. We told him his family loved him. We watched Cinderella together on an iPad encased in protective plastic.

My next rotation was an outpatient one and it looked more like the “bread and butter” of family medicine. But as I whisked in and out of patient rooms, attending to patients with diabetes, with depression, with pain, I could not stop thinking about my hospitalized patients who my coresidents had assumed care of. Each exam room I entered, I rather morbidly thought “this patient could be next on our hospital service.” Without realizing it, I made more of an effort to get to know each patient holistically. I learned who they were as people. I found myself writing small, medically low-yield details in the chart: “Margaret loves to sing in her church choir;” “Katherine is a self-published author.”

I learned from my attendings. As I sat at the precepting table with them, observing their conversations about patients, their collective decades of experience were apparent.

“I’ve been seeing this patient every few weeks since I was a resident,” said one of my attendings.

“I don’t even see my parents that often,” I thought.

The depth of her relationship with, understanding of, and compassion for this patient struck me deeply. This was why I went into family medicine. My attending knew her patients; they were not faceless unknowns in a hospital gown to her. She would have known to play Cinderella for them in the end.

This is a unique time for trainees. We have been challenged, terrified, overwhelmed, and heartbroken. But at no point have we been isolated. We’ve had the generations of doctors before us to lead the way, to teach us the “hard stuff.” We’ve had senior residents to lean on, who have taken us aside and told us, “I can do the goals-of-care talk today; you need a break.” While the plague seems to have passed over our hospital for now, it has left behind a class of family medicine residents who are proud to carry on our specialty’s long tradition of compassionate, empathetic, lifelong care. “We care for all life stages, from cradle to grave,” says every family medicine physician.

My class, for better or for worse, has cared more often for patients in the twilight of their lives, and while it has been hard, I believe it has made us all better doctors. Now, when I hold a newborn in my arms for a well-child check, I am exceptionally grateful – for the opportunities I have been given, for new beginnings amidst so much sadness, and for the great privilege of being a family medicine physician. ■

Dr. Persampiere is a second-year resident in the family medicine residency program at Abington (Pa.) Jefferson Health. You can contact her directly at victoria.persampiere@jefferson.edu or via fpnews@mdedge.com.

klennon@mdedge.com

In May 15, 1976, Family Practice News published its first “Residents’ Viewpoint,” a monthly column the publication established “in an effort to keep established practitioners as well as residents up to date.”

We are currently republishing an installment of this column as part of our continuing celebration of Family Practice News’s 50th anniversary.

MDedge News

Bruce A. Bagley, MD, wrote the first batch of these columns, when he was chief resident in family medicine at St. Joseph’s Hospital, Syracuse, N.Y. Joseph E. Scherger, MD, was the second writer for Family Practice News’s monthly “Residents’ Viewpoint.” At the time Dr. Scher­ger became a columnist, he was a 26-year-old, 2nd-year family practice resident at the Family Medical Center, University Hospital, University of Washington, Seattle.

Dr. Scherger’s first column was published on Feb. 5, 1977. We are republishing his “Residents’ Viewpoint” from June 15, 1977 (see below) and a new column by Victoria Persampiere, DO, who is currently a 2nd-year resident in the family medicine program at Abington Jefferson Health. (See “My experience as a family medicine resident in 2021” after Dr. Scherger’s column.).

We hope you will enjoy comparing and contrasting the experiences of a resident practicing family medicine today to those of a resident practicing family medicine nearly 4½ decades ago.To learn about Dr. Scherger’s current practice and long career, you can read his profile on the cover of the September 2021 issue of Family Practice News or on MDedge.com/FamilyMedicine in our “Family Practice News 50th Anniversary” section.
 

Art of medicine or deception?

Originally published in Family Practice News on June 15, 1977.

The practice of medicine can be divided into the scientific aspects of diagnosis and treatment and the nonscientific aspects of meeting patients’ needs, the art of medicine.

In medical school I learned the science of medicine. There I diligently studied the basic sciences and gained a thorough understanding of the pathophysiology of disease. In the clinical years I learned to apply this knowledge to a wide variety of interesting patients who came to the academic center.

