Commentary

Four years ago, I was fully employed in a “traditional” rheumatology clinic. I met Alan, a 42-year-old gentleman who was a high school math teacher in my town. He was the first patient on my panel that day. Once I entered the examining room, Alan greeted me with: “You are the third rheumatologist who I have consulted for what everybody believes is fibromyalgia. I am paying out of pocket to see you as you are not on my insurance panel. I have researched your background, and I have high expectations of you.” He was cutting to the chase.

Alan had struggled with pain for about 1½ years. He insisted that he was very healthy before his symptoms started abruptly. In the past 2 years, his personal life had been under much stress as he was caring for a disabled child and facing an imminent divorce. While his symptoms were suggestive of an inflammatory arthritis, his workup was not. Unfortunately, the allocated time with Alan was 15 minutes – too short to cover both medical and personal struggles. Meanwhile, my nurses had to room in another two patients. I felt rushed and responsible for not letting the others wait. I asked Alan to keep a diary of his symptoms and come back in 2 weeks. A few minutes after discharging Alan, my nurse followed and asked me: “Where would you like me to add this patient, as you have no openings for 4 months ?”

“Overbook him!” I said.

This was happening almost every day. Scheduled patients, overbooked patients, tens of emails, calls to patients, and fights with insurance companies to approve tests and medications. Nearly every day I was getting home, preparing dinner, feeding my family, and going back to writing notes, as I would be financially penalized if my notes were not submitted in 24-48 hours. I had no time for my family and didn’t even think about any hobbies.

In 2 weeks, Alan came back for his visit. That day, I paid someone to take my kids to school and came to my office earlier. We had 1 hour to talk about his history. At the end of the visit, Alan said: “What kind of doctor are you? You looked into my eyes while I was talking, and you didn’t touch the computer keyboard?!” His remark was not uncommon for me. Most patients complain that physicians spend more time typing than looking at them. Maybe patients do not realize, but this is the only way that physicians get paid: writing the “proper notes” and placing the correct billing code.

Alan was diagnosed and treated successfully for seronegative rheumatoid arthritis. In 1 year, paying out of pocket to see me, he ended up spending many, many thousands of dollars. As you can imagine, I was not in control of those bills.

After 4 years in the traditional system, I decided to change something for my patients and for myself as their physician, and as a mother of three kids, a wife, a daughter, and a sister.

I decided to create a clinic where I am comfortable practicing “uncomplicated” medicine, as a friend of mine said. Today, insurance companies are restricting patients to limited panels of specialists. They dictate patients’ care, giving the false impression that they will save money. Insurance companies interfere with the physician’s medical judgment. They make algorithms to approve tests and have preferred lists of medication. They decide whether a test or a medication is appropriate for you. In addition, they don’t disclose how much they pay for your consultation, tests, and medication, and they ban the contracted parties from disclosing this information. They force patients to use their testing facilities and mailing pharmacies. Although patients and employers are the payers, they do not have access to their insurance companies’ “real” prices.

I decided that it was time to take control of my time spent with patients to make my services available when patients need me, without becoming a financial burden. I created a clinic where patients do not have copayments and will never receive a “surprise bill.” All costs are transparent to patients, including laboratory and imaging tests. Patients can talk to me on the phone, send a text, or email. A clinic where patients can talk to the physician on the phone or send a text or email? This is direct specialty care.

Is direct care a new concept? No, not at all. Is direct care the same as concierge medicine? I think it is a type of concierge service, but without the price tag.

Why?

Physicians practicing the traditional concierge medicine model here in the United States still bill patients’ insurance. In addition, to make their practice profitable, they charge a retainer fee that will allow them to keep a small patient panel. In contrast, direct care specialists do not have a contract with insurance companies.

I believe that both concierge medicine and direct care specialists offer exceptional care and better access to physicians. The difference is in costs: One is more expensive than the other. Traditional concierge medicine practices usually ask for high retainer fees in addition to copayments for visits. They do not offer any access to discounted pricing for laboratory or imaging tests. Patients continue to receive surprise bills from their insurance company.

Why don’t direct specialty care practices contract with insurance companies? Contracting with insurance companies increases a practice’s overhead costs (as more money is spent on coding and billing services and more office staff). When practice overhead is lower, the cost of patient care can be significantly lower. Patients pay a monthly membership to become a direct specialty care practice member. The membership covers the cost of visits and access to the benefits of the practice. In addition, direct care specialists do not charge copayments or send surprise bills. They can contract directly with laboratory and imaging centers and offer discounted prices. Patients with insurance are welcome to use it to cover tests, imaging, and medication. The patient has the power to choose between paying a cash price versus a “covered” service.

Most young patients, like Alan, have a high-deductible plan. A few regular blood tests might cost a patient hundreds of dollars before meeting a deductible. One MRI scan costs $4,000-$6,000. Patients who join a direct specialty care practice pay $30-$40 for regular labs and $400-$500 for an MRI.

I am now 2 years into practicing medicine as a direct care specialist. It is not a dream anymore. Yes, you may call it “concierge medicine without the price tag.” I call it “direct specialty care.” My patients and I are both accountable to one another. Together, we make a plan, and we have the time to implement it.

I am not alone. Other specialists are embracing this model. That is why we created the Direct Specialty Care Alliance, a place where physicians are welcome to network and share with others what they have learned along their journeys.

After I started my company, Alan was one of the first patients to join. He embraced my practice model and became one of the ambassadors of the direct specialty care movement. He is back to a normal life of taking care of his family, getting his wife back, and teaching math to high school kids.

Dr Girnita is the CEO and founder of RheumatologistOnCall, actively seeing patients via telemedicine in 10 U.S. states. She is an advocate for digital health and telemedicine that will empower physicians and patients to take charge of their medical care. She is a cofounder of the Direct Specialty Care Alliance. She disclosed no relevant financial relationships.

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

Four years ago, I was fully employed in a “traditional” rheumatology clinic. I met Alan, a 42-year-old gentleman who was a high school math teacher in my town. He was the first patient on my panel that day. Once I entered the examining room, Alan greeted me with: “You are the third rheumatologist who I have consulted for what everybody believes is fibromyalgia. I am paying out of pocket to see you as you are not on my insurance panel. I have researched your background, and I have high expectations of you.” He was cutting to the chase.

Alan had struggled with pain for about 1½ years. He insisted that he was very healthy before his symptoms started abruptly. In the past 2 years, his personal life had been under much stress as he was caring for a disabled child and facing an imminent divorce. While his symptoms were suggestive of an inflammatory arthritis, his workup was not. Unfortunately, the allocated time with Alan was 15 minutes – too short to cover both medical and personal struggles. Meanwhile, my nurses had to room in another two patients. I felt rushed and responsible for not letting the others wait. I asked Alan to keep a diary of his symptoms and come back in 2 weeks. A few minutes after discharging Alan, my nurse followed and asked me: “Where would you like me to add this patient, as you have no openings for 4 months ?”

“Overbook him!” I said.

This was happening almost every day. Scheduled patients, overbooked patients, tens of emails, calls to patients, and fights with insurance companies to approve tests and medications. Nearly every day I was getting home, preparing dinner, feeding my family, and going back to writing notes, as I would be financially penalized if my notes were not submitted in 24-48 hours. I had no time for my family and didn’t even think about any hobbies.

In 2 weeks, Alan came back for his visit. That day, I paid someone to take my kids to school and came to my office earlier. We had 1 hour to talk about his history. At the end of the visit, Alan said: “What kind of doctor are you? You looked into my eyes while I was talking, and you didn’t touch the computer keyboard?!” His remark was not uncommon for me. Most patients complain that physicians spend more time typing than looking at them. Maybe patients do not realize, but this is the only way that physicians get paid: writing the “proper notes” and placing the correct billing code.

Alan was diagnosed and treated successfully for seronegative rheumatoid arthritis. In 1 year, paying out of pocket to see me, he ended up spending many, many thousands of dollars. As you can imagine, I was not in control of those bills.

After 4 years in the traditional system, I decided to change something for my patients and for myself as their physician, and as a mother of three kids, a wife, a daughter, and a sister.

I decided to create a clinic where I am comfortable practicing “uncomplicated” medicine, as a friend of mine said. Today, insurance companies are restricting patients to limited panels of specialists. They dictate patients’ care, giving the false impression that they will save money. Insurance companies interfere with the physician’s medical judgment. They make algorithms to approve tests and have preferred lists of medication. They decide whether a test or a medication is appropriate for you. In addition, they don’t disclose how much they pay for your consultation, tests, and medication, and they ban the contracted parties from disclosing this information. They force patients to use their testing facilities and mailing pharmacies. Although patients and employers are the payers, they do not have access to their insurance companies’ “real” prices.

I decided that it was time to take control of my time spent with patients to make my services available when patients need me, without becoming a financial burden. I created a clinic where patients do not have copayments and will never receive a “surprise bill.” All costs are transparent to patients, including laboratory and imaging tests. Patients can talk to me on the phone, send a text, or email. A clinic where patients can talk to the physician on the phone or send a text or email? This is direct specialty care.

Is direct care a new concept? No, not at all. Is direct care the same as concierge medicine? I think it is a type of concierge service, but without the price tag.

Why?

Physicians practicing the traditional concierge medicine model here in the United States still bill patients’ insurance. In addition, to make their practice profitable, they charge a retainer fee that will allow them to keep a small patient panel. In contrast, direct care specialists do not have a contract with insurance companies.

I believe that both concierge medicine and direct care specialists offer exceptional care and better access to physicians. The difference is in costs: One is more expensive than the other. Traditional concierge medicine practices usually ask for high retainer fees in addition to copayments for visits. They do not offer any access to discounted pricing for laboratory or imaging tests. Patients continue to receive surprise bills from their insurance company.

Why don’t direct specialty care practices contract with insurance companies? Contracting with insurance companies increases a practice’s overhead costs (as more money is spent on coding and billing services and more office staff). When practice overhead is lower, the cost of patient care can be significantly lower. Patients pay a monthly membership to become a direct specialty care practice member. The membership covers the cost of visits and access to the benefits of the practice. In addition, direct care specialists do not charge copayments or send surprise bills. They can contract directly with laboratory and imaging centers and offer discounted prices. Patients with insurance are welcome to use it to cover tests, imaging, and medication. The patient has the power to choose between paying a cash price versus a “covered” service.

