Diversity in Medicine

Equitable Standards for All Patients in a Crisis

Health care delivered during a pandemic instantiates medicine’s perspectives on the value of human life in clinical scenarios where resource allocation is limited. The COVID-19 pandemic has fostered dialogue and debate around the ethical principles that underly such resource allocation, which generally balance (1) utilitarian optimization of resources, (2) equality or equity in health access, (3) the instrumental value of individuals as agents in society, and (4) prioritizing the “worst off” in their natural history of disease.^1,2 State legislatures and health systems have responded to the challeges posed by COVID-19 by considering both the scarcity of intensive care resources, such as mechanical ventilation and hemodialysis, and the clinical criteria to be used for determining which patients should receive said resources. These crisis guidelines have yielded several concerning themes vis-à-vis equitable distribution of health care resources, particularly when the disability status of patients is considered alongside life-expectancy or quality of life.³

Crisis standards of care (CSC) prioritize population-level health under a utilitarian paradigm, explicitly maximizing “life-years” within a population of patients rather than the life of any individual patient.⁴ Debated during initial COVID surges, these CSC guidelines have recently been enacted at the state level in several settings, including Alaska and Idaho.⁵ In a setting with scarce intensive care resources, balancing health equity in access to these resources against population-based survival metrics has been a challenge for commissions considering CSC.^6,7 This need for balance has further promoted systemic views of “disability,” raising concern for structural “ableism” and highlighting the need for greater “ability awareness” in clinicians’ continued professional learning.

Structural Ableism: Defining Perspectives to Address Health Equity

Ableism has been defined as “a system that places value on people’s bodies and minds, based on societally constructed ideas of normalcy, intelligence, excellence, and productivity…[and] leads to people and society determining who is valuable and worthy based on their appearance and/or their ability to satisfactorily [re]produce, excel, and ‘behave.’”⁸ Regarding CSC, concerns about systemic bias in guideline design were raised early by disability advocacy groups during comment periods.^9,10 More broadly, concerns about ableism sit alongside many deeply rooted societal perspectives of disabled individuals as pitiable or, conversely, heroic for having “overcome” their disability in some way. As a physician who sits in a manual wheelchair with paraplegia and mobility impairment, I have equally been subject to inappropriate bias and inappropriate praise for living in a wheelchair. I have also wondered, alongside my patients living with different levels of mobility or ability, why others often view us as “worse off.” Addressing directly whether disabled individuals are “worse off,” disability rights attorney and advocate Harriet McBryde Johnson has articulated a predominant sentiment among persons living with unique or different abilities:

Are we “worse off”? I don’t think so. Not in any meaningful way. There are too many variables. For those of us with congenital conditions, disability shapes all we are. Those disabled later in life adapt. We take constraints that no one would choose and build rich and satisfying lives within them. We enjoy pleasures other people enjoy and pleasures peculiarly our own. We have something the world needs.¹¹

Many physician colleagues have common, invisible diseases such as diabetes and heart disease; fewer colleagues share conditions that are as visible as my spinal cord injury, as readily apparent to patients upon my entry to their hospital rooms. This simultaneous and inescapable identity as both patient and provider has afforded me wonderful doctor-patient interactions, particularly with those patients who appreciate how my patient experience impacts my ability to partially understand theirs. However, this simultaneous identity as doctor and patient also informed my personal and professional concerns regarding structural ableism as I considered scoring my own acutely ill hospital medicine patients with CSC triage scores in April 2020.

As a practicing hospital medicine physician, I have been emboldened by the efforts of my fellow clinicians amid COVID-19; their efforts have reaffirmed all the reasons I pursued a career in medicine. However, when I heard my clinical colleagues’ first explanation of the Massachusetts CSC guidelines in April 2020, I raised my hand to ask whether the “life-years” to which the guidelines referred were quality-adjusted. My concern regarding the implicit use of quality-adjusted life years (QALY) or disability-adjusted life years in clinical decision-making and implementation of these guidelines was validated when no clinical leaders could address this question directly. Sitting on the CSC committee for my hospital during this time was an honor. However, it was disconcerting to hear many clinicians’ unease when estimating mean survival for common chronic diseases, ranging from end-stage renal disease to advanced heart failure. If my expert colleagues, clinical specialists in kidney and heart disease, could not confidently apply mean survival estimates to multimorbid hospital patients, then idiosyncratic clinical judgment was sure to have a heavy hand in any calculation of “life-years.” Thus, my primary concern was that clinicians using triage heuristics would be subject to bias, regardless of their intention, and negatively adjust for the quality of a disabled life in their CSC triage scoring. My secondary concern was that the CSC guidelines themselves included systemic bias against disabled individuals.

According to CSC schema, triage scores index heavily on Sequential Organ Failure Assessment (SOFA) scores to define short-term survival; SOFA scores are partially driven by the Glasgow Coma Scale (GCS). Following professional and public comment periods, CSC guidelines in Massachusetts were revised to, among other critical points of revision, change prognostic estimation via “life years” in favor of generic estimation of short-term survival (Table). I wondered, if I presented to an emergency department with severe COVID-19 and was scored with the GCS for the purpose of making a CSC ventilator triage decision, how would my complete paraplegia and lower-extremity motor impairment be accounted for by a clinician assessing “best motor response” in the GCS? The purpose of these scores is to act algorithmically, to guide clinicians whose cognitive load and time limitations may not allow for adjustment of these algorithms based on the individual patient in front of them. Individualization of clinical decisions is part of medicine’s art, but is difficult in the best of times and no easier during a crisis in care delivery. As CSC triage scores were amended and addended throughout 2020, I returned to the COVID wards, time and again wondering, “What have we learned about systemic bias and health inequity in the CSC process and the pandemic broadly, with specific regard to disability?”

Ability Awareness: Room for Our Improvement

Unfortunately, there is reason to believe that clinical judgment is impaired by structural ableism. In seminal work on this topic, Gerhart et al¹² demonstrated that clinicians considered spinal cord injury (SCI) survivors to have low self-perceptions of worthiness, overall negative attitudes, and low self-esteem as compared to able-bodied individuals. However, surveyed SCI survivors generally had similar self-perceptions of worth and positivity as compared to ”able-bodied” clinicians.¹² For providers who care for persons with disabilities, the majority (82.4%) have rated their disabled patients’ quality of life as worse.¹³ It is no wonder that patients with disabilities are more likely to feel that their doctor-patient relationship is impacted by lack of understanding, negative sentiment, or simple lack of listening.¹⁴ Generally, this poor doctor-patient relationship with disabled patients is exacerbated by poor exposure of medical trainees to disability education; only 34.2% of internal medicine residents recall any form of disability education in medical school, while only 52% of medical school deans report having disability educational content in their curricula.^15,16 There is a similar lack of disability representation in the population of medical trainees themselves. While approximately 20% of the American population lives with a disability, less than 2% of American medical students have a disability.^17-19

While representation of disabled populations in medical practice remains poor, disabled patients are generally less likely to receive age-appropriate prevention, appropriate access to care, and equal access to treatment.^20-22 “Diagnostic overshadowing” refers to clinicians’ attribution of nonspecific signs or symptoms to a patient’s chronic disability as opposed to acute illness.²³ This phenomenon has led to higher rates of preventable malignancy in disabled patients and misattribution of common somatic symptoms to intellectual disability.^24,25 With this disparity in place as status quo for health care delivery to disabled populations, it is no surprise that certain portions of the disabled population have accounted for disproportionate mortality due to COVID-19.^26,27Disability advocates have called for “nothing about us without us,” a phrase associated with the United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities. Understanding the profound neurodiversity among several forms of sensory and cognitive disabilities, as well as the functional difference between cognitive disabilities, mobility impairment, and inability to meet one’s instrumental activities of daily living independently, others have proposed a unique approach to certain disabled populations in COVID care.²⁸ My own perspective is that definite progress may require a more general understanding of the prevalence of disability by clinicians, both via medical training and by directly addressing health equity for disabled populations in such calculations as the CSC. Systemic ableism is apparent in our most common clinical scoring systems, ranging from the GCS and Functional Assessment Staging Table to the Eastern Cooperative Oncology Group and Karnofsky Performance Status scales. I have reexamined these scoring systems in my own understanding given their general equation of ambulation with ability or normalcy. As a doctor in a manual wheelchair who values greatly my personal quality of life and professional contribution to patient care, I worry that these scoring systems inherently discount my own equitable access to care. Individualization of patients’ particular abilities in the context of these scales must occur alongside evidence-based, guideline-directed management via these scoring systems.

Conclusion: Future Orientation

Updated CSC guidelines have accounted for the unique considerations of disabled patients by effectively caveating their scoring algorithms, directing clinicians via disclaimers to uniquely consider their disabled patients in clinical judgement. This is a first step, but it is also one that erodes the value of algorithms, which generally obviate more deliberative thinking and individualization. For our patients who lack certain abilities, as CSC continue to be activated in several states, we have an opportunity to pursue more inherently equitable solutions before further suffering accrues.²⁹ By way of example, adaptations to scoring systems that leverage QALYs for value-based drug pricing indices have been proposed by organizations like the Institute for Clinical and Economic Review, which proposed the Equal-Value-of Life-Years-Gained framework to inform QALY-based arbitration of drug pricing.³⁰ This is not a perfect rubric but instead represents an attempt to balance consideration of drugs, as has been done with ventilators during the pandemic, as a scare and expensive resource while addressing the just concerns of advocacy groups in structural ableism.

Resource stewardship during a crisis should not discount those states of human life that are perceived to be less desirable, particularly if they are not experienced as less desirable but are experienced uniquely. Instead, we should consider equitably measuring our intervention to match a patient’s needs, as we would dose-adjust a medication for renal function or consider minimally invasive procedures for multimorbid patients. COVID-19 has reflected our profession’s ethical adaptation during crisis as resources have become scarce; there is no better time to define solutions for health equity. We should now be concerned equally by the influence our personal biases have on our clinical practice and by the way in which these crisis standards will influence patients’ perception of and trust in their care providers during periods of perceived plentiful resources in the future. Health care resources are always limited, allocated according to societal values; if we value health equity for people of all abilities, then we will consider these abilities equitably as we pursue new standards for health care delivery.

Corresponding author: Gregory D. Snyder, MD, MBA, 2014 Washington Street, Newton, MA 02462; gdsnyder@bwh.harvard.edu.

Disclosures: None.
 

Equitable Standards for All Patients in a Crisis

Health care delivered during a pandemic instantiates medicine’s perspectives on the value of human life in clinical scenarios where resource allocation is limited. The COVID-19 pandemic has fostered dialogue and debate around the ethical principles that underly such resource allocation, which generally balance (1) utilitarian optimization of resources, (2) equality or equity in health access, (3) the instrumental value of individuals as agents in society, and (4) prioritizing the “worst off” in their natural history of disease.^1,2 State legislatures and health systems have responded to the challeges posed by COVID-19 by considering both the scarcity of intensive care resources, such as mechanical ventilation and hemodialysis, and the clinical criteria to be used for determining which patients should receive said resources. These crisis guidelines have yielded several concerning themes vis-à-vis equitable distribution of health care resources, particularly when the disability status of patients is considered alongside life-expectancy or quality of life.³

Crisis standards of care (CSC) prioritize population-level health under a utilitarian paradigm, explicitly maximizing “life-years” within a population of patients rather than the life of any individual patient.⁴ Debated during initial COVID surges, these CSC guidelines have recently been enacted at the state level in several settings, including Alaska and Idaho.⁵ In a setting with scarce intensive care resources, balancing health equity in access to these resources against population-based survival metrics has been a challenge for commissions considering CSC.^6,7 This need for balance has further promoted systemic views of “disability,” raising concern for structural “ableism” and highlighting the need for greater “ability awareness” in clinicians’ continued professional learning.

Structural Ableism: Defining Perspectives to Address Health Equity

Ableism has been defined as “a system that places value on people’s bodies and minds, based on societally constructed ideas of normalcy, intelligence, excellence, and productivity…[and] leads to people and society determining who is valuable and worthy based on their appearance and/or their ability to satisfactorily [re]produce, excel, and ‘behave.’”⁸ Regarding CSC, concerns about systemic bias in guideline design were raised early by disability advocacy groups during comment periods.^9,10 More broadly, concerns about ableism sit alongside many deeply rooted societal perspectives of disabled individuals as pitiable or, conversely, heroic for having “overcome” their disability in some way. As a physician who sits in a manual wheelchair with paraplegia and mobility impairment, I have equally been subject to inappropriate bias and inappropriate praise for living in a wheelchair. I have also wondered, alongside my patients living with different levels of mobility or ability, why others often view us as “worse off.” Addressing directly whether disabled individuals are “worse off,” disability rights attorney and advocate Harriet McBryde Johnson has articulated a predominant sentiment among persons living with unique or different abilities:

Are we “worse off”? I don’t think so. Not in any meaningful way. There are too many variables. For those of us with congenital conditions, disability shapes all we are. Those disabled later in life adapt. We take constraints that no one would choose and build rich and satisfying lives within them. We enjoy pleasures other people enjoy and pleasures peculiarly our own. We have something the world needs.¹¹

Many physician colleagues have common, invisible diseases such as diabetes and heart disease; fewer colleagues share conditions that are as visible as my spinal cord injury, as readily apparent to patients upon my entry to their hospital rooms. This simultaneous and inescapable identity as both patient and provider has afforded me wonderful doctor-patient interactions, particularly with those patients who appreciate how my patient experience impacts my ability to partially understand theirs. However, this simultaneous identity as doctor and patient also informed my personal and professional concerns regarding structural ableism as I considered scoring my own acutely ill hospital medicine patients with CSC triage scores in April 2020.

As a practicing hospital medicine physician, I have been emboldened by the efforts of my fellow clinicians amid COVID-19; their efforts have reaffirmed all the reasons I pursued a career in medicine. However, when I heard my clinical colleagues’ first explanation of the Massachusetts CSC guidelines in April 2020, I raised my hand to ask whether the “life-years” to which the guidelines referred were quality-adjusted. My concern regarding the implicit use of quality-adjusted life years (QALY) or disability-adjusted life years in clinical decision-making and implementation of these guidelines was validated when no clinical leaders could address this question directly. Sitting on the CSC committee for my hospital during this time was an honor. However, it was disconcerting to hear many clinicians’ unease when estimating mean survival for common chronic diseases, ranging from end-stage renal disease to advanced heart failure. If my expert colleagues, clinical specialists in kidney and heart disease, could not confidently apply mean survival estimates to multimorbid hospital patients, then idiosyncratic clinical judgment was sure to have a heavy hand in any calculation of “life-years.” Thus, my primary concern was that clinicians using triage heuristics would be subject to bias, regardless of their intention, and negatively adjust for the quality of a disabled life in their CSC triage scoring. My secondary concern was that the CSC guidelines themselves included systemic bias against disabled individuals.

According to CSC schema, triage scores index heavily on Sequential Organ Failure Assessment (SOFA) scores to define short-term survival; SOFA scores are partially driven by the Glasgow Coma Scale (GCS). Following professional and public comment periods, CSC guidelines in Massachusetts were revised to, among other critical points of revision, change prognostic estimation via “life years” in favor of generic estimation of short-term survival (Table). I wondered, if I presented to an emergency department with severe COVID-19 and was scored with the GCS for the purpose of making a CSC ventilator triage decision, how would my complete paraplegia and lower-extremity motor impairment be accounted for by a clinician assessing “best motor response” in the GCS? The purpose of these scores is to act algorithmically, to guide clinicians whose cognitive load and time limitations may not allow for adjustment of these algorithms based on the individual patient in front of them. Individualization of clinical decisions is part of medicine’s art, but is difficult in the best of times and no easier during a crisis in care delivery. As CSC triage scores were amended and addended throughout 2020, I returned to the COVID wards, time and again wondering, “What have we learned about systemic bias and health inequity in the CSC process and the pandemic broadly, with specific regard to disability?”

Ability Awareness: Room for Our Improvement

Unfortunately, there is reason to believe that clinical judgment is impaired by structural ableism. In seminal work on this topic, Gerhart et al¹² demonstrated that clinicians considered spinal cord injury (SCI) survivors to have low self-perceptions of worthiness, overall negative attitudes, and low self-esteem as compared to able-bodied individuals. However, surveyed SCI survivors generally had similar self-perceptions of worth and positivity as compared to ”able-bodied” clinicians.¹² For providers who care for persons with disabilities, the majority (82.4%) have rated their disabled patients’ quality of life as worse.¹³ It is no wonder that patients with disabilities are more likely to feel that their doctor-patient relationship is impacted by lack of understanding, negative sentiment, or simple lack of listening.¹⁴ Generally, this poor doctor-patient relationship with disabled patients is exacerbated by poor exposure of medical trainees to disability education; only 34.2% of internal medicine residents recall any form of disability education in medical school, while only 52% of medical school deans report having disability educational content in their curricula.^15,16 There is a similar lack of disability representation in the population of medical trainees themselves. While approximately 20% of the American population lives with a disability, less than 2% of American medical students have a disability.^17-19

While representation of disabled populations in medical practice remains poor, disabled patients are generally less likely to receive age-appropriate prevention, appropriate access to care, and equal access to treatment.^20-22 “Diagnostic overshadowing” refers to clinicians’ attribution of nonspecific signs or symptoms to a patient’s chronic disability as opposed to acute illness.²³ This phenomenon has led to higher rates of preventable malignancy in disabled patients and misattribution of common somatic symptoms to intellectual disability.^24,25 With this disparity in place as status quo for health care delivery to disabled populations, it is no surprise that certain portions of the disabled population have accounted for disproportionate mortality due to COVID-19.^26,27Disability advocates have called for “nothing about us without us,” a phrase associated with the United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities. Understanding the profound neurodiversity among several forms of sensory and cognitive disabilities, as well as the functional difference between cognitive disabilities, mobility impairment, and inability to meet one’s instrumental activities of daily living independently, others have proposed a unique approach to certain disabled populations in COVID care.²⁸ My own perspective is that definite progress may require a more general understanding of the prevalence of disability by clinicians, both via medical training and by directly addressing health equity for disabled populations in such calculations as the CSC. Systemic ableism is apparent in our most common clinical scoring systems, ranging from the GCS and Functional Assessment Staging Table to the Eastern Cooperative Oncology Group and Karnofsky Performance Status scales. I have reexamined these scoring systems in my own understanding given their general equation of ambulation with ability or normalcy. As a doctor in a manual wheelchair who values greatly my personal quality of life and professional contribution to patient care, I worry that these scoring systems inherently discount my own equitable access to care. Individualization of patients’ particular abilities in the context of these scales must occur alongside evidence-based, guideline-directed management via these scoring systems.

Conclusion: Future Orientation

Updated CSC guidelines have accounted for the unique considerations of disabled patients by effectively caveating their scoring algorithms, directing clinicians via disclaimers to uniquely consider their disabled patients in clinical judgement. This is a first step, but it is also one that erodes the value of algorithms, which generally obviate more deliberative thinking and individualization. For our patients who lack certain abilities, as CSC continue to be activated in several states, we have an opportunity to pursue more inherently equitable solutions before further suffering accrues.²⁹ By way of example, adaptations to scoring systems that leverage QALYs for value-based drug pricing indices have been proposed by organizations like the Institute for Clinical and Economic Review, which proposed the Equal-Value-of Life-Years-Gained framework to inform QALY-based arbitration of drug pricing.³⁰ This is not a perfect rubric but instead represents an attempt to balance consideration of drugs, as has been done with ventilators during the pandemic, as a scare and expensive resource while addressing the just concerns of advocacy groups in structural ableism.

Resource stewardship during a crisis should not discount those states of human life that are perceived to be less desirable, particularly if they are not experienced as less desirable but are experienced uniquely. Instead, we should consider equitably measuring our intervention to match a patient’s needs, as we would dose-adjust a medication for renal function or consider minimally invasive procedures for multimorbid patients. COVID-19 has reflected our profession’s ethical adaptation during crisis as resources have become scarce; there is no better time to define solutions for health equity. We should now be concerned equally by the influence our personal biases have on our clinical practice and by the way in which these crisis standards will influence patients’ perception of and trust in their care providers during periods of perceived plentiful resources in the future. Health care resources are always limited, allocated according to societal values; if we value health equity for people of all abilities, then we will consider these abilities equitably as we pursue new standards for health care delivery.