Yet, when I started my family practice residency, I lacked the ability to care for patients. Though I could take a thorough history, perform a complete physical examination, and diagnose and treat specific illnesses, I had little idea how to satisfy patients by meeting their needs.

The art of medicine is the nonscientific part of a successful doctor-patient interaction. For a doctor-patient interaction to be successful, not only must the illness be appropriately addressed, but both patient and physician must be satisfied.

In the university environment, the art of medicine often gets inadequate attention. Indeed, most academic physicians think that only scientific medicine exists and that patients should be satisfied with a sophisticated approach to their problems. Some patients are satisfied, but many are disgruntled. It is not unusual for a patient, after a $1,000 work-up, to go to a family physician or chiropractor for satisfaction.

I was eager to discover the art of medicine at its finest during my rotation away from the university in a rural community. During these 2 months I looked for the pearls of wisdom that allowed community physicians to be so successful. I found that a very explicit technique was used by some physicians to achieve not only satisfaction but adoration from their patients. Unfortunately, this technique is dishonest.

Early in my community experience I was impressed by how often patients told me a doctor had saved them. I heard such statements as “Dr. X saved my leg,” or “Dr. X saved my life.” I know that it does occur, but not as often as I was hearing it.

Investigating these statements I found such stories as, “One day l twisted my ankle very badly, and it became quite swollen. My doctor told me 1 could lose my leg from this but that he would take x-rays, put my leg in an Ace bandage, and give me crutches. In 3 days I was well. I am so thankful he saved my leg.”

And, “One day I had a temperature of 104. All of my muscles ached, my head hurt, and I had a terrible sore throat and cough. My doctor told me l could die from this, but he gave me a medicine and made me stay home. I was sick for about 2 weeks, but I got better. He saved my life.”

Is the art of medicine the art of deception? This horrifying thought actually came to me after hearing several such stories, but I learned that most of the physicians involved in such stories were not well respected by their colleagues.

I learned many honest techniques for successfully caring for patients. The several family physicians with whom I worked, all clinical instructors associated with my residency, were impeccably honest and taught me to combine compassion and efficiency.

Despite learning many positive techniques and having good role models, I left the community experience somewhat saddened by the lack of integrity that can exist in the profession. I was naive in believing that all the nonscientific aspects of medi­cine that made patients happy must be good.

By experiencing deception, I learned why quackery continues to flourish despite the widespread availability of honest medical care. Most significantly, I learned the importance of a sometimes frustrating humility; my patients with sprained ankles and influenza will not believe I saved their lives.

My experience as a family medicine resident in 2021

I graduated medical school in May 2020, right as COVID was taking over the country, and the specter of the virus has hung over every aspect of my residency education thus far.

I did not get a medical school graduation; I was one of the many thousands of newly graduated students who simply left their 4th-year rotation sites one chilly day in March 2020 and just never went back. My medical school education didn’t end with me walking triumphantly across the stage – a first-generation college student finally achieving the greatest dream in her life. Instead, it ended with a Zoom “graduation” and a cross-country move from Georgia to Pennsylvania amidst the greatest pandemic in recent memory. To say my impostor syndrome was bad would be an understatement.
 

Residency in the COVID-19 era

The joy and the draw to family medicine for me has always been the broad scope of conditions that we see and treat. From day 1, however, much of my residency has been devoted to one very small subset of patients – those with COVID-19. At one point, our hospital was so strained that our family medicine program had to run a second inpatient service alongside our usual five-resident service team just to provide care to everybody. Patients were in the hallways. The ER was packed to the gills. We were sleepless, terrified, unvaccinated, and desperate to help our patients survive a disease that was incompletely understood, with very few tools in our toolbox to combat it.

I distinctly remember sitting in the workroom with a coresident of mine, our faces seemingly permanently lined from wearing N95s all shift, and saying to him, “I worry I will be a bad family medicine physician. I worry I haven’t seen enough, other than COVID.” It was midway through my intern year; the days were short, so I was driving to and from the hospital in chilly darkness. My patients, like many around the country, were doing poorly. Vaccines seemed like a promise too good to be true. Worst of all: Those of us who were interns, who had no triumphant podium moment to end our medical school education, were suffering with an intense sense of impostor syndrome, which was strengthened by every “there is nothing else we can offer your loved one at this time” conversation we had. My apprehension about not having seen a wider breadth of medicine during my training is a sentiment still widely shared by COVID-era residents.