Most young patients, like Alan, have a high-deductible plan. A few regular blood tests might cost a patient hundreds of dollars before meeting a deductible. One MRI scan costs $4,000-$6,000. Patients who join a direct specialty care practice pay $30-$40 for regular labs and $400-$500 for an MRI.

I am now 2 years into practicing medicine as a direct care specialist. It is not a dream anymore. Yes, you may call it “concierge medicine without the price tag.” I call it “direct specialty care.” My patients and I are both accountable to one another. Together, we make a plan, and we have the time to implement it.

I am not alone. Other specialists are embracing this model. That is why we created the Direct Specialty Care Alliance, a place where physicians are welcome to network and share with others what they have learned along their journeys.

After I started my company, Alan was one of the first patients to join. He embraced my practice model and became one of the ambassadors of the direct specialty care movement. He is back to a normal life of taking care of his family, getting his wife back, and teaching math to high school kids.

Dr Girnita is the CEO and founder of RheumatologistOnCall, actively seeing patients via telemedicine in 10 U.S. states. She is an advocate for digital health and telemedicine that will empower physicians and patients to take charge of their medical care. She is a cofounder of the Direct Specialty Care Alliance. She disclosed no relevant financial relationships.

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

Four years ago, I was fully employed in a “traditional” rheumatology clinic. I met Alan, a 42-year-old gentleman who was a high school math teacher in my town. He was the first patient on my panel that day. Once I entered the examining room, Alan greeted me with: “You are the third rheumatologist who I have consulted for what everybody believes is fibromyalgia. I am paying out of pocket to see you as you are not on my insurance panel. I have researched your background, and I have high expectations of you.” He was cutting to the chase.

Alan had struggled with pain for about 1½ years. He insisted that he was very healthy before his symptoms started abruptly. In the past 2 years, his personal life had been under much stress as he was caring for a disabled child and facing an imminent divorce. While his symptoms were suggestive of an inflammatory arthritis, his workup was not. Unfortunately, the allocated time with Alan was 15 minutes – too short to cover both medical and personal struggles. Meanwhile, my nurses had to room in another two patients. I felt rushed and responsible for not letting the others wait. I asked Alan to keep a diary of his symptoms and come back in 2 weeks. A few minutes after discharging Alan, my nurse followed and asked me: “Where would you like me to add this patient, as you have no openings for 4 months ?”

“Overbook him!” I said.

This was happening almost every day. Scheduled patients, overbooked patients, tens of emails, calls to patients, and fights with insurance companies to approve tests and medications. Nearly every day I was getting home, preparing dinner, feeding my family, and going back to writing notes, as I would be financially penalized if my notes were not submitted in 24-48 hours. I had no time for my family and didn’t even think about any hobbies.

In 2 weeks, Alan came back for his visit. That day, I paid someone to take my kids to school and came to my office earlier. We had 1 hour to talk about his history. At the end of the visit, Alan said: “What kind of doctor are you? You looked into my eyes while I was talking, and you didn’t touch the computer keyboard?!” His remark was not uncommon for me. Most patients complain that physicians spend more time typing than looking at them. Maybe patients do not realize, but this is the only way that physicians get paid: writing the “proper notes” and placing the correct billing code.

Alan was diagnosed and treated successfully for seronegative rheumatoid arthritis. In 1 year, paying out of pocket to see me, he ended up spending many, many thousands of dollars. As you can imagine, I was not in control of those bills.

After 4 years in the traditional system, I decided to change something for my patients and for myself as their physician, and as a mother of three kids, a wife, a daughter, and a sister.

I decided to create a clinic where I am comfortable practicing “uncomplicated” medicine, as a friend of mine said. Today, insurance companies are restricting patients to limited panels of specialists. They dictate patients’ care, giving the false impression that they will save money. Insurance companies interfere with the physician’s medical judgment. They make algorithms to approve tests and have preferred lists of medication. They decide whether a test or a medication is appropriate for you. In addition, they don’t disclose how much they pay for your consultation, tests, and medication, and they ban the contracted parties from disclosing this information. They force patients to use their testing facilities and mailing pharmacies. Although patients and employers are the payers, they do not have access to their insurance companies’ “real” prices.

I decided that it was time to take control of my time spent with patients to make my services available when patients need me, without becoming a financial burden. I created a clinic where patients do not have copayments and will never receive a “surprise bill.” All costs are transparent to patients, including laboratory and imaging tests. Patients can talk to me on the phone, send a text, or email. A clinic where patients can talk to the physician on the phone or send a text or email? This is direct specialty care.

Is direct care a new concept? No, not at all. Is direct care the same as concierge medicine? I think it is a type of concierge service, but without the price tag.

Why?

Physicians practicing the traditional concierge medicine model here in the United States still bill patients’ insurance. In addition, to make their practice profitable, they charge a retainer fee that will allow them to keep a small patient panel. In contrast, direct care specialists do not have a contract with insurance companies.

I believe that both concierge medicine and direct care specialists offer exceptional care and better access to physicians. The difference is in costs: One is more expensive than the other. Traditional concierge medicine practices usually ask for high retainer fees in addition to copayments for visits. They do not offer any access to discounted pricing for laboratory or imaging tests. Patients continue to receive surprise bills from their insurance company.

Why don’t direct specialty care practices contract with insurance companies? Contracting with insurance companies increases a practice’s overhead costs (as more money is spent on coding and billing services and more office staff). When practice overhead is lower, the cost of patient care can be significantly lower. Patients pay a monthly membership to become a direct specialty care practice member. The membership covers the cost of visits and access to the benefits of the practice. In addition, direct care specialists do not charge copayments or send surprise bills. They can contract directly with laboratory and imaging centers and offer discounted prices. Patients with insurance are welcome to use it to cover tests, imaging, and medication. The patient has the power to choose between paying a cash price versus a “covered” service.

Most young patients, like Alan, have a high-deductible plan. A few regular blood tests might cost a patient hundreds of dollars before meeting a deductible. One MRI scan costs $4,000-$6,000. Patients who join a direct specialty care practice pay $30-$40 for regular labs and $400-$500 for an MRI.

I am now 2 years into practicing medicine as a direct care specialist. It is not a dream anymore. Yes, you may call it “concierge medicine without the price tag.” I call it “direct specialty care.” My patients and I are both accountable to one another. Together, we make a plan, and we have the time to implement it.

I am not alone. Other specialists are embracing this model. That is why we created the Direct Specialty Care Alliance, a place where physicians are welcome to network and share with others what they have learned along their journeys.

After I started my company, Alan was one of the first patients to join. He embraced my practice model and became one of the ambassadors of the direct specialty care movement. He is back to a normal life of taking care of his family, getting his wife back, and teaching math to high school kids.

Dr Girnita is the CEO and founder of RheumatologistOnCall, actively seeing patients via telemedicine in 10 U.S. states. She is an advocate for digital health and telemedicine that will empower physicians and patients to take charge of their medical care. She is a cofounder of the Direct Specialty Care Alliance. She disclosed no relevant financial relationships.

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

It would be overused and trite to say that the pandemic has drastically altered all of our lives and will cause lasting impact on how we function in society and medicine for years to come. While it seems that the current trend of the latest Omicron variant is on the downslope, the path to get to this point has been fraught with challenges that have struck at the very core of our society. As a primary care physician on the front lines seeing COVID patients, I have had to deal with not only the disease but the politics around it. As critical and life saving as the vaccines have been, many physicians have not been able to get access to these vaccines and give them to their patients. I am one of those physicians. I practice in Florida, and I still cannot give COVID vaccines in my office. 

I am a firm believer in the ability for physicians to be able to give all the necessary adult vaccines and provide them for their patients. The COVID vaccine exacerbated a majorly flawed system that further increased the health care disparities in the country. The current vaccine system for the majority of adult vaccines involves the physician’s being able to directly purchase supplies from the vaccine manufacturer, administer them to the patients, and be reimbursed.
 

Third parties can purchase vaccines at lower rates than those for physicians

The Affordable Care Act mandates that all vaccines approved by the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices (ACIP) at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention must be covered. This allows for better access to care as physicians will be able to purchase, store, and deliver vaccines to their patients. The fallacy in this system is that third parties get involved and rebates or incentives are given to these groups to purchase vaccines at a rate lower than those for physicians.

In addition, many organizations can get access to vaccines before physicians and at a lower cost. That system was flawed to begin with and created a deterrent for access to care and physician involvement in the vaccination process. This was worsened by different states being given the ability to decide how vaccines would be distributed for COVID.

Many pharmacies were able to give out COVID vaccines while many physician offices still have not received access to any of the vaccines. One of the major safety issues with this is that no physicians were involved in the administration of the vaccine, and it is unclear what training was given to the individuals injecting that vaccine. Finally, different places were interpreting the recommendations from ACIP on their own and not necessarily following the appropriate guidelines. All of these factors have further widened the health care disparity gap and made it difficult to provide the COVID vaccines in doctors’ offices.
 

Recommended next steps, solutions to problem

The question is what to do about this. The most important thing is to get the vaccines in arms so they can save lives. In addition, doctors need to be able to get the vaccines in their offices.

Many patients trust their physicians to advise them on what to do regarding health care. The majority of patients want to know if they should get the vaccine and ask for counseling. Physicians answering patients’ questions about vaccines is an important step in overcoming vaccine hesitancy.

Also, doctors need to be informed and supportive of the vaccine process.

The next step is the governmental aspect with those in power making sure that vaccines are accessible to all. Even if the vaccine cannot be given in the office, doctors should still be recommending that patients receive them. Plus, doctors should take every opportunity to ask about what vaccines their patients have received and encourage their patients to get vaccinated.

The COVID-19 vaccines are safe and effective and have been monitored for safety more than any other vaccine. There are multiple systems in place to look for any signals that could indicate an issue was caused by a COVID-19 vaccine. These vaccines can be administered with other vaccines, and there is a great opportunity for physicians to encourage patients to receive these life-saving vaccines.

While it may seem that the COVID-19 case counts are on the downslope, the importance of continuing to vaccinate is predicated on the very real concern that the disease is still circulating and the unvaccinated are still at risk for severe infection.

Dr. Goldman is immediate past governor of the Florida chapter of the American College of Physicians, a regent for the American College of Physicians, vice-president of the Florida Medical Association, and president of the Florida Medical Association Political Action Committee. You can reach Dr. Goldman at imnews@mdedge.com.