Corresponding author: Gregory D. Snyder, MD, MBA, 2014 Washington Street, Newton, MA 02462; gdsnyder@bwh.harvard.edu.

Disclosures: None.
 

Equitable Standards for All Patients in a Crisis

Health care delivered during a pandemic instantiates medicine’s perspectives on the value of human life in clinical scenarios where resource allocation is limited. The COVID-19 pandemic has fostered dialogue and debate around the ethical principles that underly such resource allocation, which generally balance (1) utilitarian optimization of resources, (2) equality or equity in health access, (3) the instrumental value of individuals as agents in society, and (4) prioritizing the “worst off” in their natural history of disease.^1,2 State legislatures and health systems have responded to the challeges posed by COVID-19 by considering both the scarcity of intensive care resources, such as mechanical ventilation and hemodialysis, and the clinical criteria to be used for determining which patients should receive said resources. These crisis guidelines have yielded several concerning themes vis-à-vis equitable distribution of health care resources, particularly when the disability status of patients is considered alongside life-expectancy or quality of life.³

Crisis standards of care (CSC) prioritize population-level health under a utilitarian paradigm, explicitly maximizing “life-years” within a population of patients rather than the life of any individual patient.⁴ Debated during initial COVID surges, these CSC guidelines have recently been enacted at the state level in several settings, including Alaska and Idaho.⁵ In a setting with scarce intensive care resources, balancing health equity in access to these resources against population-based survival metrics has been a challenge for commissions considering CSC.^6,7 This need for balance has further promoted systemic views of “disability,” raising concern for structural “ableism” and highlighting the need for greater “ability awareness” in clinicians’ continued professional learning.

Structural Ableism: Defining Perspectives to Address Health Equity

Ableism has been defined as “a system that places value on people’s bodies and minds, based on societally constructed ideas of normalcy, intelligence, excellence, and productivity…[and] leads to people and society determining who is valuable and worthy based on their appearance and/or their ability to satisfactorily [re]produce, excel, and ‘behave.’”⁸ Regarding CSC, concerns about systemic bias in guideline design were raised early by disability advocacy groups during comment periods.^9,10 More broadly, concerns about ableism sit alongside many deeply rooted societal perspectives of disabled individuals as pitiable or, conversely, heroic for having “overcome” their disability in some way. As a physician who sits in a manual wheelchair with paraplegia and mobility impairment, I have equally been subject to inappropriate bias and inappropriate praise for living in a wheelchair. I have also wondered, alongside my patients living with different levels of mobility or ability, why others often view us as “worse off.” Addressing directly whether disabled individuals are “worse off,” disability rights attorney and advocate Harriet McBryde Johnson has articulated a predominant sentiment among persons living with unique or different abilities:

Are we “worse off”? I don’t think so. Not in any meaningful way. There are too many variables. For those of us with congenital conditions, disability shapes all we are. Those disabled later in life adapt. We take constraints that no one would choose and build rich and satisfying lives within them. We enjoy pleasures other people enjoy and pleasures peculiarly our own. We have something the world needs.¹¹

Many physician colleagues have common, invisible diseases such as diabetes and heart disease; fewer colleagues share conditions that are as visible as my spinal cord injury, as readily apparent to patients upon my entry to their hospital rooms. This simultaneous and inescapable identity as both patient and provider has afforded me wonderful doctor-patient interactions, particularly with those patients who appreciate how my patient experience impacts my ability to partially understand theirs. However, this simultaneous identity as doctor and patient also informed my personal and professional concerns regarding structural ableism as I considered scoring my own acutely ill hospital medicine patients with CSC triage scores in April 2020.

As a practicing hospital medicine physician, I have been emboldened by the efforts of my fellow clinicians amid COVID-19; their efforts have reaffirmed all the reasons I pursued a career in medicine. However, when I heard my clinical colleagues’ first explanation of the Massachusetts CSC guidelines in April 2020, I raised my hand to ask whether the “life-years” to which the guidelines referred were quality-adjusted. My concern regarding the implicit use of quality-adjusted life years (QALY) or disability-adjusted life years in clinical decision-making and implementation of these guidelines was validated when no clinical leaders could address this question directly. Sitting on the CSC committee for my hospital during this time was an honor. However, it was disconcerting to hear many clinicians’ unease when estimating mean survival for common chronic diseases, ranging from end-stage renal disease to advanced heart failure. If my expert colleagues, clinical specialists in kidney and heart disease, could not confidently apply mean survival estimates to multimorbid hospital patients, then idiosyncratic clinical judgment was sure to have a heavy hand in any calculation of “life-years.” Thus, my primary concern was that clinicians using triage heuristics would be subject to bias, regardless of their intention, and negatively adjust for the quality of a disabled life in their CSC triage scoring. My secondary concern was that the CSC guidelines themselves included systemic bias against disabled individuals.

According to CSC schema, triage scores index heavily on Sequential Organ Failure Assessment (SOFA) scores to define short-term survival; SOFA scores are partially driven by the Glasgow Coma Scale (GCS). Following professional and public comment periods, CSC guidelines in Massachusetts were revised to, among other critical points of revision, change prognostic estimation via “life years” in favor of generic estimation of short-term survival (Table). I wondered, if I presented to an emergency department with severe COVID-19 and was scored with the GCS for the purpose of making a CSC ventilator triage decision, how would my complete paraplegia and lower-extremity motor impairment be accounted for by a clinician assessing “best motor response” in the GCS? The purpose of these scores is to act algorithmically, to guide clinicians whose cognitive load and time limitations may not allow for adjustment of these algorithms based on the individual patient in front of them. Individualization of clinical decisions is part of medicine’s art, but is difficult in the best of times and no easier during a crisis in care delivery. As CSC triage scores were amended and addended throughout 2020, I returned to the COVID wards, time and again wondering, “What have we learned about systemic bias and health inequity in the CSC process and the pandemic broadly, with specific regard to disability?”

Ability Awareness: Room for Our Improvement

Unfortunately, there is reason to believe that clinical judgment is impaired by structural ableism. In seminal work on this topic, Gerhart et al¹² demonstrated that clinicians considered spinal cord injury (SCI) survivors to have low self-perceptions of worthiness, overall negative attitudes, and low self-esteem as compared to able-bodied individuals. However, surveyed SCI survivors generally had similar self-perceptions of worth and positivity as compared to ”able-bodied” clinicians.¹² For providers who care for persons with disabilities, the majority (82.4%) have rated their disabled patients’ quality of life as worse.¹³ It is no wonder that patients with disabilities are more likely to feel that their doctor-patient relationship is impacted by lack of understanding, negative sentiment, or simple lack of listening.¹⁴ Generally, this poor doctor-patient relationship with disabled patients is exacerbated by poor exposure of medical trainees to disability education; only 34.2% of internal medicine residents recall any form of disability education in medical school, while only 52% of medical school deans report having disability educational content in their curricula.^15,16 There is a similar lack of disability representation in the population of medical trainees themselves. While approximately 20% of the American population lives with a disability, less than 2% of American medical students have a disability.^17-19

While representation of disabled populations in medical practice remains poor, disabled patients are generally less likely to receive age-appropriate prevention, appropriate access to care, and equal access to treatment.^20-22 “Diagnostic overshadowing” refers to clinicians’ attribution of nonspecific signs or symptoms to a patient’s chronic disability as opposed to acute illness.²³ This phenomenon has led to higher rates of preventable malignancy in disabled patients and misattribution of common somatic symptoms to intellectual disability.^24,25 With this disparity in place as status quo for health care delivery to disabled populations, it is no surprise that certain portions of the disabled population have accounted for disproportionate mortality due to COVID-19.^26,27Disability advocates have called for “nothing about us without us,” a phrase associated with the United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities. Understanding the profound neurodiversity among several forms of sensory and cognitive disabilities, as well as the functional difference between cognitive disabilities, mobility impairment, and inability to meet one’s instrumental activities of daily living independently, others have proposed a unique approach to certain disabled populations in COVID care.²⁸ My own perspective is that definite progress may require a more general understanding of the prevalence of disability by clinicians, both via medical training and by directly addressing health equity for disabled populations in such calculations as the CSC. Systemic ableism is apparent in our most common clinical scoring systems, ranging from the GCS and Functional Assessment Staging Table to the Eastern Cooperative Oncology Group and Karnofsky Performance Status scales. I have reexamined these scoring systems in my own understanding given their general equation of ambulation with ability or normalcy. As a doctor in a manual wheelchair who values greatly my personal quality of life and professional contribution to patient care, I worry that these scoring systems inherently discount my own equitable access to care. Individualization of patients’ particular abilities in the context of these scales must occur alongside evidence-based, guideline-directed management via these scoring systems.

Conclusion: Future Orientation

Updated CSC guidelines have accounted for the unique considerations of disabled patients by effectively caveating their scoring algorithms, directing clinicians via disclaimers to uniquely consider their disabled patients in clinical judgement. This is a first step, but it is also one that erodes the value of algorithms, which generally obviate more deliberative thinking and individualization. For our patients who lack certain abilities, as CSC continue to be activated in several states, we have an opportunity to pursue more inherently equitable solutions before further suffering accrues.²⁹ By way of example, adaptations to scoring systems that leverage QALYs for value-based drug pricing indices have been proposed by organizations like the Institute for Clinical and Economic Review, which proposed the Equal-Value-of Life-Years-Gained framework to inform QALY-based arbitration of drug pricing.³⁰ This is not a perfect rubric but instead represents an attempt to balance consideration of drugs, as has been done with ventilators during the pandemic, as a scare and expensive resource while addressing the just concerns of advocacy groups in structural ableism.

Resource stewardship during a crisis should not discount those states of human life that are perceived to be less desirable, particularly if they are not experienced as less desirable but are experienced uniquely. Instead, we should consider equitably measuring our intervention to match a patient’s needs, as we would dose-adjust a medication for renal function or consider minimally invasive procedures for multimorbid patients. COVID-19 has reflected our profession’s ethical adaptation during crisis as resources have become scarce; there is no better time to define solutions for health equity. We should now be concerned equally by the influence our personal biases have on our clinical practice and by the way in which these crisis standards will influence patients’ perception of and trust in their care providers during periods of perceived plentiful resources in the future. Health care resources are always limited, allocated according to societal values; if we value health equity for people of all abilities, then we will consider these abilities equitably as we pursue new standards for health care delivery.

Corresponding author: Gregory D. Snyder, MD, MBA, 2014 Washington Street, Newton, MA 02462; gdsnyder@bwh.harvard.edu.

Disclosures: None.
 

Intermittent fasting is the purposeful, restricted intake of food (and sometimes water), usually for health or religious reasons. Common forms are alternative-day fasting or time-restricted fasting, with variable ratios of days or hours for fasting and eating/drinking.¹ For example, fasting during Ramadan, the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, occurs from dawn to sunset, for a variable duration due to latitude and seasonal shifts.² Clinicians are likely to care for a patient who occasionally fasts. While there are potential benefits of fasting, clinicians need to consider the implications for patients who fast, particularly those receiving psychotropic medications.

Potential benefits for weight loss, mood

Some research suggests fasting is popular and may have benefits for an individual’s physical and mental health. In a 2020 online poll (N = 1,241), 24% of respondents said they had tried intermittent fasting, and 87% said the practice was very effective (50%) or somewhat effective (37%) in helping them lose weight.³ While more randomized control trials are needed to examine the practice’s effectiveness in promoting and maintaining weight loss, fasting has been linked to better glucose control in both humans and animals, and patients may have better adherence with fasting compared to caloric restriction alone.¹ Improved mood, alertness, tranquility, and sometimes euphoria have been documented among individuals who fast, but these benefits may not be sustained.⁴ A prospective study of 462 participants who fasted during Ramadan found the practice reduced depression in patients with diabetes, possibly due to mindfulness, decreased inflammation from improved insulin sensitivity, and/or social cohesion.⁵

Be aware of the potential risks

Fasting may either improve or destabilize mood in people with bipolar disorder by disrupting circadian rhythm and sleep.² Fasting might exacerbate underlying eating disorders.² Increased dehydration escalates the risk for orthostatic hypotension, which might require discontinuing clozapine.⁶ Hypotension and toxicity might arise during lithium pharmacotherapy. The Table⁴ summarizes things to consider when caring for a patient who fasts while receiving pharmacotherapy.

Provide patients with guidance

Advise patients not to fast if you believe it might exacerbate their mental illness, and encourage them to discuss with their primary care physicians any potential worsening of physical illnesses.² When caring for a patient who fasts for religious reasons, consider consulting with the patient’s religious leaders.² If patients choose to fast, monitor them for mood destabilization and/or medication adverse effects. If possible, avoid altering drug treatment regimens during fasting, and carefully monitor whenever a pharmaceutical change is necessary. When appropriate, the use of long-acting injectable medications may minimize adverse effects while maintaining mood stability. Encourage patients who fast to ensure they remain hydrated and practice sleep hygiene while they fast.⁷

Intermittent fasting is the purposeful, restricted intake of food (and sometimes water), usually for health or religious reasons. Common forms are alternative-day fasting or time-restricted fasting, with variable ratios of days or hours for fasting and eating/drinking.¹ For example, fasting during Ramadan, the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, occurs from dawn to sunset, for a variable duration due to latitude and seasonal shifts.² Clinicians are likely to care for a patient who occasionally fasts. While there are potential benefits of fasting, clinicians need to consider the implications for patients who fast, particularly those receiving psychotropic medications.

Potential benefits for weight loss, mood

Some research suggests fasting is popular and may have benefits for an individual’s physical and mental health. In a 2020 online poll (N = 1,241), 24% of respondents said they had tried intermittent fasting, and 87% said the practice was very effective (50%) or somewhat effective (37%) in helping them lose weight.³ While more randomized control trials are needed to examine the practice’s effectiveness in promoting and maintaining weight loss, fasting has been linked to better glucose control in both humans and animals, and patients may have better adherence with fasting compared to caloric restriction alone.¹ Improved mood, alertness, tranquility, and sometimes euphoria have been documented among individuals who fast, but these benefits may not be sustained.⁴ A prospective study of 462 participants who fasted during Ramadan found the practice reduced depression in patients with diabetes, possibly due to mindfulness, decreased inflammation from improved insulin sensitivity, and/or social cohesion.⁵

Be aware of the potential risks

Fasting may either improve or destabilize mood in people with bipolar disorder by disrupting circadian rhythm and sleep.² Fasting might exacerbate underlying eating disorders.² Increased dehydration escalates the risk for orthostatic hypotension, which might require discontinuing clozapine.⁶ Hypotension and toxicity might arise during lithium pharmacotherapy. The Table⁴ summarizes things to consider when caring for a patient who fasts while receiving pharmacotherapy.

Provide patients with guidance

Advise patients not to fast if you believe it might exacerbate their mental illness, and encourage them to discuss with their primary care physicians any potential worsening of physical illnesses.² When caring for a patient who fasts for religious reasons, consider consulting with the patient’s religious leaders.² If patients choose to fast, monitor them for mood destabilization and/or medication adverse effects. If possible, avoid altering drug treatment regimens during fasting, and carefully monitor whenever a pharmaceutical change is necessary. When appropriate, the use of long-acting injectable medications may minimize adverse effects while maintaining mood stability. Encourage patients who fast to ensure they remain hydrated and practice sleep hygiene while they fast.⁷

Intermittent fasting is the purposeful, restricted intake of food (and sometimes water), usually for health or religious reasons. Common forms are alternative-day fasting or time-restricted fasting, with variable ratios of days or hours for fasting and eating/drinking.¹ For example, fasting during Ramadan, the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, occurs from dawn to sunset, for a variable duration due to latitude and seasonal shifts.² Clinicians are likely to care for a patient who occasionally fasts. While there are potential benefits of fasting, clinicians need to consider the implications for patients who fast, particularly those receiving psychotropic medications.

Potential benefits for weight loss, mood

Some research suggests fasting is popular and may have benefits for an individual’s physical and mental health. In a 2020 online poll (N = 1,241), 24% of respondents said they had tried intermittent fasting, and 87% said the practice was very effective (50%) or somewhat effective (37%) in helping them lose weight.³ While more randomized control trials are needed to examine the practice’s effectiveness in promoting and maintaining weight loss, fasting has been linked to better glucose control in both humans and animals, and patients may have better adherence with fasting compared to caloric restriction alone.¹ Improved mood, alertness, tranquility, and sometimes euphoria have been documented among individuals who fast, but these benefits may not be sustained.⁴ A prospective study of 462 participants who fasted during Ramadan found the practice reduced depression in patients with diabetes, possibly due to mindfulness, decreased inflammation from improved insulin sensitivity, and/or social cohesion.⁵

Be aware of the potential risks

Fasting may either improve or destabilize mood in people with bipolar disorder by disrupting circadian rhythm and sleep.² Fasting might exacerbate underlying eating disorders.² Increased dehydration escalates the risk for orthostatic hypotension, which might require discontinuing clozapine.⁶ Hypotension and toxicity might arise during lithium pharmacotherapy. The Table⁴ summarizes things to consider when caring for a patient who fasts while receiving pharmacotherapy.

Provide patients with guidance

Advise patients not to fast if you believe it might exacerbate their mental illness, and encourage them to discuss with their primary care physicians any potential worsening of physical illnesses.² When caring for a patient who fasts for religious reasons, consider consulting with the patient’s religious leaders.² If patients choose to fast, monitor them for mood destabilization and/or medication adverse effects. If possible, avoid altering drug treatment regimens during fasting, and carefully monitor whenever a pharmaceutical change is necessary. When appropriate, the use of long-acting injectable medications may minimize adverse effects while maintaining mood stability. Encourage patients who fast to ensure they remain hydrated and practice sleep hygiene while they fast.⁷

Gender equality remains elusive for women in academic oncology, a survey of nearly 700 U.S. female oncologists suggests.

More than half of respondents in academic medicine said they believe their gender adversely affects their likelihood for promotion, and 1 in 5 said they were considering leaving academia in the next 5 years.

Given the percentage of female oncologists planning to exit academia, “gender inequality is at high risk of continuing if the culture is not addressed,” write the authors in their study, published online Dec. 30 in JAMA Network Open.

Although women currently outnumber men in U.S. medical schools – a shift that first occurred in 2019 – female representation in academic oncology dwindles at more senior levels. Women represent 45% of hematology and oncology residents, only about 36% of academic faculty, and an even smaller percentage of leadership positions in academic medicine. Women, for instance, occupy about 31% of the chair positions in medical oncology, 17.4% in radiation oncology, and 11% in surgical oncology.

A team of researchers led by Emily C. Merfeld, MD, of the University of Wisconsin Hospitals and Clinics, Madison, set out to understand the factors influencing female oncologists’ decisions to pursue academic versus nonacademic career paths.

Dr. Merfeld and colleagues analyzed survey responses from 667 female oncologists between August 1 and Oct. 31, 2020 – 422 (63.2%) in academic medicine and 245 (36.8%) in nonacademic practice.

Overall, 1 in 4 oncologists said their spouse or partner and family “extremely or moderately” affected their decision to pursue academic practice.

Almost 43% of academic oncologists perceived time spent with loved ones as the biggest sacrifice related to pursuing a career in academic medicine. Approximately the same percentage (41.6%) of nonacademic oncologists perceived the pressure to achieve academic promotion as the most significant sacrifice associated with academic oncology, whereas only 22.4% perceived less time with loved ones as the biggest sacrifice.

“Although work-life balance was a concern for academic oncologists and may be a factor in female oncologists leaving academia, survey data suggested that women in nonacademic practice faced similar challenges,” the authors write.

More specifically, women in academic oncology reported working 2 more hours on the weekends compared to women not in academic medicine; however, both groups worked a similar number of hours during the week.