Luckily, my coresident was supportive.

“We’re going to be great family medicine physicians,” he said. “We’re learning the hard stuff – the bread and butter of FM – up-front. You’ll see.”

In some ways, I think he was right. Clinical skills, empathy, humility, and forging strong relationships are at the center of every family medicine physician’s heart; my generation has had to learn these skills early and under pressure. Sometimes, there are no answers. Sometimes, the best thing a family doctor can do for a patient is to hear them, understand them, and hold their hand.
 

‘We watched Cinderella together’

Shortly after that conversation with my coresident, I had a particular case which moved me. This gentleman with intellectual disability and COVID had been declining steadily since his admission to the hospital. He was isolated from everybody he knew and loved, but it did not dampen his spirits. He was cheerful to every person who entered his room, clad in their shrouds of PPE, which more often than not felt more like mourning garb than protective wear. I remember very little about this patient’s clinical picture – the COVID, the superimposed pneumonia, the repeated intubations. What I do remember is he loved the Disney classic Cinderella. I knew this because I developed a very close relationship with his family during the course of his hospitalization. Amidst the torrential onslaught of patients, I made sure to call families every day – not because I wanted to, but because my mentors and attendings and coresidents had all drilled into me from day 1 that we are family medicine, and a large part of our role is to advocate for our patients, and to communicate with their loved ones. So I called. I learned a lot about him; his likes, his dislikes, his close bond with his siblings, and of course his lifelong love for Cinderella. On the last week of my ICU rotation, my patient passed peacefully. His nurse and I were bedside. We held his hand. We told him his family loved him. We watched Cinderella together on an iPad encased in protective plastic.

My next rotation was an outpatient one and it looked more like the “bread and butter” of family medicine. But as I whisked in and out of patient rooms, attending to patients with diabetes, with depression, with pain, I could not stop thinking about my hospitalized patients who my coresidents had assumed care of. Each exam room I entered, I rather morbidly thought “this patient could be next on our hospital service.” Without realizing it, I made more of an effort to get to know each patient holistically. I learned who they were as people. I found myself writing small, medically low-yield details in the chart: “Margaret loves to sing in her church choir;” “Katherine is a self-published author.”

I learned from my attendings. As I sat at the precepting table with them, observing their conversations about patients, their collective decades of experience were apparent.

“I’ve been seeing this patient every few weeks since I was a resident,” said one of my attendings.

“I don’t even see my parents that often,” I thought.

The depth of her relationship with, understanding of, and compassion for this patient struck me deeply. This was why I went into family medicine. My attending knew her patients; they were not faceless unknowns in a hospital gown to her. She would have known to play Cinderella for them in the end.

This is a unique time for trainees. We have been challenged, terrified, overwhelmed, and heartbroken. But at no point have we been isolated. We’ve had the generations of doctors before us to lead the way, to teach us the “hard stuff.” We’ve had senior residents to lean on, who have taken us aside and told us, “I can do the goals-of-care talk today; you need a break.” While the plague seems to have passed over our hospital for now, it has left behind a class of family medicine residents who are proud to carry on our specialty’s long tradition of compassionate, empathetic, lifelong care. “We care for all life stages, from cradle to grave,” says every family medicine physician.

My class, for better or for worse, has cared more often for patients in the twilight of their lives, and while it has been hard, I believe it has made us all better doctors. Now, when I hold a newborn in my arms for a well-child check, I am exceptionally grateful – for the opportunities I have been given, for new beginnings amidst so much sadness, and for the great privilege of being a family medicine physician. ■

Dr. Persampiere is a second-year resident in the family medicine residency program at Abington (Pa.) Jefferson Health. You can contact her directly at victoria.persampiere@jefferson.edu or via fpnews@mdedge.com.

klennon@mdedge.com

New data from England show the success of the national program for vaccinating girls against human papillomavirus (HPV) to prevent cervical cancer.

Among young women who received the HPV vaccine when they were 12-13 years old (before their sexual debut), cervical cancer rates are 87% lower than among previous nonvaccinated generations.

