Commentary

Oh sure, you can treat hand dermatitis by phone. But you might miss something. I almost did.

It’s a mad, mad, mad world. In California, we seem bent on swelling our curve. We’d just begun bringing our patients back into the office. We felt safe, back to business. Then air raid sirens again. Retreat to the Underground. Minimize waiting room waiting, convert to telephone and video. Do what we can to protect our patients and people.

As doctors, we’ve gotten proficient at being triage nurses, examining each appointment request, and sorting who should be seen in person and who could be cared for virtually. We do it for every clinic now.

My 11 a.m. patient last Thursday was an 83-year-old Filipino man with at least a 13-year history of hand dermatitis (based on his long electronic medical record). He had plenty of betamethasone refills. There were even photos of his large, brown hands in his chart. Grandpa hands, calloused by tending his garden and scarred from fixing bikes, building sheds, and doing oil changes for any nephew or niece who asked. The most recent uploads showed a bit of fingertip fissuring, some lichenified plaques. Not much different than they looked after planting persimmon trees a decade ago. I called him early that morning to offer a phone appointment. Perhaps I could save him from venturing out.

“I see that you have an appointment with me in a few hours. If you’d like, I might be able to help you by phone instead.” “Oh, thank you, doc,” he replied. “It’s so kind of you to call. But doc, I think maybe it is better if I come in to see you.” “Are you sure?” “Oh, yes. I will be careful.”

He checked in at 10:45. When I walked into the room he was wearing a face mask and a face shield – good job! He also had a cane and U.S. Navy Destroyer hat. And on the bottom left of his plastic shield was a sticker decal of a U.S. Navy Chief Petty Officer, dress blue insignia. His hands looked just like the photos: no purpura, plenty of lentigines. Fissures, calluses, lichenified plaques. I touched them. In the unaffected areas, his skin was remarkably soft. What stories these hands told. “I was 20 years in the Navy, doc,” he said. “I would have stayed longer but my wife, who’s younger, wanted me back home.” He talked about his nine grandchildren, some of whom went on to join the navy too – but as officers, he noted with pride. Now he spends his days caring for his wife; she has dementia. He can’t stay long because she’s in the waiting room and is likely to get confused if alone for too long.

We quickly reviewed good hand care. I ordered clobetasol ointment. He was pleased; that seemed to work years ago and he was glad to have it again.

So, why did he need to come in? Clearly I could have done this remotely. “Thank you so much for seeing me, doc,” as he stood to walk out. “Proper inspections have to be done in person, right?” Yes, I thought. Otherwise, you might miss something.

Dr. Benabio is director of Healthcare Transformation and chief of dermatology at Kaiser Permanente San Diego. The opinions expressed in this column are his own and do not represent those of Kaiser Permanente. Dr. Benabio is @Dermdoc on Twitter. Write to him at dermnews@mdedge.com.

Oh sure, you can treat hand dermatitis by phone. But you might miss something. I almost did.

It’s a mad, mad, mad world. In California, we seem bent on swelling our curve. We’d just begun bringing our patients back into the office. We felt safe, back to business. Then air raid sirens again. Retreat to the Underground. Minimize waiting room waiting, convert to telephone and video. Do what we can to protect our patients and people.

As doctors, we’ve gotten proficient at being triage nurses, examining each appointment request, and sorting who should be seen in person and who could be cared for virtually. We do it for every clinic now.

My 11 a.m. patient last Thursday was an 83-year-old Filipino man with at least a 13-year history of hand dermatitis (based on his long electronic medical record). He had plenty of betamethasone refills. There were even photos of his large, brown hands in his chart. Grandpa hands, calloused by tending his garden and scarred from fixing bikes, building sheds, and doing oil changes for any nephew or niece who asked. The most recent uploads showed a bit of fingertip fissuring, some lichenified plaques. Not much different than they looked after planting persimmon trees a decade ago. I called him early that morning to offer a phone appointment. Perhaps I could save him from venturing out.

“I see that you have an appointment with me in a few hours. If you’d like, I might be able to help you by phone instead.” “Oh, thank you, doc,” he replied. “It’s so kind of you to call. But doc, I think maybe it is better if I come in to see you.” “Are you sure?” “Oh, yes. I will be careful.”

He checked in at 10:45. When I walked into the room he was wearing a face mask and a face shield – good job! He also had a cane and U.S. Navy Destroyer hat. And on the bottom left of his plastic shield was a sticker decal of a U.S. Navy Chief Petty Officer, dress blue insignia. His hands looked just like the photos: no purpura, plenty of lentigines. Fissures, calluses, lichenified plaques. I touched them. In the unaffected areas, his skin was remarkably soft. What stories these hands told. “I was 20 years in the Navy, doc,” he said. “I would have stayed longer but my wife, who’s younger, wanted me back home.” He talked about his nine grandchildren, some of whom went on to join the navy too – but as officers, he noted with pride. Now he spends his days caring for his wife; she has dementia. He can’t stay long because she’s in the waiting room and is likely to get confused if alone for too long.

We quickly reviewed good hand care. I ordered clobetasol ointment. He was pleased; that seemed to work years ago and he was glad to have it again.

So, why did he need to come in? Clearly I could have done this remotely. “Thank you so much for seeing me, doc,” as he stood to walk out. “Proper inspections have to be done in person, right?” Yes, I thought. Otherwise, you might miss something.

Dr. Benabio is director of Healthcare Transformation and chief of dermatology at Kaiser Permanente San Diego. The opinions expressed in this column are his own and do not represent those of Kaiser Permanente. Dr. Benabio is @Dermdoc on Twitter. Write to him at dermnews@mdedge.com.

Oh sure, you can treat hand dermatitis by phone. But you might miss something. I almost did.

It’s a mad, mad, mad world. In California, we seem bent on swelling our curve. We’d just begun bringing our patients back into the office. We felt safe, back to business. Then air raid sirens again. Retreat to the Underground. Minimize waiting room waiting, convert to telephone and video. Do what we can to protect our patients and people.

As doctors, we’ve gotten proficient at being triage nurses, examining each appointment request, and sorting who should be seen in person and who could be cared for virtually. We do it for every clinic now.

My 11 a.m. patient last Thursday was an 83-year-old Filipino man with at least a 13-year history of hand dermatitis (based on his long electronic medical record). He had plenty of betamethasone refills. There were even photos of his large, brown hands in his chart. Grandpa hands, calloused by tending his garden and scarred from fixing bikes, building sheds, and doing oil changes for any nephew or niece who asked. The most recent uploads showed a bit of fingertip fissuring, some lichenified plaques. Not much different than they looked after planting persimmon trees a decade ago. I called him early that morning to offer a phone appointment. Perhaps I could save him from venturing out.

“I see that you have an appointment with me in a few hours. If you’d like, I might be able to help you by phone instead.” “Oh, thank you, doc,” he replied. “It’s so kind of you to call. But doc, I think maybe it is better if I come in to see you.” “Are you sure?” “Oh, yes. I will be careful.”

He checked in at 10:45. When I walked into the room he was wearing a face mask and a face shield – good job! He also had a cane and U.S. Navy Destroyer hat. And on the bottom left of his plastic shield was a sticker decal of a U.S. Navy Chief Petty Officer, dress blue insignia. His hands looked just like the photos: no purpura, plenty of lentigines. Fissures, calluses, lichenified plaques. I touched them. In the unaffected areas, his skin was remarkably soft. What stories these hands told. “I was 20 years in the Navy, doc,” he said. “I would have stayed longer but my wife, who’s younger, wanted me back home.” He talked about his nine grandchildren, some of whom went on to join the navy too – but as officers, he noted with pride. Now he spends his days caring for his wife; she has dementia. He can’t stay long because she’s in the waiting room and is likely to get confused if alone for too long.

We quickly reviewed good hand care. I ordered clobetasol ointment. He was pleased; that seemed to work years ago and he was glad to have it again.

So, why did he need to come in? Clearly I could have done this remotely. “Thank you so much for seeing me, doc,” as he stood to walk out. “Proper inspections have to be done in person, right?” Yes, I thought. Otherwise, you might miss something.

Dr. Benabio is director of Healthcare Transformation and chief of dermatology at Kaiser Permanente San Diego. The opinions expressed in this column are his own and do not represent those of Kaiser Permanente. Dr. Benabio is @Dermdoc on Twitter. Write to him at dermnews@mdedge.com.

One of the more alarming trends that has emerged during the coronavirus crisis is the concomitant rise in the use of benzodiazepines, such as Xanax. It has been reported that at-risk individuals began seeking prescription anxiolytics as early as mid-February with a consequent peak of 34% the following month, coinciding with the World Health Organization’s declaration of a global pandemic.¹

Consistent with the available literature indicating that women are twice as likely to be affected by anxiety disorders, the prescription spikes were almost double when compared with those of their male counterparts.² The pandemic has instilled a sense of fear in people, leading to social repercussions, such as estrangement, insomnia, and paranoia for at-risk populations.^3,4

“Benzos” are commonly prescribed to help people sleep or to assist them in overcoming a host of anxiety disorders. The rapid onset of effects make Xanax a desirable and efficacious benzodiazepine.⁵ The use of these medications might not be an immediate cause for concern because patients might be taking it as intended. Nevertheless, clinicians are shying away from medical management in favor of counseling or therapy.
 

Dangerous trends

We are concerned that renewed interest in Xanax, coupled with physician reluctance to prescribe antianxiety medications, might trigger the return of an illicit drug boom. Numerous factors might contribute to this grim scenario, including patient dependence on benzodiazepines, paranoia about engaging with health care professionals because of fear tied to potential COVID-19 exposure, and/or increased access to illicit counterfeit pills from drug dealers or the dark web markets.

Lessons can be gleaned from the most extensive dark web drug busts in Britain’s history, in which a deluge of “pharmaceutical grade” Xanax pills made it to the hands of drug dealers and consumers between 2015 and 2017.⁶ A similar phenomenon emerged stateside.⁷ Virtually indistinguishable from recognized 2-mg Xanax pills, these fake pills posed a serious challenge to forensic scientists.⁸ The threat of overdose is very real for users targeted by the counterfeit Xanax trade, especially since those at risk often bypass professional health care guidelines.

In broad daylight, the drug dealers ran their operations revolving around two fake Xanax products: a primary knockoff and a limited edition – and vastly more potent “Red Devil” variant that was intentionally dyed for branding purposes. Because the “Red Devil” formulations contained 2.5 times the dose of the 2-mg pill, it had even more pronounced tolerance, dependence, and withdrawal effects (for example, panic attacks, anxiety, and/or hallucinations) – fatal consequences for users involved in consuming other drugs, such as alcohol or opioids. Preexisting drug users tend to gravitate toward benzodiazepines, such as alprazolam (Xanax), perhaps in part, because of its relatively rapid onset of action. Xanax also is known for inducing proeuphoric states at higher doses, hence the appeal of the “Red Devil” pills.

Benzodiazepines, as a class of drugs, facilitate the neurotransmitter gamma-aminobutryric acid’s (GABA) effect on the brain, producing anxiolytic, hypnotic, and/or anticonvulsant states within the user.⁹ Unbeknownst to numerous users is the fact that drugs such as alcohol and opioids, like Xanax, also serve as respiratory depressants, overriding the brain’s governance of the breathing mechanism. This, in turn, leads to unintended overdose deaths, even among seasoned drug seekers.

Overdose deaths have been steadily climbing over the years because it is common for some users to consume alcohol while being on Xanax therapy – without realizing that both substances are depressants and that taking them together can lead to side effects such as respiratory depression.

Forensic cases also have revealed that preexisting opioid consumers were drawn to Xanax; the drug’s potent mechanism of action would likely appeal to habituated users. A typical behavioral pattern has emerged among users and must be addressed. According to Australian Professor Shane Darke: “So they take their Xanax, they take their painkiller, then they get drunk, that could be enough to kill them.”

Fatalities are more likely when benzodiazepines are combined with other drug classes or if the existing supply is contaminated or laced (for example, with fentanyl).⁸

As far as deaths by accidental benzodiazepine overdose are concerned, a similar epidemic has been recorded in the United States. In 2013, almost one-third of all prescription overdose deaths can be attributed to the use of benzodiazepines (for example, Xanax, Valium, and Ativan). However, media attention has been considerably muted, especially when compared with that of narcotic abuse. This is even more puzzling when taking into account that three-quarters of benzodiazepine mortalities co-occur within the context of narcotic consumption. Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration data confirm the ubiquitous nature of benzodiazepine (such as alprazolam) coprescriptions, accounting for roughly half of the 176,000 emergency department cases for 2011. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention noted that there was a 67% increase in benzodiazepine prescriptions between 1996 and 2013, which warranted more stringent regulations for this particular class of drugs.

In 2016, the CDC issued new guidelines for opioid use acknowledging the danger of benzodiazepine coprescriptions. Food and Drug Administration “black box” warnings now grace the prescriptions of both of these drug classes.¹⁰ This trend remains on an upward trajectory, even more so during the pandemic, as there are 9.7 million prescriptions of anxiolytics/hypnotics such as Xanax, Ativan, and Klonopin in the United States as of March 2020, which represents a 10% increase over the previous year. The evolving landscape of this “new normal” may necessitate frequent patient updates and feedback via telepsychiatry, as well as the implementation of urine drug screening monitoring for drug adherence/compliance and diversion in those with suspected benzodiazepine addiction or a history of polysubstance abuse.^11,12

Clinical correlates

For patients who present acutely with Xanax toxicity in the emergency room setting, we will need to initially stabilize the vital signs and address the ongoing symptoms. It is advisable to arrange health care accommodations for patients with physical dependence to monitor and treat their withdrawal symptoms. The patient should be enrolled in a comprehensive addiction facility after undergoing formal detoxification; a tapered treatment protocol will need to be implemented because quitting “cold turkey” can lead to convulsions and, in some cases, death. Patient education, talk therapy, and alternatives to benzodiazepines should be discussed with the clinician.^13,145

However, to truly address the elephant in the room, we will need to consider institutional reforms to prevent a similar situation from arising in the future. Primary care physician shortages are compounded by changes in insurance policies. Nurses and physician assistants will need to be trained to manage benzodiazepine prescriptions. If there are community shortages in physicians, patients might turn to illegal means to secure their benzodiazepine supply, and it is imperative that we have the necessary fellowship and education programs to educate nonphysician health care clinicians with benzodiazepine management. Because physicians were prescribing benzodiazepines liberally, the Prescription Drug Monitoring Programs (PDMP) was enacted to monitor physician practices. Unfortunately, this ultimately intimidated physicians and effectively curbed reasonable physician prescribing patterns. It might be necessary to revisit existing prescription monitoring programs, encourage drug evaluations and guidelines based on evidence-based medicine and embrace telemedicine in order to facilitate patient-physician communication.

As of now, it is too early to prescribe Xanax routinely for ongoing anxiety experienced during the coronavirus crisis, and several physicians are cautious about prescribing antianxiety medications for more than a few months.¹⁷ Surprisingly, researchers in Barcelona have even explored the role of Xanax as potentially inhibiting Mpro, the primary protease of coronavirus, thereby forestalling the virus’s ability to replicate.¹⁶ However, it is worth noting that, given the preliminary nature of the results, any attempts at conclusively integrating Xanax within the context of coronavirus therapy would be premature.
 

References

1. Luhby T. Anti-anxiety medication prescriptions up 34% since coronavirus. CNN. 2020 Apr 16.

2. Women and Anxiety. Anxiety and Depression Association of America.

3. Shigemura J et al. Psychiatry Clin Neurosci. 2012 Apr 7;74(4):281-2.

4. Petersen A. More people are taking drugs for anxiety and insomnia, and doctors are worried. The Wall Street Journal. 2020 May 25.

5. Downey M. Xanax overdose and related deaths. National Drug & Alcohol Research Centre. UNSW Sydney.

6. Bryant B. Fake Xanax: The UK’s biggest ever dark net drugs bust. BBC. 2018 Mar 10.

7. Reinberg S. Fatal overdoses rising from sedatives like Valium, Xanax. HealthDay. 2016 Feb.

8. Is counterfeit Xanax dangerous? American Addiction Centers. Updated 2018 Nov 14.

9. McLaren E. Xanax history and statistics. Drugabuse.com.

10. Benzodiazepines and opioids. National Institute on Drug Abuse. 2018 Mar 15.

11. Choudhry Z et al. J Psychiatry. 2015;18(5). doi: 10.4172/2378-5756.1000319.

12. Islam FA et al. Current Psychiatry. 2018 Dec 17(12):43-4.

13. Adams M. Xanax death rate on the rise. White Sands Treatment. 2017 Sept.NEED LINK

14. Storrs C. Benzodiazepine overdose deaths soared in recent years, study finds. CNN. 2016 Feb. 18.

15. Hanscom DA. Plan A – Thrive and survive COVID-19. Back in Control. 2020.

16. Smith C. Xanax, a common anxiety medication, might actually block coronavirus. BGR. 2020 May 29.

Dr. Islam is a medical adviser for the International Maternal and Child Health Foundation (IMCHF), Montreal, and is based in New York. He also is a postdoctoral fellow, psychopharmacologist, and a board-certified medical affairs specialist. Dr. Islam disclosed no relevant financial relationships.