On the hiring front, almost 24% of academic oncologists said their gender had a “negative or somewhat negative” impact on their ability to get a job, compared with 21% of nonacademic oncologists. Conversely, nearly 28% of academic oncologists said their gender had a “positive or somewhat positive” influence on whether they were hired compared with 41.2% of nonacademic oncologists.

Respondents, however, perceived that gender strongly influenced promotion opportunities. More than half of the respondents – 54.6% of academic oncologists and 50.6% of nonacademic oncologists – believed they were less likely to be promoted than their male colleagues.

This perception aligns with findings from prior studies, which “found women were less likely than men to be promoted to associate professor, full professor, or department chair positions,” the authors write.

Overall, most respondents in each group – 71.3% in academic medicine and 68.6% in nonacademic practice – said they would choose the same career path again. But almost 22% of those in academia said they were “likely or very likely” to leave academic oncology in the next 5 years. Of these women, 28.2% said they would switch to industry employment and 25% would move to community practice.

“Contrary to popular assumptions,” the researchers note, “a spouse or partner and/or family were not a major factor in female oncologists favoring nonacademic careers, because this factor was similarly important to both academic and nonacademic oncologists.”

However, they note, “the increased financial compensation in nonacademic oncology may play a large role in some women’s career decisions.”
 

Making headway on gender equality?

In 2013, oncologist Katherine Reeder-Hayes, MD, MBA, now an associate at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, published a study on gender equality in oncology in which she concluded that despite “an increasingly significant presence in the oncology physician workforce” women remained “under-represented in leadership positions and at the senior levels of academic medicine.”

Since then, Dr. Reeder-Hayes says that she has seen progress but recognizes the need for more.

“To some extent, I think that representation is improving over time due to factors outside the workplace – women are entering medical school in large numbers and may have more supportive partners and more social support for pursuing a professional career in general, [compared with] a decade or two ago,” Dr. Reeder-Hayes told this news organization.

On a personal level, she noted, “I do see many midcareer women assuming key leadership roles in my own institution.” However, she added, “I think the translation of those good candidates into increased representation in leadership probably varies widely across different institutions.”

In a 2019 editorial, researchers highlighted this variation while calling attention to the “notable progress” made by the American Association for Cancer Research (AACR). Specifically, the editorialists reported that women represent 40% of AACR members, 45% of the AACR Board of Directors, and half of the last 10 association presidents.

Editorial coauthor Elizabeth Jaffee, MD, deputy director of the Sidney Kimmel Comprehensive Cancer Center at Johns Hopkins, Baltimore, and former AACR president, told this news organization that she attributes this progress to “concrete measures to ensure equality throughout the organization,” which include gender balance on nominating and program committees as well as research meetings and providing opportunities for mentoring, leadership training, and networking.

Despite this positive change, the COVID-19 pandemic threatens to widen the gender imbalance. In a recent article, Julie Silver, MD, an expert in gender equity in medicine, told this news organization that she anticipates trouble ahead.

“There are many indications that women are leaving medicine in disproportionately high numbers,” said Dr. Silver, associate chair and director of cancer rehabilitation in the department of physical medicine and rehabilitation at Harvard Medical School, Boston. “A lack of fair pay and promotion opportunities that were present before COVID-19 are now combined with a host of pandemic-related challenges.”

In addition to salary and promotion disparities, the U.S. continues to suffer from “a chronic shortage of available, affordable, and high-quality childcare and a lack of federal-level policy initiatives or employer initiatives to broaden paid family leave and develop childcare infrastructure and workforce,” Dr. Reeder-Hayes said. Providing extended leave for new parents and on-site childcare could go a long way to improving this problem, she said.

However, Dr. Reeder-Hayes noted that perhaps the “leaky pipeline” problem in oncology highlights the fact that women “are making good decisions that reflect balanced life priorities, [and that] if we don’t structure job responsibilities, childcare, and pacing of promotion and tenure in ways that allow people to nurture other parts of their lives, employees will feel they’re being asked to sacrifice key things.”

In other words, she said, “it’s the workplace that needs to change if we’re going to convince [women], and many men with similar values, to stay.”

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

Gender equality remains elusive for women in academic oncology, a survey of nearly 700 U.S. female oncologists suggests.

More than half of respondents in academic medicine said they believe their gender adversely affects their likelihood for promotion, and 1 in 5 said they were considering leaving academia in the next 5 years.

Given the percentage of female oncologists planning to exit academia, “gender inequality is at high risk of continuing if the culture is not addressed,” write the authors in their study, published online Dec. 30 in JAMA Network Open.

Although women currently outnumber men in U.S. medical schools – a shift that first occurred in 2019 – female representation in academic oncology dwindles at more senior levels. Women represent 45% of hematology and oncology residents, only about 36% of academic faculty, and an even smaller percentage of leadership positions in academic medicine. Women, for instance, occupy about 31% of the chair positions in medical oncology, 17.4% in radiation oncology, and 11% in surgical oncology.

A team of researchers led by Emily C. Merfeld, MD, of the University of Wisconsin Hospitals and Clinics, Madison, set out to understand the factors influencing female oncologists’ decisions to pursue academic versus nonacademic career paths.

Dr. Merfeld and colleagues analyzed survey responses from 667 female oncologists between August 1 and Oct. 31, 2020 – 422 (63.2%) in academic medicine and 245 (36.8%) in nonacademic practice.

Overall, 1 in 4 oncologists said their spouse or partner and family “extremely or moderately” affected their decision to pursue academic practice.

Almost 43% of academic oncologists perceived time spent with loved ones as the biggest sacrifice related to pursuing a career in academic medicine. Approximately the same percentage (41.6%) of nonacademic oncologists perceived the pressure to achieve academic promotion as the most significant sacrifice associated with academic oncology, whereas only 22.4% perceived less time with loved ones as the biggest sacrifice.

“Although work-life balance was a concern for academic oncologists and may be a factor in female oncologists leaving academia, survey data suggested that women in nonacademic practice faced similar challenges,” the authors write.

More specifically, women in academic oncology reported working 2 more hours on the weekends compared to women not in academic medicine; however, both groups worked a similar number of hours during the week.

On the hiring front, almost 24% of academic oncologists said their gender had a “negative or somewhat negative” impact on their ability to get a job, compared with 21% of nonacademic oncologists. Conversely, nearly 28% of academic oncologists said their gender had a “positive or somewhat positive” influence on whether they were hired compared with 41.2% of nonacademic oncologists.

Respondents, however, perceived that gender strongly influenced promotion opportunities. More than half of the respondents – 54.6% of academic oncologists and 50.6% of nonacademic oncologists – believed they were less likely to be promoted than their male colleagues.

This perception aligns with findings from prior studies, which “found women were less likely than men to be promoted to associate professor, full professor, or department chair positions,” the authors write.

Overall, most respondents in each group – 71.3% in academic medicine and 68.6% in nonacademic practice – said they would choose the same career path again. But almost 22% of those in academia said they were “likely or very likely” to leave academic oncology in the next 5 years. Of these women, 28.2% said they would switch to industry employment and 25% would move to community practice.

“Contrary to popular assumptions,” the researchers note, “a spouse or partner and/or family were not a major factor in female oncologists favoring nonacademic careers, because this factor was similarly important to both academic and nonacademic oncologists.”

However, they note, “the increased financial compensation in nonacademic oncology may play a large role in some women’s career decisions.”
 

Making headway on gender equality?

In 2013, oncologist Katherine Reeder-Hayes, MD, MBA, now an associate at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, published a study on gender equality in oncology in which she concluded that despite “an increasingly significant presence in the oncology physician workforce” women remained “under-represented in leadership positions and at the senior levels of academic medicine.”

Since then, Dr. Reeder-Hayes says that she has seen progress but recognizes the need for more.

“To some extent, I think that representation is improving over time due to factors outside the workplace – women are entering medical school in large numbers and may have more supportive partners and more social support for pursuing a professional career in general, [compared with] a decade or two ago,” Dr. Reeder-Hayes told this news organization.

On a personal level, she noted, “I do see many midcareer women assuming key leadership roles in my own institution.” However, she added, “I think the translation of those good candidates into increased representation in leadership probably varies widely across different institutions.”

In a 2019 editorial, researchers highlighted this variation while calling attention to the “notable progress” made by the American Association for Cancer Research (AACR). Specifically, the editorialists reported that women represent 40% of AACR members, 45% of the AACR Board of Directors, and half of the last 10 association presidents.

Editorial coauthor Elizabeth Jaffee, MD, deputy director of the Sidney Kimmel Comprehensive Cancer Center at Johns Hopkins, Baltimore, and former AACR president, told this news organization that she attributes this progress to “concrete measures to ensure equality throughout the organization,” which include gender balance on nominating and program committees as well as research meetings and providing opportunities for mentoring, leadership training, and networking.

Despite this positive change, the COVID-19 pandemic threatens to widen the gender imbalance. In a recent article, Julie Silver, MD, an expert in gender equity in medicine, told this news organization that she anticipates trouble ahead.

“There are many indications that women are leaving medicine in disproportionately high numbers,” said Dr. Silver, associate chair and director of cancer rehabilitation in the department of physical medicine and rehabilitation at Harvard Medical School, Boston. “A lack of fair pay and promotion opportunities that were present before COVID-19 are now combined with a host of pandemic-related challenges.”

In addition to salary and promotion disparities, the U.S. continues to suffer from “a chronic shortage of available, affordable, and high-quality childcare and a lack of federal-level policy initiatives or employer initiatives to broaden paid family leave and develop childcare infrastructure and workforce,” Dr. Reeder-Hayes said. Providing extended leave for new parents and on-site childcare could go a long way to improving this problem, she said.

However, Dr. Reeder-Hayes noted that perhaps the “leaky pipeline” problem in oncology highlights the fact that women “are making good decisions that reflect balanced life priorities, [and that] if we don’t structure job responsibilities, childcare, and pacing of promotion and tenure in ways that allow people to nurture other parts of their lives, employees will feel they’re being asked to sacrifice key things.”

In other words, she said, “it’s the workplace that needs to change if we’re going to convince [women], and many men with similar values, to stay.”

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

Gender equality remains elusive for women in academic oncology, a survey of nearly 700 U.S. female oncologists suggests.

More than half of respondents in academic medicine said they believe their gender adversely affects their likelihood for promotion, and 1 in 5 said they were considering leaving academia in the next 5 years.

Given the percentage of female oncologists planning to exit academia, “gender inequality is at high risk of continuing if the culture is not addressed,” write the authors in their study, published online Dec. 30 in JAMA Network Open.

Although women currently outnumber men in U.S. medical schools – a shift that first occurred in 2019 – female representation in academic oncology dwindles at more senior levels. Women represent 45% of hematology and oncology residents, only about 36% of academic faculty, and an even smaller percentage of leadership positions in academic medicine. Women, for instance, occupy about 31% of the chair positions in medical oncology, 17.4% in radiation oncology, and 11% in surgical oncology.

A team of researchers led by Emily C. Merfeld, MD, of the University of Wisconsin Hospitals and Clinics, Madison, set out to understand the factors influencing female oncologists’ decisions to pursue academic versus nonacademic career paths.

Dr. Merfeld and colleagues analyzed survey responses from 667 female oncologists between August 1 and Oct. 31, 2020 – 422 (63.2%) in academic medicine and 245 (36.8%) in nonacademic practice.

Overall, 1 in 4 oncologists said their spouse or partner and family “extremely or moderately” affected their decision to pursue academic practice.

Almost 43% of academic oncologists perceived time spent with loved ones as the biggest sacrifice related to pursuing a career in academic medicine. Approximately the same percentage (41.6%) of nonacademic oncologists perceived the pressure to achieve academic promotion as the most significant sacrifice associated with academic oncology, whereas only 22.4% perceived less time with loved ones as the biggest sacrifice.

“Although work-life balance was a concern for academic oncologists and may be a factor in female oncologists leaving academia, survey data suggested that women in nonacademic practice faced similar challenges,” the authors write.

More specifically, women in academic oncology reported working 2 more hours on the weekends compared to women not in academic medicine; however, both groups worked a similar number of hours during the week.

On the hiring front, almost 24% of academic oncologists said their gender had a “negative or somewhat negative” impact on their ability to get a job, compared with 21% of nonacademic oncologists. Conversely, nearly 28% of academic oncologists said their gender had a “positive or somewhat positive” influence on whether they were hired compared with 41.2% of nonacademic oncologists.

Respondents, however, perceived that gender strongly influenced promotion opportunities. More than half of the respondents – 54.6% of academic oncologists and 50.6% of nonacademic oncologists – believed they were less likely to be promoted than their male colleagues.

This perception aligns with findings from prior studies, which “found women were less likely than men to be promoted to associate professor, full professor, or department chair positions,” the authors write.

Overall, most respondents in each group – 71.3% in academic medicine and 68.6% in nonacademic practice – said they would choose the same career path again. But almost 22% of those in academia said they were “likely or very likely” to leave academic oncology in the next 5 years. Of these women, 28.2% said they would switch to industry employment and 25% would move to community practice.

“Contrary to popular assumptions,” the researchers note, “a spouse or partner and/or family were not a major factor in female oncologists favoring nonacademic careers, because this factor was similarly important to both academic and nonacademic oncologists.”

However, they note, “the increased financial compensation in nonacademic oncology may play a large role in some women’s career decisions.”
 

Making headway on gender equality?

In 2013, oncologist Katherine Reeder-Hayes, MD, MBA, now an associate at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill, published a study on gender equality in oncology in which she concluded that despite “an increasingly significant presence in the oncology physician workforce” women remained “under-represented in leadership positions and at the senior levels of academic medicine.”

Since then, Dr. Reeder-Hayes says that she has seen progress but recognizes the need for more.

“To some extent, I think that representation is improving over time due to factors outside the workplace – women are entering medical school in large numbers and may have more supportive partners and more social support for pursuing a professional career in general, [compared with] a decade or two ago,” Dr. Reeder-Hayes told this news organization.

On a personal level, she noted, “I do see many midcareer women assuming key leadership roles in my own institution.” However, she added, “I think the translation of those good candidates into increased representation in leadership probably varies widely across different institutions.”

In a 2019 editorial, researchers highlighted this variation while calling attention to the “notable progress” made by the American Association for Cancer Research (AACR). Specifically, the editorialists reported that women represent 40% of AACR members, 45% of the AACR Board of Directors, and half of the last 10 association presidents.

Editorial coauthor Elizabeth Jaffee, MD, deputy director of the Sidney Kimmel Comprehensive Cancer Center at Johns Hopkins, Baltimore, and former AACR president, told this news organization that she attributes this progress to “concrete measures to ensure equality throughout the organization,” which include gender balance on nominating and program committees as well as research meetings and providing opportunities for mentoring, leadership training, and networking.

Despite this positive change, the COVID-19 pandemic threatens to widen the gender imbalance. In a recent article, Julie Silver, MD, an expert in gender equity in medicine, told this news organization that she anticipates trouble ahead.

“There are many indications that women are leaving medicine in disproportionately high numbers,” said Dr. Silver, associate chair and director of cancer rehabilitation in the department of physical medicine and rehabilitation at Harvard Medical School, Boston. “A lack of fair pay and promotion opportunities that were present before COVID-19 are now combined with a host of pandemic-related challenges.”

In addition to salary and promotion disparities, the U.S. continues to suffer from “a chronic shortage of available, affordable, and high-quality childcare and a lack of federal-level policy initiatives or employer initiatives to broaden paid family leave and develop childcare infrastructure and workforce,” Dr. Reeder-Hayes said. Providing extended leave for new parents and on-site childcare could go a long way to improving this problem, she said.

However, Dr. Reeder-Hayes noted that perhaps the “leaky pipeline” problem in oncology highlights the fact that women “are making good decisions that reflect balanced life priorities, [and that] if we don’t structure job responsibilities, childcare, and pacing of promotion and tenure in ways that allow people to nurture other parts of their lives, employees will feel they’re being asked to sacrifice key things.”

In other words, she said, “it’s the workplace that needs to change if we’re going to convince [women], and many men with similar values, to stay.”

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

THE COMPARISON

A Pink, elevated, granulomatous, indurated plaques on the face, including the nasal alae, of a 52-year-old woman with a darker skin tone.

B Orange and pink, elevated, granulomatous, indurated plaques on the face of a 55-year-old woman with a lighter skin tone.

Sarcoidosis is a granulomatous disease that may affect the skin in addition to multiple body organ systems, including the lungs. Bilateral hilar adenopathy on a chest radiograph is the most common finding. Sarcoidosis also has a variety of cutaneous manifestations. Early diagnosis is vital, as patients with sarcoidosis and pulmonary fibrosis have a shortened life span compared to the overall population.¹ With a growing skin of color population, it is important to recognize sarcoidosis as soon as possible.²

Epidemiology

People of African descent have the highest sarcoidosis prevalence in the United States.³ In the United States, the incidence of sarcoidosis in Black individuals peaks in the fourth decade of life. A 5-year study in a US health maintenance organization found that the age-adjusted annual incidence was 10.9 per 100,000 cases among Whites and 35.5 per 100,000 cases among Blacks.⁴

Key clinical features in people with darker skin tones:

• Papules are seen in sarcoidosis, primarily on the face, and may start as orange hued or yellow-brown and then become brown-red or pink to violaceous before involuting into faint macules.^5-7

• When round or oval sarcoid plaques appear, they often are more erythematous.

• In skin of color, plaques may become hypopigmented.⁸

• Erythema nodosum, the most common nonspecific cutaneous lesion seen in sarcoidosis, is less commonly seen in those of African and Asian descent.^9-11 This is in contrast to distinctive forms of specific sarcoid skin lesions such as lupus pernio and scar sarcoidosis, as well as papules and plaques and minor forms of specific sarcoid skin lesions including subcutaneous nodules; hypopigmented macules; psoriasiform lesions; and ulcerative, localized erythrodermic, ichthyosiform, scalp, and nail lesions.

• Lupus pernio is a cutaneous manifestation of sarcoidosis that appears on the face. It looks similar to lupus erythematosus and occurs most commonly in women of African descent.^8,12

• Hypopigmented lesions are more common in those with darker skin tones.⁹

• Ulcerative lesions are more common in those of African descent and women.¹³

• Scalp sarcoidosis is more common in patients of African descent.¹⁴

• Sarcoidosis may develop at sites of trauma, such as scars and tattoos.^15-17

Worth noting

The cutaneous lesions seen in sarcoidosis may be emotionally devastating and disfiguring. Due to the variety of clinical manifestations, sarcoidosis may be misdiagnosed, leading to delays in treatment.¹⁸

Health disparity highlight

Patients older than 40 years presenting with sarcoidosis and those of African descent have a worse prognosis.19 Despite adjustment for race, ethnic group, age, and sex, patients with low income and financial barriers present with more severe sarcoidosis.²⁰

THE COMPARISON

A Pink, elevated, granulomatous, indurated plaques on the face, including the nasal alae, of a 52-year-old woman with a darker skin tone.

B Orange and pink, elevated, granulomatous, indurated plaques on the face of a 55-year-old woman with a lighter skin tone.

Sarcoidosis is a granulomatous disease that may affect the skin in addition to multiple body organ systems, including the lungs. Bilateral hilar adenopathy on a chest radiograph is the most common finding. Sarcoidosis also has a variety of cutaneous manifestations. Early diagnosis is vital, as patients with sarcoidosis and pulmonary fibrosis have a shortened life span compared to the overall population.¹ With a growing skin of color population, it is important to recognize sarcoidosis as soon as possible.²

Epidemiology

People of African descent have the highest sarcoidosis prevalence in the United States.³ In the United States, the incidence of sarcoidosis in Black individuals peaks in the fourth decade of life. A 5-year study in a US health maintenance organization found that the age-adjusted annual incidence was 10.9 per 100,000 cases among Whites and 35.5 per 100,000 cases among Blacks.⁴

Key clinical features in people with darker skin tones:

• Papules are seen in sarcoidosis, primarily on the face, and may start as orange hued or yellow-brown and then become brown-red or pink to violaceous before involuting into faint macules.^5-7

• When round or oval sarcoid plaques appear, they often are more erythematous.