“It’s been incredible to see the impact of HPV vaccination, and now we can prove it prevented hundreds of women from developing cancer in England,” senior author Peter Sasieni, MD, King’s College London, said in a statement. “To see the real-life impact of the vaccine has been truly rewarding.”

“This study provides the first direct evidence of the impact of the UK HPV vaccination campaign on cervical cancer incidence, showing a large reduction in cervical cancer rates in vaccinated cohorts,” Kate Soldan, MD, U.K. Health Security Agency, London, commented in a statement.

Vanessa Saliba, MD, a consultant epidemiologist for the U.K. Health Security Agency, agreed, saying that “these remarkable findings confirm that the HPV vaccine saves lives by dramatically reducing cervical cancer rates among women.

“This reminds us that vaccines are one of the most important tools we have to help us live longer, healthier lives,” she added.

The study was published online Nov. 3, 2021, in The Lancet.

Approached for comment on the new study, Maurice Markman, MD, president, Medicine and Science Cancer Treatment Centers of America, noted that the results of the English study are very similar to those of a Swedish study of the quadrivalent vaccine alone.

“You can put any superlatives you want in here, but these are stunningly positive results,” Dr. Markman said in an interview. He said that, as an oncologist who has been treating cervical cancer for 40 years, particularly patients with advanced cervical cancer, “I can tell you this is one of the most devastating diseases to women, and the ability to eliminate this cancer with something as simple as a vaccine is the goal of cancer therapy, and it’s been remarkably successful.

“I can only emphasize the critical importance of all parents to see that their children who are eligible for the vaccine receive it. This is a cancer prevention strategy that is unbelievably, remarkably effective and safe,” Dr. Markman added.
 

National vaccination program

The national HPV vaccination program in England began in 2008. Initially, the bivalent Cervarix vaccine against HPV 16 and 18 was used. HPV 16 and 18 are responsible for 70% to 80% of all cervical cancers in England, the researchers note in their article.

In 2012, the program switched to the quadrivalent HPV vaccine (Gardasil), which is effective against two additional HPV types, HPV 6 and 11. Those strains cause genital warts.

The prevention program originally recommended a three-dose regimen in which both HPV vaccines were used. Currently, two doses are given to girls younger than 15 years. In addition, a single dose of the HPV vaccine provides good protection against persistent infection. The efficacy rate of a single dose is similar to that of three doses, the authors comment.
 

Population-based registry

The new data come from a population-based cancer registry that shows the incidence of cervical cancer and noninvasive cervical carcinoma (CIN3) in England between January 2006 and June 2019.

The study included seven cohorts of women who were aged 20-64 years at the end of 2019. Three of these cohorts composed the vaccinated population.

The team reports that overall, from January 2006 to June 2019, there were 27,946 cases of cervical cancer and 318,058 cases of CIN3.

In the three vaccinated cohorts, there were around 450 fewer cases of cervical cancer and 17,200 fewer cases of CIN3 than would be expected in a nonvaccinated population.

The three vaccinated cohorts had been eligible to receive Cervarix when they were aged 12-13 years. A catch-up scheme aimed at 14- to 16-year-olds and 16- to 18-year-olds. Most of these persons were vaccinated through a school vaccination program.

The team analyzed the data for each of these cohorts.

Among the cohort eligible for vaccination at 12-13 years of age, 89% received at least one dose of the HPV vaccine; 85% received three shots and were fully vaccinated. Among these persons, the rate of cervical cancer was 87% lower than expected in a nonvaccinated population, and the rate of CIN3 was 97% lower than expected.

For the cohort that was eligible to be vaccinated between the ages of 14 and 16 years, the corresponding reductions were 62% for cervical cancer and 75% for CIN3.

For the cohort eligible for vaccination between the ages of 16 and 18 years (of whom 60% had received at least one dose and 45% were fully vaccinated), the corresponding reduction were 34% for cervical cancer and 39% for CIN3.

The authors acknowledge some limitations with the study, principally that cervical cancer is rare in young women, and these vaccinated populations are still young. The youngest would have been vaccinated at age 12 in 2008 and so would be only 23 years old in 2019, when the follow-up in this current study ended. The authors emphasize that because the vaccinated populations are still young, it is too early to assess the full impact of HPV vaccination on cervical cancer rates.
 