It would be overused and trite to say that the pandemic has drastically altered all of our lives and will cause lasting impact on how we function in society and medicine for years to come. While it seems that the current trend of the latest Omicron variant is on the downslope, the path to get to this point has been fraught with challenges that have struck at the very core of our society. As a primary care physician on the front lines seeing COVID patients, I have had to deal with not only the disease but the politics around it. As critical and life saving as the vaccines have been, many physicians have not been able to get access to these vaccines and give them to their patients. I am one of those physicians. I practice in Florida, and I still cannot give COVID vaccines in my office. 

I am a firm believer in the ability for physicians to be able to give all the necessary adult vaccines and provide them for their patients. The COVID vaccine exacerbated a majorly flawed system that further increased the health care disparities in the country. The current vaccine system for the majority of adult vaccines involves the physician’s being able to directly purchase supplies from the vaccine manufacturer, administer them to the patients, and be reimbursed.
 

Third parties can purchase vaccines at lower rates than those for physicians

The Affordable Care Act mandates that all vaccines approved by the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices (ACIP) at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention must be covered. This allows for better access to care as physicians will be able to purchase, store, and deliver vaccines to their patients. The fallacy in this system is that third parties get involved and rebates or incentives are given to these groups to purchase vaccines at a rate lower than those for physicians.

In addition, many organizations can get access to vaccines before physicians and at a lower cost. That system was flawed to begin with and created a deterrent for access to care and physician involvement in the vaccination process. This was worsened by different states being given the ability to decide how vaccines would be distributed for COVID.

Many pharmacies were able to give out COVID vaccines while many physician offices still have not received access to any of the vaccines. One of the major safety issues with this is that no physicians were involved in the administration of the vaccine, and it is unclear what training was given to the individuals injecting that vaccine. Finally, different places were interpreting the recommendations from ACIP on their own and not necessarily following the appropriate guidelines. All of these factors have further widened the health care disparity gap and made it difficult to provide the COVID vaccines in doctors’ offices.
 

Recommended next steps, solutions to problem

The question is what to do about this. The most important thing is to get the vaccines in arms so they can save lives. In addition, doctors need to be able to get the vaccines in their offices.

Many patients trust their physicians to advise them on what to do regarding health care. The majority of patients want to know if they should get the vaccine and ask for counseling. Physicians answering patients’ questions about vaccines is an important step in overcoming vaccine hesitancy.

Also, doctors need to be informed and supportive of the vaccine process.

The next step is the governmental aspect with those in power making sure that vaccines are accessible to all. Even if the vaccine cannot be given in the office, doctors should still be recommending that patients receive them. Plus, doctors should take every opportunity to ask about what vaccines their patients have received and encourage their patients to get vaccinated.

The COVID-19 vaccines are safe and effective and have been monitored for safety more than any other vaccine. There are multiple systems in place to look for any signals that could indicate an issue was caused by a COVID-19 vaccine. These vaccines can be administered with other vaccines, and there is a great opportunity for physicians to encourage patients to receive these life-saving vaccines.

While it may seem that the COVID-19 case counts are on the downslope, the importance of continuing to vaccinate is predicated on the very real concern that the disease is still circulating and the unvaccinated are still at risk for severe infection.

Dr. Goldman is immediate past governor of the Florida chapter of the American College of Physicians, a regent for the American College of Physicians, vice-president of the Florida Medical Association, and president of the Florida Medical Association Political Action Committee. You can reach Dr. Goldman at imnews@mdedge.com.

It would be overused and trite to say that the pandemic has drastically altered all of our lives and will cause lasting impact on how we function in society and medicine for years to come. While it seems that the current trend of the latest Omicron variant is on the downslope, the path to get to this point has been fraught with challenges that have struck at the very core of our society. As a primary care physician on the front lines seeing COVID patients, I have had to deal with not only the disease but the politics around it. As critical and life saving as the vaccines have been, many physicians have not been able to get access to these vaccines and give them to their patients. I am one of those physicians. I practice in Florida, and I still cannot give COVID vaccines in my office. 

I am a firm believer in the ability for physicians to be able to give all the necessary adult vaccines and provide them for their patients. The COVID vaccine exacerbated a majorly flawed system that further increased the health care disparities in the country. The current vaccine system for the majority of adult vaccines involves the physician’s being able to directly purchase supplies from the vaccine manufacturer, administer them to the patients, and be reimbursed.
 

Third parties can purchase vaccines at lower rates than those for physicians

The Affordable Care Act mandates that all vaccines approved by the Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices (ACIP) at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention must be covered. This allows for better access to care as physicians will be able to purchase, store, and deliver vaccines to their patients. The fallacy in this system is that third parties get involved and rebates or incentives are given to these groups to purchase vaccines at a rate lower than those for physicians.

In addition, many organizations can get access to vaccines before physicians and at a lower cost. That system was flawed to begin with and created a deterrent for access to care and physician involvement in the vaccination process. This was worsened by different states being given the ability to decide how vaccines would be distributed for COVID.

Many pharmacies were able to give out COVID vaccines while many physician offices still have not received access to any of the vaccines. One of the major safety issues with this is that no physicians were involved in the administration of the vaccine, and it is unclear what training was given to the individuals injecting that vaccine. Finally, different places were interpreting the recommendations from ACIP on their own and not necessarily following the appropriate guidelines. All of these factors have further widened the health care disparity gap and made it difficult to provide the COVID vaccines in doctors’ offices.
 

Recommended next steps, solutions to problem

The question is what to do about this. The most important thing is to get the vaccines in arms so they can save lives. In addition, doctors need to be able to get the vaccines in their offices.

Many patients trust their physicians to advise them on what to do regarding health care. The majority of patients want to know if they should get the vaccine and ask for counseling. Physicians answering patients’ questions about vaccines is an important step in overcoming vaccine hesitancy.

Also, doctors need to be informed and supportive of the vaccine process.

The next step is the governmental aspect with those in power making sure that vaccines are accessible to all. Even if the vaccine cannot be given in the office, doctors should still be recommending that patients receive them. Plus, doctors should take every opportunity to ask about what vaccines their patients have received and encourage their patients to get vaccinated.

The COVID-19 vaccines are safe and effective and have been monitored for safety more than any other vaccine. There are multiple systems in place to look for any signals that could indicate an issue was caused by a COVID-19 vaccine. These vaccines can be administered with other vaccines, and there is a great opportunity for physicians to encourage patients to receive these life-saving vaccines.

While it may seem that the COVID-19 case counts are on the downslope, the importance of continuing to vaccinate is predicated on the very real concern that the disease is still circulating and the unvaccinated are still at risk for severe infection.

Dr. Goldman is immediate past governor of the Florida chapter of the American College of Physicians, a regent for the American College of Physicians, vice-president of the Florida Medical Association, and president of the Florida Medical Association Political Action Committee. You can reach Dr. Goldman at imnews@mdedge.com.

While evaluating an adolescent who had endured a several-day history of vomiting and diarrhea, I mentioned the likelihood of a viral causation, including SARS-CoV-2 infection. His well-informed mother responded, “He has no respiratory symptoms. Does COVID cause GI disease?”

Indeed, not only is the gastrointestinal tract a potential portal of entry of the virus but it may well be the site of mediation of both local and remote injury and thus a harbinger of more severe clinical phenotypes.

As we learn more about the clinical spectrum of COVID, it is becoming increasingly clear that certain features of GI tract involvement may allow us to establish a timeline of the clinical course and perhaps predict the outcome.
 

The GI tract’s involvement isn’t surprising

The ways in which the GI tract serves as a target organ of SARS-CoV-2 have been postulated in the literature. In part, this is related to the presence of abundant receptors for SARS-CoV-2 cell binding and internalization. The virus uses angiotensin-converting enzyme 2 receptors to enter various cells. These receptors are highly expressed on not only lung cells but also enterocytes. Binding of SARS-CoV-2 to ACE2 receptors allows GI involvement, leading to microscopic mucosal inflammation, increased permeability, and altered intestinal absorption.

The clinical GI manifestations of this include anorexia, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, and abdominal pain, which may be the earliest, or sole, symptoms of COVID-19, often noted before the onset of fever or respiratory symptoms. In fact, John Ong, MBBS, and colleagues, in a discussion about patients with primary GI SARS-CoV-2 infection and symptoms, use the term “GI-COVID.”
 

Clinical course of GI manifestations

After SARS-CoV-2 exposure, adults most commonly present with respiratory symptoms, with GI symptoms reported in 10%-15% of cases. However, the overall incidence of GI involvement during SARS-CoV-2 infection varies according to age, with children more likely than adults to manifest intestinal symptoms.

There are also differences in incidence reported when comparing hospitalized with nonhospitalized individuals. In early reports from the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic, 11%-43% of hospitalized adult patients manifested GI symptoms. Of note, the presence of GI symptoms was associated with more severe disease and thus predictive of outcomes in those admitted to hospitals.

In a multicenter study that assessed pediatric inpatients with COVID-19, GI manifestations were present in 57% of patients and were the first manifestation in 14%. Adjusted by confounding factors, those with GI symptoms had a higher risk for pediatric intensive care unit admission. Patients admitted to the PICU also had higher serum C-reactive protein and aspartate aminotransferase values.
 

Emerging data on MIS-C

In previously healthy children and adolescents, the severe, life-threatening complication of multisystem inflammatory syndrome in children (MIS-C) may present 2-6 weeks after acute infection with SARS-CoV-2. MIS-C appears to be an immune activation syndrome and is presumed to be the delayed immunologic sequelae of mild/asymptomatic SARS-CoV-2 infection. This response manifests as hyperinflammation in conjunction with a peak in antibody production a few weeks later.

One report of 186 children with MIS-C in the United States noted that the involved organ system included the GI tract in 92%, followed by cardiovascular in 80%, hematologic in 76%, mucocutaneous in 74%, and respiratory in 70%. Affected children were hospitalized for a median of 7 days, with 80% requiring intensive care, 20% receiving mechanical ventilation, and 48% receiving vasoactive support; 2% died. In a similar study of patients hospitalized in New York, 88% had GI symptoms (abdominal pain, vomiting, and/or diarrhea). A retrospective chart review of patients with MIS-C found that the majority had GI symptoms with any portion of the GI tract potentially involved, but ileal and colonic inflammation predominated.

Elizabeth Whittaker, MD, and colleagues described the clinical characteristics of children in eight hospitals in England who met criteria for MIS-C that were temporally associated with SARS-CoV-2. At presentation, all of the patients manifested fever and nonspecific GI symptoms, including vomiting (45%), abdominal pain (53%), and diarrhea (52%). During hospitalization, 50% developed shock with evidence of myocardial dysfunction.