• In skin of color, plaques may become hypopigmented.⁸

• Erythema nodosum, the most common nonspecific cutaneous lesion seen in sarcoidosis, is less commonly seen in those of African and Asian descent.^9-11 This is in contrast to distinctive forms of specific sarcoid skin lesions such as lupus pernio and scar sarcoidosis, as well as papules and plaques and minor forms of specific sarcoid skin lesions including subcutaneous nodules; hypopigmented macules; psoriasiform lesions; and ulcerative, localized erythrodermic, ichthyosiform, scalp, and nail lesions.

• Lupus pernio is a cutaneous manifestation of sarcoidosis that appears on the face. It looks similar to lupus erythematosus and occurs most commonly in women of African descent.^8,12

• Hypopigmented lesions are more common in those with darker skin tones.⁹

• Ulcerative lesions are more common in those of African descent and women.¹³

• Scalp sarcoidosis is more common in patients of African descent.¹⁴

• Sarcoidosis may develop at sites of trauma, such as scars and tattoos.^15-17

Worth noting

The cutaneous lesions seen in sarcoidosis may be emotionally devastating and disfiguring. Due to the variety of clinical manifestations, sarcoidosis may be misdiagnosed, leading to delays in treatment.¹⁸

Health disparity highlight

Patients older than 40 years presenting with sarcoidosis and those of African descent have a worse prognosis.19 Despite adjustment for race, ethnic group, age, and sex, patients with low income and financial barriers present with more severe sarcoidosis.²⁰

THE COMPARISON

A Pink, elevated, granulomatous, indurated plaques on the face, including the nasal alae, of a 52-year-old woman with a darker skin tone.

B Orange and pink, elevated, granulomatous, indurated plaques on the face of a 55-year-old woman with a lighter skin tone.

Sarcoidosis is a granulomatous disease that may affect the skin in addition to multiple body organ systems, including the lungs. Bilateral hilar adenopathy on a chest radiograph is the most common finding. Sarcoidosis also has a variety of cutaneous manifestations. Early diagnosis is vital, as patients with sarcoidosis and pulmonary fibrosis have a shortened life span compared to the overall population.¹ With a growing skin of color population, it is important to recognize sarcoidosis as soon as possible.²

Epidemiology

People of African descent have the highest sarcoidosis prevalence in the United States.³ In the United States, the incidence of sarcoidosis in Black individuals peaks in the fourth decade of life. A 5-year study in a US health maintenance organization found that the age-adjusted annual incidence was 10.9 per 100,000 cases among Whites and 35.5 per 100,000 cases among Blacks.⁴

Key clinical features in people with darker skin tones:

• Papules are seen in sarcoidosis, primarily on the face, and may start as orange hued or yellow-brown and then become brown-red or pink to violaceous before involuting into faint macules.^5-7

• When round or oval sarcoid plaques appear, they often are more erythematous.

• In skin of color, plaques may become hypopigmented.⁸

• Erythema nodosum, the most common nonspecific cutaneous lesion seen in sarcoidosis, is less commonly seen in those of African and Asian descent.^9-11 This is in contrast to distinctive forms of specific sarcoid skin lesions such as lupus pernio and scar sarcoidosis, as well as papules and plaques and minor forms of specific sarcoid skin lesions including subcutaneous nodules; hypopigmented macules; psoriasiform lesions; and ulcerative, localized erythrodermic, ichthyosiform, scalp, and nail lesions.

• Lupus pernio is a cutaneous manifestation of sarcoidosis that appears on the face. It looks similar to lupus erythematosus and occurs most commonly in women of African descent.^8,12

• Hypopigmented lesions are more common in those with darker skin tones.⁹

• Ulcerative lesions are more common in those of African descent and women.¹³

• Scalp sarcoidosis is more common in patients of African descent.¹⁴

• Sarcoidosis may develop at sites of trauma, such as scars and tattoos.^15-17

Worth noting

The cutaneous lesions seen in sarcoidosis may be emotionally devastating and disfiguring. Due to the variety of clinical manifestations, sarcoidosis may be misdiagnosed, leading to delays in treatment.¹⁸

Health disparity highlight

Patients older than 40 years presenting with sarcoidosis and those of African descent have a worse prognosis.19 Despite adjustment for race, ethnic group, age, and sex, patients with low income and financial barriers present with more severe sarcoidosis.²⁰

Two close colleagues at New York’s Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center, world leaders in hematopoietic stem cell transplantation (HSCT) who were both promoted days after COVID-19 locked down the city in 2020, were too busy battling the pandemic’s impact on patients in the summer of 2021 to notice their latest shared career milestone.

On July 29, 2021, Sergio Giralt, MD, deputy division head of the division of hematologic malignancies and Miguel-Angel Perales, MD, chief of the adult bone marrow transplant service at MSKCC, published their 100th peer-reviewed paper as coauthors. Listing hundreds of such articles on a CV is standard for top-tier physicians, but the pair had gone one better: 100 publications written together in 10 years.

Their centenary article hit scientific newsstands almost exactly a decade after their first joint paper, which appeared in September 2011, not long after they met.

Born in Cuba, Dr. Giralt grew up in Venezuela. From the age of 14, he knew that medicine was his path, and in 1984 he earned a medical degree from the Universidad Central de Venezuela, Caracas. Next came a research position at Harvard Medical School, a residency at the Good Samaritan Hospital, Cincinnati, and a fellowship at the University of Texas MD Anderson Cancer Center, Houston. Dr. Giralt arrived at MSKCC in 2010 as the new chief of the adult bone marrow transplant service. There he was introduced to a new colleague, Dr. Perales. They soon learned that in addition to expertise in hematology, they had second language in common: Spanish.

Dr. Giralt said: “We both have a Spanish background and in a certain sense, there was an affinity there. ... We both have shared experiences.”

Dr. Perales was brought up in Belgium, a European nation with three official languages: French, Dutch, and German. He speaks five tongues in all and learned Spanish from his father, who came from Spain.

Courtesy MSKCC

Fluency in Spanish enables both physicians to take care of the many New Yorkers who are more comfortable in that language – especially when navigating cancer treatment. However, both Dr. Giralt and Dr. Perales said that a second language is more than a professional tool. They described the enjoyable change of persona that happens when they switch to Spanish.

“People who are multilingual have different roles [as much as] different languages,” said Dr. Perales. “When I’m in Spanish, part of my brain is [thinking back to] summer vacations and hanging out with my cousins.”

When it comes to clinical science, however, English is the language of choice.
 

Global leaders in HSCT

Dr. Giralt and Dr. Perales are known worldwide in the field of allogeneic HSCT, a potentially curative treatment for an elongating list of both malignant and nonmalignant diseases.

In 1973, MSKCC conducted the first bone-marrow transplant from an unrelated donor. Fifty years on, medical oncologists in the United States conduct approximately 8,500 allogeneic transplants each year, 72% to treat acute leukemias or myelodysplastic syndrome (MDS).

However, stripping the immune system with intensive chemotherapy ‘conditioning,’ then rebuilding it with non-diseased donor hematopoietic cells is a hazardous undertaking. Older patients are less likely to survive the intensive conditioning, so historically have missed out. Also, even with a good human leukocyte antigen (HLA) match, the recipient needs often brutal immunosuppression.

Since Dr. Giralt and Dr. Perales began their partnership in 2010, the goals of their work have not changed: to develop safer, lower-intensity transplantation suitable for older, more vulnerable patients and reduce fearsome posttransplant sequelae such as graft-versus-host disease (GVHD).

Dr. Giralt’s publication list spans more than 600 peer-reviewed papers, articles and book chapters, almost exclusively on HSCT. Dr. Perales has more than 300 publication credits on the topic.

The two paired up on their first paper just months after Dr. Giralt arrived at MSKCC. That article, published in Biology of Blood and Marrow Transplantation, compared umbilical cord blood for HSCT with donor blood in 367 people with a variety of hematologic malignancies, including acute and chronic leukemias, MDS, and lymphoma.

Courtesy MSKCC

The MSKCC team found that transplant-related mortality in the first 180 days was higher for the cord blood (21%), but thereafter mortality and relapse were much lower than for donated blood, with the result that 2-year progression-free survival of 55% was similar. Dr. Perales, Dr. Giralt and their coauthors concluded that the data provided “strong support” for further work on cord blood as an alternative stem-cell source.

During their first decade of collaboration, Dr. Giralt and Dr. Perales worked on any promising avenue that could improve outcomes and the experience of HSCT recipients, including reduced-intensity conditioning regimens to allow older adults to benefit from curative HSCT and donor T-cell depletion by CD34 selection, to reduce graft-versus-host disease (GVHD).

The CD34 protein is typically found on the surface of early stage and highly active stem cell types. Selecting these cell types using a range of techniques can eliminate many other potentially interfering or inactive cells. This enriches the transplant population with the most effective cells and can lower the risk of GVHD.

The 100th paper on which Dr. Giralt and Dr. Perales were coauthors was published in Blood Advances on July 27, 2021. The retrospective study examined the fate of 58 MSKCC patients with a rare form of chronic lymphocytic leukemia, CLL with Richter’s transformation (CLL-RT). It was the largest such study to date of this rare disease.
M.D. Anderson Cancer Center had shown in 2006 that, despite chemotherapy, overall survival in patients with CLL-RT was approximately 8 months. HSCT improved survival dramatically (75% at 3 years; n = 7). However, with the advent of novel targeted drugs for CLL such as ibrutinib (Imbruvica), venetoclax (Venclexta), or idelalisib (Zydelig), the MSKCC team asked themselves: What was the role of reduced-intensive conditioning HSCT? Was it even safe? Among other findings, Dr. Giralt and Dr. Perales’ 100th paper showed that reduced-intensity HSCT remained a viable alternative after a CLL-RT patient progressed on a novel agent.

Impact of the pandemic

When COVID-19 hit, the team lost many research staff and developed a huge backlog, said Dr. Giralt. He and Dr. Perales realized that they needed to be “thoughtful and careful” about which studies to continue. “For example, the CD-34 selection trials we did not close because these are our workhorse trials,” Dr. Giralt said. “We have people we need to treat, and some of the patients that we need to treat can only be treated on trial.”

The team was also able to pivot some of their work into COVID 19 itself, and they collected crucial information on HSCT in recovered COVID-19 patients, as an example.

“We were living through a critical time, but that doesn’t mean we [aren’t] obligated to continue our mission, our research mission,” said Dr. Giralt. “It really is team science. The way we look at it ... there’s a common thread: We both like to do allogeneic transplant, and we both believe in trying to make CD-34 selection better. So we’re both very much [working on] how can we improve what we call ‘the Memorial way’ of doing transplants. Where we separate is, Miguel does primarily lymphoma. He doesn’t do myeloma [like me]. So in those two areas, we’re helping develop the junior faculty in a different way.”
 

Something more in common

Right from the start, Dr. Perales and Dr. Giralt also shared a commitment to mentoring. Since 2010, Dr. Perales has mentored 22 up-and-coming junior faculty, including 10 from Europe (8 from Spain) and 2 from Latin America.

“[It makes] the research enterprise much more productive but [these young scientists] really increase the visibility of the program,” said Dr. Giralt.

He cited Dr. Perales’ track record of mentoring as one of the reasons for his promotion to chief of the adult bone marrow transplant service. In March 2020, Dr. Perales seamlessly stepped into Dr. Giralt’s shoes, while Dr. Giralt moved on to his present role as deputy division head of the division of hematologic malignancies.

Dr. Perales said: “The key aspect [of these promotions] is the fantastic working relationship that we’ve had over the years. ... I consider Sergio my mentor, but also a good friend and colleague. And so I think it’s this ability that we’ve had to work together and that relationship of trust, which has been key.”

“Sergio is somebody who lifts people up,” Dr. Perales added. “Many people will tell you that Sergio has helped them in their career. ... And I think that’s a lesson I’ve learned from him: training the next generation. And [that’s] not just in the U.S., but outside. I think that’s a key role that we have. And our responsibility.”

Asked to comment on their 100th-paper milestone, Dr. Perales firmly turned the spotlight from himself and Dr. Giralt to the junior investigators who have passed through the doors of the bone-marrow transplant program: “This body of work represents not just our collaboration but also the many contributions of our team at MSK ... and beyond MSK.”

This article was updated 1/26/22.

Two close colleagues at New York’s Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center, world leaders in hematopoietic stem cell transplantation (HSCT) who were both promoted days after COVID-19 locked down the city in 2020, were too busy battling the pandemic’s impact on patients in the summer of 2021 to notice their latest shared career milestone.

On July 29, 2021, Sergio Giralt, MD, deputy division head of the division of hematologic malignancies and Miguel-Angel Perales, MD, chief of the adult bone marrow transplant service at MSKCC, published their 100th peer-reviewed paper as coauthors. Listing hundreds of such articles on a CV is standard for top-tier physicians, but the pair had gone one better: 100 publications written together in 10 years.

Their centenary article hit scientific newsstands almost exactly a decade after their first joint paper, which appeared in September 2011, not long after they met.

Born in Cuba, Dr. Giralt grew up in Venezuela. From the age of 14, he knew that medicine was his path, and in 1984 he earned a medical degree from the Universidad Central de Venezuela, Caracas. Next came a research position at Harvard Medical School, a residency at the Good Samaritan Hospital, Cincinnati, and a fellowship at the University of Texas MD Anderson Cancer Center, Houston. Dr. Giralt arrived at MSKCC in 2010 as the new chief of the adult bone marrow transplant service. There he was introduced to a new colleague, Dr. Perales. They soon learned that in addition to expertise in hematology, they had second language in common: Spanish.

Dr. Giralt said: “We both have a Spanish background and in a certain sense, there was an affinity there. ... We both have shared experiences.”

Dr. Perales was brought up in Belgium, a European nation with three official languages: French, Dutch, and German. He speaks five tongues in all and learned Spanish from his father, who came from Spain.

Courtesy MSKCC

Fluency in Spanish enables both physicians to take care of the many New Yorkers who are more comfortable in that language – especially when navigating cancer treatment. However, both Dr. Giralt and Dr. Perales said that a second language is more than a professional tool. They described the enjoyable change of persona that happens when they switch to Spanish.

“People who are multilingual have different roles [as much as] different languages,” said Dr. Perales. “When I’m in Spanish, part of my brain is [thinking back to] summer vacations and hanging out with my cousins.”

When it comes to clinical science, however, English is the language of choice.
 

Global leaders in HSCT

Dr. Giralt and Dr. Perales are known worldwide in the field of allogeneic HSCT, a potentially curative treatment for an elongating list of both malignant and nonmalignant diseases.

In 1973, MSKCC conducted the first bone-marrow transplant from an unrelated donor. Fifty years on, medical oncologists in the United States conduct approximately 8,500 allogeneic transplants each year, 72% to treat acute leukemias or myelodysplastic syndrome (MDS).

However, stripping the immune system with intensive chemotherapy ‘conditioning,’ then rebuilding it with non-diseased donor hematopoietic cells is a hazardous undertaking. Older patients are less likely to survive the intensive conditioning, so historically have missed out. Also, even with a good human leukocyte antigen (HLA) match, the recipient needs often brutal immunosuppression.

Since Dr. Giralt and Dr. Perales began their partnership in 2010, the goals of their work have not changed: to develop safer, lower-intensity transplantation suitable for older, more vulnerable patients and reduce fearsome posttransplant sequelae such as graft-versus-host disease (GVHD).

Dr. Giralt’s publication list spans more than 600 peer-reviewed papers, articles and book chapters, almost exclusively on HSCT. Dr. Perales has more than 300 publication credits on the topic.

The two paired up on their first paper just months after Dr. Giralt arrived at MSKCC. That article, published in Biology of Blood and Marrow Transplantation, compared umbilical cord blood for HSCT with donor blood in 367 people with a variety of hematologic malignancies, including acute and chronic leukemias, MDS, and lymphoma.

Courtesy MSKCC

The MSKCC team found that transplant-related mortality in the first 180 days was higher for the cord blood (21%), but thereafter mortality and relapse were much lower than for donated blood, with the result that 2-year progression-free survival of 55% was similar. Dr. Perales, Dr. Giralt and their coauthors concluded that the data provided “strong support” for further work on cord blood as an alternative stem-cell source.

During their first decade of collaboration, Dr. Giralt and Dr. Perales worked on any promising avenue that could improve outcomes and the experience of HSCT recipients, including reduced-intensity conditioning regimens to allow older adults to benefit from curative HSCT and donor T-cell depletion by CD34 selection, to reduce graft-versus-host disease (GVHD).

The CD34 protein is typically found on the surface of early stage and highly active stem cell types. Selecting these cell types using a range of techniques can eliminate many other potentially interfering or inactive cells. This enriches the transplant population with the most effective cells and can lower the risk of GVHD.

The 100th paper on which Dr. Giralt and Dr. Perales were coauthors was published in Blood Advances on July 27, 2021. The retrospective study examined the fate of 58 MSKCC patients with a rare form of chronic lymphocytic leukemia, CLL with Richter’s transformation (CLL-RT). It was the largest such study to date of this rare disease.
M.D. Anderson Cancer Center had shown in 2006 that, despite chemotherapy, overall survival in patients with CLL-RT was approximately 8 months. HSCT improved survival dramatically (75% at 3 years; n = 7). However, with the advent of novel targeted drugs for CLL such as ibrutinib (Imbruvica), venetoclax (Venclexta), or idelalisib (Zydelig), the MSKCC team asked themselves: What was the role of reduced-intensive conditioning HSCT? Was it even safe? Among other findings, Dr. Giralt and Dr. Perales’ 100th paper showed that reduced-intensity HSCT remained a viable alternative after a CLL-RT patient progressed on a novel agent.

Impact of the pandemic

When COVID-19 hit, the team lost many research staff and developed a huge backlog, said Dr. Giralt. He and Dr. Perales realized that they needed to be “thoughtful and careful” about which studies to continue. “For example, the CD-34 selection trials we did not close because these are our workhorse trials,” Dr. Giralt said. “We have people we need to treat, and some of the patients that we need to treat can only be treated on trial.”

The team was also able to pivot some of their work into COVID 19 itself, and they collected crucial information on HSCT in recovered COVID-19 patients, as an example.

“We were living through a critical time, but that doesn’t mean we [aren’t] obligated to continue our mission, our research mission,” said Dr. Giralt. “It really is team science. The way we look at it ... there’s a common thread: We both like to do allogeneic transplant, and we both believe in trying to make CD-34 selection better. So we’re both very much [working on] how can we improve what we call ‘the Memorial way’ of doing transplants. Where we separate is, Miguel does primarily lymphoma. He doesn’t do myeloma [like me]. So in those two areas, we’re helping develop the junior faculty in a different way.”
 

Something more in common

Right from the start, Dr. Perales and Dr. Giralt also shared a commitment to mentoring. Since 2010, Dr. Perales has mentored 22 up-and-coming junior faculty, including 10 from Europe (8 from Spain) and 2 from Latin America.

“[It makes] the research enterprise much more productive but [these young scientists] really increase the visibility of the program,” said Dr. Giralt.

He cited Dr. Perales’ track record of mentoring as one of the reasons for his promotion to chief of the adult bone marrow transplant service. In March 2020, Dr. Perales seamlessly stepped into Dr. Giralt’s shoes, while Dr. Giralt moved on to his present role as deputy division head of the division of hematologic malignancies.

Dr. Perales said: “The key aspect [of these promotions] is the fantastic working relationship that we’ve had over the years. ... I consider Sergio my mentor, but also a good friend and colleague. And so I think it’s this ability that we’ve had to work together and that relationship of trust, which has been key.”

“Sergio is somebody who lifts people up,” Dr. Perales added. “Many people will tell you that Sergio has helped them in their career. ... And I think that’s a lesson I’ve learned from him: training the next generation. And [that’s] not just in the U.S., but outside. I think that’s a key role that we have. And our responsibility.”