Editorial commentary

“The relative reductions in cervical cancer, expected as a result of the HPV vaccination program, support the anticipated vaccine effectiveness,” commented two authors of an accompanying editorial, Maggie Cruickshank, MD, University of Aberdeen (Scotland), and Mihaela Grigore, MD, University of Medicine and Pharmacy, Lasi, Romania.

“The scale of the HPV vaccination effect reported by this study should also stimulate vaccination programs in low-income and middle-income countries where the problem of cervical cancer is a far greater public health issue than in those with well established systems of vaccination and screening,” they comment.

“The most important issue, besides the availability of the vaccine ... is the education of the population to accept the vaccination because a high rate of immunization is a key element of success,” they emphasize. “Even in a wealthy country, such as England with free access to HPV immunization, uptake has not reached the 90% vaccination target of girls aged 15 years set by WHO [World Health Organization].”

The authors and editorialists disclosed no relevant financial relationships. Dr. Markman is a regular contributor to Medscape Oncology. He has received income of $250 or more from Genentech, AstraZeneca, Celgene, Clovis, and Amgen.

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

New data from England show the success of the national program for vaccinating girls against human papillomavirus (HPV) to prevent cervical cancer.

Among young women who received the HPV vaccine when they were 12-13 years old (before their sexual debut), cervical cancer rates are 87% lower than among previous nonvaccinated generations.

“It’s been incredible to see the impact of HPV vaccination, and now we can prove it prevented hundreds of women from developing cancer in England,” senior author Peter Sasieni, MD, King’s College London, said in a statement. “To see the real-life impact of the vaccine has been truly rewarding.”

“This study provides the first direct evidence of the impact of the UK HPV vaccination campaign on cervical cancer incidence, showing a large reduction in cervical cancer rates in vaccinated cohorts,” Kate Soldan, MD, U.K. Health Security Agency, London, commented in a statement.

Vanessa Saliba, MD, a consultant epidemiologist for the U.K. Health Security Agency, agreed, saying that “these remarkable findings confirm that the HPV vaccine saves lives by dramatically reducing cervical cancer rates among women.

“This reminds us that vaccines are one of the most important tools we have to help us live longer, healthier lives,” she added.

The study was published online Nov. 3, 2021, in The Lancet.

Approached for comment on the new study, Maurice Markman, MD, president, Medicine and Science Cancer Treatment Centers of America, noted that the results of the English study are very similar to those of a Swedish study of the quadrivalent vaccine alone.

“You can put any superlatives you want in here, but these are stunningly positive results,” Dr. Markman said in an interview. He said that, as an oncologist who has been treating cervical cancer for 40 years, particularly patients with advanced cervical cancer, “I can tell you this is one of the most devastating diseases to women, and the ability to eliminate this cancer with something as simple as a vaccine is the goal of cancer therapy, and it’s been remarkably successful.

“I can only emphasize the critical importance of all parents to see that their children who are eligible for the vaccine receive it. This is a cancer prevention strategy that is unbelievably, remarkably effective and safe,” Dr. Markman added.
 

National vaccination program

The national HPV vaccination program in England began in 2008. Initially, the bivalent Cervarix vaccine against HPV 16 and 18 was used. HPV 16 and 18 are responsible for 70% to 80% of all cervical cancers in England, the researchers note in their article.

In 2012, the program switched to the quadrivalent HPV vaccine (Gardasil), which is effective against two additional HPV types, HPV 6 and 11. Those strains cause genital warts.

The prevention program originally recommended a three-dose regimen in which both HPV vaccines were used. Currently, two doses are given to girls younger than 15 years. In addition, a single dose of the HPV vaccine provides good protection against persistent infection. The efficacy rate of a single dose is similar to that of three doses, the authors comment.
 

Population-based registry

The new data come from a population-based cancer registry that shows the incidence of cervical cancer and noninvasive cervical carcinoma (CIN3) in England between January 2006 and June 2019.

The study included seven cohorts of women who were aged 20-64 years at the end of 2019. Three of these cohorts composed the vaccinated population.