Mr. Choudhry is a research assistant at the IMCHF. He has no disclosures.

Dr. Choudhry is the chief scientific officer and head of the department of mental health and clinical research at the IMCHF and is Mr. Choudhry’s father. He has no disclosures.

One of the more alarming trends that has emerged during the coronavirus crisis is the concomitant rise in the use of benzodiazepines, such as Xanax. It has been reported that at-risk individuals began seeking prescription anxiolytics as early as mid-February with a consequent peak of 34% the following month, coinciding with the World Health Organization’s declaration of a global pandemic.¹

Consistent with the available literature indicating that women are twice as likely to be affected by anxiety disorders, the prescription spikes were almost double when compared with those of their male counterparts.² The pandemic has instilled a sense of fear in people, leading to social repercussions, such as estrangement, insomnia, and paranoia for at-risk populations.^3,4

“Benzos” are commonly prescribed to help people sleep or to assist them in overcoming a host of anxiety disorders. The rapid onset of effects make Xanax a desirable and efficacious benzodiazepine.⁵ The use of these medications might not be an immediate cause for concern because patients might be taking it as intended. Nevertheless, clinicians are shying away from medical management in favor of counseling or therapy.
 

Dangerous trends

We are concerned that renewed interest in Xanax, coupled with physician reluctance to prescribe antianxiety medications, might trigger the return of an illicit drug boom. Numerous factors might contribute to this grim scenario, including patient dependence on benzodiazepines, paranoia about engaging with health care professionals because of fear tied to potential COVID-19 exposure, and/or increased access to illicit counterfeit pills from drug dealers or the dark web markets.

Lessons can be gleaned from the most extensive dark web drug busts in Britain’s history, in which a deluge of “pharmaceutical grade” Xanax pills made it to the hands of drug dealers and consumers between 2015 and 2017.⁶ A similar phenomenon emerged stateside.⁷ Virtually indistinguishable from recognized 2-mg Xanax pills, these fake pills posed a serious challenge to forensic scientists.⁸ The threat of overdose is very real for users targeted by the counterfeit Xanax trade, especially since those at risk often bypass professional health care guidelines.

In broad daylight, the drug dealers ran their operations revolving around two fake Xanax products: a primary knockoff and a limited edition – and vastly more potent “Red Devil” variant that was intentionally dyed for branding purposes. Because the “Red Devil” formulations contained 2.5 times the dose of the 2-mg pill, it had even more pronounced tolerance, dependence, and withdrawal effects (for example, panic attacks, anxiety, and/or hallucinations) – fatal consequences for users involved in consuming other drugs, such as alcohol or opioids. Preexisting drug users tend to gravitate toward benzodiazepines, such as alprazolam (Xanax), perhaps in part, because of its relatively rapid onset of action. Xanax also is known for inducing proeuphoric states at higher doses, hence the appeal of the “Red Devil” pills.

Benzodiazepines, as a class of drugs, facilitate the neurotransmitter gamma-aminobutryric acid’s (GABA) effect on the brain, producing anxiolytic, hypnotic, and/or anticonvulsant states within the user.⁹ Unbeknownst to numerous users is the fact that drugs such as alcohol and opioids, like Xanax, also serve as respiratory depressants, overriding the brain’s governance of the breathing mechanism. This, in turn, leads to unintended overdose deaths, even among seasoned drug seekers.

Overdose deaths have been steadily climbing over the years because it is common for some users to consume alcohol while being on Xanax therapy – without realizing that both substances are depressants and that taking them together can lead to side effects such as respiratory depression.

Forensic cases also have revealed that preexisting opioid consumers were drawn to Xanax; the drug’s potent mechanism of action would likely appeal to habituated users. A typical behavioral pattern has emerged among users and must be addressed. According to Australian Professor Shane Darke: “So they take their Xanax, they take their painkiller, then they get drunk, that could be enough to kill them.”

Fatalities are more likely when benzodiazepines are combined with other drug classes or if the existing supply is contaminated or laced (for example, with fentanyl).⁸

As far as deaths by accidental benzodiazepine overdose are concerned, a similar epidemic has been recorded in the United States. In 2013, almost one-third of all prescription overdose deaths can be attributed to the use of benzodiazepines (for example, Xanax, Valium, and Ativan). However, media attention has been considerably muted, especially when compared with that of narcotic abuse. This is even more puzzling when taking into account that three-quarters of benzodiazepine mortalities co-occur within the context of narcotic consumption. Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration data confirm the ubiquitous nature of benzodiazepine (such as alprazolam) coprescriptions, accounting for roughly half of the 176,000 emergency department cases for 2011. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention noted that there was a 67% increase in benzodiazepine prescriptions between 1996 and 2013, which warranted more stringent regulations for this particular class of drugs.

In 2016, the CDC issued new guidelines for opioid use acknowledging the danger of benzodiazepine coprescriptions. Food and Drug Administration “black box” warnings now grace the prescriptions of both of these drug classes.¹⁰ This trend remains on an upward trajectory, even more so during the pandemic, as there are 9.7 million prescriptions of anxiolytics/hypnotics such as Xanax, Ativan, and Klonopin in the United States as of March 2020, which represents a 10% increase over the previous year. The evolving landscape of this “new normal” may necessitate frequent patient updates and feedback via telepsychiatry, as well as the implementation of urine drug screening monitoring for drug adherence/compliance and diversion in those with suspected benzodiazepine addiction or a history of polysubstance abuse.^11,12

Clinical correlates

For patients who present acutely with Xanax toxicity in the emergency room setting, we will need to initially stabilize the vital signs and address the ongoing symptoms. It is advisable to arrange health care accommodations for patients with physical dependence to monitor and treat their withdrawal symptoms. The patient should be enrolled in a comprehensive addiction facility after undergoing formal detoxification; a tapered treatment protocol will need to be implemented because quitting “cold turkey” can lead to convulsions and, in some cases, death. Patient education, talk therapy, and alternatives to benzodiazepines should be discussed with the clinician.^13,145

However, to truly address the elephant in the room, we will need to consider institutional reforms to prevent a similar situation from arising in the future. Primary care physician shortages are compounded by changes in insurance policies. Nurses and physician assistants will need to be trained to manage benzodiazepine prescriptions. If there are community shortages in physicians, patients might turn to illegal means to secure their benzodiazepine supply, and it is imperative that we have the necessary fellowship and education programs to educate nonphysician health care clinicians with benzodiazepine management. Because physicians were prescribing benzodiazepines liberally, the Prescription Drug Monitoring Programs (PDMP) was enacted to monitor physician practices. Unfortunately, this ultimately intimidated physicians and effectively curbed reasonable physician prescribing patterns. It might be necessary to revisit existing prescription monitoring programs, encourage drug evaluations and guidelines based on evidence-based medicine and embrace telemedicine in order to facilitate patient-physician communication.

As of now, it is too early to prescribe Xanax routinely for ongoing anxiety experienced during the coronavirus crisis, and several physicians are cautious about prescribing antianxiety medications for more than a few months.¹⁷ Surprisingly, researchers in Barcelona have even explored the role of Xanax as potentially inhibiting Mpro, the primary protease of coronavirus, thereby forestalling the virus’s ability to replicate.¹⁶ However, it is worth noting that, given the preliminary nature of the results, any attempts at conclusively integrating Xanax within the context of coronavirus therapy would be premature.
 

References

1. Luhby T. Anti-anxiety medication prescriptions up 34% since coronavirus. CNN. 2020 Apr 16.

2. Women and Anxiety. Anxiety and Depression Association of America.

3. Shigemura J et al. Psychiatry Clin Neurosci. 2012 Apr 7;74(4):281-2.

4. Petersen A. More people are taking drugs for anxiety and insomnia, and doctors are worried. The Wall Street Journal. 2020 May 25.

5. Downey M. Xanax overdose and related deaths. National Drug & Alcohol Research Centre. UNSW Sydney.

6. Bryant B. Fake Xanax: The UK’s biggest ever dark net drugs bust. BBC. 2018 Mar 10.

7. Reinberg S. Fatal overdoses rising from sedatives like Valium, Xanax. HealthDay. 2016 Feb.

8. Is counterfeit Xanax dangerous? American Addiction Centers. Updated 2018 Nov 14.

9. McLaren E. Xanax history and statistics. Drugabuse.com.

10. Benzodiazepines and opioids. National Institute on Drug Abuse. 2018 Mar 15.

11. Choudhry Z et al. J Psychiatry. 2015;18(5). doi: 10.4172/2378-5756.1000319.

12. Islam FA et al. Current Psychiatry. 2018 Dec 17(12):43-4.

13. Adams M. Xanax death rate on the rise. White Sands Treatment. 2017 Sept.NEED LINK

14. Storrs C. Benzodiazepine overdose deaths soared in recent years, study finds. CNN. 2016 Feb. 18.

15. Hanscom DA. Plan A – Thrive and survive COVID-19. Back in Control. 2020.

16. Smith C. Xanax, a common anxiety medication, might actually block coronavirus. BGR. 2020 May 29.

Dr. Islam is a medical adviser for the International Maternal and Child Health Foundation (IMCHF), Montreal, and is based in New York. He also is a postdoctoral fellow, psychopharmacologist, and a board-certified medical affairs specialist. Dr. Islam disclosed no relevant financial relationships.

Mr. Choudhry is a research assistant at the IMCHF. He has no disclosures.

Dr. Choudhry is the chief scientific officer and head of the department of mental health and clinical research at the IMCHF and is Mr. Choudhry’s father. He has no disclosures.

One of the more alarming trends that has emerged during the coronavirus crisis is the concomitant rise in the use of benzodiazepines, such as Xanax. It has been reported that at-risk individuals began seeking prescription anxiolytics as early as mid-February with a consequent peak of 34% the following month, coinciding with the World Health Organization’s declaration of a global pandemic.¹

Consistent with the available literature indicating that women are twice as likely to be affected by anxiety disorders, the prescription spikes were almost double when compared with those of their male counterparts.² The pandemic has instilled a sense of fear in people, leading to social repercussions, such as estrangement, insomnia, and paranoia for at-risk populations.^3,4

“Benzos” are commonly prescribed to help people sleep or to assist them in overcoming a host of anxiety disorders. The rapid onset of effects make Xanax a desirable and efficacious benzodiazepine.⁵ The use of these medications might not be an immediate cause for concern because patients might be taking it as intended. Nevertheless, clinicians are shying away from medical management in favor of counseling or therapy.
 

Dangerous trends

We are concerned that renewed interest in Xanax, coupled with physician reluctance to prescribe antianxiety medications, might trigger the return of an illicit drug boom. Numerous factors might contribute to this grim scenario, including patient dependence on benzodiazepines, paranoia about engaging with health care professionals because of fear tied to potential COVID-19 exposure, and/or increased access to illicit counterfeit pills from drug dealers or the dark web markets.

Lessons can be gleaned from the most extensive dark web drug busts in Britain’s history, in which a deluge of “pharmaceutical grade” Xanax pills made it to the hands of drug dealers and consumers between 2015 and 2017.⁶ A similar phenomenon emerged stateside.⁷ Virtually indistinguishable from recognized 2-mg Xanax pills, these fake pills posed a serious challenge to forensic scientists.⁸ The threat of overdose is very real for users targeted by the counterfeit Xanax trade, especially since those at risk often bypass professional health care guidelines.

In broad daylight, the drug dealers ran their operations revolving around two fake Xanax products: a primary knockoff and a limited edition – and vastly more potent “Red Devil” variant that was intentionally dyed for branding purposes. Because the “Red Devil” formulations contained 2.5 times the dose of the 2-mg pill, it had even more pronounced tolerance, dependence, and withdrawal effects (for example, panic attacks, anxiety, and/or hallucinations) – fatal consequences for users involved in consuming other drugs, such as alcohol or opioids. Preexisting drug users tend to gravitate toward benzodiazepines, such as alprazolam (Xanax), perhaps in part, because of its relatively rapid onset of action. Xanax also is known for inducing proeuphoric states at higher doses, hence the appeal of the “Red Devil” pills.

Benzodiazepines, as a class of drugs, facilitate the neurotransmitter gamma-aminobutryric acid’s (GABA) effect on the brain, producing anxiolytic, hypnotic, and/or anticonvulsant states within the user.⁹ Unbeknownst to numerous users is the fact that drugs such as alcohol and opioids, like Xanax, also serve as respiratory depressants, overriding the brain’s governance of the breathing mechanism. This, in turn, leads to unintended overdose deaths, even among seasoned drug seekers.

Overdose deaths have been steadily climbing over the years because it is common for some users to consume alcohol while being on Xanax therapy – without realizing that both substances are depressants and that taking them together can lead to side effects such as respiratory depression.

Forensic cases also have revealed that preexisting opioid consumers were drawn to Xanax; the drug’s potent mechanism of action would likely appeal to habituated users. A typical behavioral pattern has emerged among users and must be addressed. According to Australian Professor Shane Darke: “So they take their Xanax, they take their painkiller, then they get drunk, that could be enough to kill them.”

Fatalities are more likely when benzodiazepines are combined with other drug classes or if the existing supply is contaminated or laced (for example, with fentanyl).⁸

As far as deaths by accidental benzodiazepine overdose are concerned, a similar epidemic has been recorded in the United States. In 2013, almost one-third of all prescription overdose deaths can be attributed to the use of benzodiazepines (for example, Xanax, Valium, and Ativan). However, media attention has been considerably muted, especially when compared with that of narcotic abuse. This is even more puzzling when taking into account that three-quarters of benzodiazepine mortalities co-occur within the context of narcotic consumption. Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration data confirm the ubiquitous nature of benzodiazepine (such as alprazolam) coprescriptions, accounting for roughly half of the 176,000 emergency department cases for 2011. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention noted that there was a 67% increase in benzodiazepine prescriptions between 1996 and 2013, which warranted more stringent regulations for this particular class of drugs.

In 2016, the CDC issued new guidelines for opioid use acknowledging the danger of benzodiazepine coprescriptions. Food and Drug Administration “black box” warnings now grace the prescriptions of both of these drug classes.¹⁰ This trend remains on an upward trajectory, even more so during the pandemic, as there are 9.7 million prescriptions of anxiolytics/hypnotics such as Xanax, Ativan, and Klonopin in the United States as of March 2020, which represents a 10% increase over the previous year. The evolving landscape of this “new normal” may necessitate frequent patient updates and feedback via telepsychiatry, as well as the implementation of urine drug screening monitoring for drug adherence/compliance and diversion in those with suspected benzodiazepine addiction or a history of polysubstance abuse.^11,12

Clinical correlates

For patients who present acutely with Xanax toxicity in the emergency room setting, we will need to initially stabilize the vital signs and address the ongoing symptoms. It is advisable to arrange health care accommodations for patients with physical dependence to monitor and treat their withdrawal symptoms. The patient should be enrolled in a comprehensive addiction facility after undergoing formal detoxification; a tapered treatment protocol will need to be implemented because quitting “cold turkey” can lead to convulsions and, in some cases, death. Patient education, talk therapy, and alternatives to benzodiazepines should be discussed with the clinician.^13,145

However, to truly address the elephant in the room, we will need to consider institutional reforms to prevent a similar situation from arising in the future. Primary care physician shortages are compounded by changes in insurance policies. Nurses and physician assistants will need to be trained to manage benzodiazepine prescriptions. If there are community shortages in physicians, patients might turn to illegal means to secure their benzodiazepine supply, and it is imperative that we have the necessary fellowship and education programs to educate nonphysician health care clinicians with benzodiazepine management. Because physicians were prescribing benzodiazepines liberally, the Prescription Drug Monitoring Programs (PDMP) was enacted to monitor physician practices. Unfortunately, this ultimately intimidated physicians and effectively curbed reasonable physician prescribing patterns. It might be necessary to revisit existing prescription monitoring programs, encourage drug evaluations and guidelines based on evidence-based medicine and embrace telemedicine in order to facilitate patient-physician communication.

As of now, it is too early to prescribe Xanax routinely for ongoing anxiety experienced during the coronavirus crisis, and several physicians are cautious about prescribing antianxiety medications for more than a few months.¹⁷ Surprisingly, researchers in Barcelona have even explored the role of Xanax as potentially inhibiting Mpro, the primary protease of coronavirus, thereby forestalling the virus’s ability to replicate.¹⁶ However, it is worth noting that, given the preliminary nature of the results, any attempts at conclusively integrating Xanax within the context of coronavirus therapy would be premature.
 