Asked to comment on their 100th-paper milestone, Dr. Perales firmly turned the spotlight from himself and Dr. Giralt to the junior investigators who have passed through the doors of the bone-marrow transplant program: “This body of work represents not just our collaboration but also the many contributions of our team at MSK ... and beyond MSK.”

This article was updated 1/26/22.

Two close colleagues at New York’s Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center, world leaders in hematopoietic stem cell transplantation (HSCT) who were both promoted days after COVID-19 locked down the city in 2020, were too busy battling the pandemic’s impact on patients in the summer of 2021 to notice their latest shared career milestone.

On July 29, 2021, Sergio Giralt, MD, deputy division head of the division of hematologic malignancies and Miguel-Angel Perales, MD, chief of the adult bone marrow transplant service at MSKCC, published their 100th peer-reviewed paper as coauthors. Listing hundreds of such articles on a CV is standard for top-tier physicians, but the pair had gone one better: 100 publications written together in 10 years.

Their centenary article hit scientific newsstands almost exactly a decade after their first joint paper, which appeared in September 2011, not long after they met.

Born in Cuba, Dr. Giralt grew up in Venezuela. From the age of 14, he knew that medicine was his path, and in 1984 he earned a medical degree from the Universidad Central de Venezuela, Caracas. Next came a research position at Harvard Medical School, a residency at the Good Samaritan Hospital, Cincinnati, and a fellowship at the University of Texas MD Anderson Cancer Center, Houston. Dr. Giralt arrived at MSKCC in 2010 as the new chief of the adult bone marrow transplant service. There he was introduced to a new colleague, Dr. Perales. They soon learned that in addition to expertise in hematology, they had second language in common: Spanish.

Dr. Giralt said: “We both have a Spanish background and in a certain sense, there was an affinity there. ... We both have shared experiences.”

Dr. Perales was brought up in Belgium, a European nation with three official languages: French, Dutch, and German. He speaks five tongues in all and learned Spanish from his father, who came from Spain.

Courtesy MSKCC

Fluency in Spanish enables both physicians to take care of the many New Yorkers who are more comfortable in that language – especially when navigating cancer treatment. However, both Dr. Giralt and Dr. Perales said that a second language is more than a professional tool. They described the enjoyable change of persona that happens when they switch to Spanish.

“People who are multilingual have different roles [as much as] different languages,” said Dr. Perales. “When I’m in Spanish, part of my brain is [thinking back to] summer vacations and hanging out with my cousins.”

When it comes to clinical science, however, English is the language of choice.
 

Global leaders in HSCT

Dr. Giralt and Dr. Perales are known worldwide in the field of allogeneic HSCT, a potentially curative treatment for an elongating list of both malignant and nonmalignant diseases.

In 1973, MSKCC conducted the first bone-marrow transplant from an unrelated donor. Fifty years on, medical oncologists in the United States conduct approximately 8,500 allogeneic transplants each year, 72% to treat acute leukemias or myelodysplastic syndrome (MDS).

However, stripping the immune system with intensive chemotherapy ‘conditioning,’ then rebuilding it with non-diseased donor hematopoietic cells is a hazardous undertaking. Older patients are less likely to survive the intensive conditioning, so historically have missed out. Also, even with a good human leukocyte antigen (HLA) match, the recipient needs often brutal immunosuppression.

Since Dr. Giralt and Dr. Perales began their partnership in 2010, the goals of their work have not changed: to develop safer, lower-intensity transplantation suitable for older, more vulnerable patients and reduce fearsome posttransplant sequelae such as graft-versus-host disease (GVHD).

Dr. Giralt’s publication list spans more than 600 peer-reviewed papers, articles and book chapters, almost exclusively on HSCT. Dr. Perales has more than 300 publication credits on the topic.

The two paired up on their first paper just months after Dr. Giralt arrived at MSKCC. That article, published in Biology of Blood and Marrow Transplantation, compared umbilical cord blood for HSCT with donor blood in 367 people with a variety of hematologic malignancies, including acute and chronic leukemias, MDS, and lymphoma.

Courtesy MSKCC

The MSKCC team found that transplant-related mortality in the first 180 days was higher for the cord blood (21%), but thereafter mortality and relapse were much lower than for donated blood, with the result that 2-year progression-free survival of 55% was similar. Dr. Perales, Dr. Giralt and their coauthors concluded that the data provided “strong support” for further work on cord blood as an alternative stem-cell source.

During their first decade of collaboration, Dr. Giralt and Dr. Perales worked on any promising avenue that could improve outcomes and the experience of HSCT recipients, including reduced-intensity conditioning regimens to allow older adults to benefit from curative HSCT and donor T-cell depletion by CD34 selection, to reduce graft-versus-host disease (GVHD).

The CD34 protein is typically found on the surface of early stage and highly active stem cell types. Selecting these cell types using a range of techniques can eliminate many other potentially interfering or inactive cells. This enriches the transplant population with the most effective cells and can lower the risk of GVHD.

The 100th paper on which Dr. Giralt and Dr. Perales were coauthors was published in Blood Advances on July 27, 2021. The retrospective study examined the fate of 58 MSKCC patients with a rare form of chronic lymphocytic leukemia, CLL with Richter’s transformation (CLL-RT). It was the largest such study to date of this rare disease.
M.D. Anderson Cancer Center had shown in 2006 that, despite chemotherapy, overall survival in patients with CLL-RT was approximately 8 months. HSCT improved survival dramatically (75% at 3 years; n = 7). However, with the advent of novel targeted drugs for CLL such as ibrutinib (Imbruvica), venetoclax (Venclexta), or idelalisib (Zydelig), the MSKCC team asked themselves: What was the role of reduced-intensive conditioning HSCT? Was it even safe? Among other findings, Dr. Giralt and Dr. Perales’ 100th paper showed that reduced-intensity HSCT remained a viable alternative after a CLL-RT patient progressed on a novel agent.

Impact of the pandemic

When COVID-19 hit, the team lost many research staff and developed a huge backlog, said Dr. Giralt. He and Dr. Perales realized that they needed to be “thoughtful and careful” about which studies to continue. “For example, the CD-34 selection trials we did not close because these are our workhorse trials,” Dr. Giralt said. “We have people we need to treat, and some of the patients that we need to treat can only be treated on trial.”

The team was also able to pivot some of their work into COVID 19 itself, and they collected crucial information on HSCT in recovered COVID-19 patients, as an example.

“We were living through a critical time, but that doesn’t mean we [aren’t] obligated to continue our mission, our research mission,” said Dr. Giralt. “It really is team science. The way we look at it ... there’s a common thread: We both like to do allogeneic transplant, and we both believe in trying to make CD-34 selection better. So we’re both very much [working on] how can we improve what we call ‘the Memorial way’ of doing transplants. Where we separate is, Miguel does primarily lymphoma. He doesn’t do myeloma [like me]. So in those two areas, we’re helping develop the junior faculty in a different way.”
 

Something more in common

Right from the start, Dr. Perales and Dr. Giralt also shared a commitment to mentoring. Since 2010, Dr. Perales has mentored 22 up-and-coming junior faculty, including 10 from Europe (8 from Spain) and 2 from Latin America.

“[It makes] the research enterprise much more productive but [these young scientists] really increase the visibility of the program,” said Dr. Giralt.

He cited Dr. Perales’ track record of mentoring as one of the reasons for his promotion to chief of the adult bone marrow transplant service. In March 2020, Dr. Perales seamlessly stepped into Dr. Giralt’s shoes, while Dr. Giralt moved on to his present role as deputy division head of the division of hematologic malignancies.

Dr. Perales said: “The key aspect [of these promotions] is the fantastic working relationship that we’ve had over the years. ... I consider Sergio my mentor, but also a good friend and colleague. And so I think it’s this ability that we’ve had to work together and that relationship of trust, which has been key.”

“Sergio is somebody who lifts people up,” Dr. Perales added. “Many people will tell you that Sergio has helped them in their career. ... And I think that’s a lesson I’ve learned from him: training the next generation. And [that’s] not just in the U.S., but outside. I think that’s a key role that we have. And our responsibility.”

Asked to comment on their 100th-paper milestone, Dr. Perales firmly turned the spotlight from himself and Dr. Giralt to the junior investigators who have passed through the doors of the bone-marrow transplant program: “This body of work represents not just our collaboration but also the many contributions of our team at MSK ... and beyond MSK.”

This article was updated 1/26/22.

Black patients hospitalized with skin and soft-tissue infections were more likely to receive clindamycin and less likely to receive cefazolin – the latter of which is considered a first-line SSTI treatment – in a national cross-sectional study involving over 1,000 patients in 91 hospitals.

The potential racial disparity in management of SSTI was detected after data were adjusted for penicillin allergy history and for MRSA colonization/infection. The data were also adjusted for hospital day (since admission) in order to control for the administration of more empiric therapy early on.

Massachusetts General Hospital

Clindamycin, a beta-lactam alternative, is not recommended as an SSTI treatment given its frequent dosing requirements and high potential for adverse events including Clostridioides difficile infection (DCI). “Clindamycin is an option but it’s considered inferior. ... It covers MRSA but it shouldn’t be a go-to for skin and soft-tissue infections,” said senior author Kimberly Blumenthal, MD, MSc, assistant professor of medicine at Harvard University, and an allergist, immunologist, and drug allergy and epidemiology researcher at Massachusetts General Hospital, both in Boston.

Cefazolin, on the other hand, does not cover MRSA but is “a guideline-recommended first-line antibiotic for cellulitis SSTI in the hospital,” she said in an interview.

The findings, recently published in JAMA Network Open, offer a valuable portrait of the antibiotics being prescribed in the inpatient setting for SSTIs. Vancomycin, which typically is reserved for MRSA, was the most commonly prescribed antibiotic, regardless of race. Piperacillin-tazobactam, a beta-lactam, was the second most commonly prescribed antibiotic, again regardless of race.

Intravenously administered cefazolin was used in 13% of White inpatients versus 5% of Black inpatients. After controlling for kidney disease, diabetes, and ICU location (in addition to hospital day, penicillin allergy history, and MRSA), White inpatients had an increased likelihood of being prescribed cefazolin (adjusted odds ratio, 2.82; 95% confidence interval, 1.41-5.63) and a decreased likelihood of clindamycin use (aOR, 0.54; 95% CI, 0.30-0.96), compared with Black inpatients.

The investigators utilized the Acute Care Hospital Groups network within Vizient, a member-driven health care performance improvement company, to collect data for the study. Most of the hospitals (91%) that submitted data on adult inpatients with cellulitis or SSTIs (without other infections) were in urban settings and 9% were in rural settings; 60% were community hospitals and 40% were academic medical centers. The researchers accounted for “clustering by hospital” – such as the use of internal guidelines – in their methodology.

Black patients hospitalized with skin and soft-tissue infections were more likely to receive clindamycin and less likely to receive cefazolin – the latter of which is considered a first-line SSTI treatment – in a national cross-sectional study involving over 1,000 patients in 91 hospitals.

The potential racial disparity in management of SSTI was detected after data were adjusted for penicillin allergy history and for MRSA colonization/infection. The data were also adjusted for hospital day (since admission) in order to control for the administration of more empiric therapy early on.

Massachusetts General Hospital

Clindamycin, a beta-lactam alternative, is not recommended as an SSTI treatment given its frequent dosing requirements and high potential for adverse events including Clostridioides difficile infection (DCI). “Clindamycin is an option but it’s considered inferior. ... It covers MRSA but it shouldn’t be a go-to for skin and soft-tissue infections,” said senior author Kimberly Blumenthal, MD, MSc, assistant professor of medicine at Harvard University, and an allergist, immunologist, and drug allergy and epidemiology researcher at Massachusetts General Hospital, both in Boston.

Cefazolin, on the other hand, does not cover MRSA but is “a guideline-recommended first-line antibiotic for cellulitis SSTI in the hospital,” she said in an interview.

The findings, recently published in JAMA Network Open, offer a valuable portrait of the antibiotics being prescribed in the inpatient setting for SSTIs. Vancomycin, which typically is reserved for MRSA, was the most commonly prescribed antibiotic, regardless of race. Piperacillin-tazobactam, a beta-lactam, was the second most commonly prescribed antibiotic, again regardless of race.

Intravenously administered cefazolin was used in 13% of White inpatients versus 5% of Black inpatients. After controlling for kidney disease, diabetes, and ICU location (in addition to hospital day, penicillin allergy history, and MRSA), White inpatients had an increased likelihood of being prescribed cefazolin (adjusted odds ratio, 2.82; 95% confidence interval, 1.41-5.63) and a decreased likelihood of clindamycin use (aOR, 0.54; 95% CI, 0.30-0.96), compared with Black inpatients.

The investigators utilized the Acute Care Hospital Groups network within Vizient, a member-driven health care performance improvement company, to collect data for the study. Most of the hospitals (91%) that submitted data on adult inpatients with cellulitis or SSTIs (without other infections) were in urban settings and 9% were in rural settings; 60% were community hospitals and 40% were academic medical centers. The researchers accounted for “clustering by hospital” – such as the use of internal guidelines – in their methodology.

Black patients hospitalized with skin and soft-tissue infections were more likely to receive clindamycin and less likely to receive cefazolin – the latter of which is considered a first-line SSTI treatment – in a national cross-sectional study involving over 1,000 patients in 91 hospitals.

The potential racial disparity in management of SSTI was detected after data were adjusted for penicillin allergy history and for MRSA colonization/infection. The data were also adjusted for hospital day (since admission) in order to control for the administration of more empiric therapy early on.

Massachusetts General Hospital

Clindamycin, a beta-lactam alternative, is not recommended as an SSTI treatment given its frequent dosing requirements and high potential for adverse events including Clostridioides difficile infection (DCI). “Clindamycin is an option but it’s considered inferior. ... It covers MRSA but it shouldn’t be a go-to for skin and soft-tissue infections,” said senior author Kimberly Blumenthal, MD, MSc, assistant professor of medicine at Harvard University, and an allergist, immunologist, and drug allergy and epidemiology researcher at Massachusetts General Hospital, both in Boston.

Cefazolin, on the other hand, does not cover MRSA but is “a guideline-recommended first-line antibiotic for cellulitis SSTI in the hospital,” she said in an interview.

The findings, recently published in JAMA Network Open, offer a valuable portrait of the antibiotics being prescribed in the inpatient setting for SSTIs. Vancomycin, which typically is reserved for MRSA, was the most commonly prescribed antibiotic, regardless of race. Piperacillin-tazobactam, a beta-lactam, was the second most commonly prescribed antibiotic, again regardless of race.

Intravenously administered cefazolin was used in 13% of White inpatients versus 5% of Black inpatients. After controlling for kidney disease, diabetes, and ICU location (in addition to hospital day, penicillin allergy history, and MRSA), White inpatients had an increased likelihood of being prescribed cefazolin (adjusted odds ratio, 2.82; 95% confidence interval, 1.41-5.63) and a decreased likelihood of clindamycin use (aOR, 0.54; 95% CI, 0.30-0.96), compared with Black inpatients.

The investigators utilized the Acute Care Hospital Groups network within Vizient, a member-driven health care performance improvement company, to collect data for the study. Most of the hospitals (91%) that submitted data on adult inpatients with cellulitis or SSTIs (without other infections) were in urban settings and 9% were in rural settings; 60% were community hospitals and 40% were academic medical centers. The researchers accounted for “clustering by hospital” – such as the use of internal guidelines – in their methodology.

The White Coat Ceremony is an enduring memory from my medical school years. Amidst the tumult of memories of seemingly endless sleepless nights spent in libraries and cramming for clerkship examinations between surgical cases, I recall a sunny spring day in 2016 where I gathered with my classmates, family, and friends in the medical school campus courtyard. There were several short, mostly forgotten speeches after which proud fathers and mothers, partners, or siblings slipped the all-important white coat onto the shoulders of the physicians-to-be. At that moment, I felt the weight of tradition centuries in the making resting on my shoulders. Of course, the pomp of the ceremony might have felt a tad overblown had I known that the whole thing had fewer years under its belt than the movie Die Hard.

That’s right, the first White Coat Ceremony was held 5 years after the release of that Bruce Willis classic. Dr. Arnold Gold, a pediatric neurologist on faculty at Columbia University, conceived the ceremony in 1993, and it spread rapidly to medical schools—and later nursing schools—across the United States.¹ Although the values highlighted by the White Coat Ceremony—humanism and compassion in medicine—are timeless, the ceremony itself is a more modern undertaking. What, then, of the white coat itself? Is it the timeless symbol of doctoring—of medicine—that we all presume it to be? Or is it a symbol of modern marketing, just a trend that caught on? And is it encountering its twilight—as trends often do—in the face of changing fashion and, more fundamentally, in changes to who our physicians are and to their roles in our society?

The Cleanliness of the White Coat

Until the end of the 19th century, physicians in the Western world most frequently dressed in black formal wear. The rationale behind this attire seems to have been twofold. First, society as a whole perceived the physician’s work as a serious and formal matter, and any medical encounter had to reflect the gravity of the occasion. Additionally, physicians’ visits often were a portent of impending demise, as physicians in the era prior to antibiotics and antisepsis frequently had little to offer their patients outside of—at best—anecdotal treatments and—at worst—sheer quackery.² Black may have seemed a respectful choice for patients who likely faced dire outcomes regardless of the treatment afforded.³

With the turn of the century came a new understanding of the concepts of antisepsis and disease transmission. While Joseph Lister first published on the use of antisepsis in 1867, his practices did not become commonplace until the early 1900s.⁴ Around the same time came the Flexner report,⁵ the publication of William Osler’s Principles and Practice of Medicine,⁶ and the establishment of the modern medical residency, all of which contributed to the shift from the patient’s own bedside and to the hospital as the house of medicine, with cleanliness and antisepsis as part of its core principles.⁷ The white coat arose as a symbol of purity and freedom from disease. Throughout the 20th century and into the 21st, it has remained the predominant symbol of cleanliness and professionalism for the medical practitioner.