Ermias D. Belay, MD, and colleagues described the clinical characteristics of a large cohort of patients with MIS-C that were reported to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Of 1,733 patients identified, GI symptoms were reported in 53%-67%. Over half developed hypotension or shock and were admitted for intensive care. Younger children more frequently presented with abdominal pain in contrast with adolescents, who more frequently manifest respiratory symptoms.

In a multicenter retrospective study of Italian children with COVID-19 that was conducted from the onset of the pandemic to early 2021, GI symptoms were noted in 38%. These manifestations were mild and self-limiting, comparable to other viral intestinal infections. However, a subset of children (9.5%) had severe GI manifestations of MIS-C, defined as a medical and/or radiologic diagnosis of acute abdomen, appendicitis, intussusception, pancreatitis, abdominal fluid collection, or diffuse adenomesenteritis requiring surgical consultation. Overall, 42% of this group underwent surgery. The authors noted that the clinical presentation of abdominal pain, lymphopenia, and increased C-reactive protein and ferritin levels were associated with a 9- to 30-fold increased probability of these severe sequelae. In addition, the severity of the GI manifestations was correlated with age (5-10 years: overall response, 8.33; >10 years: OR, 6.37). Again, the presence of GI symptoms was a harbinger of hospitalization and PICU admission.

Given that GI symptoms are a common presentation of MIS-C, its diagnosis may be delayed as clinicians first consider other GI/viral infections, inflammatory bowel disease, or Kawasaki disease. Prompt identification of GI involvement and awareness of the potential outcomes may guide the management and improve the outcome.

These studies provide a clear picture of the differential presenting features of COVID-19 and MIS-C. Although there may be other environmental/genetic factors that govern the incidence, impact, and manifestations, COVID’s status as an ongoing pandemic gives these observations worldwide relevance. This is evident in a recent report documenting pronounced GI symptoms in African children with COVID-19.

It should be noted, however, that the published data cited here reflect the impact of the initial variants of SARS-CoV-2. The GI binding, effects, and aftermath of infection with the Delta and Omicron variants is not yet known.
 

Cause and effect, or simply coincidental?

Some insight into MIS-C pathogenesis was provided by Lael M. Yonker, MD, and colleagues in their analysis of biospecimens from 100 children: 19 with MIS-C, 26 with acute COVID-19, and 55 controls. They demonstrated that in children with MIS-C the prolonged presence of SARS-CoV-2 in the GI tract led to the release of zonulin, a biomarker of intestinal permeability, with subsequent trafficking of SARS-CoV-2 antigens into the bloodstream, leading to hyperinflammation. They were then able to decrease plasma SARS-CoV-2 spike antigen levels and inflammatory markers, with resulting clinical improvement after administration of larazotide, a zonulin antagonist.

These observations regarding the potential mechanism and triggers of MIS-C may offer biomarkers for early detection and/or strategies for prevention and treatment of MIS-C.
 

Bottom line

The GI tract is the target of an immune-mediated inflammatory response that is triggered by SARS-CoV-2, with MIS-C being the major manifestation of the resultant high degree of inflammation. These observations will allow an increased awareness of nonrespiratory symptoms of SARS-CoV-2 infection by clinicians working in emergency departments and primary care settings.

Clues that may enhance the ability of pediatric clinicians to recognize the potential for severe GI involvement include the occurrence of abdominal pain, leukopenia, and elevated inflammatory markers. Their presence should raise suspicion of MIS-C and lead to early evaluation.

Of note, COVID-19 mRNA vaccination is associated with a lower incidence of MIS-C in adolescents. This underscores the importance of COVID vaccination for all eligible children. Yet, we clearly have our work cut out for us. Of 107 children with MIS-C who were hospitalized in France, 31% were adolescents eligible for vaccination; however, none had been fully vaccinated. At the end of 2021, CDC data noted that less than 1% of vaccine-eligible children (12-17 years) were fully vaccinated.

The Pfizer-BioNTech vaccine is now authorized for receipt by children aged 5-11 years, the age group that is at highest risk for MIS-C. However, despite the approval of vaccines for these younger children, there is limited access in some parts of the United States at a time of rising incidence.

We look forward to broad availability of pediatric vaccination strategies. In addition, with the intense focus on safe and effective therapeutics for SARS-CoV-2 infection, we hope to soon have strategies to prevent and/or treat the life-threatening manifestations and long-term consequences of MIS-C. For example, the recently reported central role of the gut microbiota in immunity against SARS-CoV-2 infection offer the possibility that “microbiota modulation” may both reduce GI injury and enhance vaccine efficacy.

Dr. Balistreri has disclosed no relevant financial relationships.

William F. Balistreri, MD, is the Dorothy M.M. Kersten Professor of Pediatrics; director emeritus, Pediatric Liver Care Center; medical director emeritus, liver transplantation; and professor, University of Cincinnati College of Medicine, department of pediatrics, Cincinnati Children’s Hospital Medical Center. He has served as director of the division of gastroenterology, hepatology, and nutrition at Cincinnati Children’s for 25 years and frequently covers gastroenterology, liver, and nutrition-related topics for this news organization. Dr Balistreri is currently editor-in-chief of the Journal of Pediatrics, having previously served as editor-in-chief of several journals and textbooks. He also became the first pediatrician to act as president of the American Association for the Study of Liver Diseases. In his spare time, he coaches youth lacrosse.

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

While evaluating an adolescent who had endured a several-day history of vomiting and diarrhea, I mentioned the likelihood of a viral causation, including SARS-CoV-2 infection. His well-informed mother responded, “He has no respiratory symptoms. Does COVID cause GI disease?”

Indeed, not only is the gastrointestinal tract a potential portal of entry of the virus but it may well be the site of mediation of both local and remote injury and thus a harbinger of more severe clinical phenotypes.

As we learn more about the clinical spectrum of COVID, it is becoming increasingly clear that certain features of GI tract involvement may allow us to establish a timeline of the clinical course and perhaps predict the outcome.
 

The GI tract’s involvement isn’t surprising

The ways in which the GI tract serves as a target organ of SARS-CoV-2 have been postulated in the literature. In part, this is related to the presence of abundant receptors for SARS-CoV-2 cell binding and internalization. The virus uses angiotensin-converting enzyme 2 receptors to enter various cells. These receptors are highly expressed on not only lung cells but also enterocytes. Binding of SARS-CoV-2 to ACE2 receptors allows GI involvement, leading to microscopic mucosal inflammation, increased permeability, and altered intestinal absorption.

The clinical GI manifestations of this include anorexia, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, and abdominal pain, which may be the earliest, or sole, symptoms of COVID-19, often noted before the onset of fever or respiratory symptoms. In fact, John Ong, MBBS, and colleagues, in a discussion about patients with primary GI SARS-CoV-2 infection and symptoms, use the term “GI-COVID.”
 

Clinical course of GI manifestations

After SARS-CoV-2 exposure, adults most commonly present with respiratory symptoms, with GI symptoms reported in 10%-15% of cases. However, the overall incidence of GI involvement during SARS-CoV-2 infection varies according to age, with children more likely than adults to manifest intestinal symptoms.

There are also differences in incidence reported when comparing hospitalized with nonhospitalized individuals. In early reports from the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic, 11%-43% of hospitalized adult patients manifested GI symptoms. Of note, the presence of GI symptoms was associated with more severe disease and thus predictive of outcomes in those admitted to hospitals.

In a multicenter study that assessed pediatric inpatients with COVID-19, GI manifestations were present in 57% of patients and were the first manifestation in 14%. Adjusted by confounding factors, those with GI symptoms had a higher risk for pediatric intensive care unit admission. Patients admitted to the PICU also had higher serum C-reactive protein and aspartate aminotransferase values.
 

Emerging data on MIS-C

In previously healthy children and adolescents, the severe, life-threatening complication of multisystem inflammatory syndrome in children (MIS-C) may present 2-6 weeks after acute infection with SARS-CoV-2. MIS-C appears to be an immune activation syndrome and is presumed to be the delayed immunologic sequelae of mild/asymptomatic SARS-CoV-2 infection. This response manifests as hyperinflammation in conjunction with a peak in antibody production a few weeks later.

One report of 186 children with MIS-C in the United States noted that the involved organ system included the GI tract in 92%, followed by cardiovascular in 80%, hematologic in 76%, mucocutaneous in 74%, and respiratory in 70%. Affected children were hospitalized for a median of 7 days, with 80% requiring intensive care, 20% receiving mechanical ventilation, and 48% receiving vasoactive support; 2% died. In a similar study of patients hospitalized in New York, 88% had GI symptoms (abdominal pain, vomiting, and/or diarrhea). A retrospective chart review of patients with MIS-C found that the majority had GI symptoms with any portion of the GI tract potentially involved, but ileal and colonic inflammation predominated.

Elizabeth Whittaker, MD, and colleagues described the clinical characteristics of children in eight hospitals in England who met criteria for MIS-C that were temporally associated with SARS-CoV-2. At presentation, all of the patients manifested fever and nonspecific GI symptoms, including vomiting (45%), abdominal pain (53%), and diarrhea (52%). During hospitalization, 50% developed shock with evidence of myocardial dysfunction.

Ermias D. Belay, MD, and colleagues described the clinical characteristics of a large cohort of patients with MIS-C that were reported to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Of 1,733 patients identified, GI symptoms were reported in 53%-67%. Over half developed hypotension or shock and were admitted for intensive care. Younger children more frequently presented with abdominal pain in contrast with adolescents, who more frequently manifest respiratory symptoms.

In a multicenter retrospective study of Italian children with COVID-19 that was conducted from the onset of the pandemic to early 2021, GI symptoms were noted in 38%. These manifestations were mild and self-limiting, comparable to other viral intestinal infections. However, a subset of children (9.5%) had severe GI manifestations of MIS-C, defined as a medical and/or radiologic diagnosis of acute abdomen, appendicitis, intussusception, pancreatitis, abdominal fluid collection, or diffuse adenomesenteritis requiring surgical consultation. Overall, 42% of this group underwent surgery. The authors noted that the clinical presentation of abdominal pain, lymphopenia, and increased C-reactive protein and ferritin levels were associated with a 9- to 30-fold increased probability of these severe sequelae. In addition, the severity of the GI manifestations was correlated with age (5-10 years: overall response, 8.33; >10 years: OR, 6.37). Again, the presence of GI symptoms was a harbinger of hospitalization and PICU admission.