References

1. Luhby T. Anti-anxiety medication prescriptions up 34% since coronavirus. CNN. 2020 Apr 16.

2. Women and Anxiety. Anxiety and Depression Association of America.

3. Shigemura J et al. Psychiatry Clin Neurosci. 2012 Apr 7;74(4):281-2.

4. Petersen A. More people are taking drugs for anxiety and insomnia, and doctors are worried. The Wall Street Journal. 2020 May 25.

5. Downey M. Xanax overdose and related deaths. National Drug & Alcohol Research Centre. UNSW Sydney.

6. Bryant B. Fake Xanax: The UK’s biggest ever dark net drugs bust. BBC. 2018 Mar 10.

7. Reinberg S. Fatal overdoses rising from sedatives like Valium, Xanax. HealthDay. 2016 Feb.

8. Is counterfeit Xanax dangerous? American Addiction Centers. Updated 2018 Nov 14.

9. McLaren E. Xanax history and statistics. Drugabuse.com.

10. Benzodiazepines and opioids. National Institute on Drug Abuse. 2018 Mar 15.

11. Choudhry Z et al. J Psychiatry. 2015;18(5). doi: 10.4172/2378-5756.1000319.

12. Islam FA et al. Current Psychiatry. 2018 Dec 17(12):43-4.

13. Adams M. Xanax death rate on the rise. White Sands Treatment. 2017 Sept.NEED LINK

14. Storrs C. Benzodiazepine overdose deaths soared in recent years, study finds. CNN. 2016 Feb. 18.

15. Hanscom DA. Plan A – Thrive and survive COVID-19. Back in Control. 2020.

16. Smith C. Xanax, a common anxiety medication, might actually block coronavirus. BGR. 2020 May 29.

Dr. Islam is a medical adviser for the International Maternal and Child Health Foundation (IMCHF), Montreal, and is based in New York. He also is a postdoctoral fellow, psychopharmacologist, and a board-certified medical affairs specialist. Dr. Islam disclosed no relevant financial relationships.

Mr. Choudhry is a research assistant at the IMCHF. He has no disclosures.

Dr. Choudhry is the chief scientific officer and head of the department of mental health and clinical research at the IMCHF and is Mr. Choudhry’s father. He has no disclosures.

Having been a bench research scientist 30 years ago, I am flabbergasted at what is and is not currently possible. In a few weeks, scientists sequenced a novel coronavirus and used the genetic sequence to select candidate molecules for a vaccine. But we still can’t reliably say how much protection a cloth mask provides. Worse yet, even if/when we could reliably quantify contagion, it isn’t clear that the public will believe us anyhow.

Thinkstock

The good news is that the public worldwide did believe scientists about the threat of a pandemic and the need to flatten the curve. Saving lives has not been about the strength of an antibiotic or the skill in managing a ventilator, but the credibility of medical scientists. The degree of acceptance was variable and subject to a variety of delays caused by regional politicians, but overall the scientific advice on social distancing has had a gigantic impact on the spread of the pandemic in the February to June time frame. The bad news is that the public’s trust in that scientific advice has waned, the willingness to accept onerous restrictions has fatigued, and the cooperation for maintaining these social changes is evaporating.

I will leave pontificating about the spread of COVID-19 to other experts in other forums. My focus is on the public’s trust in the professionalism of physicians, nurses, medical scientists, and the health care industry as a whole. That trust has been our most valuable tool in fighting the pandemic so far. There have been situations in which weaknesses in modern science have let society down during the pandemic of the century. In my February 2020 column, at the beginning of the outbreak, a month before it was declared a pandemic, when its magnitude was still unclear, I emphasized the importance of having a trusted scientific spokesperson providing timely, accurate information to the public. That, obviously, did not happen in the United States and the degree of the ensuing disaster is still to be revealed.

Scientists have made some wrong decisions about this novel threat. The advice on masks is an illustrative example. For many years, infection control nurses have insisted that medical students wear a mask to protect themselves, even if they were observing rounds from just inside the doorway of a room of a baby with bronchiolitis. The landfills are full of briefly worn surgical masks. Now the story goes: Surgical masks don’t protect staff; they protect others. Changes like that contribute to a credibility gap.

For 3 months, there was conflicting advice about the appropriateness of masks. In early March 2020, some health care workers were disciplined for wearing personal masks. Now, most scientists recommend the public use masks to reduce contagion. Significant subgroups in the U.S. population have refused, mostly to signal their contrarian politics. In June there was an anecdote of a success story from the Show Me state of Missouri, where a mask is credited for preventing an outbreak from a sick hair stylist.

It is hard to find something more reliable than an anecdote. On June 1, a meta-analysis funded by the World Health Organization was published online by Lancet. It supports the idea that masks are beneficial. It is mostly forest plots, so you can try to interpret it yourself. There were 172 observational studies in the systematic review, and the meta-analysis contains 44 relevant comparative studies and 0 randomized controlled trials. Most of those forest plots have an I2 of 75% or worse, which to me indicates that they are not much more reliable than a good anecdote. My primary conclusion was that modern academic science, in an era with a shortage of toilet paper, should convert to printing on soft tissue paper.

It is important to note that the guesstimated overall benefit of cloth masks was a relative risk of 0.30. That benefit is easily nullified if the false security of a mask causes people to congregate together in groups three times larger or for three times more minutes. N95 masks were more effective.

A different article was published in PNAS on June 11. Its senior author was awarded the Nobel Prize in Chemistry in 1995. That article touted the benefits of masks. The article is facing heavy criticism for flaws in methodology and flaws in the peer review process. A long list of signatories have joined a letter asking for the article’s retraction.

This article, when combined with the two instances of prominent articles being retracted in the prior month by the New England Journal of Medicine and The Lancet, is accumulating evidence the peer review system is not working as intended.

There are many heroes in this pandemic, from the frontline health care workers in hotspots to the grocery workers and cleaning staff. There is hope, indeed some faith, that medical scientists in the foreseeable future will provide treatments and a vaccine for this viral plague. This month, the credibility of scientists again plays a major role as communities respond to outbreaks related to reopening the economy. Let’s celebrate the victories, resolve to fix the impure system, and restore a high level of public trust in science. Lives depend on it.

Dr. Powell is a pediatric hospitalist and clinical ethics consultant living in St. Louis. He has no relevant financial disclosures. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Having been a bench research scientist 30 years ago, I am flabbergasted at what is and is not currently possible. In a few weeks, scientists sequenced a novel coronavirus and used the genetic sequence to select candidate molecules for a vaccine. But we still can’t reliably say how much protection a cloth mask provides. Worse yet, even if/when we could reliably quantify contagion, it isn’t clear that the public will believe us anyhow.

Thinkstock

The good news is that the public worldwide did believe scientists about the threat of a pandemic and the need to flatten the curve. Saving lives has not been about the strength of an antibiotic or the skill in managing a ventilator, but the credibility of medical scientists. The degree of acceptance was variable and subject to a variety of delays caused by regional politicians, but overall the scientific advice on social distancing has had a gigantic impact on the spread of the pandemic in the February to June time frame. The bad news is that the public’s trust in that scientific advice has waned, the willingness to accept onerous restrictions has fatigued, and the cooperation for maintaining these social changes is evaporating.

I will leave pontificating about the spread of COVID-19 to other experts in other forums. My focus is on the public’s trust in the professionalism of physicians, nurses, medical scientists, and the health care industry as a whole. That trust has been our most valuable tool in fighting the pandemic so far. There have been situations in which weaknesses in modern science have let society down during the pandemic of the century. In my February 2020 column, at the beginning of the outbreak, a month before it was declared a pandemic, when its magnitude was still unclear, I emphasized the importance of having a trusted scientific spokesperson providing timely, accurate information to the public. That, obviously, did not happen in the United States and the degree of the ensuing disaster is still to be revealed.

Scientists have made some wrong decisions about this novel threat. The advice on masks is an illustrative example. For many years, infection control nurses have insisted that medical students wear a mask to protect themselves, even if they were observing rounds from just inside the doorway of a room of a baby with bronchiolitis. The landfills are full of briefly worn surgical masks. Now the story goes: Surgical masks don’t protect staff; they protect others. Changes like that contribute to a credibility gap.

For 3 months, there was conflicting advice about the appropriateness of masks. In early March 2020, some health care workers were disciplined for wearing personal masks. Now, most scientists recommend the public use masks to reduce contagion. Significant subgroups in the U.S. population have refused, mostly to signal their contrarian politics. In June there was an anecdote of a success story from the Show Me state of Missouri, where a mask is credited for preventing an outbreak from a sick hair stylist.

It is hard to find something more reliable than an anecdote. On June 1, a meta-analysis funded by the World Health Organization was published online by Lancet. It supports the idea that masks are beneficial. It is mostly forest plots, so you can try to interpret it yourself. There were 172 observational studies in the systematic review, and the meta-analysis contains 44 relevant comparative studies and 0 randomized controlled trials. Most of those forest plots have an I2 of 75% or worse, which to me indicates that they are not much more reliable than a good anecdote. My primary conclusion was that modern academic science, in an era with a shortage of toilet paper, should convert to printing on soft tissue paper.

It is important to note that the guesstimated overall benefit of cloth masks was a relative risk of 0.30. That benefit is easily nullified if the false security of a mask causes people to congregate together in groups three times larger or for three times more minutes. N95 masks were more effective.

A different article was published in PNAS on June 11. Its senior author was awarded the Nobel Prize in Chemistry in 1995. That article touted the benefits of masks. The article is facing heavy criticism for flaws in methodology and flaws in the peer review process. A long list of signatories have joined a letter asking for the article’s retraction.

This article, when combined with the two instances of prominent articles being retracted in the prior month by the New England Journal of Medicine and The Lancet, is accumulating evidence the peer review system is not working as intended.

There are many heroes in this pandemic, from the frontline health care workers in hotspots to the grocery workers and cleaning staff. There is hope, indeed some faith, that medical scientists in the foreseeable future will provide treatments and a vaccine for this viral plague. This month, the credibility of scientists again plays a major role as communities respond to outbreaks related to reopening the economy. Let’s celebrate the victories, resolve to fix the impure system, and restore a high level of public trust in science. Lives depend on it.

Dr. Powell is a pediatric hospitalist and clinical ethics consultant living in St. Louis. He has no relevant financial disclosures. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

Having been a bench research scientist 30 years ago, I am flabbergasted at what is and is not currently possible. In a few weeks, scientists sequenced a novel coronavirus and used the genetic sequence to select candidate molecules for a vaccine. But we still can’t reliably say how much protection a cloth mask provides. Worse yet, even if/when we could reliably quantify contagion, it isn’t clear that the public will believe us anyhow.

Thinkstock

The good news is that the public worldwide did believe scientists about the threat of a pandemic and the need to flatten the curve. Saving lives has not been about the strength of an antibiotic or the skill in managing a ventilator, but the credibility of medical scientists. The degree of acceptance was variable and subject to a variety of delays caused by regional politicians, but overall the scientific advice on social distancing has had a gigantic impact on the spread of the pandemic in the February to June time frame. The bad news is that the public’s trust in that scientific advice has waned, the willingness to accept onerous restrictions has fatigued, and the cooperation for maintaining these social changes is evaporating.

I will leave pontificating about the spread of COVID-19 to other experts in other forums. My focus is on the public’s trust in the professionalism of physicians, nurses, medical scientists, and the health care industry as a whole. That trust has been our most valuable tool in fighting the pandemic so far. There have been situations in which weaknesses in modern science have let society down during the pandemic of the century. In my February 2020 column, at the beginning of the outbreak, a month before it was declared a pandemic, when its magnitude was still unclear, I emphasized the importance of having a trusted scientific spokesperson providing timely, accurate information to the public. That, obviously, did not happen in the United States and the degree of the ensuing disaster is still to be revealed.

Scientists have made some wrong decisions about this novel threat. The advice on masks is an illustrative example. For many years, infection control nurses have insisted that medical students wear a mask to protect themselves, even if they were observing rounds from just inside the doorway of a room of a baby with bronchiolitis. The landfills are full of briefly worn surgical masks. Now the story goes: Surgical masks don’t protect staff; they protect others. Changes like that contribute to a credibility gap.

For 3 months, there was conflicting advice about the appropriateness of masks. In early March 2020, some health care workers were disciplined for wearing personal masks. Now, most scientists recommend the public use masks to reduce contagion. Significant subgroups in the U.S. population have refused, mostly to signal their contrarian politics. In June there was an anecdote of a success story from the Show Me state of Missouri, where a mask is credited for preventing an outbreak from a sick hair stylist.

It is hard to find something more reliable than an anecdote. On June 1, a meta-analysis funded by the World Health Organization was published online by Lancet. It supports the idea that masks are beneficial. It is mostly forest plots, so you can try to interpret it yourself. There were 172 observational studies in the systematic review, and the meta-analysis contains 44 relevant comparative studies and 0 randomized controlled trials. Most of those forest plots have an I2 of 75% or worse, which to me indicates that they are not much more reliable than a good anecdote. My primary conclusion was that modern academic science, in an era with a shortage of toilet paper, should convert to printing on soft tissue paper.

It is important to note that the guesstimated overall benefit of cloth masks was a relative risk of 0.30. That benefit is easily nullified if the false security of a mask causes people to congregate together in groups three times larger or for three times more minutes. N95 masks were more effective.

A different article was published in PNAS on June 11. Its senior author was awarded the Nobel Prize in Chemistry in 1995. That article touted the benefits of masks. The article is facing heavy criticism for flaws in methodology and flaws in the peer review process. A long list of signatories have joined a letter asking for the article’s retraction.

This article, when combined with the two instances of prominent articles being retracted in the prior month by the New England Journal of Medicine and The Lancet, is accumulating evidence the peer review system is not working as intended.

There are many heroes in this pandemic, from the frontline health care workers in hotspots to the grocery workers and cleaning staff. There is hope, indeed some faith, that medical scientists in the foreseeable future will provide treatments and a vaccine for this viral plague. This month, the credibility of scientists again plays a major role as communities respond to outbreaks related to reopening the economy. Let’s celebrate the victories, resolve to fix the impure system, and restore a high level of public trust in science. Lives depend on it.

Dr. Powell is a pediatric hospitalist and clinical ethics consultant living in St. Louis. He has no relevant financial disclosures. Email him at pdnews@mdedge.com.

The COVID-19 pandemic is one of the defining moments in history for this generation’s health care leaders. In 2019, most of us wrongly assumed that this virus would be similar to the past viral epidemics and pandemics such as 2002 severe acute respiratory syndrome–CoV in Asia, 2009 H1N1 influenza in the United States, 2012 Middle East respiratory syndrome–CoV in Saudi Arabia, and 2014-2016 Ebola in West Africa. Moreover, we understood that the 50% fatality rate of Ebola, a single-stranded RNA virus, was deadly on the continent of Africa, but its transmission was through direct contact with blood or other bodily fluids. Hence, the infectivity of Ebola to the general public was lower than SARS-CoV-2, which is spread by respiratory droplets and contact routes in addition to being the virus that causes COVID-19.¹ Many of us did not expect that SARS-CoV-2, a single-stranded RNA virus consisting of 32 kilobytes, would reach the shores of the United States from the Hubei province of China, the northern Lombardy region of Italy, or other initial hotspots. We could not imagine its effects would be so devastating from an economic and medical perspective. Until it did.

The first reported case of SARS-CoV-2 was on Jan. 20, 2020 in Snohomish County, Wash., and the first known death from COVID-19 occurred on Feb. 6, 2020 in Santa Clara County, Calif.^2,3 Since then, the United States has lost over 135,000 people from COVID-19 with death(s) reported in every state and the highest number of overall deaths of any country in the world.⁴ At the beginning of 2020, at our institution, Wake Forest Baptist Health System in Winston-Salem, N.C., we began preparing for the wave, surge, or tsunami of inpatients that was coming. Plans were afoot to increase our staff, even perhaps by hiring out-of-state physicians and nurses if needed, and every possible bed was considered within the system. It was not an if, but rather a when, as to the arrival of COVID-19.