The team reports that overall, from January 2006 to June 2019, there were 27,946 cases of cervical cancer and 318,058 cases of CIN3.

In the three vaccinated cohorts, there were around 450 fewer cases of cervical cancer and 17,200 fewer cases of CIN3 than would be expected in a nonvaccinated population.

The three vaccinated cohorts had been eligible to receive Cervarix when they were aged 12-13 years. A catch-up scheme aimed at 14- to 16-year-olds and 16- to 18-year-olds. Most of these persons were vaccinated through a school vaccination program.

The team analyzed the data for each of these cohorts.

Among the cohort eligible for vaccination at 12-13 years of age, 89% received at least one dose of the HPV vaccine; 85% received three shots and were fully vaccinated. Among these persons, the rate of cervical cancer was 87% lower than expected in a nonvaccinated population, and the rate of CIN3 was 97% lower than expected.

For the cohort that was eligible to be vaccinated between the ages of 14 and 16 years, the corresponding reductions were 62% for cervical cancer and 75% for CIN3.

For the cohort eligible for vaccination between the ages of 16 and 18 years (of whom 60% had received at least one dose and 45% were fully vaccinated), the corresponding reduction were 34% for cervical cancer and 39% for CIN3.

The authors acknowledge some limitations with the study, principally that cervical cancer is rare in young women, and these vaccinated populations are still young. The youngest would have been vaccinated at age 12 in 2008 and so would be only 23 years old in 2019, when the follow-up in this current study ended. The authors emphasize that because the vaccinated populations are still young, it is too early to assess the full impact of HPV vaccination on cervical cancer rates.
 

Editorial commentary

“The relative reductions in cervical cancer, expected as a result of the HPV vaccination program, support the anticipated vaccine effectiveness,” commented two authors of an accompanying editorial, Maggie Cruickshank, MD, University of Aberdeen (Scotland), and Mihaela Grigore, MD, University of Medicine and Pharmacy, Lasi, Romania.

“The scale of the HPV vaccination effect reported by this study should also stimulate vaccination programs in low-income and middle-income countries where the problem of cervical cancer is a far greater public health issue than in those with well established systems of vaccination and screening,” they comment.

“The most important issue, besides the availability of the vaccine ... is the education of the population to accept the vaccination because a high rate of immunization is a key element of success,” they emphasize. “Even in a wealthy country, such as England with free access to HPV immunization, uptake has not reached the 90% vaccination target of girls aged 15 years set by WHO [World Health Organization].”

The authors and editorialists disclosed no relevant financial relationships. Dr. Markman is a regular contributor to Medscape Oncology. He has received income of $250 or more from Genentech, AstraZeneca, Celgene, Clovis, and Amgen.

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

New data from England show the success of the national program for vaccinating girls against human papillomavirus (HPV) to prevent cervical cancer.

Among young women who received the HPV vaccine when they were 12-13 years old (before their sexual debut), cervical cancer rates are 87% lower than among previous nonvaccinated generations.

“It’s been incredible to see the impact of HPV vaccination, and now we can prove it prevented hundreds of women from developing cancer in England,” senior author Peter Sasieni, MD, King’s College London, said in a statement. “To see the real-life impact of the vaccine has been truly rewarding.”

“This study provides the first direct evidence of the impact of the UK HPV vaccination campaign on cervical cancer incidence, showing a large reduction in cervical cancer rates in vaccinated cohorts,” Kate Soldan, MD, U.K. Health Security Agency, London, commented in a statement.

Vanessa Saliba, MD, a consultant epidemiologist for the U.K. Health Security Agency, agreed, saying that “these remarkable findings confirm that the HPV vaccine saves lives by dramatically reducing cervical cancer rates among women.

“This reminds us that vaccines are one of the most important tools we have to help us live longer, healthier lives,” she added.

The study was published online Nov. 3, 2021, in The Lancet.

Approached for comment on the new study, Maurice Markman, MD, president, Medicine and Science Cancer Treatment Centers of America, noted that the results of the English study are very similar to those of a Swedish study of the quadrivalent vaccine alone.