Patient Preference of Physician Attire

Although the white coat may serve as a professional symbol and is well respected medicine, it also plays an important role in the layperson’s perception of their health care providers.⁸ There is little denying that patients prefer their physicians, almost uniformly, to wear a white coat. A systematic review of physician attire that included 30 studies mainly from North America, Europe, and the United Kingdom found that patient preference for formal attire and white coats is near universal.⁹ Patients routinely rate physicians wearing a white coat as more intelligent and trustworthy and feel more confident in the care they will receive.^10-13 They also freely admit that a physician’s appearance influences their satisfaction with their care.¹⁴ The recent adoption of the fleece, or softshell, jacket has not yet pervaded patients’ perceptions of what is considered appropriate physician attire. A 500-respondent survey found that patients were more likely to rate a model wearing a white coat as more professional and experienced compared to the same model wearing a fleece or softshell jacket or other formal attire sans white coat.¹⁵

Closer examination of the same data, however, reveals results reproduced with startling consistency across several studies, which suggest those of us adopting other attire need not dig those white coats out of the closet just yet. First, while many studies point to patient preference for white coats, this preference is uniformly strongest in older patients, beginning around age 40 years and becoming an entrenched preference in those older than 65 years.^9,14,16-18 On the other hand, younger patient populations display little to no such preference, and some studies indicate that younger patients actually prefer scrubs over formal attire in specific settings such as surgical offices, procedural spaces, or the emergency department.^12,14,19 This suggests that bias in favor of traditional physician garb may be more linked to age demographics and may continue to shift as the overall population ages. Additionally, although patients might profess a strong preference for physician attire in theory, it often does not translate into any impact on the patient’s perception of the physician following a clinic visit. The large systematic review on the topic noted that only 25% of studies that surveyed patients about a clinical visit following the encounter reported that physician attire influenced their satisfaction with that visit, suggesting that attire may be less likely to influence patients in the real-world context of receiving care.⁹ In fact, a prospective study of patient perception of medical staff and interactions found that staff style of dress not only had no bearing on the perception of staff or visit satisfaction but that patients often failed to even accurately recall physician attire when surveyed.²⁰ Another survey study echoed these conclusions, finding that physician attire had no effect on the perception of a proposed treatment plan.²¹

What do we know about patient perception of physician attire in the dermatology setting specifically, where visits can be unique in their tendency to transition from medical to procedural in the span of a 15-minute encounter depending on the patient’s chief concern? A survey study of dermatology patients at the general, surgical, and wound care dermatology clinics of an academic medical center (Miami, Florida) found that professional attire with a white coat was strongly preferred across a litany of scenarios assessing many aspects of dermatologic care.²¹ Similarly, a study of patients visiting a single institution’s dermatology and pediatric dermatology clinics surveyed patients and parents regarding attire prior to an appointment and specifically asked if a white coat should be worn.¹³ Fifty-four percent of the adult patients (n=176) surveyed professed a preference for physicians in white coats, with a stronger preference for white coats reported by those 50 years and older (55%; n=113). Parents or guardians presenting to the pediatric dermatology clinic, on the other hand, favored less formal attire.¹³ A recent, real-world study performed at an outpatient dermatology clinic examined the influence of changing physician attire on a patient’s perceptions of care received during clinic encounters. They found no substantial difference in patient satisfaction scores before and following the adoption of a new clinic uniform that transitioned from formal attire to fitted scrubs.²²

 

 

Racial and Gender Bias Affecting Attire Preference

With any study of preference, there is the underlying concern over respondent bias. Many of the studies discussed here have found secondarily that a patient’s implicit bias does not end at the clothes their physician is wearing. The survey study of dermatology patients from the academic medical center in Miami, Florida, found that patients preferred that Black physicians of either sex be garbed in professional attire at all times but generally were more accepting of White physicians in less formal attire.²¹ Adamson et al²³ published a response to the study’s findings urging dermatologists to recognize that a physician’s race and gender influence patients’ perceptions in much the same way that physician attire seems to and encouraged the development of a more diverse dermatologic workforce to help combat this prejudice. The issue of bias is not limited to the specialty of dermatology; the recent survey study by Xun et al¹⁵ found that respondents consistently rated female models garbed in physician attire as less professional than male model counterparts. Additionally, female models wearing white coats were mistakenly identified as medical technicians, physician assistants, or nurses with substantially more frequency than males, despite being clothed in the traditional physician garb. Several other publications on the subject have uncovered implicit bias, though it is rarely, if ever, the principle focus of the study.^10,24,25 As is unfortunately true in many professions, female physicians and physicians from ethnic minorities face barriers to being perceived as fully competent physicians.

Impact of the COVID-19 Pandemic

Finally, of course, there is the ever-present question of the effect of the pandemic. Although the exact role of the white coat as a fomite for infection—and especially for the spread of viral illness—remains controversial, the perception nonetheless has helped catalyze the movement to alternatives such as short-sleeved white coats, technical jackets, and more recently, fitted scrubs.^26-29 As with much in this realm, facts seem less important than perceptions; Zahrina et al³⁰ found that when patients were presented with information regarding the risk for microbial contamination associated with white coats, preference for physicians in professional garb plummeted from 72% to only 22%. To date no articles have examined patient perceptions of the white coat in the context of microbial transmission in the age of COVID-19, but future articles on this topic are likely and may serve to further the demise of the white coat.

Final Thoughts

From my vantage point, it seems the white coat will be claimed by the outgoing tide. During this most recent residency interview season, I do not recall a single medical student wearing a short white coat. The closest I came was a quick glimpse of a crumpled white jacket slung over an arm or stuffed in a shoulder bag. Rotating interns and residents from other services on rotation in our department present in softshell or fleece jackets. Fitted scrubs in the newest trendy colors speckle a previously all-white canvas. I, for one, have not donned my own white coat in at least a year, and perhaps it is all for the best. Physician attire is one small aspect of the practice of medicine and likely bears little, if any, relation to the wearer’s qualifications. Our focus should be on building rapport with our patients, providing high-quality care, reducing the risk for nosocomial infection, and developing a health care system that is fair and equitable for patients and health care workers alike, not on who is wearing what. Perhaps the introduction of new physician attire is a small part of the disruption we need to help address persistent gender and racial biases in our field and help shepherd our patients and colleagues to a worldview that is more open and accepting of physicians of diverse backgrounds.

The White Coat Ceremony is an enduring memory from my medical school years. Amidst the tumult of memories of seemingly endless sleepless nights spent in libraries and cramming for clerkship examinations between surgical cases, I recall a sunny spring day in 2016 where I gathered with my classmates, family, and friends in the medical school campus courtyard. There were several short, mostly forgotten speeches after which proud fathers and mothers, partners, or siblings slipped the all-important white coat onto the shoulders of the physicians-to-be. At that moment, I felt the weight of tradition centuries in the making resting on my shoulders. Of course, the pomp of the ceremony might have felt a tad overblown had I known that the whole thing had fewer years under its belt than the movie Die Hard.

That’s right, the first White Coat Ceremony was held 5 years after the release of that Bruce Willis classic. Dr. Arnold Gold, a pediatric neurologist on faculty at Columbia University, conceived the ceremony in 1993, and it spread rapidly to medical schools—and later nursing schools—across the United States.¹ Although the values highlighted by the White Coat Ceremony—humanism and compassion in medicine—are timeless, the ceremony itself is a more modern undertaking. What, then, of the white coat itself? Is it the timeless symbol of doctoring—of medicine—that we all presume it to be? Or is it a symbol of modern marketing, just a trend that caught on? And is it encountering its twilight—as trends often do—in the face of changing fashion and, more fundamentally, in changes to who our physicians are and to their roles in our society?

The Cleanliness of the White Coat

Until the end of the 19th century, physicians in the Western world most frequently dressed in black formal wear. The rationale behind this attire seems to have been twofold. First, society as a whole perceived the physician’s work as a serious and formal matter, and any medical encounter had to reflect the gravity of the occasion. Additionally, physicians’ visits often were a portent of impending demise, as physicians in the era prior to antibiotics and antisepsis frequently had little to offer their patients outside of—at best—anecdotal treatments and—at worst—sheer quackery.² Black may have seemed a respectful choice for patients who likely faced dire outcomes regardless of the treatment afforded.³

With the turn of the century came a new understanding of the concepts of antisepsis and disease transmission. While Joseph Lister first published on the use of antisepsis in 1867, his practices did not become commonplace until the early 1900s.⁴ Around the same time came the Flexner report,⁵ the publication of William Osler’s Principles and Practice of Medicine,⁶ and the establishment of the modern medical residency, all of which contributed to the shift from the patient’s own bedside and to the hospital as the house of medicine, with cleanliness and antisepsis as part of its core principles.⁷ The white coat arose as a symbol of purity and freedom from disease. Throughout the 20th century and into the 21st, it has remained the predominant symbol of cleanliness and professionalism for the medical practitioner.

Patient Preference of Physician Attire

Although the white coat may serve as a professional symbol and is well respected medicine, it also plays an important role in the layperson’s perception of their health care providers.⁸ There is little denying that patients prefer their physicians, almost uniformly, to wear a white coat. A systematic review of physician attire that included 30 studies mainly from North America, Europe, and the United Kingdom found that patient preference for formal attire and white coats is near universal.⁹ Patients routinely rate physicians wearing a white coat as more intelligent and trustworthy and feel more confident in the care they will receive.^10-13 They also freely admit that a physician’s appearance influences their satisfaction with their care.¹⁴ The recent adoption of the fleece, or softshell, jacket has not yet pervaded patients’ perceptions of what is considered appropriate physician attire. A 500-respondent survey found that patients were more likely to rate a model wearing a white coat as more professional and experienced compared to the same model wearing a fleece or softshell jacket or other formal attire sans white coat.¹⁵

Closer examination of the same data, however, reveals results reproduced with startling consistency across several studies, which suggest those of us adopting other attire need not dig those white coats out of the closet just yet. First, while many studies point to patient preference for white coats, this preference is uniformly strongest in older patients, beginning around age 40 years and becoming an entrenched preference in those older than 65 years.^9,14,16-18 On the other hand, younger patient populations display little to no such preference, and some studies indicate that younger patients actually prefer scrubs over formal attire in specific settings such as surgical offices, procedural spaces, or the emergency department.^12,14,19 This suggests that bias in favor of traditional physician garb may be more linked to age demographics and may continue to shift as the overall population ages. Additionally, although patients might profess a strong preference for physician attire in theory, it often does not translate into any impact on the patient’s perception of the physician following a clinic visit. The large systematic review on the topic noted that only 25% of studies that surveyed patients about a clinical visit following the encounter reported that physician attire influenced their satisfaction with that visit, suggesting that attire may be less likely to influence patients in the real-world context of receiving care.⁹ In fact, a prospective study of patient perception of medical staff and interactions found that staff style of dress not only had no bearing on the perception of staff or visit satisfaction but that patients often failed to even accurately recall physician attire when surveyed.²⁰ Another survey study echoed these conclusions, finding that physician attire had no effect on the perception of a proposed treatment plan.²¹

What do we know about patient perception of physician attire in the dermatology setting specifically, where visits can be unique in their tendency to transition from medical to procedural in the span of a 15-minute encounter depending on the patient’s chief concern? A survey study of dermatology patients at the general, surgical, and wound care dermatology clinics of an academic medical center (Miami, Florida) found that professional attire with a white coat was strongly preferred across a litany of scenarios assessing many aspects of dermatologic care.²¹ Similarly, a study of patients visiting a single institution’s dermatology and pediatric dermatology clinics surveyed patients and parents regarding attire prior to an appointment and specifically asked if a white coat should be worn.¹³ Fifty-four percent of the adult patients (n=176) surveyed professed a preference for physicians in white coats, with a stronger preference for white coats reported by those 50 years and older (55%; n=113). Parents or guardians presenting to the pediatric dermatology clinic, on the other hand, favored less formal attire.¹³ A recent, real-world study performed at an outpatient dermatology clinic examined the influence of changing physician attire on a patient’s perceptions of care received during clinic encounters. They found no substantial difference in patient satisfaction scores before and following the adoption of a new clinic uniform that transitioned from formal attire to fitted scrubs.²²

 

 

Racial and Gender Bias Affecting Attire Preference

With any study of preference, there is the underlying concern over respondent bias. Many of the studies discussed here have found secondarily that a patient’s implicit bias does not end at the clothes their physician is wearing. The survey study of dermatology patients from the academic medical center in Miami, Florida, found that patients preferred that Black physicians of either sex be garbed in professional attire at all times but generally were more accepting of White physicians in less formal attire.²¹ Adamson et al²³ published a response to the study’s findings urging dermatologists to recognize that a physician’s race and gender influence patients’ perceptions in much the same way that physician attire seems to and encouraged the development of a more diverse dermatologic workforce to help combat this prejudice. The issue of bias is not limited to the specialty of dermatology; the recent survey study by Xun et al¹⁵ found that respondents consistently rated female models garbed in physician attire as less professional than male model counterparts. Additionally, female models wearing white coats were mistakenly identified as medical technicians, physician assistants, or nurses with substantially more frequency than males, despite being clothed in the traditional physician garb. Several other publications on the subject have uncovered implicit bias, though it is rarely, if ever, the principle focus of the study.^10,24,25 As is unfortunately true in many professions, female physicians and physicians from ethnic minorities face barriers to being perceived as fully competent physicians.

Impact of the COVID-19 Pandemic

Finally, of course, there is the ever-present question of the effect of the pandemic. Although the exact role of the white coat as a fomite for infection—and especially for the spread of viral illness—remains controversial, the perception nonetheless has helped catalyze the movement to alternatives such as short-sleeved white coats, technical jackets, and more recently, fitted scrubs.^26-29 As with much in this realm, facts seem less important than perceptions; Zahrina et al³⁰ found that when patients were presented with information regarding the risk for microbial contamination associated with white coats, preference for physicians in professional garb plummeted from 72% to only 22%. To date no articles have examined patient perceptions of the white coat in the context of microbial transmission in the age of COVID-19, but future articles on this topic are likely and may serve to further the demise of the white coat.

Final Thoughts

From my vantage point, it seems the white coat will be claimed by the outgoing tide. During this most recent residency interview season, I do not recall a single medical student wearing a short white coat. The closest I came was a quick glimpse of a crumpled white jacket slung over an arm or stuffed in a shoulder bag. Rotating interns and residents from other services on rotation in our department present in softshell or fleece jackets. Fitted scrubs in the newest trendy colors speckle a previously all-white canvas. I, for one, have not donned my own white coat in at least a year, and perhaps it is all for the best. Physician attire is one small aspect of the practice of medicine and likely bears little, if any, relation to the wearer’s qualifications. Our focus should be on building rapport with our patients, providing high-quality care, reducing the risk for nosocomial infection, and developing a health care system that is fair and equitable for patients and health care workers alike, not on who is wearing what. Perhaps the introduction of new physician attire is a small part of the disruption we need to help address persistent gender and racial biases in our field and help shepherd our patients and colleagues to a worldview that is more open and accepting of physicians of diverse backgrounds.

The White Coat Ceremony is an enduring memory from my medical school years. Amidst the tumult of memories of seemingly endless sleepless nights spent in libraries and cramming for clerkship examinations between surgical cases, I recall a sunny spring day in 2016 where I gathered with my classmates, family, and friends in the medical school campus courtyard. There were several short, mostly forgotten speeches after which proud fathers and mothers, partners, or siblings slipped the all-important white coat onto the shoulders of the physicians-to-be. At that moment, I felt the weight of tradition centuries in the making resting on my shoulders. Of course, the pomp of the ceremony might have felt a tad overblown had I known that the whole thing had fewer years under its belt than the movie Die Hard.

That’s right, the first White Coat Ceremony was held 5 years after the release of that Bruce Willis classic. Dr. Arnold Gold, a pediatric neurologist on faculty at Columbia University, conceived the ceremony in 1993, and it spread rapidly to medical schools—and later nursing schools—across the United States.¹ Although the values highlighted by the White Coat Ceremony—humanism and compassion in medicine—are timeless, the ceremony itself is a more modern undertaking. What, then, of the white coat itself? Is it the timeless symbol of doctoring—of medicine—that we all presume it to be? Or is it a symbol of modern marketing, just a trend that caught on? And is it encountering its twilight—as trends often do—in the face of changing fashion and, more fundamentally, in changes to who our physicians are and to their roles in our society?

The Cleanliness of the White Coat

Until the end of the 19th century, physicians in the Western world most frequently dressed in black formal wear. The rationale behind this attire seems to have been twofold. First, society as a whole perceived the physician’s work as a serious and formal matter, and any medical encounter had to reflect the gravity of the occasion. Additionally, physicians’ visits often were a portent of impending demise, as physicians in the era prior to antibiotics and antisepsis frequently had little to offer their patients outside of—at best—anecdotal treatments and—at worst—sheer quackery.² Black may have seemed a respectful choice for patients who likely faced dire outcomes regardless of the treatment afforded.³

With the turn of the century came a new understanding of the concepts of antisepsis and disease transmission. While Joseph Lister first published on the use of antisepsis in 1867, his practices did not become commonplace until the early 1900s.⁴ Around the same time came the Flexner report,⁵ the publication of William Osler’s Principles and Practice of Medicine,⁶ and the establishment of the modern medical residency, all of which contributed to the shift from the patient’s own bedside and to the hospital as the house of medicine, with cleanliness and antisepsis as part of its core principles.⁷ The white coat arose as a symbol of purity and freedom from disease. Throughout the 20th century and into the 21st, it has remained the predominant symbol of cleanliness and professionalism for the medical practitioner.

Patient Preference of Physician Attire

Although the white coat may serve as a professional symbol and is well respected medicine, it also plays an important role in the layperson’s perception of their health care providers.⁸ There is little denying that patients prefer their physicians, almost uniformly, to wear a white coat. A systematic review of physician attire that included 30 studies mainly from North America, Europe, and the United Kingdom found that patient preference for formal attire and white coats is near universal.⁹ Patients routinely rate physicians wearing a white coat as more intelligent and trustworthy and feel more confident in the care they will receive.^10-13 They also freely admit that a physician’s appearance influences their satisfaction with their care.¹⁴ The recent adoption of the fleece, or softshell, jacket has not yet pervaded patients’ perceptions of what is considered appropriate physician attire. A 500-respondent survey found that patients were more likely to rate a model wearing a white coat as more professional and experienced compared to the same model wearing a fleece or softshell jacket or other formal attire sans white coat.¹⁵

Closer examination of the same data, however, reveals results reproduced with startling consistency across several studies, which suggest those of us adopting other attire need not dig those white coats out of the closet just yet. First, while many studies point to patient preference for white coats, this preference is uniformly strongest in older patients, beginning around age 40 years and becoming an entrenched preference in those older than 65 years.^9,14,16-18 On the other hand, younger patient populations display little to no such preference, and some studies indicate that younger patients actually prefer scrubs over formal attire in specific settings such as surgical offices, procedural spaces, or the emergency department.^12,14,19 This suggests that bias in favor of traditional physician garb may be more linked to age demographics and may continue to shift as the overall population ages. Additionally, although patients might profess a strong preference for physician attire in theory, it often does not translate into any impact on the patient’s perception of the physician following a clinic visit. The large systematic review on the topic noted that only 25% of studies that surveyed patients about a clinical visit following the encounter reported that physician attire influenced their satisfaction with that visit, suggesting that attire may be less likely to influence patients in the real-world context of receiving care.⁹ In fact, a prospective study of patient perception of medical staff and interactions found that staff style of dress not only had no bearing on the perception of staff or visit satisfaction but that patients often failed to even accurately recall physician attire when surveyed.²⁰ Another survey study echoed these conclusions, finding that physician attire had no effect on the perception of a proposed treatment plan.²¹

What do we know about patient perception of physician attire in the dermatology setting specifically, where visits can be unique in their tendency to transition from medical to procedural in the span of a 15-minute encounter depending on the patient’s chief concern? A survey study of dermatology patients at the general, surgical, and wound care dermatology clinics of an academic medical center (Miami, Florida) found that professional attire with a white coat was strongly preferred across a litany of scenarios assessing many aspects of dermatologic care.²¹ Similarly, a study of patients visiting a single institution’s dermatology and pediatric dermatology clinics surveyed patients and parents regarding attire prior to an appointment and specifically asked if a white coat should be worn.¹³ Fifty-four percent of the adult patients (n=176) surveyed professed a preference for physicians in white coats, with a stronger preference for white coats reported by those 50 years and older (55%; n=113). Parents or guardians presenting to the pediatric dermatology clinic, on the other hand, favored less formal attire.¹³ A recent, real-world study performed at an outpatient dermatology clinic examined the influence of changing physician attire on a patient’s perceptions of care received during clinic encounters. They found no substantial difference in patient satisfaction scores before and following the adoption of a new clinic uniform that transitioned from formal attire to fitted scrubs.²²

 

 

Racial and Gender Bias Affecting Attire Preference

With any study of preference, there is the underlying concern over respondent bias. Many of the studies discussed here have found secondarily that a patient’s implicit bias does not end at the clothes their physician is wearing. The survey study of dermatology patients from the academic medical center in Miami, Florida, found that patients preferred that Black physicians of either sex be garbed in professional attire at all times but generally were more accepting of White physicians in less formal attire.²¹ Adamson et al²³ published a response to the study’s findings urging dermatologists to recognize that a physician’s race and gender influence patients’ perceptions in much the same way that physician attire seems to and encouraged the development of a more diverse dermatologic workforce to help combat this prejudice. The issue of bias is not limited to the specialty of dermatology; the recent survey study by Xun et al¹⁵ found that respondents consistently rated female models garbed in physician attire as less professional than male model counterparts. Additionally, female models wearing white coats were mistakenly identified as medical technicians, physician assistants, or nurses with substantially more frequency than males, despite being clothed in the traditional physician garb. Several other publications on the subject have uncovered implicit bias, though it is rarely, if ever, the principle focus of the study.^10,24,25 As is unfortunately true in many professions, female physicians and physicians from ethnic minorities face barriers to being perceived as fully competent physicians.