Epidemiologists and biostatisticians developed predictive COVID-19 models so that health care leaders could plan accordingly, especially those patients that required critical care or inpatient medical care. These predictive models have been used across the globe and can be categorized into three groups: Susceptible-Exposed-Infectious-Recovered, Agent-Based, and Curve Fitting Extrapolation.⁵ Our original predictions were based on the Institute for Health Metrics and Evaluation model from Washington state (Curve Fitting Extrapolation). It creates projections from COVID-19 mortality data and assumes a 3% infection rate. Other health systems in our region used the COVID-19 Hospital Impact Model for Epidemics–University of Pennsylvania model. It pins its suppositions on hospitalized COVID-19 patients, regional infection rates, and hospital market shares. Lastly, the agent-based mode, such as the Global Epidemic and Mobility Project, takes simulated populations and forecasts the spread of SARS-CoV-2 anchoring on the interplay of individuals and groups. The assumptions are created secondary to the interactions of people, time, health care interventions, and public health policies.

Based on these predictive simulations, health systems have spent countless hours of planning and have utilized resources for the anticipated needs related to beds, ventilators, supplies, and staffing. Frontline staff were retrained how to don and doff personal protective equipment. Our teams were ready if we saw a wave of 250, a surge of 500, or a tsunami of 750 COVID-19 inpatients. We were prepared to run into the fire fully knowing the personal risks and consequences.

But, as yet, the tsunami in North Carolina has never come. On April 21, 2020, the COVID-19 mortality data in North Carolina peaked at 34 deaths, with the total number of deaths standing at 1,510 as of July 13, 2020.⁶ A surge did not hit our institutional shores at Wake Forest Baptist Health. As we looked through the proverbial back window and hear about the tsunami in Houston, Texas, we are very thankful that the tsunami turned out to be a small wave so far in North Carolina. We are grateful that there were fewer deaths than expected. The dust is settling now and the question, spoken or unspoken, is: “How could we be so wrong with our predictions?”

Models have strengths and weaknesses and none are perfect.⁷ There is an old aphorism in statistics that is often attributed to George Box that says: “All models are wrong but some are useful.”⁸ Predictions and projections are good, but not perfect. Our measurements and tests should not only be accurate, but also be as precise as possible.⁹ Moreover, the assumptions we make should be on solid ground. Since the beginning of the pandemic, there may have been undercounts and delays in reporting. The assumptions of the effects of social distancing may have been inaccurate. Just as important, the lack of early testing in our pandemic and the relatively limited testing currently available provide challenges not only in attributing past deaths to COVID-19, but also with planning and public health measures. To be fair, the tsunami that turned out to be a small wave in North Carolina may be caused by the strong leadership from politicians, public health officials, and health system leaders for their stay-at-home decree and vigorous public health measures in our state.

Some of the health systems in the United States have created “reemergence plans” to care for those patients who have stayed at home for the past several months. Elective surgeries and procedures have begun in different regions of the United States and will likely continue reopening into the late summer. Nevertheless, challenges and opportunities continue to abound during these difficult times of COVID-19. The tsunamis or surges will continue to occur in the United States and the premature reopening of some of the public places and businesses have not helped our collective efforts. In addition, the personal costs have been and will be immeasurable. Many of us have lost loved ones, been laid off, or face mental health crises because of the social isolation and false news.

COVID-19 is here to stay and will be with us for the foreseeable future. Health care providers have been literally risking their lives to serve the public and we will continue to do so. Hitting the target of needed inpatient beds and critical care beds is critically important and is tough without accurate data. We simply have inadequate and unreliable data of COVID-19 incidence and prevalence rates in the communities that we serve. More available testing would allow frontline health care providers and health care leaders to match hospital demand to supply, at individual hospitals and within the health care system. Moreover, contact tracing capabilities would give us the opportunity to isolate individuals and extinguish population-based hotspots.

We may have seen the first wave, but other waves of COVID-19 in North Carolina are sure to come. Since the partial reopening of North Carolina on May 8, 2020, coupled with pockets of nonadherence to social distancing and mask wearing, we expect a second wave sooner rather than later. Interestingly, daily new lab-confirmed COVID-19 cases in North Carolina have been on the rise, with the highest one-day total occurring on June 12, 2020 with 1,768 cases reported.⁶ As a result, North Carolina Gov. Roy Cooper and Secretary of the North Carolina Department of Health and Human Services, Dr. Mandy Cohen, placed a temporary pause on the Phase 2 reopening plan and mandated masks in public on June 24, 2020. It is unclear whether these intermittent daily spikes in lab-confirmed COVID-19 cases are a foreshadowing of our next wave, surge, or tsunami, or just an anomaly. Only time will tell, but as Jim Kim, MD, PhD, has stated so well, there is still time for social distancing, contact tracing, testing, isolation, and treatment.¹⁰ There is still time for us, for our loved ones, for our hospital systems, and for our public health system.

Dr. Huang is the executive medical director and service line director of general medicine and hospital medicine within the Wake Forest Baptist Health System and associate professor of internal medicine at Wake Forest School of Medicine. Dr. Lippert is assistant professor of internal medicine at Wake Forest School of Medicine. Mr. Payne is the associate vice president of Wake Forest Baptist Health. He is responsible for engineering, facilities planning & design as well as environmental health and safety departments. Dr. Pariyadath is comedical director of the Patient Flow Operations Center which facilitates patient placement throughout the Wake Forest Baptist Health system. He is also the associate medical director for the adult emergency department. Dr. Sunkara is assistant professor of internal medicine at Wake Forest School of Medicine. He is the medical director for hospital medicine units and the newly established PUI unit.

Acknowledgments

The authors would like to thank Julie Freischlag, MD; Kevin High, MD, MS; Gary Rosenthal, MD; Wayne Meredith, MD;Russ Howerton, MD; Mike Waid, Andrea Fernandez, MD; Brian Hiestand, MD; the Wake Forest Baptist Health System COVID-19 task force, the Operations Center, and the countless frontline staff at all five hospitals within the Wake Forest Baptist Health System.

References

1. World Health Organization. Modes of transmission of virus causing COVID-19: Implications for IPC precaution recommendations. 2020 June 30. https://www.who.int/news-room/commentaries/detail/modes-of-transmission-of-virus-causing-covid-19-implications-for-ipc-precaution-recommendations.

2. Holshue et al. First case of 2019 novel coronavirus in the United States. N Engl J Med. 2020;382: 929-36.

3. Fuller T, Baker M. Coronavirus death in California came weeks before first known U.S. death. New York Times. 2020 Apr 22. https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/22/us/coronavirus-first-united-states-death.html.

4. Johns Hopkins Coronavirus Resource Center. https://coronavirus.jhu.edu/us-map. Accessed 2020 May 28.

5. Michaud J et al. COVID-19 models: Can they tell us what we want to know? 2020 April 16. https://www.kff.org/coronavirus-policy-watch/covid-19-models.

6. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. https://www.cdc.gov/coronavirus/2019-ncov/cases-updates/cases-in-us.html. Accessed 2020 June 30.

7. Jewell N et al. Caution warranted: Using the Institute for Health Metrics and Evaluation Model for predicting the course of the COVID-19 pandemic. Ann Intern Med. 2020;173:1-3.

8. Box G. Science and statistics. J Am Stat Assoc. 1972;71:791-9.

9. Shapiro DE. The interpretation of diagnostic tests. Stat Methods Med Res. 1999;8:113-34.

10. Kim J. It is not too late to go on the offense against the coronavirus. The New Yorker. 2020 Apr 20. https://www.newyorker.com/science/medical-dispatch/its-not-too-late-to-go-on-offense-against-the-coronavirus.

The COVID-19 pandemic is one of the defining moments in history for this generation’s health care leaders. In 2019, most of us wrongly assumed that this virus would be similar to the past viral epidemics and pandemics such as 2002 severe acute respiratory syndrome–CoV in Asia, 2009 H1N1 influenza in the United States, 2012 Middle East respiratory syndrome–CoV in Saudi Arabia, and 2014-2016 Ebola in West Africa. Moreover, we understood that the 50% fatality rate of Ebola, a single-stranded RNA virus, was deadly on the continent of Africa, but its transmission was through direct contact with blood or other bodily fluids. Hence, the infectivity of Ebola to the general public was lower than SARS-CoV-2, which is spread by respiratory droplets and contact routes in addition to being the virus that causes COVID-19.¹ Many of us did not expect that SARS-CoV-2, a single-stranded RNA virus consisting of 32 kilobytes, would reach the shores of the United States from the Hubei province of China, the northern Lombardy region of Italy, or other initial hotspots. We could not imagine its effects would be so devastating from an economic and medical perspective. Until it did.

The first reported case of SARS-CoV-2 was on Jan. 20, 2020 in Snohomish County, Wash., and the first known death from COVID-19 occurred on Feb. 6, 2020 in Santa Clara County, Calif.^2,3 Since then, the United States has lost over 135,000 people from COVID-19 with death(s) reported in every state and the highest number of overall deaths of any country in the world.⁴ At the beginning of 2020, at our institution, Wake Forest Baptist Health System in Winston-Salem, N.C., we began preparing for the wave, surge, or tsunami of inpatients that was coming. Plans were afoot to increase our staff, even perhaps by hiring out-of-state physicians and nurses if needed, and every possible bed was considered within the system. It was not an if, but rather a when, as to the arrival of COVID-19.

Epidemiologists and biostatisticians developed predictive COVID-19 models so that health care leaders could plan accordingly, especially those patients that required critical care or inpatient medical care. These predictive models have been used across the globe and can be categorized into three groups: Susceptible-Exposed-Infectious-Recovered, Agent-Based, and Curve Fitting Extrapolation.⁵ Our original predictions were based on the Institute for Health Metrics and Evaluation model from Washington state (Curve Fitting Extrapolation). It creates projections from COVID-19 mortality data and assumes a 3% infection rate. Other health systems in our region used the COVID-19 Hospital Impact Model for Epidemics–University of Pennsylvania model. It pins its suppositions on hospitalized COVID-19 patients, regional infection rates, and hospital market shares. Lastly, the agent-based mode, such as the Global Epidemic and Mobility Project, takes simulated populations and forecasts the spread of SARS-CoV-2 anchoring on the interplay of individuals and groups. The assumptions are created secondary to the interactions of people, time, health care interventions, and public health policies.

Based on these predictive simulations, health systems have spent countless hours of planning and have utilized resources for the anticipated needs related to beds, ventilators, supplies, and staffing. Frontline staff were retrained how to don and doff personal protective equipment. Our teams were ready if we saw a wave of 250, a surge of 500, or a tsunami of 750 COVID-19 inpatients. We were prepared to run into the fire fully knowing the personal risks and consequences.

But, as yet, the tsunami in North Carolina has never come. On April 21, 2020, the COVID-19 mortality data in North Carolina peaked at 34 deaths, with the total number of deaths standing at 1,510 as of July 13, 2020.⁶ A surge did not hit our institutional shores at Wake Forest Baptist Health. As we looked through the proverbial back window and hear about the tsunami in Houston, Texas, we are very thankful that the tsunami turned out to be a small wave so far in North Carolina. We are grateful that there were fewer deaths than expected. The dust is settling now and the question, spoken or unspoken, is: “How could we be so wrong with our predictions?”

Models have strengths and weaknesses and none are perfect.⁷ There is an old aphorism in statistics that is often attributed to George Box that says: “All models are wrong but some are useful.”⁸ Predictions and projections are good, but not perfect. Our measurements and tests should not only be accurate, but also be as precise as possible.⁹ Moreover, the assumptions we make should be on solid ground. Since the beginning of the pandemic, there may have been undercounts and delays in reporting. The assumptions of the effects of social distancing may have been inaccurate. Just as important, the lack of early testing in our pandemic and the relatively limited testing currently available provide challenges not only in attributing past deaths to COVID-19, but also with planning and public health measures. To be fair, the tsunami that turned out to be a small wave in North Carolina may be caused by the strong leadership from politicians, public health officials, and health system leaders for their stay-at-home decree and vigorous public health measures in our state.

Some of the health systems in the United States have created “reemergence plans” to care for those patients who have stayed at home for the past several months. Elective surgeries and procedures have begun in different regions of the United States and will likely continue reopening into the late summer. Nevertheless, challenges and opportunities continue to abound during these difficult times of COVID-19. The tsunamis or surges will continue to occur in the United States and the premature reopening of some of the public places and businesses have not helped our collective efforts. In addition, the personal costs have been and will be immeasurable. Many of us have lost loved ones, been laid off, or face mental health crises because of the social isolation and false news.

COVID-19 is here to stay and will be with us for the foreseeable future. Health care providers have been literally risking their lives to serve the public and we will continue to do so. Hitting the target of needed inpatient beds and critical care beds is critically important and is tough without accurate data. We simply have inadequate and unreliable data of COVID-19 incidence and prevalence rates in the communities that we serve. More available testing would allow frontline health care providers and health care leaders to match hospital demand to supply, at individual hospitals and within the health care system. Moreover, contact tracing capabilities would give us the opportunity to isolate individuals and extinguish population-based hotspots.

We may have seen the first wave, but other waves of COVID-19 in North Carolina are sure to come. Since the partial reopening of North Carolina on May 8, 2020, coupled with pockets of nonadherence to social distancing and mask wearing, we expect a second wave sooner rather than later. Interestingly, daily new lab-confirmed COVID-19 cases in North Carolina have been on the rise, with the highest one-day total occurring on June 12, 2020 with 1,768 cases reported.⁶ As a result, North Carolina Gov. Roy Cooper and Secretary of the North Carolina Department of Health and Human Services, Dr. Mandy Cohen, placed a temporary pause on the Phase 2 reopening plan and mandated masks in public on June 24, 2020. It is unclear whether these intermittent daily spikes in lab-confirmed COVID-19 cases are a foreshadowing of our next wave, surge, or tsunami, or just an anomaly. Only time will tell, but as Jim Kim, MD, PhD, has stated so well, there is still time for social distancing, contact tracing, testing, isolation, and treatment.¹⁰ There is still time for us, for our loved ones, for our hospital systems, and for our public health system.

Dr. Huang is the executive medical director and service line director of general medicine and hospital medicine within the Wake Forest Baptist Health System and associate professor of internal medicine at Wake Forest School of Medicine. Dr. Lippert is assistant professor of internal medicine at Wake Forest School of Medicine. Mr. Payne is the associate vice president of Wake Forest Baptist Health. He is responsible for engineering, facilities planning & design as well as environmental health and safety departments. Dr. Pariyadath is comedical director of the Patient Flow Operations Center which facilitates patient placement throughout the Wake Forest Baptist Health system. He is also the associate medical director for the adult emergency department. Dr. Sunkara is assistant professor of internal medicine at Wake Forest School of Medicine. He is the medical director for hospital medicine units and the newly established PUI unit.

Acknowledgments

The authors would like to thank Julie Freischlag, MD; Kevin High, MD, MS; Gary Rosenthal, MD; Wayne Meredith, MD;Russ Howerton, MD; Mike Waid, Andrea Fernandez, MD; Brian Hiestand, MD; the Wake Forest Baptist Health System COVID-19 task force, the Operations Center, and the countless frontline staff at all five hospitals within the Wake Forest Baptist Health System.

References

1. World Health Organization. Modes of transmission of virus causing COVID-19: Implications for IPC precaution recommendations. 2020 June 30. https://www.who.int/news-room/commentaries/detail/modes-of-transmission-of-virus-causing-covid-19-implications-for-ipc-precaution-recommendations.

2. Holshue et al. First case of 2019 novel coronavirus in the United States. N Engl J Med. 2020;382: 929-36.

3. Fuller T, Baker M. Coronavirus death in California came weeks before first known U.S. death. New York Times. 2020 Apr 22. https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/22/us/coronavirus-first-united-states-death.html.

4. Johns Hopkins Coronavirus Resource Center. https://coronavirus.jhu.edu/us-map. Accessed 2020 May 28.

5. Michaud J et al. COVID-19 models: Can they tell us what we want to know? 2020 April 16. https://www.kff.org/coronavirus-policy-watch/covid-19-models.

6. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. https://www.cdc.gov/coronavirus/2019-ncov/cases-updates/cases-in-us.html. Accessed 2020 June 30.

7. Jewell N et al. Caution warranted: Using the Institute for Health Metrics and Evaluation Model for predicting the course of the COVID-19 pandemic. Ann Intern Med. 2020;173:1-3.

8. Box G. Science and statistics. J Am Stat Assoc. 1972;71:791-9.

9. Shapiro DE. The interpretation of diagnostic tests. Stat Methods Med Res. 1999;8:113-34.

10. Kim J. It is not too late to go on the offense against the coronavirus. The New Yorker. 2020 Apr 20. https://www.newyorker.com/science/medical-dispatch/its-not-too-late-to-go-on-offense-against-the-coronavirus.