Given that GI symptoms are a common presentation of MIS-C, its diagnosis may be delayed as clinicians first consider other GI/viral infections, inflammatory bowel disease, or Kawasaki disease. Prompt identification of GI involvement and awareness of the potential outcomes may guide the management and improve the outcome.

These studies provide a clear picture of the differential presenting features of COVID-19 and MIS-C. Although there may be other environmental/genetic factors that govern the incidence, impact, and manifestations, COVID’s status as an ongoing pandemic gives these observations worldwide relevance. This is evident in a recent report documenting pronounced GI symptoms in African children with COVID-19.

It should be noted, however, that the published data cited here reflect the impact of the initial variants of SARS-CoV-2. The GI binding, effects, and aftermath of infection with the Delta and Omicron variants is not yet known.
 

Cause and effect, or simply coincidental?

Some insight into MIS-C pathogenesis was provided by Lael M. Yonker, MD, and colleagues in their analysis of biospecimens from 100 children: 19 with MIS-C, 26 with acute COVID-19, and 55 controls. They demonstrated that in children with MIS-C the prolonged presence of SARS-CoV-2 in the GI tract led to the release of zonulin, a biomarker of intestinal permeability, with subsequent trafficking of SARS-CoV-2 antigens into the bloodstream, leading to hyperinflammation. They were then able to decrease plasma SARS-CoV-2 spike antigen levels and inflammatory markers, with resulting clinical improvement after administration of larazotide, a zonulin antagonist.

These observations regarding the potential mechanism and triggers of MIS-C may offer biomarkers for early detection and/or strategies for prevention and treatment of MIS-C.
 

Bottom line

The GI tract is the target of an immune-mediated inflammatory response that is triggered by SARS-CoV-2, with MIS-C being the major manifestation of the resultant high degree of inflammation. These observations will allow an increased awareness of nonrespiratory symptoms of SARS-CoV-2 infection by clinicians working in emergency departments and primary care settings.

Clues that may enhance the ability of pediatric clinicians to recognize the potential for severe GI involvement include the occurrence of abdominal pain, leukopenia, and elevated inflammatory markers. Their presence should raise suspicion of MIS-C and lead to early evaluation.

Of note, COVID-19 mRNA vaccination is associated with a lower incidence of MIS-C in adolescents. This underscores the importance of COVID vaccination for all eligible children. Yet, we clearly have our work cut out for us. Of 107 children with MIS-C who were hospitalized in France, 31% were adolescents eligible for vaccination; however, none had been fully vaccinated. At the end of 2021, CDC data noted that less than 1% of vaccine-eligible children (12-17 years) were fully vaccinated.

The Pfizer-BioNTech vaccine is now authorized for receipt by children aged 5-11 years, the age group that is at highest risk for MIS-C. However, despite the approval of vaccines for these younger children, there is limited access in some parts of the United States at a time of rising incidence.

We look forward to broad availability of pediatric vaccination strategies. In addition, with the intense focus on safe and effective therapeutics for SARS-CoV-2 infection, we hope to soon have strategies to prevent and/or treat the life-threatening manifestations and long-term consequences of MIS-C. For example, the recently reported central role of the gut microbiota in immunity against SARS-CoV-2 infection offer the possibility that “microbiota modulation” may both reduce GI injury and enhance vaccine efficacy.

Dr. Balistreri has disclosed no relevant financial relationships.

William F. Balistreri, MD, is the Dorothy M.M. Kersten Professor of Pediatrics; director emeritus, Pediatric Liver Care Center; medical director emeritus, liver transplantation; and professor, University of Cincinnati College of Medicine, department of pediatrics, Cincinnati Children’s Hospital Medical Center. He has served as director of the division of gastroenterology, hepatology, and nutrition at Cincinnati Children’s for 25 years and frequently covers gastroenterology, liver, and nutrition-related topics for this news organization. Dr Balistreri is currently editor-in-chief of the Journal of Pediatrics, having previously served as editor-in-chief of several journals and textbooks. He also became the first pediatrician to act as president of the American Association for the Study of Liver Diseases. In his spare time, he coaches youth lacrosse.

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

While evaluating an adolescent who had endured a several-day history of vomiting and diarrhea, I mentioned the likelihood of a viral causation, including SARS-CoV-2 infection. His well-informed mother responded, “He has no respiratory symptoms. Does COVID cause GI disease?”

Indeed, not only is the gastrointestinal tract a potential portal of entry of the virus but it may well be the site of mediation of both local and remote injury and thus a harbinger of more severe clinical phenotypes.

As we learn more about the clinical spectrum of COVID, it is becoming increasingly clear that certain features of GI tract involvement may allow us to establish a timeline of the clinical course and perhaps predict the outcome.
 

The GI tract’s involvement isn’t surprising

The ways in which the GI tract serves as a target organ of SARS-CoV-2 have been postulated in the literature. In part, this is related to the presence of abundant receptors for SARS-CoV-2 cell binding and internalization. The virus uses angiotensin-converting enzyme 2 receptors to enter various cells. These receptors are highly expressed on not only lung cells but also enterocytes. Binding of SARS-CoV-2 to ACE2 receptors allows GI involvement, leading to microscopic mucosal inflammation, increased permeability, and altered intestinal absorption.

The clinical GI manifestations of this include anorexia, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, and abdominal pain, which may be the earliest, or sole, symptoms of COVID-19, often noted before the onset of fever or respiratory symptoms. In fact, John Ong, MBBS, and colleagues, in a discussion about patients with primary GI SARS-CoV-2 infection and symptoms, use the term “GI-COVID.”
 

Clinical course of GI manifestations

After SARS-CoV-2 exposure, adults most commonly present with respiratory symptoms, with GI symptoms reported in 10%-15% of cases. However, the overall incidence of GI involvement during SARS-CoV-2 infection varies according to age, with children more likely than adults to manifest intestinal symptoms.

There are also differences in incidence reported when comparing hospitalized with nonhospitalized individuals. In early reports from the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic, 11%-43% of hospitalized adult patients manifested GI symptoms. Of note, the presence of GI symptoms was associated with more severe disease and thus predictive of outcomes in those admitted to hospitals.

In a multicenter study that assessed pediatric inpatients with COVID-19, GI manifestations were present in 57% of patients and were the first manifestation in 14%. Adjusted by confounding factors, those with GI symptoms had a higher risk for pediatric intensive care unit admission. Patients admitted to the PICU also had higher serum C-reactive protein and aspartate aminotransferase values.
 

Emerging data on MIS-C

In previously healthy children and adolescents, the severe, life-threatening complication of multisystem inflammatory syndrome in children (MIS-C) may present 2-6 weeks after acute infection with SARS-CoV-2. MIS-C appears to be an immune activation syndrome and is presumed to be the delayed immunologic sequelae of mild/asymptomatic SARS-CoV-2 infection. This response manifests as hyperinflammation in conjunction with a peak in antibody production a few weeks later.

One report of 186 children with MIS-C in the United States noted that the involved organ system included the GI tract in 92%, followed by cardiovascular in 80%, hematologic in 76%, mucocutaneous in 74%, and respiratory in 70%. Affected children were hospitalized for a median of 7 days, with 80% requiring intensive care, 20% receiving mechanical ventilation, and 48% receiving vasoactive support; 2% died. In a similar study of patients hospitalized in New York, 88% had GI symptoms (abdominal pain, vomiting, and/or diarrhea). A retrospective chart review of patients with MIS-C found that the majority had GI symptoms with any portion of the GI tract potentially involved, but ileal and colonic inflammation predominated.

Elizabeth Whittaker, MD, and colleagues described the clinical characteristics of children in eight hospitals in England who met criteria for MIS-C that were temporally associated with SARS-CoV-2. At presentation, all of the patients manifested fever and nonspecific GI symptoms, including vomiting (45%), abdominal pain (53%), and diarrhea (52%). During hospitalization, 50% developed shock with evidence of myocardial dysfunction.

Ermias D. Belay, MD, and colleagues described the clinical characteristics of a large cohort of patients with MIS-C that were reported to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Of 1,733 patients identified, GI symptoms were reported in 53%-67%. Over half developed hypotension or shock and were admitted for intensive care. Younger children more frequently presented with abdominal pain in contrast with adolescents, who more frequently manifest respiratory symptoms.

In a multicenter retrospective study of Italian children with COVID-19 that was conducted from the onset of the pandemic to early 2021, GI symptoms were noted in 38%. These manifestations were mild and self-limiting, comparable to other viral intestinal infections. However, a subset of children (9.5%) had severe GI manifestations of MIS-C, defined as a medical and/or radiologic diagnosis of acute abdomen, appendicitis, intussusception, pancreatitis, abdominal fluid collection, or diffuse adenomesenteritis requiring surgical consultation. Overall, 42% of this group underwent surgery. The authors noted that the clinical presentation of abdominal pain, lymphopenia, and increased C-reactive protein and ferritin levels were associated with a 9- to 30-fold increased probability of these severe sequelae. In addition, the severity of the GI manifestations was correlated with age (5-10 years: overall response, 8.33; >10 years: OR, 6.37). Again, the presence of GI symptoms was a harbinger of hospitalization and PICU admission.

Given that GI symptoms are a common presentation of MIS-C, its diagnosis may be delayed as clinicians first consider other GI/viral infections, inflammatory bowel disease, or Kawasaki disease. Prompt identification of GI involvement and awareness of the potential outcomes may guide the management and improve the outcome.

These studies provide a clear picture of the differential presenting features of COVID-19 and MIS-C. Although there may be other environmental/genetic factors that govern the incidence, impact, and manifestations, COVID’s status as an ongoing pandemic gives these observations worldwide relevance. This is evident in a recent report documenting pronounced GI symptoms in African children with COVID-19.

It should be noted, however, that the published data cited here reflect the impact of the initial variants of SARS-CoV-2. The GI binding, effects, and aftermath of infection with the Delta and Omicron variants is not yet known.
 

Cause and effect, or simply coincidental?

Some insight into MIS-C pathogenesis was provided by Lael M. Yonker, MD, and colleagues in their analysis of biospecimens from 100 children: 19 with MIS-C, 26 with acute COVID-19, and 55 controls. They demonstrated that in children with MIS-C the prolonged presence of SARS-CoV-2 in the GI tract led to the release of zonulin, a biomarker of intestinal permeability, with subsequent trafficking of SARS-CoV-2 antigens into the bloodstream, leading to hyperinflammation. They were then able to decrease plasma SARS-CoV-2 spike antigen levels and inflammatory markers, with resulting clinical improvement after administration of larazotide, a zonulin antagonist.