Impact of the COVID-19 Pandemic

Finally, of course, there is the ever-present question of the effect of the pandemic. Although the exact role of the white coat as a fomite for infection—and especially for the spread of viral illness—remains controversial, the perception nonetheless has helped catalyze the movement to alternatives such as short-sleeved white coats, technical jackets, and more recently, fitted scrubs.^26-29 As with much in this realm, facts seem less important than perceptions; Zahrina et al³⁰ found that when patients were presented with information regarding the risk for microbial contamination associated with white coats, preference for physicians in professional garb plummeted from 72% to only 22%. To date no articles have examined patient perceptions of the white coat in the context of microbial transmission in the age of COVID-19, but future articles on this topic are likely and may serve to further the demise of the white coat.

Final Thoughts

From my vantage point, it seems the white coat will be claimed by the outgoing tide. During this most recent residency interview season, I do not recall a single medical student wearing a short white coat. The closest I came was a quick glimpse of a crumpled white jacket slung over an arm or stuffed in a shoulder bag. Rotating interns and residents from other services on rotation in our department present in softshell or fleece jackets. Fitted scrubs in the newest trendy colors speckle a previously all-white canvas. I, for one, have not donned my own white coat in at least a year, and perhaps it is all for the best. Physician attire is one small aspect of the practice of medicine and likely bears little, if any, relation to the wearer’s qualifications. Our focus should be on building rapport with our patients, providing high-quality care, reducing the risk for nosocomial infection, and developing a health care system that is fair and equitable for patients and health care workers alike, not on who is wearing what. Perhaps the introduction of new physician attire is a small part of the disruption we need to help address persistent gender and racial biases in our field and help shepherd our patients and colleagues to a worldview that is more open and accepting of physicians of diverse backgrounds.

Therapeutic inertia regarding intensification of blood pressure treatment has been shown to be more of an issue in Black patients, but this was not the case in the SPRINT trial, which involved a strict standardized approach to blood pressure management, a new analysis shows.

Ingram Publishing/ThinkStock

“Overall, we found that therapeutic inertia was similar in different races in the SPRINT trial. We did not see disparities that have been reported in previous observational studies,” lead author, Alexander Zheutlin, MD, University of Utah School of Medicine, Salt Lake City, told this news organization.

“These results show that a well-resourced approach in which a standardized approach to blood pressure measurement and treatment intensification is followed can overcome the racial disparity that is seen in therapeutic inertia and the treatment of blood pressure,” he added.

The study was published online in JAMA Network Open on Jan. 10.

The authors explain that hypertension remains a leading modifiable cause of racial disparities in cardiovascular disease. Despite similar treatment rates and increased availability of safe, effective, and affordable antihypertensive medications, blood pressure control rates among Black and Hispanic adults remain significantly lower than among White adults in the United States, and one of the factors contributing to this is thought to be therapeutic inertia – the phenomenon of clinicians not initiating or up-titrating clinically indicated therapy in the setting of unmet treatment goals.

The current analysis of the SPRINT trial was conducted to investigate whether racial and ethnic differences in therapeutic inertia in hypertension were present when blood pressure care was standardized and protocolized.

The landmark SPRINT trial compared intensive (<120 mm Hg) with standard (<140 mm Hg) systolic blood pressure treatment goals in adults 50 years and older at high risk for cardiovascular disease. The present analysis was restricted to participant visits with measured blood pressure above the target goal and included 4,141 patients in the standard group and 4,415 patients in the intensive group.

Results showed that the overall prevalence of therapeutic inertia – defined as no antihypertensive medication intensification at each study visit where the blood pressure was above target goal – was either similar or lower for Black and Hispanic participants than for White participants. This pattern was observed whether participants were randomized to the standard or intensive treatment group.

“These findings support the idea that a standardized approach to blood pressure management, as implemented in SPRINT, may help ensure equitable care is provided to all patients and could reduce the contribution of therapeutic inertia to disparities in uncontrolled blood pressure,” the authors say.

They point out that therapeutic inertia has been identified as a key clinician-level barrier to blood pressure control and is estimated to be present in more than 80% of clinic visits in community practice, whereas in the current analysis of the SPRINT trial, therapeutic inertia was present in 50% to 60% of participant visits with uncontrolled blood pressure.

“In SPRINT, blood pressure had to be measured at defined intervals with a specific method, and there were clear instructions on intensifying treatment if blood pressure was above a certain goal,” Dr. Zheutlin noted. “Our results show that within such strict confines, therapeutic inertia does not seem to be different between different racial groups. This suggests that we could make better gains in blood pressure control and more equitable treatment if we adopted a standardized approach to hypertension management.”

He added: “Many guidelines have been published on when to start treatment and the targets for blood pressure, but there is a lot of variation in how we turn these guidelines into protocols. We need to bring in more consistent protocols on blood pressure measurement and intensification and ensure they are followed. In practice, if the BP is 5 or 10 mm Hg above target, a clinician may defer a decision to intensify treatment and intensification never gets done. But if there was a strict protocol to follow, there would be less chance of this happening.”
 

Therapeutic inertia still high

In an accompanying commentary, Matthew Rivara, MD, Nisha Bansal, MD, and Bessie Young, MD, University of Washington, Seattle, say the current SPRINT analysis has broad implications for reducing racial and ethnic disparities in achievement of evidence-based treatment targets in the general population.

“In hypertension management, standardized protocols for medication adjustments may limit clinician practice heterogeneity to ultimately reduce differences in blood pressure control among racial and ethnic minority populations,” they write. But they add that such protocols must be implemented thoughtfully to incorporate individualized clinical assessment and clinician-patient shared decision-making.

Dr. Rivara et al. point out that the rates of therapeutic inertia in SPRINT, while lower than community-based estimates, were still very high. They suggest reasons for this could include clinician concerns about medication efficacy, adverse effects, and patient mistrust of medical professionals. Outside the clinical trial environment, additional considerations may include prescription drug and laboratory test costs, pharmacy access, and competing demands during busy clinic visits.

To address these challenges, they say that clinicians need education on current clinical practice guidelines, managing complications of intensified antihypertensive therapies, and shared decisionmaking, including culturally sensitive collaborative care. Similarly, care systems must support patients on how to address concerns about treatments.

Finally, further research is needed to better define the specific factors associated with therapeutic inertia to allow tailored interventions to overcome this inertia.

“In designing and performing such research, it is vital that investigators engage with racial and ethnic minority groups to better explore the intersection of race, ethnicity, therapeutic decision-making, trust, and shared decisionmaking,” they add.

The SPRINT trial was funded with federal funds from the National Institutes of Health. Dr. Zheutlin reported receiving grants from the NIH during the conduct of the study.

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

Therapeutic inertia regarding intensification of blood pressure treatment has been shown to be more of an issue in Black patients, but this was not the case in the SPRINT trial, which involved a strict standardized approach to blood pressure management, a new analysis shows.

Ingram Publishing/ThinkStock

“Overall, we found that therapeutic inertia was similar in different races in the SPRINT trial. We did not see disparities that have been reported in previous observational studies,” lead author, Alexander Zheutlin, MD, University of Utah School of Medicine, Salt Lake City, told this news organization.

“These results show that a well-resourced approach in which a standardized approach to blood pressure measurement and treatment intensification is followed can overcome the racial disparity that is seen in therapeutic inertia and the treatment of blood pressure,” he added.

The study was published online in JAMA Network Open on Jan. 10.

The authors explain that hypertension remains a leading modifiable cause of racial disparities in cardiovascular disease. Despite similar treatment rates and increased availability of safe, effective, and affordable antihypertensive medications, blood pressure control rates among Black and Hispanic adults remain significantly lower than among White adults in the United States, and one of the factors contributing to this is thought to be therapeutic inertia – the phenomenon of clinicians not initiating or up-titrating clinically indicated therapy in the setting of unmet treatment goals.

The current analysis of the SPRINT trial was conducted to investigate whether racial and ethnic differences in therapeutic inertia in hypertension were present when blood pressure care was standardized and protocolized.

The landmark SPRINT trial compared intensive (<120 mm Hg) with standard (<140 mm Hg) systolic blood pressure treatment goals in adults 50 years and older at high risk for cardiovascular disease. The present analysis was restricted to participant visits with measured blood pressure above the target goal and included 4,141 patients in the standard group and 4,415 patients in the intensive group.

Results showed that the overall prevalence of therapeutic inertia – defined as no antihypertensive medication intensification at each study visit where the blood pressure was above target goal – was either similar or lower for Black and Hispanic participants than for White participants. This pattern was observed whether participants were randomized to the standard or intensive treatment group.

“These findings support the idea that a standardized approach to blood pressure management, as implemented in SPRINT, may help ensure equitable care is provided to all patients and could reduce the contribution of therapeutic inertia to disparities in uncontrolled blood pressure,” the authors say.

They point out that therapeutic inertia has been identified as a key clinician-level barrier to blood pressure control and is estimated to be present in more than 80% of clinic visits in community practice, whereas in the current analysis of the SPRINT trial, therapeutic inertia was present in 50% to 60% of participant visits with uncontrolled blood pressure.

“In SPRINT, blood pressure had to be measured at defined intervals with a specific method, and there were clear instructions on intensifying treatment if blood pressure was above a certain goal,” Dr. Zheutlin noted. “Our results show that within such strict confines, therapeutic inertia does not seem to be different between different racial groups. This suggests that we could make better gains in blood pressure control and more equitable treatment if we adopted a standardized approach to hypertension management.”

He added: “Many guidelines have been published on when to start treatment and the targets for blood pressure, but there is a lot of variation in how we turn these guidelines into protocols. We need to bring in more consistent protocols on blood pressure measurement and intensification and ensure they are followed. In practice, if the BP is 5 or 10 mm Hg above target, a clinician may defer a decision to intensify treatment and intensification never gets done. But if there was a strict protocol to follow, there would be less chance of this happening.”
 

Therapeutic inertia still high

In an accompanying commentary, Matthew Rivara, MD, Nisha Bansal, MD, and Bessie Young, MD, University of Washington, Seattle, say the current SPRINT analysis has broad implications for reducing racial and ethnic disparities in achievement of evidence-based treatment targets in the general population.

“In hypertension management, standardized protocols for medication adjustments may limit clinician practice heterogeneity to ultimately reduce differences in blood pressure control among racial and ethnic minority populations,” they write. But they add that such protocols must be implemented thoughtfully to incorporate individualized clinical assessment and clinician-patient shared decision-making.

Dr. Rivara et al. point out that the rates of therapeutic inertia in SPRINT, while lower than community-based estimates, were still very high. They suggest reasons for this could include clinician concerns about medication efficacy, adverse effects, and patient mistrust of medical professionals. Outside the clinical trial environment, additional considerations may include prescription drug and laboratory test costs, pharmacy access, and competing demands during busy clinic visits.

To address these challenges, they say that clinicians need education on current clinical practice guidelines, managing complications of intensified antihypertensive therapies, and shared decisionmaking, including culturally sensitive collaborative care. Similarly, care systems must support patients on how to address concerns about treatments.

Finally, further research is needed to better define the specific factors associated with therapeutic inertia to allow tailored interventions to overcome this inertia.

“In designing and performing such research, it is vital that investigators engage with racial and ethnic minority groups to better explore the intersection of race, ethnicity, therapeutic decision-making, trust, and shared decisionmaking,” they add.

The SPRINT trial was funded with federal funds from the National Institutes of Health. Dr. Zheutlin reported receiving grants from the NIH during the conduct of the study.

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

Therapeutic inertia regarding intensification of blood pressure treatment has been shown to be more of an issue in Black patients, but this was not the case in the SPRINT trial, which involved a strict standardized approach to blood pressure management, a new analysis shows.

Ingram Publishing/ThinkStock

“Overall, we found that therapeutic inertia was similar in different races in the SPRINT trial. We did not see disparities that have been reported in previous observational studies,” lead author, Alexander Zheutlin, MD, University of Utah School of Medicine, Salt Lake City, told this news organization.

“These results show that a well-resourced approach in which a standardized approach to blood pressure measurement and treatment intensification is followed can overcome the racial disparity that is seen in therapeutic inertia and the treatment of blood pressure,” he added.

The study was published online in JAMA Network Open on Jan. 10.

The authors explain that hypertension remains a leading modifiable cause of racial disparities in cardiovascular disease. Despite similar treatment rates and increased availability of safe, effective, and affordable antihypertensive medications, blood pressure control rates among Black and Hispanic adults remain significantly lower than among White adults in the United States, and one of the factors contributing to this is thought to be therapeutic inertia – the phenomenon of clinicians not initiating or up-titrating clinically indicated therapy in the setting of unmet treatment goals.

The current analysis of the SPRINT trial was conducted to investigate whether racial and ethnic differences in therapeutic inertia in hypertension were present when blood pressure care was standardized and protocolized.

The landmark SPRINT trial compared intensive (<120 mm Hg) with standard (<140 mm Hg) systolic blood pressure treatment goals in adults 50 years and older at high risk for cardiovascular disease. The present analysis was restricted to participant visits with measured blood pressure above the target goal and included 4,141 patients in the standard group and 4,415 patients in the intensive group.

Results showed that the overall prevalence of therapeutic inertia – defined as no antihypertensive medication intensification at each study visit where the blood pressure was above target goal – was either similar or lower for Black and Hispanic participants than for White participants. This pattern was observed whether participants were randomized to the standard or intensive treatment group.

“These findings support the idea that a standardized approach to blood pressure management, as implemented in SPRINT, may help ensure equitable care is provided to all patients and could reduce the contribution of therapeutic inertia to disparities in uncontrolled blood pressure,” the authors say.

They point out that therapeutic inertia has been identified as a key clinician-level barrier to blood pressure control and is estimated to be present in more than 80% of clinic visits in community practice, whereas in the current analysis of the SPRINT trial, therapeutic inertia was present in 50% to 60% of participant visits with uncontrolled blood pressure.

“In SPRINT, blood pressure had to be measured at defined intervals with a specific method, and there were clear instructions on intensifying treatment if blood pressure was above a certain goal,” Dr. Zheutlin noted. “Our results show that within such strict confines, therapeutic inertia does not seem to be different between different racial groups. This suggests that we could make better gains in blood pressure control and more equitable treatment if we adopted a standardized approach to hypertension management.”

He added: “Many guidelines have been published on when to start treatment and the targets for blood pressure, but there is a lot of variation in how we turn these guidelines into protocols. We need to bring in more consistent protocols on blood pressure measurement and intensification and ensure they are followed. In practice, if the BP is 5 or 10 mm Hg above target, a clinician may defer a decision to intensify treatment and intensification never gets done. But if there was a strict protocol to follow, there would be less chance of this happening.”
 

Therapeutic inertia still high

In an accompanying commentary, Matthew Rivara, MD, Nisha Bansal, MD, and Bessie Young, MD, University of Washington, Seattle, say the current SPRINT analysis has broad implications for reducing racial and ethnic disparities in achievement of evidence-based treatment targets in the general population.

“In hypertension management, standardized protocols for medication adjustments may limit clinician practice heterogeneity to ultimately reduce differences in blood pressure control among racial and ethnic minority populations,” they write. But they add that such protocols must be implemented thoughtfully to incorporate individualized clinical assessment and clinician-patient shared decision-making.

Dr. Rivara et al. point out that the rates of therapeutic inertia in SPRINT, while lower than community-based estimates, were still very high. They suggest reasons for this could include clinician concerns about medication efficacy, adverse effects, and patient mistrust of medical professionals. Outside the clinical trial environment, additional considerations may include prescription drug and laboratory test costs, pharmacy access, and competing demands during busy clinic visits.

To address these challenges, they say that clinicians need education on current clinical practice guidelines, managing complications of intensified antihypertensive therapies, and shared decisionmaking, including culturally sensitive collaborative care. Similarly, care systems must support patients on how to address concerns about treatments.

Finally, further research is needed to better define the specific factors associated with therapeutic inertia to allow tailored interventions to overcome this inertia.

“In designing and performing such research, it is vital that investigators engage with racial and ethnic minority groups to better explore the intersection of race, ethnicity, therapeutic decision-making, trust, and shared decisionmaking,” they add.

The SPRINT trial was funded with federal funds from the National Institutes of Health. Dr. Zheutlin reported receiving grants from the NIH during the conduct of the study.

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

A new document from the American Heart Association summarizes the latest research on cardiovascular risk factor management in type 2 diabetes, including medications, lifestyle, and social determinants of health.

Despite the availability of effective therapies for improving cardiovascular risk, in the United States fewer than one in five people with type 2 diabetes and without known cardiovascular disease meet control targets for a combination of A1c, blood pressure, LDL cholesterol, and nonsmoking status.

Volkan Ünalan/Thinkstock

That proportion drops to less than 1 in 10 if body mass index less than 30 kg/m² is included among the targets, and even less than that among individuals with established atherosclerotic cardiovascular disease, Joshua J. Joseph, MD, and colleagues point out in their paper, published online Jan. 10 in Circulation.

“This new scientific statement is an urgent call to action to follow the latest evidence-based approaches and to develop new best practices to advance type 2 diabetes treatment and care and reduce cardiovascular disease risk,” wrote Dr. Joseph, assistant professor of medicine in the division of endocrinology, diabetes, and metabolism at The Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio, and coauthors.

The statement is not a guideline but an expert analysis that may inform future clinical practice guidelines, according to a press release from the AHA.

The new statement reviews evidence through June 2020 for lifestyle management of diabetes and weight, glycemic targets and control, blood pressure management, lipid management, antithrombotic therapy, and screening for cardiovascular and renal complications, including imaging. It also discusses the clinical implications of recent cardiovascular outcomes trials of newer glucose-lowering medications.

However, Dr. Joseph and colleagues point out, clinical care and treatment account for just 10%-20% of modifiable contributors to health outcomes. The other 80%-90% relate to social determinants of health, including health-related behaviors, socioeconomic factors, environmental factors, and racism.

“If we are to continue to advance the management of cardiovascular risk factors, we must also address the [social determinants of health] in the delivery of health care,” they noted.

Overall, they advise a patient-centered approach, meaning “reframing our clinical encounters to think about patients as people who live in families, communities, and societies that must be considered in their cardiovascular risk management.”

“People with [type 2 diabetes] face numerous barriers to health including access to care and equitable care, which must be considered when developing individualized care plans with our patients,” Dr. Joseph said in the AHA press release.
 

Lifestyle, medications for lowering A1c, BP, lipids

For lifestyle management, the authors say, “culturally appropriate recommendations through diabetes self-management education and support and medical nutrition therapy are key to meeting individualized goals for behavioral change and diabetes self-management.”

The document summarizes recommendations from other professional societies regarding glycemic targets and glucose lowering medications, i.e., target A1c levels of either < 7% or < 6.5% for the majority, with adjustments based on individual factors, such as life expectancy. It advises on use of metformin as first-line therapy followed by a sodium-glucose cotransporter-2 inhibitor or a glucagon-like peptide-1 agonist for those with established cardiovascular disease or risk factors.

“Cost may be a barrier to taking some [type 2 diabetes] medications as prescribed; however, many of these medications are now more commonly covered by more health insurance plans,” Dr. Joseph said.

“Another barrier is recognition by patients that these newer [type 2 diabetes] medications are also effective in reducing the risk of heart disease, stroke, heart failure, and kidney disease.”

Blood pressure treatment guidelines differ between those of the AHA/American College of Cardiology (ACC) and the American Diabetes Association (ADA), most notably that the AHA/ACC guidelines advise a general target of < 130/80 mm Hg, whereas ADA advises < 140/90 mm Hg or < 130/80 mm Hg for those with high risk if it can be safely achieved.

The decision should be “patient-centered with shared decision-making,” Dr. Joseph and colleagues advised.