The COVID-19 pandemic is one of the defining moments in history for this generation’s health care leaders. In 2019, most of us wrongly assumed that this virus would be similar to the past viral epidemics and pandemics such as 2002 severe acute respiratory syndrome–CoV in Asia, 2009 H1N1 influenza in the United States, 2012 Middle East respiratory syndrome–CoV in Saudi Arabia, and 2014-2016 Ebola in West Africa. Moreover, we understood that the 50% fatality rate of Ebola, a single-stranded RNA virus, was deadly on the continent of Africa, but its transmission was through direct contact with blood or other bodily fluids. Hence, the infectivity of Ebola to the general public was lower than SARS-CoV-2, which is spread by respiratory droplets and contact routes in addition to being the virus that causes COVID-19.¹ Many of us did not expect that SARS-CoV-2, a single-stranded RNA virus consisting of 32 kilobytes, would reach the shores of the United States from the Hubei province of China, the northern Lombardy region of Italy, or other initial hotspots. We could not imagine its effects would be so devastating from an economic and medical perspective. Until it did.

The first reported case of SARS-CoV-2 was on Jan. 20, 2020 in Snohomish County, Wash., and the first known death from COVID-19 occurred on Feb. 6, 2020 in Santa Clara County, Calif.^2,3 Since then, the United States has lost over 135,000 people from COVID-19 with death(s) reported in every state and the highest number of overall deaths of any country in the world.⁴ At the beginning of 2020, at our institution, Wake Forest Baptist Health System in Winston-Salem, N.C., we began preparing for the wave, surge, or tsunami of inpatients that was coming. Plans were afoot to increase our staff, even perhaps by hiring out-of-state physicians and nurses if needed, and every possible bed was considered within the system. It was not an if, but rather a when, as to the arrival of COVID-19.

Epidemiologists and biostatisticians developed predictive COVID-19 models so that health care leaders could plan accordingly, especially those patients that required critical care or inpatient medical care. These predictive models have been used across the globe and can be categorized into three groups: Susceptible-Exposed-Infectious-Recovered, Agent-Based, and Curve Fitting Extrapolation.⁵ Our original predictions were based on the Institute for Health Metrics and Evaluation model from Washington state (Curve Fitting Extrapolation). It creates projections from COVID-19 mortality data and assumes a 3% infection rate. Other health systems in our region used the COVID-19 Hospital Impact Model for Epidemics–University of Pennsylvania model. It pins its suppositions on hospitalized COVID-19 patients, regional infection rates, and hospital market shares. Lastly, the agent-based mode, such as the Global Epidemic and Mobility Project, takes simulated populations and forecasts the spread of SARS-CoV-2 anchoring on the interplay of individuals and groups. The assumptions are created secondary to the interactions of people, time, health care interventions, and public health policies.

Based on these predictive simulations, health systems have spent countless hours of planning and have utilized resources for the anticipated needs related to beds, ventilators, supplies, and staffing. Frontline staff were retrained how to don and doff personal protective equipment. Our teams were ready if we saw a wave of 250, a surge of 500, or a tsunami of 750 COVID-19 inpatients. We were prepared to run into the fire fully knowing the personal risks and consequences.

But, as yet, the tsunami in North Carolina has never come. On April 21, 2020, the COVID-19 mortality data in North Carolina peaked at 34 deaths, with the total number of deaths standing at 1,510 as of July 13, 2020.⁶ A surge did not hit our institutional shores at Wake Forest Baptist Health. As we looked through the proverbial back window and hear about the tsunami in Houston, Texas, we are very thankful that the tsunami turned out to be a small wave so far in North Carolina. We are grateful that there were fewer deaths than expected. The dust is settling now and the question, spoken or unspoken, is: “How could we be so wrong with our predictions?”

Models have strengths and weaknesses and none are perfect.⁷ There is an old aphorism in statistics that is often attributed to George Box that says: “All models are wrong but some are useful.”⁸ Predictions and projections are good, but not perfect. Our measurements and tests should not only be accurate, but also be as precise as possible.⁹ Moreover, the assumptions we make should be on solid ground. Since the beginning of the pandemic, there may have been undercounts and delays in reporting. The assumptions of the effects of social distancing may have been inaccurate. Just as important, the lack of early testing in our pandemic and the relatively limited testing currently available provide challenges not only in attributing past deaths to COVID-19, but also with planning and public health measures. To be fair, the tsunami that turned out to be a small wave in North Carolina may be caused by the strong leadership from politicians, public health officials, and health system leaders for their stay-at-home decree and vigorous public health measures in our state.

Some of the health systems in the United States have created “reemergence plans” to care for those patients who have stayed at home for the past several months. Elective surgeries and procedures have begun in different regions of the United States and will likely continue reopening into the late summer. Nevertheless, challenges and opportunities continue to abound during these difficult times of COVID-19. The tsunamis or surges will continue to occur in the United States and the premature reopening of some of the public places and businesses have not helped our collective efforts. In addition, the personal costs have been and will be immeasurable. Many of us have lost loved ones, been laid off, or face mental health crises because of the social isolation and false news.

COVID-19 is here to stay and will be with us for the foreseeable future. Health care providers have been literally risking their lives to serve the public and we will continue to do so. Hitting the target of needed inpatient beds and critical care beds is critically important and is tough without accurate data. We simply have inadequate and unreliable data of COVID-19 incidence and prevalence rates in the communities that we serve. More available testing would allow frontline health care providers and health care leaders to match hospital demand to supply, at individual hospitals and within the health care system. Moreover, contact tracing capabilities would give us the opportunity to isolate individuals and extinguish population-based hotspots.

We may have seen the first wave, but other waves of COVID-19 in North Carolina are sure to come. Since the partial reopening of North Carolina on May 8, 2020, coupled with pockets of nonadherence to social distancing and mask wearing, we expect a second wave sooner rather than later. Interestingly, daily new lab-confirmed COVID-19 cases in North Carolina have been on the rise, with the highest one-day total occurring on June 12, 2020 with 1,768 cases reported.⁶ As a result, North Carolina Gov. Roy Cooper and Secretary of the North Carolina Department of Health and Human Services, Dr. Mandy Cohen, placed a temporary pause on the Phase 2 reopening plan and mandated masks in public on June 24, 2020. It is unclear whether these intermittent daily spikes in lab-confirmed COVID-19 cases are a foreshadowing of our next wave, surge, or tsunami, or just an anomaly. Only time will tell, but as Jim Kim, MD, PhD, has stated so well, there is still time for social distancing, contact tracing, testing, isolation, and treatment.¹⁰ There is still time for us, for our loved ones, for our hospital systems, and for our public health system.

Dr. Huang is the executive medical director and service line director of general medicine and hospital medicine within the Wake Forest Baptist Health System and associate professor of internal medicine at Wake Forest School of Medicine. Dr. Lippert is assistant professor of internal medicine at Wake Forest School of Medicine. Mr. Payne is the associate vice president of Wake Forest Baptist Health. He is responsible for engineering, facilities planning & design as well as environmental health and safety departments. Dr. Pariyadath is comedical director of the Patient Flow Operations Center which facilitates patient placement throughout the Wake Forest Baptist Health system. He is also the associate medical director for the adult emergency department. Dr. Sunkara is assistant professor of internal medicine at Wake Forest School of Medicine. He is the medical director for hospital medicine units and the newly established PUI unit.

Acknowledgments

The authors would like to thank Julie Freischlag, MD; Kevin High, MD, MS; Gary Rosenthal, MD; Wayne Meredith, MD;Russ Howerton, MD; Mike Waid, Andrea Fernandez, MD; Brian Hiestand, MD; the Wake Forest Baptist Health System COVID-19 task force, the Operations Center, and the countless frontline staff at all five hospitals within the Wake Forest Baptist Health System.

References

1. World Health Organization. Modes of transmission of virus causing COVID-19: Implications for IPC precaution recommendations. 2020 June 30. https://www.who.int/news-room/commentaries/detail/modes-of-transmission-of-virus-causing-covid-19-implications-for-ipc-precaution-recommendations.

2. Holshue et al. First case of 2019 novel coronavirus in the United States. N Engl J Med. 2020;382: 929-36.

3. Fuller T, Baker M. Coronavirus death in California came weeks before first known U.S. death. New York Times. 2020 Apr 22. https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/22/us/coronavirus-first-united-states-death.html.

4. Johns Hopkins Coronavirus Resource Center. https://coronavirus.jhu.edu/us-map. Accessed 2020 May 28.

5. Michaud J et al. COVID-19 models: Can they tell us what we want to know? 2020 April 16. https://www.kff.org/coronavirus-policy-watch/covid-19-models.

6. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. https://www.cdc.gov/coronavirus/2019-ncov/cases-updates/cases-in-us.html. Accessed 2020 June 30.

7. Jewell N et al. Caution warranted: Using the Institute for Health Metrics and Evaluation Model for predicting the course of the COVID-19 pandemic. Ann Intern Med. 2020;173:1-3.

8. Box G. Science and statistics. J Am Stat Assoc. 1972;71:791-9.

9. Shapiro DE. The interpretation of diagnostic tests. Stat Methods Med Res. 1999;8:113-34.

10. Kim J. It is not too late to go on the offense against the coronavirus. The New Yorker. 2020 Apr 20. https://www.newyorker.com/science/medical-dispatch/its-not-too-late-to-go-on-offense-against-the-coronavirus.

To the Editor: 

We read with interest the commentary by Srivastava et al,¹ "The Dayanara Effect: Increasing Skin Cancer Awareness in the Hispanic Community," concerning former Miss Universe Dayanara Torres and her diagnosis of metastatic melanoma; however, we believe it misses the mark. A quick Google search shows that Ms. Torres has fair skin and blue eyes. She has lived most of her life in Puerto Rico, the Philippines, and California--places where sun exposure is high and may have contributed to her diagnosis. Factors that have been linked to an increased risk for melanoma are fair skin, red or blonde hair, blue or green eyes, intense intermittent sun exposure and sunburns, a weakened immune system, and a family history of skin cancer.² Although we do not know her complete medical history, Ms. Torres' skin phenotype and likely chronic UV exposure made her a candidate for skin cancer. Although Srivastava et al¹ acknowledged that the Hispanic community encompasses a wide variety of individuals with varying levels of skin pigmentation and sun sensitivity, they overlooked Ms. Torres' risk for skin cancer because of her ethnic background. This form of generalization may negatively affect patient care and safety. By 2060, Hispanics are projected to account for almost 30% of the US population,³ and we must acknowledge the flaws that exist in our overall methodology for assessing skin cancer risk among this population to provide patients with unbiased care.  

In the early 1970s, the United States adopted the ethnonym Hispanic as a way of conglomerating Spanish-speaking individuals from Spain, the Caribbean, and Central and South America.⁴ The goal was to implement a common identifier that enabled the US Government to study the economic and social development of these groups. Nevertheless, considerable differences exist among distinct Hispanic communities, and variations in skin pigmentation and sun sensitivity are no exception. Although Hispanic countries are an amalgam of diverse races due to colonization, some have stronger European, African, or Amerindian influences, limiting the use of ethnicity during melanoma risk assessment. Another misconception reflected in the commentary by Srivastava et al¹ is the belief that the terms white and Hispanic are mutually exclusive. A study examining melanoma rates in the Chilean population supports this claim.⁵ The genetic composition of the Chilean high socioeconomic strata is 5% Amerindian and 95% white, while the low socioeconomic strata is approximately 40% Amerindian and 60% white. Patients from the low socioeconomic strata had higher rates of acral malignant melanoma, which typically is seen in patients with skin of color. On the other hand, males from the high socioeconomic strata had higher rates of truncal melanoma, which is more common among the white population.⁵ These results suggest that while both groups are considered Hispanic, it is ancestral origin that contributes to the differential rates and types of malignant melanoma.  

When analyzing data regarding melanoma rates in Hispanics, particularly data collected in the United States, we must question if the results are representative of the entire population. One point worth emphasizing is that melanoma data in the Hispanic community often is flawed. The North American Association of Central Cancer Registries considers Europeans such as Spaniards, as well as citizens of Andorra, the Canary Islands, and the Balearic Islands as Hispanic.⁶ Additionally, the Florida Cancer Data System uses data such as country of birth, ethnicity, and surname or maiden name recorded by the hospital tumor registry to identify Hispanic patients with melanoma.⁷ In 2006, Hu et al⁷ used the Florida Cancer Data System to analyze melanoma data in Miami-Dade County in South Florida, which has the second largest Hispanic community in the United States. One limitation to such data is that ethnicity often is self-reported by patients or assigned by a health care provider. In addition, women whose maiden names are not available may be misclassified through marriage depending on whether their husbands have Spanish or non-Spanish last names.⁷ Finally, with societal norms evolving, Americans are now more accepting of interracial marriages. In 2017, the Pew Research Center reported that 17% of all newlyweds in the United States were intermarried and 42% of these marriages were between a white individual and a Hispanic individual, comprising the most prevalent form of intermarriage reported.⁸ In 2015, 27% of newlywed Hispanics were intermarried. This percentage varied depending on whether they were born in the United States or abroad. Although 15% of Hispanic immigrants married a spouse from another race, 39% of Hispanics born in the United States married a non-Hispanic (eg, white, black, Asian, or Native American who is not Hispanic).⁸ This type of marriage and subsequent offspring might lead to an increase in the white genetic pool. As a result, the risk for melanoma development may be increased or misrepresented. Remaining aware of these changes in the population is crucial, as it exemplifies why the current methodology for gathering and reporting melanoma data is unreliable. 

Labeling Ms. Torres as Hispanic due to her Puerto Rican nationality did not tell us anything about her risk for developing melanoma. To correctly assess the risk for melanoma among Hispanics, it is imperative that we re-evaluate our approach. We agree with He et al⁹ that our efforts should be dedicated to better understanding the impact of pigmentation, race, genetics, and sunburn on the risk for melanoma. Until we know more about this possible correlation, we should reconsider how we study melanoma using Hispanics as an ethnicity. We may have it all wrong.  

1. Srivastava R, Wassef C, Rao BK. The Dayanara effect: increasing skin cancer awareness in the Hispanic community. Cutis. 2019;103:257-258. 
    
2. Curiel-Lewandrowski C. Risk factors for the development of melanoma. UpToDate. https://www.uptodate.com/contents/risk-factors-for-the-development-of-melanoma. Updated February 27, 2020. Accessed April 16, 2020. 
    
3. Colby SL, Ortman JM. Projections of the size and composition of the U.S. population: 2014 to 2060. United States Census Bureau website. https://www.census.gov/library/publications/2015/demo/p25-1143.html. Published March 3, 2015. Accessed April 16, 2020. 
    
4. National Research Council (US) Panel on Hispanics in the United States; Tienda M, Mitchell F, editors. Multiple Origins, Uncertain Destinies: Hispanics and the American Future. Washington (DC): National Academies Press (US); 2006. 3, Defining Hispanicity: E Pluribus Unum or E Pluribus Plures? Available from: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK19811/ 
    
5. Zemelman VB, Valenzuela CY, Sazunic I, et al. Malignant melanoma in Chile: different site distribution between private and state patients. Biol Res. 2014;47:34. 
    
6. NAACCR Race and Ethnicity Work Group. NAACCR guideline for enhancing Hispanic-Latino identification: revised NAACCR Hispanic/Latino identification algorithm [NHIA v2.2.1]. NAACCR website. https://www.naaccr.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/NHIA_v2_2_1_09122011.pdf. Revised September 12, 2011. Accessed April 15, 2020.  
    
7. Hu S, Soza-Vento RM, Parker DF, et al. Comparison of stage at diagnosis of melanoma among Hispanic, black, and white patients in Miami-Dade County, Florida. Arch Dermatol. 2006;142:704-708. 
    
8. Livingston G, Brown A. Intermarriage in the U.S. 50 years after Loving v. Virginia. Pew Research Center website. https://www.pewsocialtrends.org/2017/05/18/intermarriage-in-the-u-s-50-years-after-loving-v-virginia/. Published May 18, 2017. Accessed April 15, 2020. 
    
9. He SY, McCulloch CE, Boscardin WJ, et al. Self-reported pigmentary phenotypes and race are significant but incomplete predictors of Fitzpatrick skin phototype in an ethnically diverse population. J Am Acad Dermatol. 2014;71:731-737. 

Authors' Response 

While Ms. Cruzval-O'Reilly and Dr. Lugo-Somolinos highlight many important points on conducting meaningful research for the Hispanic community, they seem to have misunderstood the overall purpose of our commentary,¹ which was to highlight the increased skin cancer awareness that a notable and vocal member of the Hispanic community brought to our academic dermatology clinic, rather than to discuss skin types within the Hispanic community. As the authors mentioned, the term Hispanic is a descriptor of ethnicity rather than race, and Hispanic patients may have varying levels of skin pigmentation and sun sensitivity. While Dayanara Torres may have risk factors for developing melanoma, minimizing her connection with the Hispanic community because of her fair skin and light eyes would be a mistake. It not only isolates members of the Hispanic community that are of skin types I and II, but it also discounts the power of her story and language in raising awareness. We observed an increase in Hispanic patients presenting to our clinic who were concerned about skin cancer after Ms. Torres shared her diagnosis of metastatic melanoma through social media, followed by Spanish language educational videos on melanoma.  