“You can put any superlatives you want in here, but these are stunningly positive results,” Dr. Markman said in an interview. He said that, as an oncologist who has been treating cervical cancer for 40 years, particularly patients with advanced cervical cancer, “I can tell you this is one of the most devastating diseases to women, and the ability to eliminate this cancer with something as simple as a vaccine is the goal of cancer therapy, and it’s been remarkably successful.

“I can only emphasize the critical importance of all parents to see that their children who are eligible for the vaccine receive it. This is a cancer prevention strategy that is unbelievably, remarkably effective and safe,” Dr. Markman added.
 

National vaccination program

The national HPV vaccination program in England began in 2008. Initially, the bivalent Cervarix vaccine against HPV 16 and 18 was used. HPV 16 and 18 are responsible for 70% to 80% of all cervical cancers in England, the researchers note in their article.

In 2012, the program switched to the quadrivalent HPV vaccine (Gardasil), which is effective against two additional HPV types, HPV 6 and 11. Those strains cause genital warts.

The prevention program originally recommended a three-dose regimen in which both HPV vaccines were used. Currently, two doses are given to girls younger than 15 years. In addition, a single dose of the HPV vaccine provides good protection against persistent infection. The efficacy rate of a single dose is similar to that of three doses, the authors comment.
 

Population-based registry

The new data come from a population-based cancer registry that shows the incidence of cervical cancer and noninvasive cervical carcinoma (CIN3) in England between January 2006 and June 2019.

The study included seven cohorts of women who were aged 20-64 years at the end of 2019. Three of these cohorts composed the vaccinated population.

The team reports that overall, from January 2006 to June 2019, there were 27,946 cases of cervical cancer and 318,058 cases of CIN3.

In the three vaccinated cohorts, there were around 450 fewer cases of cervical cancer and 17,200 fewer cases of CIN3 than would be expected in a nonvaccinated population.

The three vaccinated cohorts had been eligible to receive Cervarix when they were aged 12-13 years. A catch-up scheme aimed at 14- to 16-year-olds and 16- to 18-year-olds. Most of these persons were vaccinated through a school vaccination program.

The team analyzed the data for each of these cohorts.

Among the cohort eligible for vaccination at 12-13 years of age, 89% received at least one dose of the HPV vaccine; 85% received three shots and were fully vaccinated. Among these persons, the rate of cervical cancer was 87% lower than expected in a nonvaccinated population, and the rate of CIN3 was 97% lower than expected.

For the cohort that was eligible to be vaccinated between the ages of 14 and 16 years, the corresponding reductions were 62% for cervical cancer and 75% for CIN3.

For the cohort eligible for vaccination between the ages of 16 and 18 years (of whom 60% had received at least one dose and 45% were fully vaccinated), the corresponding reduction were 34% for cervical cancer and 39% for CIN3.

The authors acknowledge some limitations with the study, principally that cervical cancer is rare in young women, and these vaccinated populations are still young. The youngest would have been vaccinated at age 12 in 2008 and so would be only 23 years old in 2019, when the follow-up in this current study ended. The authors emphasize that because the vaccinated populations are still young, it is too early to assess the full impact of HPV vaccination on cervical cancer rates.
 

Editorial commentary

“The relative reductions in cervical cancer, expected as a result of the HPV vaccination program, support the anticipated vaccine effectiveness,” commented two authors of an accompanying editorial, Maggie Cruickshank, MD, University of Aberdeen (Scotland), and Mihaela Grigore, MD, University of Medicine and Pharmacy, Lasi, Romania.

“The scale of the HPV vaccination effect reported by this study should also stimulate vaccination programs in low-income and middle-income countries where the problem of cervical cancer is a far greater public health issue than in those with well established systems of vaccination and screening,” they comment.

“The most important issue, besides the availability of the vaccine ... is the education of the population to accept the vaccination because a high rate of immunization is a key element of success,” they emphasize. “Even in a wealthy country, such as England with free access to HPV immunization, uptake has not reached the 90% vaccination target of girls aged 15 years set by WHO [World Health Organization].”

The authors and editorialists disclosed no relevant financial relationships. Dr. Markman is a regular contributor to Medscape Oncology. He has received income of $250 or more from Genentech, AstraZeneca, Celgene, Clovis, and Amgen.

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