These observations regarding the potential mechanism and triggers of MIS-C may offer biomarkers for early detection and/or strategies for prevention and treatment of MIS-C.
 

Bottom line

The GI tract is the target of an immune-mediated inflammatory response that is triggered by SARS-CoV-2, with MIS-C being the major manifestation of the resultant high degree of inflammation. These observations will allow an increased awareness of nonrespiratory symptoms of SARS-CoV-2 infection by clinicians working in emergency departments and primary care settings.

Clues that may enhance the ability of pediatric clinicians to recognize the potential for severe GI involvement include the occurrence of abdominal pain, leukopenia, and elevated inflammatory markers. Their presence should raise suspicion of MIS-C and lead to early evaluation.

Of note, COVID-19 mRNA vaccination is associated with a lower incidence of MIS-C in adolescents. This underscores the importance of COVID vaccination for all eligible children. Yet, we clearly have our work cut out for us. Of 107 children with MIS-C who were hospitalized in France, 31% were adolescents eligible for vaccination; however, none had been fully vaccinated. At the end of 2021, CDC data noted that less than 1% of vaccine-eligible children (12-17 years) were fully vaccinated.

The Pfizer-BioNTech vaccine is now authorized for receipt by children aged 5-11 years, the age group that is at highest risk for MIS-C. However, despite the approval of vaccines for these younger children, there is limited access in some parts of the United States at a time of rising incidence.

We look forward to broad availability of pediatric vaccination strategies. In addition, with the intense focus on safe and effective therapeutics for SARS-CoV-2 infection, we hope to soon have strategies to prevent and/or treat the life-threatening manifestations and long-term consequences of MIS-C. For example, the recently reported central role of the gut microbiota in immunity against SARS-CoV-2 infection offer the possibility that “microbiota modulation” may both reduce GI injury and enhance vaccine efficacy.

Dr. Balistreri has disclosed no relevant financial relationships.

William F. Balistreri, MD, is the Dorothy M.M. Kersten Professor of Pediatrics; director emeritus, Pediatric Liver Care Center; medical director emeritus, liver transplantation; and professor, University of Cincinnati College of Medicine, department of pediatrics, Cincinnati Children’s Hospital Medical Center. He has served as director of the division of gastroenterology, hepatology, and nutrition at Cincinnati Children’s for 25 years and frequently covers gastroenterology, liver, and nutrition-related topics for this news organization. Dr Balistreri is currently editor-in-chief of the Journal of Pediatrics, having previously served as editor-in-chief of several journals and textbooks. He also became the first pediatrician to act as president of the American Association for the Study of Liver Diseases. In his spare time, he coaches youth lacrosse.

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

On the first Friday in March, it has become an annual tradition to dress in blue to promote colorectal cancer awareness. Twitter feeds are filled with photos of members of our gastroenterology community (sometimes entire endoscopy units!) swathed in various shades of blue. This tradition was started in the mid-2000’s by a patient diagnosed with early-onset colorectal cancer who planned a fund raiser at her daughter’s elementary school where students were encouraged to wear a blue outfit and make a $1 donation to support awareness of this deadly but preventable cancer. What was once a local effort has now grown into a national phenomenon, and a powerful opportunity for the medical community to educate patients, friends, and family regarding risk factors for colorectal cancer and the importance of timely and effective screening. But while raising awareness is vital, it is only an initial step in the complex process of optimizing delivery of screening services and improving cancer outcomes through prevention and early detection.

In this month’s issue of GIHN, we report on a study from Cancer demonstrating the effectiveness of Spanish-speaking patient navigators in boosting colorectal cancer screening rates among Hispanic patients. We also highlight a quality improvement initiative at a large academic medical center demonstrating the impact of an electronic “primer” message delivered through the patient portal on screening completion rates in a mailed fecal immunochemical test outreach program. Finally, in this month’s Practice Management Toolbox column, Dr. Brill and Dr. Lieberman advise us on how to prepare for upcoming coverage changes impacting screening colonoscopy – a result of AGA’s tireless efforts to eliminate financial barriers impeding access to colorectal cancer screening.

As always, thank you for being a dedicated reader and please stay safe out there. Better days are ahead.

Megan A. Adams, MD, JD, MSc
Editor in Chief

On the first Friday in March, it has become an annual tradition to dress in blue to promote colorectal cancer awareness. Twitter feeds are filled with photos of members of our gastroenterology community (sometimes entire endoscopy units!) swathed in various shades of blue. This tradition was started in the mid-2000’s by a patient diagnosed with early-onset colorectal cancer who planned a fund raiser at her daughter’s elementary school where students were encouraged to wear a blue outfit and make a $1 donation to support awareness of this deadly but preventable cancer. What was once a local effort has now grown into a national phenomenon, and a powerful opportunity for the medical community to educate patients, friends, and family regarding risk factors for colorectal cancer and the importance of timely and effective screening. But while raising awareness is vital, it is only an initial step in the complex process of optimizing delivery of screening services and improving cancer outcomes through prevention and early detection.

In this month’s issue of GIHN, we report on a study from Cancer demonstrating the effectiveness of Spanish-speaking patient navigators in boosting colorectal cancer screening rates among Hispanic patients. We also highlight a quality improvement initiative at a large academic medical center demonstrating the impact of an electronic “primer” message delivered through the patient portal on screening completion rates in a mailed fecal immunochemical test outreach program. Finally, in this month’s Practice Management Toolbox column, Dr. Brill and Dr. Lieberman advise us on how to prepare for upcoming coverage changes impacting screening colonoscopy – a result of AGA’s tireless efforts to eliminate financial barriers impeding access to colorectal cancer screening.

As always, thank you for being a dedicated reader and please stay safe out there. Better days are ahead.

Megan A. Adams, MD, JD, MSc
Editor in Chief

On the first Friday in March, it has become an annual tradition to dress in blue to promote colorectal cancer awareness. Twitter feeds are filled with photos of members of our gastroenterology community (sometimes entire endoscopy units!) swathed in various shades of blue. This tradition was started in the mid-2000’s by a patient diagnosed with early-onset colorectal cancer who planned a fund raiser at her daughter’s elementary school where students were encouraged to wear a blue outfit and make a $1 donation to support awareness of this deadly but preventable cancer. What was once a local effort has now grown into a national phenomenon, and a powerful opportunity for the medical community to educate patients, friends, and family regarding risk factors for colorectal cancer and the importance of timely and effective screening. But while raising awareness is vital, it is only an initial step in the complex process of optimizing delivery of screening services and improving cancer outcomes through prevention and early detection.

In this month’s issue of GIHN, we report on a study from Cancer demonstrating the effectiveness of Spanish-speaking patient navigators in boosting colorectal cancer screening rates among Hispanic patients. We also highlight a quality improvement initiative at a large academic medical center demonstrating the impact of an electronic “primer” message delivered through the patient portal on screening completion rates in a mailed fecal immunochemical test outreach program. Finally, in this month’s Practice Management Toolbox column, Dr. Brill and Dr. Lieberman advise us on how to prepare for upcoming coverage changes impacting screening colonoscopy – a result of AGA’s tireless efforts to eliminate financial barriers impeding access to colorectal cancer screening.

As always, thank you for being a dedicated reader and please stay safe out there. Better days are ahead.

Megan A. Adams, MD, JD, MSc
Editor in Chief

When we refer to “regular table salt,” it is most commonly in the form of sodium chloride, which is also a major constituent of packaged and ultraprocessed foods.

The best approach to finding the “healthiest salt” – which really means the lowest in sodium – is to look for the amount on the label. “Sodium-free” usually indicates less than 5 mg of sodium per serving, and “low-sodium” usually means 140 mg or less per serving. In contrast, regular table salt can contain as much as 560 mg of sodium in one serving.

Other en vogue salts, such as pink Himalayan salt, sea salt, and kosher salt, are high in sodium content – like regular table salt – but because of their larger crystal size, less sodium is delivered per serving.

Georges Lievre / Fotolia.com

FDA issues guidance on reducing salt

Currently, the U.S. sodium dietary guidelines for persons older than 14 stipulate 2,300 mg/d, which is equivalent to 1 teaspoon a day. However it is estimated that the average person in the United States consumes more than this – around 3,400 mg of sodium daily.

In October 2021, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration published guidance on voluntary sodium limitations in commercially processed, packaged, and prepared food. The FDA’s short-term approach is to slowly reduce exposure to sodium in processed and restaurant food by 2025, on the basis that people will eventually get used to less salt, as has happened in the United Kingdom and other countries.

Such strategies to reduce salt intake are now being used in national programs in several countries. Many of these successful initiatives include active engagement with the food industry to reduce the amount of sodium added to processed food, as well as public awareness campaigns to alert consumers to the dangers of eating too much salt. This includes increasing potassium in manufactured foods, primarily to target hypertension and heart disease, as described by Clare Farrand, MSc, BSc, and colleagues, in the Journal of Clinical Hypertension. The authors also make several recommendations regarding salt reduction policies:

• Food manufacturers should gradually reduce sodium in food to the lowest possible levels and explore the use of potassium-based sodium replacers to reduce sodium levels even further.
• Governments should continue to monitor sodium and potassium levels in processed foods.
• Further consideration may need to be given to how best to label salt substitutes (namely potassium) in processed foods to ensure that people who may be adversely affected are aware.
• Governments should systematically monitor potassium intake at the population level, including for specific susceptible groups.
• Governments should continue to systematically monitor sodium (salt) intake and iodine intake at the population level to adjust salt iodization over time as necessary, depending on observed salt intake in specific targeted groups, to ensure that they have sufficient but not excessive iodine intakes as salt intakes are reduced.
• Governments should consider opportunities for promoting and subsidizing salt substitutes, particularly in countries where salt added during cooking or at the table is the major source of salt in the diet.

The new FDA document includes 163 subcategories of foods in its voluntary salt reduction strategy.
 

Salt substitutes, high blood pressure, and mortality

Lowering sodium intake is almost certainly beneficial for persons with high blood pressure. In 2020, a review in Hypertension highlighted the benefit of salt substitutes in reducing hypertension, reporting that they lower systolic blood pressure by 5.58 mm Hg and diastolic blood pressure by 2.88 mm Hg.

And changes to dietary sodium intake can potentially reduce or obviate the need for medications for essential hypertension in some individuals. Although there are only a few studies on this topic, a study by Bruce Neal, MB, ChB, PhD, and colleagues, revealed a reduction in stroke, cardiovascular events, and deaths with the use of potassium-based salt substitutes.
 