Several studies have described disparities among Hispanic patients diagnosed with melanoma as compared to their non-Hispanic white counterparts, including younger age at diagnosis, later stage of presentation, increased presence of regional involvement, and worse mortality.^2-6 Furthermore, a small study of high school students by Ma et al⁷ showed disparities in skin cancer knowledge, perceived risk, and sun-protective behaviors among Hispanic whites and non-Hispanic whites, which remained significant (P<.05) after controlling for skin pigmentation and sun sensitivity. We agree with the authors that further analysis of skin type, race, genetics, and other risk factors may help refine the research on skin cancer disparities within the Hispanic community. We suspect that disparities may persist even when examining these factors. There have been several studies showing that knowledge-based interventions, especially when delivered in Spanish, improve understanding of skin cancer, personal risk, and self-examinations, and we support Ms. Torres' efforts in utilizing her platform to provide information about melanoma in Spanish.^8-12  

Radhika Srivastava, MD; Cindy Wassef, MD; Babar K. Rao, MD 
 
From the Department of Dermatology, Rutgers Robert Wood Johnson Medical School, Somerset, New Jersey.  

The authors report no conflict of interest. 

Correspondence: Radhika Srivastava, MD, 1 World's Fair Dr, Ste 2400, Somerset, NJ 08873 (rsrivastavamd@gmail.com). 

References

1. Srivastava R, Wassef C, Rao BK. The Dayanara effect: increasing skin cancer awareness in the Hispanic community. Cutis. 2019;103:257-258. 
    
2. Perez MI. Skin cancer in Hispanics in the United States. J Drugs Dermatol. 2019;18:s117-s120.  
    
3. Higgins S, Nazemi A, Feinstein S, et al. Clinical presentations of melanoma in African Americans, Hispanics, and Asians. Dermatol Surg. 2019;45:791-801. 
    
4. Harvey VM, Oldfield CW, Chen JT, et al. Melanoma disparities among US Hispanics: use of the social ecological model to contextualize reasons for inequitable outcomes and frame a research agenda [published online August 29, 2016]. J Skin Cancer. doi:10.1155/2016/4635740 
    
5. Garnett E, Townsend J, Steele B, et al. Characteristics, rates, and trends of melanoma incidence among Hispanics in the USA. Cancer Causes Control. 2016;27:647-659. 
    
6. Rouhani P, Hu S, Kirsner RS. Melanoma in Hispanic and black Americans. Cancer Control. 2008;15:248-253. 
    
7. Ma F, Collado-Mesa F, Hu S, et al. Skin cancer awareness and sun protection behaviors in white Hispanic and white non-Hispanic high school students in Miami, Florida. Arch Dermatol. 2007;143:983-988. 
    
8. Kundu RV, Kamaria M, Ortiz S, et al. Effectiveness of a knowledge-based intervention for melanoma among those with ethnic skin. J Am Acad Dermatol. 2010;62:777-784. 
    
9. Kailas A, Botwin AL, Pritchett EN, et al. Assessing the effectiveness of knowledge-based interventions in increasing skin cancer awareness, knowledge, and protective behaviors in skin of color populations. Cutis. 2017;100:235-240. 
    
10. Roman CJ, Guan X, Barnholtz-Sloan J, et al. A trial online educational melanoma program aimed at the Hispanic population improves knowledge and behaviors. Dermatol Surg. 2016;42:672-676. 
     
11. Hernandez C, Kim H, Mauleon G, et al. A pilot program in collaboration with community centers to increase awareness and participation in skin cancer screening among Latinos in Chicago. J Cancer Educ. 2013;28:342-345. 
     
12. Chung GY, Brown G, Gibson D. Increasing melanoma screening among Hispanic/Latino Americans: a community-based educational intervention. Health Educ Behav. 2015;42:627-632.

To the Editor: 

We read with interest the commentary by Srivastava et al,¹ "The Dayanara Effect: Increasing Skin Cancer Awareness in the Hispanic Community," concerning former Miss Universe Dayanara Torres and her diagnosis of metastatic melanoma; however, we believe it misses the mark. A quick Google search shows that Ms. Torres has fair skin and blue eyes. She has lived most of her life in Puerto Rico, the Philippines, and California--places where sun exposure is high and may have contributed to her diagnosis. Factors that have been linked to an increased risk for melanoma are fair skin, red or blonde hair, blue or green eyes, intense intermittent sun exposure and sunburns, a weakened immune system, and a family history of skin cancer.² Although we do not know her complete medical history, Ms. Torres' skin phenotype and likely chronic UV exposure made her a candidate for skin cancer. Although Srivastava et al¹ acknowledged that the Hispanic community encompasses a wide variety of individuals with varying levels of skin pigmentation and sun sensitivity, they overlooked Ms. Torres' risk for skin cancer because of her ethnic background. This form of generalization may negatively affect patient care and safety. By 2060, Hispanics are projected to account for almost 30% of the US population,³ and we must acknowledge the flaws that exist in our overall methodology for assessing skin cancer risk among this population to provide patients with unbiased care.  

In the early 1970s, the United States adopted the ethnonym Hispanic as a way of conglomerating Spanish-speaking individuals from Spain, the Caribbean, and Central and South America.⁴ The goal was to implement a common identifier that enabled the US Government to study the economic and social development of these groups. Nevertheless, considerable differences exist among distinct Hispanic communities, and variations in skin pigmentation and sun sensitivity are no exception. Although Hispanic countries are an amalgam of diverse races due to colonization, some have stronger European, African, or Amerindian influences, limiting the use of ethnicity during melanoma risk assessment. Another misconception reflected in the commentary by Srivastava et al¹ is the belief that the terms white and Hispanic are mutually exclusive. A study examining melanoma rates in the Chilean population supports this claim.⁵ The genetic composition of the Chilean high socioeconomic strata is 5% Amerindian and 95% white, while the low socioeconomic strata is approximately 40% Amerindian and 60% white. Patients from the low socioeconomic strata had higher rates of acral malignant melanoma, which typically is seen in patients with skin of color. On the other hand, males from the high socioeconomic strata had higher rates of truncal melanoma, which is more common among the white population.⁵ These results suggest that while both groups are considered Hispanic, it is ancestral origin that contributes to the differential rates and types of malignant melanoma.  

When analyzing data regarding melanoma rates in Hispanics, particularly data collected in the United States, we must question if the results are representative of the entire population. One point worth emphasizing is that melanoma data in the Hispanic community often is flawed. The North American Association of Central Cancer Registries considers Europeans such as Spaniards, as well as citizens of Andorra, the Canary Islands, and the Balearic Islands as Hispanic.⁶ Additionally, the Florida Cancer Data System uses data such as country of birth, ethnicity, and surname or maiden name recorded by the hospital tumor registry to identify Hispanic patients with melanoma.⁷ In 2006, Hu et al⁷ used the Florida Cancer Data System to analyze melanoma data in Miami-Dade County in South Florida, which has the second largest Hispanic community in the United States. One limitation to such data is that ethnicity often is self-reported by patients or assigned by a health care provider. In addition, women whose maiden names are not available may be misclassified through marriage depending on whether their husbands have Spanish or non-Spanish last names.⁷ Finally, with societal norms evolving, Americans are now more accepting of interracial marriages. In 2017, the Pew Research Center reported that 17% of all newlyweds in the United States were intermarried and 42% of these marriages were between a white individual and a Hispanic individual, comprising the most prevalent form of intermarriage reported.⁸ In 2015, 27% of newlywed Hispanics were intermarried. This percentage varied depending on whether they were born in the United States or abroad. Although 15% of Hispanic immigrants married a spouse from another race, 39% of Hispanics born in the United States married a non-Hispanic (eg, white, black, Asian, or Native American who is not Hispanic).⁸ This type of marriage and subsequent offspring might lead to an increase in the white genetic pool. As a result, the risk for melanoma development may be increased or misrepresented. Remaining aware of these changes in the population is crucial, as it exemplifies why the current methodology for gathering and reporting melanoma data is unreliable. 

Labeling Ms. Torres as Hispanic due to her Puerto Rican nationality did not tell us anything about her risk for developing melanoma. To correctly assess the risk for melanoma among Hispanics, it is imperative that we re-evaluate our approach. We agree with He et al⁹ that our efforts should be dedicated to better understanding the impact of pigmentation, race, genetics, and sunburn on the risk for melanoma. Until we know more about this possible correlation, we should reconsider how we study melanoma using Hispanics as an ethnicity. We may have it all wrong.  

1. Srivastava R, Wassef C, Rao BK. The Dayanara effect: increasing skin cancer awareness in the Hispanic community. Cutis. 2019;103:257-258. 
    
2. Curiel-Lewandrowski C. Risk factors for the development of melanoma. UpToDate. https://www.uptodate.com/contents/risk-factors-for-the-development-of-melanoma. Updated February 27, 2020. Accessed April 16, 2020. 
    
3. Colby SL, Ortman JM. Projections of the size and composition of the U.S. population: 2014 to 2060. United States Census Bureau website. https://www.census.gov/library/publications/2015/demo/p25-1143.html. Published March 3, 2015. Accessed April 16, 2020. 
    
4. National Research Council (US) Panel on Hispanics in the United States; Tienda M, Mitchell F, editors. Multiple Origins, Uncertain Destinies: Hispanics and the American Future. Washington (DC): National Academies Press (US); 2006. 3, Defining Hispanicity: E Pluribus Unum or E Pluribus Plures? Available from: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK19811/ 
    
5. Zemelman VB, Valenzuela CY, Sazunic I, et al. Malignant melanoma in Chile: different site distribution between private and state patients. Biol Res. 2014;47:34. 
    
6. NAACCR Race and Ethnicity Work Group. NAACCR guideline for enhancing Hispanic-Latino identification: revised NAACCR Hispanic/Latino identification algorithm [NHIA v2.2.1]. NAACCR website. https://www.naaccr.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/NHIA_v2_2_1_09122011.pdf. Revised September 12, 2011. Accessed April 15, 2020.  
    
7. Hu S, Soza-Vento RM, Parker DF, et al. Comparison of stage at diagnosis of melanoma among Hispanic, black, and white patients in Miami-Dade County, Florida. Arch Dermatol. 2006;142:704-708. 
    
8. Livingston G, Brown A. Intermarriage in the U.S. 50 years after Loving v. Virginia. Pew Research Center website. https://www.pewsocialtrends.org/2017/05/18/intermarriage-in-the-u-s-50-years-after-loving-v-virginia/. Published May 18, 2017. Accessed April 15, 2020. 
    
9. He SY, McCulloch CE, Boscardin WJ, et al. Self-reported pigmentary phenotypes and race are significant but incomplete predictors of Fitzpatrick skin phototype in an ethnically diverse population. J Am Acad Dermatol. 2014;71:731-737. 

Authors' Response 

While Ms. Cruzval-O'Reilly and Dr. Lugo-Somolinos highlight many important points on conducting meaningful research for the Hispanic community, they seem to have misunderstood the overall purpose of our commentary,¹ which was to highlight the increased skin cancer awareness that a notable and vocal member of the Hispanic community brought to our academic dermatology clinic, rather than to discuss skin types within the Hispanic community. As the authors mentioned, the term Hispanic is a descriptor of ethnicity rather than race, and Hispanic patients may have varying levels of skin pigmentation and sun sensitivity. While Dayanara Torres may have risk factors for developing melanoma, minimizing her connection with the Hispanic community because of her fair skin and light eyes would be a mistake. It not only isolates members of the Hispanic community that are of skin types I and II, but it also discounts the power of her story and language in raising awareness. We observed an increase in Hispanic patients presenting to our clinic who were concerned about skin cancer after Ms. Torres shared her diagnosis of metastatic melanoma through social media, followed by Spanish language educational videos on melanoma.  

Several studies have described disparities among Hispanic patients diagnosed with melanoma as compared to their non-Hispanic white counterparts, including younger age at diagnosis, later stage of presentation, increased presence of regional involvement, and worse mortality.^2-6 Furthermore, a small study of high school students by Ma et al⁷ showed disparities in skin cancer knowledge, perceived risk, and sun-protective behaviors among Hispanic whites and non-Hispanic whites, which remained significant (P<.05) after controlling for skin pigmentation and sun sensitivity. We agree with the authors that further analysis of skin type, race, genetics, and other risk factors may help refine the research on skin cancer disparities within the Hispanic community. We suspect that disparities may persist even when examining these factors. There have been several studies showing that knowledge-based interventions, especially when delivered in Spanish, improve understanding of skin cancer, personal risk, and self-examinations, and we support Ms. Torres' efforts in utilizing her platform to provide information about melanoma in Spanish.^8-12  

Radhika Srivastava, MD; Cindy Wassef, MD; Babar K. Rao, MD 
 
From the Department of Dermatology, Rutgers Robert Wood Johnson Medical School, Somerset, New Jersey.  

The authors report no conflict of interest. 

Correspondence: Radhika Srivastava, MD, 1 World's Fair Dr, Ste 2400, Somerset, NJ 08873 (rsrivastavamd@gmail.com). 

References

1. Srivastava R, Wassef C, Rao BK. The Dayanara effect: increasing skin cancer awareness in the Hispanic community. Cutis. 2019;103:257-258. 
    
2. Perez MI. Skin cancer in Hispanics in the United States. J Drugs Dermatol. 2019;18:s117-s120.  
    
3. Higgins S, Nazemi A, Feinstein S, et al. Clinical presentations of melanoma in African Americans, Hispanics, and Asians. Dermatol Surg. 2019;45:791-801. 
    
4. Harvey VM, Oldfield CW, Chen JT, et al. Melanoma disparities among US Hispanics: use of the social ecological model to contextualize reasons for inequitable outcomes and frame a research agenda [published online August 29, 2016]. J Skin Cancer. doi:10.1155/2016/4635740 
    
5. Garnett E, Townsend J, Steele B, et al. Characteristics, rates, and trends of melanoma incidence among Hispanics in the USA. Cancer Causes Control. 2016;27:647-659. 
    
6. Rouhani P, Hu S, Kirsner RS. Melanoma in Hispanic and black Americans. Cancer Control. 2008;15:248-253. 
    
7. Ma F, Collado-Mesa F, Hu S, et al. Skin cancer awareness and sun protection behaviors in white Hispanic and white non-Hispanic high school students in Miami, Florida. Arch Dermatol. 2007;143:983-988. 
    
8. Kundu RV, Kamaria M, Ortiz S, et al. Effectiveness of a knowledge-based intervention for melanoma among those with ethnic skin. J Am Acad Dermatol. 2010;62:777-784. 
    
9. Kailas A, Botwin AL, Pritchett EN, et al. Assessing the effectiveness of knowledge-based interventions in increasing skin cancer awareness, knowledge, and protective behaviors in skin of color populations. Cutis. 2017;100:235-240. 
    
10. Roman CJ, Guan X, Barnholtz-Sloan J, et al. A trial online educational melanoma program aimed at the Hispanic population improves knowledge and behaviors. Dermatol Surg. 2016;42:672-676. 
     
11. Hernandez C, Kim H, Mauleon G, et al. A pilot program in collaboration with community centers to increase awareness and participation in skin cancer screening among Latinos in Chicago. J Cancer Educ. 2013;28:342-345. 
     
12. Chung GY, Brown G, Gibson D. Increasing melanoma screening among Hispanic/Latino Americans: a community-based educational intervention. Health Educ Behav. 2015;42:627-632.

To the Editor: 

We read with interest the commentary by Srivastava et al,¹ "The Dayanara Effect: Increasing Skin Cancer Awareness in the Hispanic Community," concerning former Miss Universe Dayanara Torres and her diagnosis of metastatic melanoma; however, we believe it misses the mark. A quick Google search shows that Ms. Torres has fair skin and blue eyes. She has lived most of her life in Puerto Rico, the Philippines, and California--places where sun exposure is high and may have contributed to her diagnosis. Factors that have been linked to an increased risk for melanoma are fair skin, red or blonde hair, blue or green eyes, intense intermittent sun exposure and sunburns, a weakened immune system, and a family history of skin cancer.² Although we do not know her complete medical history, Ms. Torres' skin phenotype and likely chronic UV exposure made her a candidate for skin cancer. Although Srivastava et al¹ acknowledged that the Hispanic community encompasses a wide variety of individuals with varying levels of skin pigmentation and sun sensitivity, they overlooked Ms. Torres' risk for skin cancer because of her ethnic background. This form of generalization may negatively affect patient care and safety. By 2060, Hispanics are projected to account for almost 30% of the US population,³ and we must acknowledge the flaws that exist in our overall methodology for assessing skin cancer risk among this population to provide patients with unbiased care.  