For lipid-lowering, the document cites the 2018 ACC/AHA cholesterol guidelines, which include advising statins as first-line therapy for both primary and secondary prevention in diabetes, with highest intensity statins used in those at highest risk. But again, treatment should be individualized, and other agents should be used for patients in whom statins don’t work or aren’t tolerated.

And while use of antiplatelets – that is, aspirin – is well established as secondary prevention in type 2 diabetes, given new data suggesting that the risk for major bleeding could outweigh the benefits for primary prevention, “the relative benefits of antithrombotic approaches need to be weighed carefully against risks using a patient-centered approach,” the authors advised.

Among the many imaging tests available to facilitate cardiovascular risk stratification in type 2 diabetes, coronary artery calcification (CAC) CT screening is one of the few with sufficient data to support routine use in selected patients. The National Lipid Association, for example, recommends escalation to high-intensity statin for CAC > 100.

“One avenue to continue to address and advance diabetes management is through breaking down the four walls of the clinic or hospital through community engagement, clinic-to-community connections, and academic-community-government partnerships that may help address and support modifiable lifestyle behaviors such as physical activity, nutrition, smoking cessation and stress management,” Dr. Joseph concluded.

The AHA receives funding primarily from individuals. Foundations and corporations, including pharmaceutical, device manufacturers, and other companies, also make donations and fund AHA programs and events. The AHA’s strict policies prevent these relationships from influencing the science content. Revenues from pharmaceutical and biotech companies, device manufacturers, and health insurance providers and the AHA’s financial information are available on the association’s website. Dr. Joseph has disclosed no relevant financial relationships.

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

A new document from the American Heart Association summarizes the latest research on cardiovascular risk factor management in type 2 diabetes, including medications, lifestyle, and social determinants of health.

Despite the availability of effective therapies for improving cardiovascular risk, in the United States fewer than one in five people with type 2 diabetes and without known cardiovascular disease meet control targets for a combination of A1c, blood pressure, LDL cholesterol, and nonsmoking status.

Volkan Ünalan/Thinkstock

That proportion drops to less than 1 in 10 if body mass index less than 30 kg/m² is included among the targets, and even less than that among individuals with established atherosclerotic cardiovascular disease, Joshua J. Joseph, MD, and colleagues point out in their paper, published online Jan. 10 in Circulation.

“This new scientific statement is an urgent call to action to follow the latest evidence-based approaches and to develop new best practices to advance type 2 diabetes treatment and care and reduce cardiovascular disease risk,” wrote Dr. Joseph, assistant professor of medicine in the division of endocrinology, diabetes, and metabolism at The Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio, and coauthors.

The statement is not a guideline but an expert analysis that may inform future clinical practice guidelines, according to a press release from the AHA.

The new statement reviews evidence through June 2020 for lifestyle management of diabetes and weight, glycemic targets and control, blood pressure management, lipid management, antithrombotic therapy, and screening for cardiovascular and renal complications, including imaging. It also discusses the clinical implications of recent cardiovascular outcomes trials of newer glucose-lowering medications.

However, Dr. Joseph and colleagues point out, clinical care and treatment account for just 10%-20% of modifiable contributors to health outcomes. The other 80%-90% relate to social determinants of health, including health-related behaviors, socioeconomic factors, environmental factors, and racism.

“If we are to continue to advance the management of cardiovascular risk factors, we must also address the [social determinants of health] in the delivery of health care,” they noted.

Overall, they advise a patient-centered approach, meaning “reframing our clinical encounters to think about patients as people who live in families, communities, and societies that must be considered in their cardiovascular risk management.”

“People with [type 2 diabetes] face numerous barriers to health including access to care and equitable care, which must be considered when developing individualized care plans with our patients,” Dr. Joseph said in the AHA press release.
 

Lifestyle, medications for lowering A1c, BP, lipids

For lifestyle management, the authors say, “culturally appropriate recommendations through diabetes self-management education and support and medical nutrition therapy are key to meeting individualized goals for behavioral change and diabetes self-management.”

The document summarizes recommendations from other professional societies regarding glycemic targets and glucose lowering medications, i.e., target A1c levels of either < 7% or < 6.5% for the majority, with adjustments based on individual factors, such as life expectancy. It advises on use of metformin as first-line therapy followed by a sodium-glucose cotransporter-2 inhibitor or a glucagon-like peptide-1 agonist for those with established cardiovascular disease or risk factors.

“Cost may be a barrier to taking some [type 2 diabetes] medications as prescribed; however, many of these medications are now more commonly covered by more health insurance plans,” Dr. Joseph said.

“Another barrier is recognition by patients that these newer [type 2 diabetes] medications are also effective in reducing the risk of heart disease, stroke, heart failure, and kidney disease.”

Blood pressure treatment guidelines differ between those of the AHA/American College of Cardiology (ACC) and the American Diabetes Association (ADA), most notably that the AHA/ACC guidelines advise a general target of < 130/80 mm Hg, whereas ADA advises < 140/90 mm Hg or < 130/80 mm Hg for those with high risk if it can be safely achieved.

The decision should be “patient-centered with shared decision-making,” Dr. Joseph and colleagues advised.

For lipid-lowering, the document cites the 2018 ACC/AHA cholesterol guidelines, which include advising statins as first-line therapy for both primary and secondary prevention in diabetes, with highest intensity statins used in those at highest risk. But again, treatment should be individualized, and other agents should be used for patients in whom statins don’t work or aren’t tolerated.

And while use of antiplatelets – that is, aspirin – is well established as secondary prevention in type 2 diabetes, given new data suggesting that the risk for major bleeding could outweigh the benefits for primary prevention, “the relative benefits of antithrombotic approaches need to be weighed carefully against risks using a patient-centered approach,” the authors advised.

Among the many imaging tests available to facilitate cardiovascular risk stratification in type 2 diabetes, coronary artery calcification (CAC) CT screening is one of the few with sufficient data to support routine use in selected patients. The National Lipid Association, for example, recommends escalation to high-intensity statin for CAC > 100.

“One avenue to continue to address and advance diabetes management is through breaking down the four walls of the clinic or hospital through community engagement, clinic-to-community connections, and academic-community-government partnerships that may help address and support modifiable lifestyle behaviors such as physical activity, nutrition, smoking cessation and stress management,” Dr. Joseph concluded.

The AHA receives funding primarily from individuals. Foundations and corporations, including pharmaceutical, device manufacturers, and other companies, also make donations and fund AHA programs and events. The AHA’s strict policies prevent these relationships from influencing the science content. Revenues from pharmaceutical and biotech companies, device manufacturers, and health insurance providers and the AHA’s financial information are available on the association’s website. Dr. Joseph has disclosed no relevant financial relationships.

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

A new document from the American Heart Association summarizes the latest research on cardiovascular risk factor management in type 2 diabetes, including medications, lifestyle, and social determinants of health.

Despite the availability of effective therapies for improving cardiovascular risk, in the United States fewer than one in five people with type 2 diabetes and without known cardiovascular disease meet control targets for a combination of A1c, blood pressure, LDL cholesterol, and nonsmoking status.

Volkan Ünalan/Thinkstock

That proportion drops to less than 1 in 10 if body mass index less than 30 kg/m² is included among the targets, and even less than that among individuals with established atherosclerotic cardiovascular disease, Joshua J. Joseph, MD, and colleagues point out in their paper, published online Jan. 10 in Circulation.

“This new scientific statement is an urgent call to action to follow the latest evidence-based approaches and to develop new best practices to advance type 2 diabetes treatment and care and reduce cardiovascular disease risk,” wrote Dr. Joseph, assistant professor of medicine in the division of endocrinology, diabetes, and metabolism at The Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio, and coauthors.

The statement is not a guideline but an expert analysis that may inform future clinical practice guidelines, according to a press release from the AHA.

The new statement reviews evidence through June 2020 for lifestyle management of diabetes and weight, glycemic targets and control, blood pressure management, lipid management, antithrombotic therapy, and screening for cardiovascular and renal complications, including imaging. It also discusses the clinical implications of recent cardiovascular outcomes trials of newer glucose-lowering medications.

However, Dr. Joseph and colleagues point out, clinical care and treatment account for just 10%-20% of modifiable contributors to health outcomes. The other 80%-90% relate to social determinants of health, including health-related behaviors, socioeconomic factors, environmental factors, and racism.

“If we are to continue to advance the management of cardiovascular risk factors, we must also address the [social determinants of health] in the delivery of health care,” they noted.

Overall, they advise a patient-centered approach, meaning “reframing our clinical encounters to think about patients as people who live in families, communities, and societies that must be considered in their cardiovascular risk management.”

“People with [type 2 diabetes] face numerous barriers to health including access to care and equitable care, which must be considered when developing individualized care plans with our patients,” Dr. Joseph said in the AHA press release.
 

Lifestyle, medications for lowering A1c, BP, lipids

For lifestyle management, the authors say, “culturally appropriate recommendations through diabetes self-management education and support and medical nutrition therapy are key to meeting individualized goals for behavioral change and diabetes self-management.”

The document summarizes recommendations from other professional societies regarding glycemic targets and glucose lowering medications, i.e., target A1c levels of either < 7% or < 6.5% for the majority, with adjustments based on individual factors, such as life expectancy. It advises on use of metformin as first-line therapy followed by a sodium-glucose cotransporter-2 inhibitor or a glucagon-like peptide-1 agonist for those with established cardiovascular disease or risk factors.

“Cost may be a barrier to taking some [type 2 diabetes] medications as prescribed; however, many of these medications are now more commonly covered by more health insurance plans,” Dr. Joseph said.

“Another barrier is recognition by patients that these newer [type 2 diabetes] medications are also effective in reducing the risk of heart disease, stroke, heart failure, and kidney disease.”

Blood pressure treatment guidelines differ between those of the AHA/American College of Cardiology (ACC) and the American Diabetes Association (ADA), most notably that the AHA/ACC guidelines advise a general target of < 130/80 mm Hg, whereas ADA advises < 140/90 mm Hg or < 130/80 mm Hg for those with high risk if it can be safely achieved.

The decision should be “patient-centered with shared decision-making,” Dr. Joseph and colleagues advised.

For lipid-lowering, the document cites the 2018 ACC/AHA cholesterol guidelines, which include advising statins as first-line therapy for both primary and secondary prevention in diabetes, with highest intensity statins used in those at highest risk. But again, treatment should be individualized, and other agents should be used for patients in whom statins don’t work or aren’t tolerated.

And while use of antiplatelets – that is, aspirin – is well established as secondary prevention in type 2 diabetes, given new data suggesting that the risk for major bleeding could outweigh the benefits for primary prevention, “the relative benefits of antithrombotic approaches need to be weighed carefully against risks using a patient-centered approach,” the authors advised.

Among the many imaging tests available to facilitate cardiovascular risk stratification in type 2 diabetes, coronary artery calcification (CAC) CT screening is one of the few with sufficient data to support routine use in selected patients. The National Lipid Association, for example, recommends escalation to high-intensity statin for CAC > 100.

“One avenue to continue to address and advance diabetes management is through breaking down the four walls of the clinic or hospital through community engagement, clinic-to-community connections, and academic-community-government partnerships that may help address and support modifiable lifestyle behaviors such as physical activity, nutrition, smoking cessation and stress management,” Dr. Joseph concluded.

The AHA receives funding primarily from individuals. Foundations and corporations, including pharmaceutical, device manufacturers, and other companies, also make donations and fund AHA programs and events. The AHA’s strict policies prevent these relationships from influencing the science content. Revenues from pharmaceutical and biotech companies, device manufacturers, and health insurance providers and the AHA’s financial information are available on the association’s website. Dr. Joseph has disclosed no relevant financial relationships.

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

Photographs courtesy of Richard P. Usatine, MD.

THE COMPARISON

A Pink, elevated, granulomatous, indurated plaques on the face, including the nasal alae, of a 52-year-old woman with a darker skin tone.

B Orange and pink, elevated, granulomatous, indurated plaques on the face of a 55-year-old woman with a lighter skin tone.

Sarcoidosis is a granulomatous disease that may affect the skin in addition to multiple body organ systems, including the lungs. Bilateral hilar adenopathy on a chest radiograph is the most common finding. Sarcoidosis also has a variety of cutaneous manifestations. Early diagnosis is vital, as patients with with sarcoidosis and pulmonary fibrosis have a shortened life span compared to the overall population.¹ With a growing skin of color population, it is important to recognize sarcoidosis as soon as possible.²

Epidemiology

People of African descent have the highest sarcoidosis prevalence in the United States.³ In the United States, the incidence of sarcoidosis in Black individuals peaks in the fourth decade of life. A 5-year study in a US health maintenance organization found that the age-adjusted annual incidence was 10.9 per 100,000 cases among Whites and 35.5 per 100,000 cases among Blacks.⁴

Key clinical features in people with darker skin tones:

• Papules are seen in sarcoidosis, primarily on the face, and may start as orange hued or yellow-brown and then become brown-red or pink to violaceous before involuting into faint macules.^5-7

• When round or oval sarcoid plaques appear, they often are more erythematous. In skin of color, plaques may become hypopigmented.⁸

• Erythema nodosum, the most common nonspecific cutaneous lesion seen in sarcoidosis, is less commonly seen in those of African and Asian descent.^9-11 This is in contrast to distinctive forms of specific sarcoid skin lesions such as lupus pernio and scar sarcoidosis, as well as papules and plaques and minor forms of specific sarcoid skin lesions including subcutaneous nodules; hypopigmented macules; psoriasiform lesions; and ulcerative, localized erythrodermic, ichthyosiform, scalp, and nail lesions.

• Lupus pernio is a cutaneous manifestation of sarcoidosis that appears on the face. It looks similar to lupus erythematosus and occurs most commonly in women of African descent.^8,12

• Hypopigmented lesions are more common in those with darker skin tones.⁹

• Ulcerative lesions are more common in those of African descent and women.¹³

• Scalp sarcoidosis is more common in patients of African descent.¹⁴

• Sarcoidosis may develop at sites of trauma, such as scars and tattoos.^15-17

Worth noting

The cutaneous lesions seen in sarcoidosis may be emotionally devastating and disfiguring. Due to the variety of clinical manifestations, sarcoidosis may be misdiagnosed, leading to delays in treatment.¹⁸

Health disparity highlight

Patients older than 40 years presenting with sarcoidosis and those of African descent have a worse prognosis.¹⁹ Despite adjusting for race, ethnic group, age, and sex, patients with low income and financial barriers present with more severe sarcoidosis.²⁰

Photographs courtesy of Richard P. Usatine, MD.

THE COMPARISON

A Pink, elevated, granulomatous, indurated plaques on the face, including the nasal alae, of a 52-year-old woman with a darker skin tone.

B Orange and pink, elevated, granulomatous, indurated plaques on the face of a 55-year-old woman with a lighter skin tone.

Sarcoidosis is a granulomatous disease that may affect the skin in addition to multiple body organ systems, including the lungs. Bilateral hilar adenopathy on a chest radiograph is the most common finding. Sarcoidosis also has a variety of cutaneous manifestations. Early diagnosis is vital, as patients with with sarcoidosis and pulmonary fibrosis have a shortened life span compared to the overall population.¹ With a growing skin of color population, it is important to recognize sarcoidosis as soon as possible.²

Epidemiology

People of African descent have the highest sarcoidosis prevalence in the United States.³ In the United States, the incidence of sarcoidosis in Black individuals peaks in the fourth decade of life. A 5-year study in a US health maintenance organization found that the age-adjusted annual incidence was 10.9 per 100,000 cases among Whites and 35.5 per 100,000 cases among Blacks.⁴

Key clinical features in people with darker skin tones:

• Papules are seen in sarcoidosis, primarily on the face, and may start as orange hued or yellow-brown and then become brown-red or pink to violaceous before involuting into faint macules.^5-7

• When round or oval sarcoid plaques appear, they often are more erythematous. In skin of color, plaques may become hypopigmented.⁸

• Erythema nodosum, the most common nonspecific cutaneous lesion seen in sarcoidosis, is less commonly seen in those of African and Asian descent.^9-11 This is in contrast to distinctive forms of specific sarcoid skin lesions such as lupus pernio and scar sarcoidosis, as well as papules and plaques and minor forms of specific sarcoid skin lesions including subcutaneous nodules; hypopigmented macules; psoriasiform lesions; and ulcerative, localized erythrodermic, ichthyosiform, scalp, and nail lesions.

• Lupus pernio is a cutaneous manifestation of sarcoidosis that appears on the face. It looks similar to lupus erythematosus and occurs most commonly in women of African descent.^8,12

• Hypopigmented lesions are more common in those with darker skin tones.⁹

• Ulcerative lesions are more common in those of African descent and women.¹³

• Scalp sarcoidosis is more common in patients of African descent.¹⁴

• Sarcoidosis may develop at sites of trauma, such as scars and tattoos.^15-17

Worth noting

The cutaneous lesions seen in sarcoidosis may be emotionally devastating and disfiguring. Due to the variety of clinical manifestations, sarcoidosis may be misdiagnosed, leading to delays in treatment.¹⁸

Health disparity highlight

Patients older than 40 years presenting with sarcoidosis and those of African descent have a worse prognosis.¹⁹ Despite adjusting for race, ethnic group, age, and sex, patients with low income and financial barriers present with more severe sarcoidosis.²⁰

Photographs courtesy of Richard P. Usatine, MD.

THE COMPARISON

A Pink, elevated, granulomatous, indurated plaques on the face, including the nasal alae, of a 52-year-old woman with a darker skin tone.

B Orange and pink, elevated, granulomatous, indurated plaques on the face of a 55-year-old woman with a lighter skin tone.

Sarcoidosis is a granulomatous disease that may affect the skin in addition to multiple body organ systems, including the lungs. Bilateral hilar adenopathy on a chest radiograph is the most common finding. Sarcoidosis also has a variety of cutaneous manifestations. Early diagnosis is vital, as patients with with sarcoidosis and pulmonary fibrosis have a shortened life span compared to the overall population.¹ With a growing skin of color population, it is important to recognize sarcoidosis as soon as possible.²

Epidemiology

People of African descent have the highest sarcoidosis prevalence in the United States.³ In the United States, the incidence of sarcoidosis in Black individuals peaks in the fourth decade of life. A 5-year study in a US health maintenance organization found that the age-adjusted annual incidence was 10.9 per 100,000 cases among Whites and 35.5 per 100,000 cases among Blacks.⁴

Key clinical features in people with darker skin tones:

• Papules are seen in sarcoidosis, primarily on the face, and may start as orange hued or yellow-brown and then become brown-red or pink to violaceous before involuting into faint macules.^5-7

• When round or oval sarcoid plaques appear, they often are more erythematous. In skin of color, plaques may become hypopigmented.⁸

• Erythema nodosum, the most common nonspecific cutaneous lesion seen in sarcoidosis, is less commonly seen in those of African and Asian descent.^9-11 This is in contrast to distinctive forms of specific sarcoid skin lesions such as lupus pernio and scar sarcoidosis, as well as papules and plaques and minor forms of specific sarcoid skin lesions including subcutaneous nodules; hypopigmented macules; psoriasiform lesions; and ulcerative, localized erythrodermic, ichthyosiform, scalp, and nail lesions.

• Lupus pernio is a cutaneous manifestation of sarcoidosis that appears on the face. It looks similar to lupus erythematosus and occurs most commonly in women of African descent.^8,12

• Hypopigmented lesions are more common in those with darker skin tones.⁹

• Ulcerative lesions are more common in those of African descent and women.¹³

• Scalp sarcoidosis is more common in patients of African descent.¹⁴

• Sarcoidosis may develop at sites of trauma, such as scars and tattoos.^15-17

Worth noting

The cutaneous lesions seen in sarcoidosis may be emotionally devastating and disfiguring. Due to the variety of clinical manifestations, sarcoidosis may be misdiagnosed, leading to delays in treatment.¹⁸

Health disparity highlight

Patients older than 40 years presenting with sarcoidosis and those of African descent have a worse prognosis.¹⁹ Despite adjusting for race, ethnic group, age, and sex, patients with low income and financial barriers present with more severe sarcoidosis.²⁰