Salt substitutes and sodium and potassium handling in the kidneys

Many studies have shown that potassium-rich salt substitutes are safe in individuals with normal kidney function, but are they safe and beneficial for people with chronic kidney disease (CKD)?

For anyone who is on a renal diet, potassium and sodium intake goals are limited according to their absolute level of kidney function.

There have been case reports of life-threatening blood potassium levels (hyperkalemia) due to potassium-rich salt substitutes in people with CKD, but no larger published studies on this topic can be found.

A diet modeling study by Rebecca Morrison and colleagues evaluated varying degrees of potassium-enriched salt substituted bread products and their impact on dietary intake in persons with CKD. They used dietary data from the National Nutrition and Physical Activity Survey 2011-2012 in Australia for 12,152 participants, 154 of whom had CKD. Replacing the sodium in bread with varying amounts of potassium chloride (20%, 30%, and 40%) would result in one-third of people with CKD exceeding the safe limits for dietary potassium consumption (31.8%, 32.6%, and 33%, respectively), they found.

“Potassium chloride substitution in staple foods such as bread and bread products have serious and potentially fatal consequences for people who need to restrict dietary potassium. Improved food labelling is required for consumers to avoid excessive consumption,” Ms. Morrison and colleagues concluded. They added that more studies are needed to further understand the risks of potassium dietary intake and hyperkalemia in CKD from potassium-based salt substitutes.

The American Heart Association recommends no more than 1,500 mg of sodium intake daily for persons with CKD, diabetes, or high blood pressure; those older than 51; and African American persons of any age.

The recommended daily intake of potassium in persons with CKD can range from 2,000 mg to 4,000 mg, depending on the individual and their degree of CKD. The potassium content in some salt substitutes varies from 440 mg to 2,800 mg per teaspoon.

The best recommendation for individuals with CKD and a goal to reduce their sodium intake is to use herbs and lower-sodium seasonings as a substitute, but these should always be reviewed with their physician and renal nutritionist.

Dr. Brookins is a board-certified nephrologist and internist practicing in Georgia. She is the founder and owner of Remote Renal Care, a telehealth kidney practice. She reported no relevant conflicts of interest.

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

When we refer to “regular table salt,” it is most commonly in the form of sodium chloride, which is also a major constituent of packaged and ultraprocessed foods.

The best approach to finding the “healthiest salt” – which really means the lowest in sodium – is to look for the amount on the label. “Sodium-free” usually indicates less than 5 mg of sodium per serving, and “low-sodium” usually means 140 mg or less per serving. In contrast, regular table salt can contain as much as 560 mg of sodium in one serving.

Other en vogue salts, such as pink Himalayan salt, sea salt, and kosher salt, are high in sodium content – like regular table salt – but because of their larger crystal size, less sodium is delivered per serving.

Georges Lievre / Fotolia.com

FDA issues guidance on reducing salt

Currently, the U.S. sodium dietary guidelines for persons older than 14 stipulate 2,300 mg/d, which is equivalent to 1 teaspoon a day. However it is estimated that the average person in the United States consumes more than this – around 3,400 mg of sodium daily.

In October 2021, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration published guidance on voluntary sodium limitations in commercially processed, packaged, and prepared food. The FDA’s short-term approach is to slowly reduce exposure to sodium in processed and restaurant food by 2025, on the basis that people will eventually get used to less salt, as has happened in the United Kingdom and other countries.

Such strategies to reduce salt intake are now being used in national programs in several countries. Many of these successful initiatives include active engagement with the food industry to reduce the amount of sodium added to processed food, as well as public awareness campaigns to alert consumers to the dangers of eating too much salt. This includes increasing potassium in manufactured foods, primarily to target hypertension and heart disease, as described by Clare Farrand, MSc, BSc, and colleagues, in the Journal of Clinical Hypertension. The authors also make several recommendations regarding salt reduction policies:

• Food manufacturers should gradually reduce sodium in food to the lowest possible levels and explore the use of potassium-based sodium replacers to reduce sodium levels even further.
• Governments should continue to monitor sodium and potassium levels in processed foods.
• Further consideration may need to be given to how best to label salt substitutes (namely potassium) in processed foods to ensure that people who may be adversely affected are aware.
• Governments should systematically monitor potassium intake at the population level, including for specific susceptible groups.
• Governments should continue to systematically monitor sodium (salt) intake and iodine intake at the population level to adjust salt iodization over time as necessary, depending on observed salt intake in specific targeted groups, to ensure that they have sufficient but not excessive iodine intakes as salt intakes are reduced.
• Governments should consider opportunities for promoting and subsidizing salt substitutes, particularly in countries where salt added during cooking or at the table is the major source of salt in the diet.

The new FDA document includes 163 subcategories of foods in its voluntary salt reduction strategy.
 

Salt substitutes, high blood pressure, and mortality

Lowering sodium intake is almost certainly beneficial for persons with high blood pressure. In 2020, a review in Hypertension highlighted the benefit of salt substitutes in reducing hypertension, reporting that they lower systolic blood pressure by 5.58 mm Hg and diastolic blood pressure by 2.88 mm Hg.

And changes to dietary sodium intake can potentially reduce or obviate the need for medications for essential hypertension in some individuals. Although there are only a few studies on this topic, a study by Bruce Neal, MB, ChB, PhD, and colleagues, revealed a reduction in stroke, cardiovascular events, and deaths with the use of potassium-based salt substitutes.
 

Salt substitutes and sodium and potassium handling in the kidneys

Many studies have shown that potassium-rich salt substitutes are safe in individuals with normal kidney function, but are they safe and beneficial for people with chronic kidney disease (CKD)?

For anyone who is on a renal diet, potassium and sodium intake goals are limited according to their absolute level of kidney function.

There have been case reports of life-threatening blood potassium levels (hyperkalemia) due to potassium-rich salt substitutes in people with CKD, but no larger published studies on this topic can be found.

A diet modeling study by Rebecca Morrison and colleagues evaluated varying degrees of potassium-enriched salt substituted bread products and their impact on dietary intake in persons with CKD. They used dietary data from the National Nutrition and Physical Activity Survey 2011-2012 in Australia for 12,152 participants, 154 of whom had CKD. Replacing the sodium in bread with varying amounts of potassium chloride (20%, 30%, and 40%) would result in one-third of people with CKD exceeding the safe limits for dietary potassium consumption (31.8%, 32.6%, and 33%, respectively), they found.

“Potassium chloride substitution in staple foods such as bread and bread products have serious and potentially fatal consequences for people who need to restrict dietary potassium. Improved food labelling is required for consumers to avoid excessive consumption,” Ms. Morrison and colleagues concluded. They added that more studies are needed to further understand the risks of potassium dietary intake and hyperkalemia in CKD from potassium-based salt substitutes.

The American Heart Association recommends no more than 1,500 mg of sodium intake daily for persons with CKD, diabetes, or high blood pressure; those older than 51; and African American persons of any age.

The recommended daily intake of potassium in persons with CKD can range from 2,000 mg to 4,000 mg, depending on the individual and their degree of CKD. The potassium content in some salt substitutes varies from 440 mg to 2,800 mg per teaspoon.

The best recommendation for individuals with CKD and a goal to reduce their sodium intake is to use herbs and lower-sodium seasonings as a substitute, but these should always be reviewed with their physician and renal nutritionist.

Dr. Brookins is a board-certified nephrologist and internist practicing in Georgia. She is the founder and owner of Remote Renal Care, a telehealth kidney practice. She reported no relevant conflicts of interest.

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

When we refer to “regular table salt,” it is most commonly in the form of sodium chloride, which is also a major constituent of packaged and ultraprocessed foods.

The best approach to finding the “healthiest salt” – which really means the lowest in sodium – is to look for the amount on the label. “Sodium-free” usually indicates less than 5 mg of sodium per serving, and “low-sodium” usually means 140 mg or less per serving. In contrast, regular table salt can contain as much as 560 mg of sodium in one serving.

Other en vogue salts, such as pink Himalayan salt, sea salt, and kosher salt, are high in sodium content – like regular table salt – but because of their larger crystal size, less sodium is delivered per serving.

Georges Lievre / Fotolia.com

FDA issues guidance on reducing salt

Currently, the U.S. sodium dietary guidelines for persons older than 14 stipulate 2,300 mg/d, which is equivalent to 1 teaspoon a day. However it is estimated that the average person in the United States consumes more than this – around 3,400 mg of sodium daily.

In October 2021, the U.S. Food and Drug Administration published guidance on voluntary sodium limitations in commercially processed, packaged, and prepared food. The FDA’s short-term approach is to slowly reduce exposure to sodium in processed and restaurant food by 2025, on the basis that people will eventually get used to less salt, as has happened in the United Kingdom and other countries.

Such strategies to reduce salt intake are now being used in national programs in several countries. Many of these successful initiatives include active engagement with the food industry to reduce the amount of sodium added to processed food, as well as public awareness campaigns to alert consumers to the dangers of eating too much salt. This includes increasing potassium in manufactured foods, primarily to target hypertension and heart disease, as described by Clare Farrand, MSc, BSc, and colleagues, in the Journal of Clinical Hypertension. The authors also make several recommendations regarding salt reduction policies:

• Food manufacturers should gradually reduce sodium in food to the lowest possible levels and explore the use of potassium-based sodium replacers to reduce sodium levels even further.
• Governments should continue to monitor sodium and potassium levels in processed foods.
• Further consideration may need to be given to how best to label salt substitutes (namely potassium) in processed foods to ensure that people who may be adversely affected are aware.
• Governments should systematically monitor potassium intake at the population level, including for specific susceptible groups.
• Governments should continue to systematically monitor sodium (salt) intake and iodine intake at the population level to adjust salt iodization over time as necessary, depending on observed salt intake in specific targeted groups, to ensure that they have sufficient but not excessive iodine intakes as salt intakes are reduced.
• Governments should consider opportunities for promoting and subsidizing salt substitutes, particularly in countries where salt added during cooking or at the table is the major source of salt in the diet.

The new FDA document includes 163 subcategories of foods in its voluntary salt reduction strategy.
 

Salt substitutes, high blood pressure, and mortality

Lowering sodium intake is almost certainly beneficial for persons with high blood pressure. In 2020, a review in Hypertension highlighted the benefit of salt substitutes in reducing hypertension, reporting that they lower systolic blood pressure by 5.58 mm Hg and diastolic blood pressure by 2.88 mm Hg.