In the early 1970s, the United States adopted the ethnonym Hispanic as a way of conglomerating Spanish-speaking individuals from Spain, the Caribbean, and Central and South America.⁴ The goal was to implement a common identifier that enabled the US Government to study the economic and social development of these groups. Nevertheless, considerable differences exist among distinct Hispanic communities, and variations in skin pigmentation and sun sensitivity are no exception. Although Hispanic countries are an amalgam of diverse races due to colonization, some have stronger European, African, or Amerindian influences, limiting the use of ethnicity during melanoma risk assessment. Another misconception reflected in the commentary by Srivastava et al¹ is the belief that the terms white and Hispanic are mutually exclusive. A study examining melanoma rates in the Chilean population supports this claim.⁵ The genetic composition of the Chilean high socioeconomic strata is 5% Amerindian and 95% white, while the low socioeconomic strata is approximately 40% Amerindian and 60% white. Patients from the low socioeconomic strata had higher rates of acral malignant melanoma, which typically is seen in patients with skin of color. On the other hand, males from the high socioeconomic strata had higher rates of truncal melanoma, which is more common among the white population.⁵ These results suggest that while both groups are considered Hispanic, it is ancestral origin that contributes to the differential rates and types of malignant melanoma.  

When analyzing data regarding melanoma rates in Hispanics, particularly data collected in the United States, we must question if the results are representative of the entire population. One point worth emphasizing is that melanoma data in the Hispanic community often is flawed. The North American Association of Central Cancer Registries considers Europeans such as Spaniards, as well as citizens of Andorra, the Canary Islands, and the Balearic Islands as Hispanic.⁶ Additionally, the Florida Cancer Data System uses data such as country of birth, ethnicity, and surname or maiden name recorded by the hospital tumor registry to identify Hispanic patients with melanoma.⁷ In 2006, Hu et al⁷ used the Florida Cancer Data System to analyze melanoma data in Miami-Dade County in South Florida, which has the second largest Hispanic community in the United States. One limitation to such data is that ethnicity often is self-reported by patients or assigned by a health care provider. In addition, women whose maiden names are not available may be misclassified through marriage depending on whether their husbands have Spanish or non-Spanish last names.⁷ Finally, with societal norms evolving, Americans are now more accepting of interracial marriages. In 2017, the Pew Research Center reported that 17% of all newlyweds in the United States were intermarried and 42% of these marriages were between a white individual and a Hispanic individual, comprising the most prevalent form of intermarriage reported.⁸ In 2015, 27% of newlywed Hispanics were intermarried. This percentage varied depending on whether they were born in the United States or abroad. Although 15% of Hispanic immigrants married a spouse from another race, 39% of Hispanics born in the United States married a non-Hispanic (eg, white, black, Asian, or Native American who is not Hispanic).⁸ This type of marriage and subsequent offspring might lead to an increase in the white genetic pool. As a result, the risk for melanoma development may be increased or misrepresented. Remaining aware of these changes in the population is crucial, as it exemplifies why the current methodology for gathering and reporting melanoma data is unreliable. 

Labeling Ms. Torres as Hispanic due to her Puerto Rican nationality did not tell us anything about her risk for developing melanoma. To correctly assess the risk for melanoma among Hispanics, it is imperative that we re-evaluate our approach. We agree with He et al⁹ that our efforts should be dedicated to better understanding the impact of pigmentation, race, genetics, and sunburn on the risk for melanoma. Until we know more about this possible correlation, we should reconsider how we study melanoma using Hispanics as an ethnicity. We may have it all wrong.  

1. Srivastava R, Wassef C, Rao BK. The Dayanara effect: increasing skin cancer awareness in the Hispanic community. Cutis. 2019;103:257-258. 
    
2. Curiel-Lewandrowski C. Risk factors for the development of melanoma. UpToDate. https://www.uptodate.com/contents/risk-factors-for-the-development-of-melanoma. Updated February 27, 2020. Accessed April 16, 2020. 
    
3. Colby SL, Ortman JM. Projections of the size and composition of the U.S. population: 2014 to 2060. United States Census Bureau website. https://www.census.gov/library/publications/2015/demo/p25-1143.html. Published March 3, 2015. Accessed April 16, 2020. 
    
4. National Research Council (US) Panel on Hispanics in the United States; Tienda M, Mitchell F, editors. Multiple Origins, Uncertain Destinies: Hispanics and the American Future. Washington (DC): National Academies Press (US); 2006. 3, Defining Hispanicity: E Pluribus Unum or E Pluribus Plures? Available from: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK19811/ 
    
5. Zemelman VB, Valenzuela CY, Sazunic I, et al. Malignant melanoma in Chile: different site distribution between private and state patients. Biol Res. 2014;47:34. 
    
6. NAACCR Race and Ethnicity Work Group. NAACCR guideline for enhancing Hispanic-Latino identification: revised NAACCR Hispanic/Latino identification algorithm [NHIA v2.2.1]. NAACCR website. https://www.naaccr.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/11/NHIA_v2_2_1_09122011.pdf. Revised September 12, 2011. Accessed April 15, 2020.  
    
7. Hu S, Soza-Vento RM, Parker DF, et al. Comparison of stage at diagnosis of melanoma among Hispanic, black, and white patients in Miami-Dade County, Florida. Arch Dermatol. 2006;142:704-708. 
    
8. Livingston G, Brown A. Intermarriage in the U.S. 50 years after Loving v. Virginia. Pew Research Center website. https://www.pewsocialtrends.org/2017/05/18/intermarriage-in-the-u-s-50-years-after-loving-v-virginia/. Published May 18, 2017. Accessed April 15, 2020. 
    
9. He SY, McCulloch CE, Boscardin WJ, et al. Self-reported pigmentary phenotypes and race are significant but incomplete predictors of Fitzpatrick skin phototype in an ethnically diverse population. J Am Acad Dermatol. 2014;71:731-737. 

Authors' Response 

While Ms. Cruzval-O'Reilly and Dr. Lugo-Somolinos highlight many important points on conducting meaningful research for the Hispanic community, they seem to have misunderstood the overall purpose of our commentary,¹ which was to highlight the increased skin cancer awareness that a notable and vocal member of the Hispanic community brought to our academic dermatology clinic, rather than to discuss skin types within the Hispanic community. As the authors mentioned, the term Hispanic is a descriptor of ethnicity rather than race, and Hispanic patients may have varying levels of skin pigmentation and sun sensitivity. While Dayanara Torres may have risk factors for developing melanoma, minimizing her connection with the Hispanic community because of her fair skin and light eyes would be a mistake. It not only isolates members of the Hispanic community that are of skin types I and II, but it also discounts the power of her story and language in raising awareness. We observed an increase in Hispanic patients presenting to our clinic who were concerned about skin cancer after Ms. Torres shared her diagnosis of metastatic melanoma through social media, followed by Spanish language educational videos on melanoma.  

Several studies have described disparities among Hispanic patients diagnosed with melanoma as compared to their non-Hispanic white counterparts, including younger age at diagnosis, later stage of presentation, increased presence of regional involvement, and worse mortality.^2-6 Furthermore, a small study of high school students by Ma et al⁷ showed disparities in skin cancer knowledge, perceived risk, and sun-protective behaviors among Hispanic whites and non-Hispanic whites, which remained significant (P<.05) after controlling for skin pigmentation and sun sensitivity. We agree with the authors that further analysis of skin type, race, genetics, and other risk factors may help refine the research on skin cancer disparities within the Hispanic community. We suspect that disparities may persist even when examining these factors. There have been several studies showing that knowledge-based interventions, especially when delivered in Spanish, improve understanding of skin cancer, personal risk, and self-examinations, and we support Ms. Torres' efforts in utilizing her platform to provide information about melanoma in Spanish.^8-12  

Radhika Srivastava, MD; Cindy Wassef, MD; Babar K. Rao, MD 
 
From the Department of Dermatology, Rutgers Robert Wood Johnson Medical School, Somerset, New Jersey.  

The authors report no conflict of interest. 

Correspondence: Radhika Srivastava, MD, 1 World's Fair Dr, Ste 2400, Somerset, NJ 08873 (rsrivastavamd@gmail.com). 

References

1. Srivastava R, Wassef C, Rao BK. The Dayanara effect: increasing skin cancer awareness in the Hispanic community. Cutis. 2019;103:257-258. 
    
2. Perez MI. Skin cancer in Hispanics in the United States. J Drugs Dermatol. 2019;18:s117-s120.  
    
3. Higgins S, Nazemi A, Feinstein S, et al. Clinical presentations of melanoma in African Americans, Hispanics, and Asians. Dermatol Surg. 2019;45:791-801. 
    
4. Harvey VM, Oldfield CW, Chen JT, et al. Melanoma disparities among US Hispanics: use of the social ecological model to contextualize reasons for inequitable outcomes and frame a research agenda [published online August 29, 2016]. J Skin Cancer. doi:10.1155/2016/4635740 
    
5. Garnett E, Townsend J, Steele B, et al. Characteristics, rates, and trends of melanoma incidence among Hispanics in the USA. Cancer Causes Control. 2016;27:647-659. 
    
6. Rouhani P, Hu S, Kirsner RS. Melanoma in Hispanic and black Americans. Cancer Control. 2008;15:248-253. 
    
7. Ma F, Collado-Mesa F, Hu S, et al. Skin cancer awareness and sun protection behaviors in white Hispanic and white non-Hispanic high school students in Miami, Florida. Arch Dermatol. 2007;143:983-988. 
    
8. Kundu RV, Kamaria M, Ortiz S, et al. Effectiveness of a knowledge-based intervention for melanoma among those with ethnic skin. J Am Acad Dermatol. 2010;62:777-784. 
    
9. Kailas A, Botwin AL, Pritchett EN, et al. Assessing the effectiveness of knowledge-based interventions in increasing skin cancer awareness, knowledge, and protective behaviors in skin of color populations. Cutis. 2017;100:235-240. 
    
10. Roman CJ, Guan X, Barnholtz-Sloan J, et al. A trial online educational melanoma program aimed at the Hispanic population improves knowledge and behaviors. Dermatol Surg. 2016;42:672-676. 
     
11. Hernandez C, Kim H, Mauleon G, et al. A pilot program in collaboration with community centers to increase awareness and participation in skin cancer screening among Latinos in Chicago. J Cancer Educ. 2013;28:342-345. 
     
12. Chung GY, Brown G, Gibson D. Increasing melanoma screening among Hispanic/Latino Americans: a community-based educational intervention. Health Educ Behav. 2015;42:627-632.

To the Editor: 

We read with interest the excellent Cutis articles on cutaneous metastases by Tarantino et al¹ and Agnetta et al.² Tarantino et al¹ reported a 59-year-old man who developed cutaneous metastases on the scalp from an esophageal adenocarcinoma. Agnetta et al² described a 76-year-old woman with metastatic melanoma mimicking eruptive keratoacanthomas.  

Cutaneous metastases are not common. They may herald the unsuspected diagnosis of a solid tumor recurrence or progression of systemic disease in an oncology patient. Occasionally, they are the primary manifestation of a visceral tumor in a previously cancer-free patient. Less often, skin lesions are the manifestation of a new or recurrent hematologic malignancy.^3,4 

The morphology of cutaneous metastases is variable. Most commonly they appear as papules and nodules. However, they can mimic bacterial (eg, erysipelas) and viral (eg, herpes zoster) infections or present as scalp alopecia.^5-7

Cutaneous metastases also can mimic benign (eg, epidermoid cysts) or malignant (eg, keratoacanthoma) neoplasms. Keratoacanthomalike cutaneous metastases are rare.⁸ They can present as single or multiple tumors.^9,10 

In the case reported by Tarantino et al,¹ the patient had a history of metastatic adenocarcinoma of the esophagus. His unsuspected recurrence presented not only with a single keratoacanthomalike cutaneous metastasis on the scalp but also with another metastasis-related scalp lesion that appeared as a smooth pearly papule. We also observed a 53-year-old man whose metastatic esophageal adenocarcinoma presented with a keratoacanthomalike nodule on the right upper lip; additionally, the patient had other cutaneous metastases that appeared as an erythematous papule on the forehead and a cystic nodule on the scalp.⁸ Other investigators also observed a single keratoacanthomalike lesion on the left cheek of a 49-year-old man with metastatic esophageal adenocarcinoma.¹¹ 

Agnetta et al² described a patient with a history of malignant melanoma on the left upper back that had been excised 2 years prior. She presented with the eruptive onset of multiple keratoacanthomalike cutaneous metastases on the chest, back, and right arm.² The important observation of metastatic malignant melanoma presenting as multiple keratoacanthomalike cutaneous metastases pointed out by Agnetta et al2 confirms a similar occurrence reported by Reed et al¹² in a patient with metastatic malignant melanoma. 

We also previously reported the case of a 68-year-old man with metastatic laryngeal squamous cell carcinoma (SCC) who developed more than 10 keratoacanthomalike nodules within a radiation port that extended from the face to the mid chest.¹⁰ In addition, other researchers have noted a similar phenomenon of keratoacanthomalike cutaneous metastases mimicking eruptive keratoacanthomas.¹³ Gil et al¹⁴ described a 40-year-old woman whose metastatic epithelioid trophoblastic tumor initially presented as 11 keratoacanthomalike scalp nodules; interestingly, the first nodule spontaneously regressed. Araghi et al¹⁵ reported a 58-year-old woman--with a stable SCC of the larynx that had been diagnosed 2 years prior and treated with chemoradiotherapy--in whom cancer progression presented as multiple keratoacanthomalike lesions in an area of prior radiotherapy. 

In conclusion, cutaneous metastases presenting as new-onset solitary or multiple keratoacanthomalike nodules in either a cancer-free individual or a patient with a prior history of a visceral malignancy is uncommon. Although the clinical features mimic those of a single or eruptive keratoacanthomas, a biopsy will readily establish the diagnosis of cutaneous metastatic cancer. Metastatic esophageal carcinoma--either adenocarcinoma or SCC--can present, albeit rarely, with cutaneous lesions that can have various morphologies.⁸ Whether there is an increased predilection for patients with metastatic esophageal adenocarcinoma to present with single keratoacanthomalike cutaneous metastases with or without concurrent additional skin lesions of cutaneous metastases of other morphologies remains to be determined. 

To the Editor: 

We read with interest the excellent Cutis articles on cutaneous metastases by Tarantino et al¹ and Agnetta et al.² Tarantino et al¹ reported a 59-year-old man who developed cutaneous metastases on the scalp from an esophageal adenocarcinoma. Agnetta et al² described a 76-year-old woman with metastatic melanoma mimicking eruptive keratoacanthomas.  

Cutaneous metastases are not common. They may herald the unsuspected diagnosis of a solid tumor recurrence or progression of systemic disease in an oncology patient. Occasionally, they are the primary manifestation of a visceral tumor in a previously cancer-free patient. Less often, skin lesions are the manifestation of a new or recurrent hematologic malignancy.^3,4 

The morphology of cutaneous metastases is variable. Most commonly they appear as papules and nodules. However, they can mimic bacterial (eg, erysipelas) and viral (eg, herpes zoster) infections or present as scalp alopecia.^5-7

Cutaneous metastases also can mimic benign (eg, epidermoid cysts) or malignant (eg, keratoacanthoma) neoplasms. Keratoacanthomalike cutaneous metastases are rare.⁸ They can present as single or multiple tumors.^9,10 

In the case reported by Tarantino et al,¹ the patient had a history of metastatic adenocarcinoma of the esophagus. His unsuspected recurrence presented not only with a single keratoacanthomalike cutaneous metastasis on the scalp but also with another metastasis-related scalp lesion that appeared as a smooth pearly papule. We also observed a 53-year-old man whose metastatic esophageal adenocarcinoma presented with a keratoacanthomalike nodule on the right upper lip; additionally, the patient had other cutaneous metastases that appeared as an erythematous papule on the forehead and a cystic nodule on the scalp.⁸ Other investigators also observed a single keratoacanthomalike lesion on the left cheek of a 49-year-old man with metastatic esophageal adenocarcinoma.¹¹ 

Agnetta et al² described a patient with a history of malignant melanoma on the left upper back that had been excised 2 years prior. She presented with the eruptive onset of multiple keratoacanthomalike cutaneous metastases on the chest, back, and right arm.² The important observation of metastatic malignant melanoma presenting as multiple keratoacanthomalike cutaneous metastases pointed out by Agnetta et al2 confirms a similar occurrence reported by Reed et al¹² in a patient with metastatic malignant melanoma. 