And changes to dietary sodium intake can potentially reduce or obviate the need for medications for essential hypertension in some individuals. Although there are only a few studies on this topic, a study by Bruce Neal, MB, ChB, PhD, and colleagues, revealed a reduction in stroke, cardiovascular events, and deaths with the use of potassium-based salt substitutes.
 

Salt substitutes and sodium and potassium handling in the kidneys

Many studies have shown that potassium-rich salt substitutes are safe in individuals with normal kidney function, but are they safe and beneficial for people with chronic kidney disease (CKD)?

For anyone who is on a renal diet, potassium and sodium intake goals are limited according to their absolute level of kidney function.

There have been case reports of life-threatening blood potassium levels (hyperkalemia) due to potassium-rich salt substitutes in people with CKD, but no larger published studies on this topic can be found.

A diet modeling study by Rebecca Morrison and colleagues evaluated varying degrees of potassium-enriched salt substituted bread products and their impact on dietary intake in persons with CKD. They used dietary data from the National Nutrition and Physical Activity Survey 2011-2012 in Australia for 12,152 participants, 154 of whom had CKD. Replacing the sodium in bread with varying amounts of potassium chloride (20%, 30%, and 40%) would result in one-third of people with CKD exceeding the safe limits for dietary potassium consumption (31.8%, 32.6%, and 33%, respectively), they found.

“Potassium chloride substitution in staple foods such as bread and bread products have serious and potentially fatal consequences for people who need to restrict dietary potassium. Improved food labelling is required for consumers to avoid excessive consumption,” Ms. Morrison and colleagues concluded. They added that more studies are needed to further understand the risks of potassium dietary intake and hyperkalemia in CKD from potassium-based salt substitutes.

The American Heart Association recommends no more than 1,500 mg of sodium intake daily for persons with CKD, diabetes, or high blood pressure; those older than 51; and African American persons of any age.

The recommended daily intake of potassium in persons with CKD can range from 2,000 mg to 4,000 mg, depending on the individual and their degree of CKD. The potassium content in some salt substitutes varies from 440 mg to 2,800 mg per teaspoon.

The best recommendation for individuals with CKD and a goal to reduce their sodium intake is to use herbs and lower-sodium seasonings as a substitute, but these should always be reviewed with their physician and renal nutritionist.

Dr. Brookins is a board-certified nephrologist and internist practicing in Georgia. She is the founder and owner of Remote Renal Care, a telehealth kidney practice. She reported no relevant conflicts of interest.

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

My wife and I had been married for 3 or 4 years when I became aware that a small cluster of my new in-laws had taken to referring to me as “Dr. I-don’t-know.” It wasn’t hard to figure out how I had earned this potentially derogatory moniker. As the only physician in the family it was not unusual for me to be peppered with medical questions. Most were unanswerable, at least by me. For example, “Will, how does aspirin work?” – which in the 1970s wasn’t something covered in medical school. Other questions were asked in a context that made it clear my answer was going to be so far removed from the preformed opinion of the questioner that Thanksgiving dinner didn’t feel like an appropriate occasion for my answer. “I don’t think I really know,” seemed to make the most sense.

In those early growing years of my outpatient general practice my in-laws weren’t the only people who must have thought of me as “Dr. I-don’t-know.” My training took place in well-thought-of teaching hospitals and during my senior residency and military tour I did enough moonlighting that by the time I entered private practice I had logged a lot of hours in the trenches. But, there were still a ton of things I didn’t know.

You probably remember how those first few years on the outside of the ivory towers felt with no one handy to ask. Even if there was someone a phone call away you didn’t want to appear as incompetent as you were by telling the patient or family that you needed to call the department head at your training program.

So, what did you do? You called. But you developed some clever language that could buy you time while you called your old mentor or hit the books. There was no Internet. Generally, that script would start with some version of “I don’t know, but ...”

As time passed and you gained more experience there were fewer questions and situations in which you needed to admit you were a few clues short of the answer. However, still, many times a day, you honestly didn’t know the answer. Hopefully, over time, you had perfected your delivery so that revealing your ignorance wasn’t driving patients away.

The art of saying “I don’t know” boils down to what you say after the “but” and how you say it. As long as you have offered a plan to find the answer and demonstrate that you are concerned about the patient, your ignorance will be tolerated and maybe even be appreciated.

“I don’t know the answer to that question, but let’s see if we can find a solution” could cover it. If finding that solution is going to require more time than the office visit allows – which it usually doesn’t – the promise of a timely response and a commitment to keep that promise is an absolute requirement. Repeated failure to keep promises is one of the quickest ways to sour a patient-doctor relationship and a potential practice killer.

I think my in-laws no longer refer to me as Dr. I-don’t-know. At least they have refrained from asking me any medical questions. But, my reputation as a physician unafraid to admit his ignorance continues here in town. Occasionally I encounter a parent of a former patient who fondly recalls my willingness to say “I don’t know.” If we had a family crest I would like it to include the motto “Ignoramus Sed Pertinet” (We don’t know but we care).
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

The headline on this article was updated on 2/28/22.

My wife and I had been married for 3 or 4 years when I became aware that a small cluster of my new in-laws had taken to referring to me as “Dr. I-don’t-know.” It wasn’t hard to figure out how I had earned this potentially derogatory moniker. As the only physician in the family it was not unusual for me to be peppered with medical questions. Most were unanswerable, at least by me. For example, “Will, how does aspirin work?” – which in the 1970s wasn’t something covered in medical school. Other questions were asked in a context that made it clear my answer was going to be so far removed from the preformed opinion of the questioner that Thanksgiving dinner didn’t feel like an appropriate occasion for my answer. “I don’t think I really know,” seemed to make the most sense.

In those early growing years of my outpatient general practice my in-laws weren’t the only people who must have thought of me as “Dr. I-don’t-know.” My training took place in well-thought-of teaching hospitals and during my senior residency and military tour I did enough moonlighting that by the time I entered private practice I had logged a lot of hours in the trenches. But, there were still a ton of things I didn’t know.

You probably remember how those first few years on the outside of the ivory towers felt with no one handy to ask. Even if there was someone a phone call away you didn’t want to appear as incompetent as you were by telling the patient or family that you needed to call the department head at your training program.

So, what did you do? You called. But you developed some clever language that could buy you time while you called your old mentor or hit the books. There was no Internet. Generally, that script would start with some version of “I don’t know, but ...”

As time passed and you gained more experience there were fewer questions and situations in which you needed to admit you were a few clues short of the answer. However, still, many times a day, you honestly didn’t know the answer. Hopefully, over time, you had perfected your delivery so that revealing your ignorance wasn’t driving patients away.

The art of saying “I don’t know” boils down to what you say after the “but” and how you say it. As long as you have offered a plan to find the answer and demonstrate that you are concerned about the patient, your ignorance will be tolerated and maybe even be appreciated.

“I don’t know the answer to that question, but let’s see if we can find a solution” could cover it. If finding that solution is going to require more time than the office visit allows – which it usually doesn’t – the promise of a timely response and a commitment to keep that promise is an absolute requirement. Repeated failure to keep promises is one of the quickest ways to sour a patient-doctor relationship and a potential practice killer.

I think my in-laws no longer refer to me as Dr. I-don’t-know. At least they have refrained from asking me any medical questions. But, my reputation as a physician unafraid to admit his ignorance continues here in town. Occasionally I encounter a parent of a former patient who fondly recalls my willingness to say “I don’t know.” If we had a family crest I would like it to include the motto “Ignoramus Sed Pertinet” (We don’t know but we care).
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

The headline on this article was updated on 2/28/22.

My wife and I had been married for 3 or 4 years when I became aware that a small cluster of my new in-laws had taken to referring to me as “Dr. I-don’t-know.” It wasn’t hard to figure out how I had earned this potentially derogatory moniker. As the only physician in the family it was not unusual for me to be peppered with medical questions. Most were unanswerable, at least by me. For example, “Will, how does aspirin work?” – which in the 1970s wasn’t something covered in medical school. Other questions were asked in a context that made it clear my answer was going to be so far removed from the preformed opinion of the questioner that Thanksgiving dinner didn’t feel like an appropriate occasion for my answer. “I don’t think I really know,” seemed to make the most sense.

In those early growing years of my outpatient general practice my in-laws weren’t the only people who must have thought of me as “Dr. I-don’t-know.” My training took place in well-thought-of teaching hospitals and during my senior residency and military tour I did enough moonlighting that by the time I entered private practice I had logged a lot of hours in the trenches. But, there were still a ton of things I didn’t know.

You probably remember how those first few years on the outside of the ivory towers felt with no one handy to ask. Even if there was someone a phone call away you didn’t want to appear as incompetent as you were by telling the patient or family that you needed to call the department head at your training program.

So, what did you do? You called. But you developed some clever language that could buy you time while you called your old mentor or hit the books. There was no Internet. Generally, that script would start with some version of “I don’t know, but ...”

As time passed and you gained more experience there were fewer questions and situations in which you needed to admit you were a few clues short of the answer. However, still, many times a day, you honestly didn’t know the answer. Hopefully, over time, you had perfected your delivery so that revealing your ignorance wasn’t driving patients away.

The art of saying “I don’t know” boils down to what you say after the “but” and how you say it. As long as you have offered a plan to find the answer and demonstrate that you are concerned about the patient, your ignorance will be tolerated and maybe even be appreciated.

“I don’t know the answer to that question, but let’s see if we can find a solution” could cover it. If finding that solution is going to require more time than the office visit allows – which it usually doesn’t – the promise of a timely response and a commitment to keep that promise is an absolute requirement. Repeated failure to keep promises is one of the quickest ways to sour a patient-doctor relationship and a potential practice killer.

I think my in-laws no longer refer to me as Dr. I-don’t-know. At least they have refrained from asking me any medical questions. But, my reputation as a physician unafraid to admit his ignorance continues here in town. Occasionally I encounter a parent of a former patient who fondly recalls my willingness to say “I don’t know.” If we had a family crest I would like it to include the motto “Ignoramus Sed Pertinet” (We don’t know but we care).
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Other than a Littman stethoscope he accepted as a first-year medical student in 1966, Dr. Wilkoff reports having nothing to disclose. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

The headline on this article was updated on 2/28/22.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the last one:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the last one:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the last one:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have you experienced malpractice?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have you experienced malpractice?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have you experienced malpractice?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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