We also previously reported the case of a 68-year-old man with metastatic laryngeal squamous cell carcinoma (SCC) who developed more than 10 keratoacanthomalike nodules within a radiation port that extended from the face to the mid chest.¹⁰ In addition, other researchers have noted a similar phenomenon of keratoacanthomalike cutaneous metastases mimicking eruptive keratoacanthomas.¹³ Gil et al¹⁴ described a 40-year-old woman whose metastatic epithelioid trophoblastic tumor initially presented as 11 keratoacanthomalike scalp nodules; interestingly, the first nodule spontaneously regressed. Araghi et al¹⁵ reported a 58-year-old woman--with a stable SCC of the larynx that had been diagnosed 2 years prior and treated with chemoradiotherapy--in whom cancer progression presented as multiple keratoacanthomalike lesions in an area of prior radiotherapy. 

In conclusion, cutaneous metastases presenting as new-onset solitary or multiple keratoacanthomalike nodules in either a cancer-free individual or a patient with a prior history of a visceral malignancy is uncommon. Although the clinical features mimic those of a single or eruptive keratoacanthomas, a biopsy will readily establish the diagnosis of cutaneous metastatic cancer. Metastatic esophageal carcinoma--either adenocarcinoma or SCC--can present, albeit rarely, with cutaneous lesions that can have various morphologies.⁸ Whether there is an increased predilection for patients with metastatic esophageal adenocarcinoma to present with single keratoacanthomalike cutaneous metastases with or without concurrent additional skin lesions of cutaneous metastases of other morphologies remains to be determined. 

To the Editor: 

We read with interest the excellent Cutis articles on cutaneous metastases by Tarantino et al¹ and Agnetta et al.² Tarantino et al¹ reported a 59-year-old man who developed cutaneous metastases on the scalp from an esophageal adenocarcinoma. Agnetta et al² described a 76-year-old woman with metastatic melanoma mimicking eruptive keratoacanthomas.  

Cutaneous metastases are not common. They may herald the unsuspected diagnosis of a solid tumor recurrence or progression of systemic disease in an oncology patient. Occasionally, they are the primary manifestation of a visceral tumor in a previously cancer-free patient. Less often, skin lesions are the manifestation of a new or recurrent hematologic malignancy.^3,4 

The morphology of cutaneous metastases is variable. Most commonly they appear as papules and nodules. However, they can mimic bacterial (eg, erysipelas) and viral (eg, herpes zoster) infections or present as scalp alopecia.^5-7

Cutaneous metastases also can mimic benign (eg, epidermoid cysts) or malignant (eg, keratoacanthoma) neoplasms. Keratoacanthomalike cutaneous metastases are rare.⁸ They can present as single or multiple tumors.^9,10 

In the case reported by Tarantino et al,¹ the patient had a history of metastatic adenocarcinoma of the esophagus. His unsuspected recurrence presented not only with a single keratoacanthomalike cutaneous metastasis on the scalp but also with another metastasis-related scalp lesion that appeared as a smooth pearly papule. We also observed a 53-year-old man whose metastatic esophageal adenocarcinoma presented with a keratoacanthomalike nodule on the right upper lip; additionally, the patient had other cutaneous metastases that appeared as an erythematous papule on the forehead and a cystic nodule on the scalp.⁸ Other investigators also observed a single keratoacanthomalike lesion on the left cheek of a 49-year-old man with metastatic esophageal adenocarcinoma.¹¹ 

Agnetta et al² described a patient with a history of malignant melanoma on the left upper back that had been excised 2 years prior. She presented with the eruptive onset of multiple keratoacanthomalike cutaneous metastases on the chest, back, and right arm.² The important observation of metastatic malignant melanoma presenting as multiple keratoacanthomalike cutaneous metastases pointed out by Agnetta et al2 confirms a similar occurrence reported by Reed et al¹² in a patient with metastatic malignant melanoma. 

We also previously reported the case of a 68-year-old man with metastatic laryngeal squamous cell carcinoma (SCC) who developed more than 10 keratoacanthomalike nodules within a radiation port that extended from the face to the mid chest.¹⁰ In addition, other researchers have noted a similar phenomenon of keratoacanthomalike cutaneous metastases mimicking eruptive keratoacanthomas.¹³ Gil et al¹⁴ described a 40-year-old woman whose metastatic epithelioid trophoblastic tumor initially presented as 11 keratoacanthomalike scalp nodules; interestingly, the first nodule spontaneously regressed. Araghi et al¹⁵ reported a 58-year-old woman--with a stable SCC of the larynx that had been diagnosed 2 years prior and treated with chemoradiotherapy--in whom cancer progression presented as multiple keratoacanthomalike lesions in an area of prior radiotherapy. 

In conclusion, cutaneous metastases presenting as new-onset solitary or multiple keratoacanthomalike nodules in either a cancer-free individual or a patient with a prior history of a visceral malignancy is uncommon. Although the clinical features mimic those of a single or eruptive keratoacanthomas, a biopsy will readily establish the diagnosis of cutaneous metastatic cancer. Metastatic esophageal carcinoma--either adenocarcinoma or SCC--can present, albeit rarely, with cutaneous lesions that can have various morphologies.⁸ Whether there is an increased predilection for patients with metastatic esophageal adenocarcinoma to present with single keratoacanthomalike cutaneous metastases with or without concurrent additional skin lesions of cutaneous metastases of other morphologies remains to be determined. 

What do you do now?

Your waiting room is filled with mask-wearing individuals, except for one person. Your staff offers a mask to this person, citing your office policy of requiring masks for all persons in order to prevent asymptomatic COVID-19 spread, and the patient refuses to put it on.

What can you/should you/must you do? Are you required to see a patient who refuses to wear a mask? If you ask the patient to leave without being seen, can you be accused of patient abandonment? If you allow the patient to stay, could you be liable for negligence for exposing others to a deadly illness?

The rules on mask-wearing, while initially downright confusing, have inexorably come to a rough consensus. By governors’ orders, masks are now mandatory in most states, though when and where they are required varies. For example, effective July 7, the governor of Washington has ordered that a business not allow a customer to enter without a face covering.

So far, there are no cases or court decisions to guide us about whether it is negligence to allow an unmasked patient to commingle in a medical practice. Nor do we have case law to help us determine whether patient abandonment would apply if a patient is sent home without being seen.

We can apply the legal principles and cases from other situations to this one, however, to tell us what constitutes negligence or patient abandonment. The practical questions, legally, are who might sue and on what basis?

Who might sue?

Someone who is injured in a public place may sue the owner for negligence if the owner knew or should have known of a danger and didn’t do anything about it. For example, individuals have sued grocery stores successfully after they slipped on a banana peel and fell. If, say, the banana peel was black, that indicates that it had been there for a while, and judges have found that the store management should have known about it and removed it.

Compare the banana peel scenario with the scenario where most news outlets and health departments are telling people, every day, to wear masks while in indoor public spaces, yet owners of a medical practice or facility allow individuals who are not wearing masks to sit in their waiting room. If an individual who was also in the waiting room with the unmasked individual develops COVID-19 2 days later, the ill individual may sue the medical practice for negligence for not removing the unmasked individual.

What about the individual’s responsibility to move away from the person not wearing a mask? That is the aspect of this scenario that attorneys and experts could argue about, for days, in a court case. But to go back to the banana peel case, one could argue that a customer in a grocery store should be looking out for banana peels on the floor and avoid them, yet courts have assigned liability to grocery stores when customers slip and fall.

Let’s review the four elements of negligence which a plaintiff would need to prove:

• Duty: Obligation of one person to another
• Breach: Improper act or omission, in the context of proper behavior to avoid imposing undue risks of harm to other persons and their property
• Damage
• Causation: That the act or omission caused the harm

Those who run medical offices and facilities have a duty to provide reasonably safe public spaces. Unmasked individuals are a risk to others nearby, so the “breach” element is satisfied if a practice fails to impose safety measures. Causation could be proven, or at least inferred, if contact tracing of an individual with COVID-19 showed that the only contact likely to have exposed the ill individual to the virus was an unmasked individual in a medical practice’s waiting room, especially if the unmasked individual was COVID-19 positive before, during, or shortly after the visit to the practice.

What about patient abandonment?

“Patient abandonment” is the legal term for terminating the physician-patient relationship in such a manner that the patient is denied necessary medical care. It is a form of negligence.

Refusing to see a patient unless the patient wears a mask is not denying care, in this attorney’s view, but rather establishing reasonable conditions for getting care. The patient simply needs to put on a mask.

What about the patient who refuses to wear a mask for medical reasons? There are exceptions in most of the governors’ orders for individuals with medical conditions that preclude covering nose and mouth with a mask. A medical office is the perfect place to test an individual’s ability or inability to breathe well while wearing a mask. “Put the mask on and we’ll see how you do” is a reasonable response. Monitor the patient visually and apply a pulse oximeter with mask off and mask on.

One physician recently wrote about measuring her own oxygen levels while wearing four different masks for 5 minutes each, with no change in breathing.

Editor’s note: Read more about mask exemptions in a Medscape interview with pulmonologist Albert Rizzo, MD, chief medical officer of the American Lung Association.

What are some practical tips?

Assuming that a patient is not in acute distress, options in this scenario include:

• Send the patient home and offer a return visit if masked or when the pandemic is over.
• Offer a telehealth visit, with the patient at home.

What if the unmasked person is not a patient but the companion of a patient? What if the individual refusing to wear a mask is an employee? In neither of these two hypotheticals is there a basis for legal action against a practice whose policy requires that everyone wear masks on the premises.

A companion who arrives without a mask should leave the office. An employee who refuses to mask up could be sent home. If the employee has a disability covered by the Americans with Disabilities Act, then the practice may need to make reasonable accommodations so that the employee works in a room alone if unable to work from home.

Those who manage medical practices should check the websites of the state health department and medical societies at least weekly, to see whether the agencies have issued guidance. For example, the Texas Medical Association has issued limited guidance.

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

What do you do now?

Your waiting room is filled with mask-wearing individuals, except for one person. Your staff offers a mask to this person, citing your office policy of requiring masks for all persons in order to prevent asymptomatic COVID-19 spread, and the patient refuses to put it on.

What can you/should you/must you do? Are you required to see a patient who refuses to wear a mask? If you ask the patient to leave without being seen, can you be accused of patient abandonment? If you allow the patient to stay, could you be liable for negligence for exposing others to a deadly illness?

The rules on mask-wearing, while initially downright confusing, have inexorably come to a rough consensus. By governors’ orders, masks are now mandatory in most states, though when and where they are required varies. For example, effective July 7, the governor of Washington has ordered that a business not allow a customer to enter without a face covering.

So far, there are no cases or court decisions to guide us about whether it is negligence to allow an unmasked patient to commingle in a medical practice. Nor do we have case law to help us determine whether patient abandonment would apply if a patient is sent home without being seen.

We can apply the legal principles and cases from other situations to this one, however, to tell us what constitutes negligence or patient abandonment. The practical questions, legally, are who might sue and on what basis?

Who might sue?

Someone who is injured in a public place may sue the owner for negligence if the owner knew or should have known of a danger and didn’t do anything about it. For example, individuals have sued grocery stores successfully after they slipped on a banana peel and fell. If, say, the banana peel was black, that indicates that it had been there for a while, and judges have found that the store management should have known about it and removed it.

Compare the banana peel scenario with the scenario where most news outlets and health departments are telling people, every day, to wear masks while in indoor public spaces, yet owners of a medical practice or facility allow individuals who are not wearing masks to sit in their waiting room. If an individual who was also in the waiting room with the unmasked individual develops COVID-19 2 days later, the ill individual may sue the medical practice for negligence for not removing the unmasked individual.

What about the individual’s responsibility to move away from the person not wearing a mask? That is the aspect of this scenario that attorneys and experts could argue about, for days, in a court case. But to go back to the banana peel case, one could argue that a customer in a grocery store should be looking out for banana peels on the floor and avoid them, yet courts have assigned liability to grocery stores when customers slip and fall.

Let’s review the four elements of negligence which a plaintiff would need to prove:

• Duty: Obligation of one person to another
• Breach: Improper act or omission, in the context of proper behavior to avoid imposing undue risks of harm to other persons and their property
• Damage
• Causation: That the act or omission caused the harm

Those who run medical offices and facilities have a duty to provide reasonably safe public spaces. Unmasked individuals are a risk to others nearby, so the “breach” element is satisfied if a practice fails to impose safety measures. Causation could be proven, or at least inferred, if contact tracing of an individual with COVID-19 showed that the only contact likely to have exposed the ill individual to the virus was an unmasked individual in a medical practice’s waiting room, especially if the unmasked individual was COVID-19 positive before, during, or shortly after the visit to the practice.

What about patient abandonment?

“Patient abandonment” is the legal term for terminating the physician-patient relationship in such a manner that the patient is denied necessary medical care. It is a form of negligence.

Refusing to see a patient unless the patient wears a mask is not denying care, in this attorney’s view, but rather establishing reasonable conditions for getting care. The patient simply needs to put on a mask.

What about the patient who refuses to wear a mask for medical reasons? There are exceptions in most of the governors’ orders for individuals with medical conditions that preclude covering nose and mouth with a mask. A medical office is the perfect place to test an individual’s ability or inability to breathe well while wearing a mask. “Put the mask on and we’ll see how you do” is a reasonable response. Monitor the patient visually and apply a pulse oximeter with mask off and mask on.

One physician recently wrote about measuring her own oxygen levels while wearing four different masks for 5 minutes each, with no change in breathing.

Editor’s note: Read more about mask exemptions in a Medscape interview with pulmonologist Albert Rizzo, MD, chief medical officer of the American Lung Association.

What are some practical tips?

Assuming that a patient is not in acute distress, options in this scenario include:

• Send the patient home and offer a return visit if masked or when the pandemic is over.
• Offer a telehealth visit, with the patient at home.

What if the unmasked person is not a patient but the companion of a patient? What if the individual refusing to wear a mask is an employee? In neither of these two hypotheticals is there a basis for legal action against a practice whose policy requires that everyone wear masks on the premises.

A companion who arrives without a mask should leave the office. An employee who refuses to mask up could be sent home. If the employee has a disability covered by the Americans with Disabilities Act, then the practice may need to make reasonable accommodations so that the employee works in a room alone if unable to work from home.

Those who manage medical practices should check the websites of the state health department and medical societies at least weekly, to see whether the agencies have issued guidance. For example, the Texas Medical Association has issued limited guidance.

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

What do you do now?

Your waiting room is filled with mask-wearing individuals, except for one person. Your staff offers a mask to this person, citing your office policy of requiring masks for all persons in order to prevent asymptomatic COVID-19 spread, and the patient refuses to put it on.

What can you/should you/must you do? Are you required to see a patient who refuses to wear a mask? If you ask the patient to leave without being seen, can you be accused of patient abandonment? If you allow the patient to stay, could you be liable for negligence for exposing others to a deadly illness?

The rules on mask-wearing, while initially downright confusing, have inexorably come to a rough consensus. By governors’ orders, masks are now mandatory in most states, though when and where they are required varies. For example, effective July 7, the governor of Washington has ordered that a business not allow a customer to enter without a face covering.

So far, there are no cases or court decisions to guide us about whether it is negligence to allow an unmasked patient to commingle in a medical practice. Nor do we have case law to help us determine whether patient abandonment would apply if a patient is sent home without being seen.

We can apply the legal principles and cases from other situations to this one, however, to tell us what constitutes negligence or patient abandonment. The practical questions, legally, are who might sue and on what basis?

Who might sue?

Someone who is injured in a public place may sue the owner for negligence if the owner knew or should have known of a danger and didn’t do anything about it. For example, individuals have sued grocery stores successfully after they slipped on a banana peel and fell. If, say, the banana peel was black, that indicates that it had been there for a while, and judges have found that the store management should have known about it and removed it.

Compare the banana peel scenario with the scenario where most news outlets and health departments are telling people, every day, to wear masks while in indoor public spaces, yet owners of a medical practice or facility allow individuals who are not wearing masks to sit in their waiting room. If an individual who was also in the waiting room with the unmasked individual develops COVID-19 2 days later, the ill individual may sue the medical practice for negligence for not removing the unmasked individual.

What about the individual’s responsibility to move away from the person not wearing a mask? That is the aspect of this scenario that attorneys and experts could argue about, for days, in a court case. But to go back to the banana peel case, one could argue that a customer in a grocery store should be looking out for banana peels on the floor and avoid them, yet courts have assigned liability to grocery stores when customers slip and fall.

Let’s review the four elements of negligence which a plaintiff would need to prove:

• Duty: Obligation of one person to another
• Breach: Improper act or omission, in the context of proper behavior to avoid imposing undue risks of harm to other persons and their property
• Damage
• Causation: That the act or omission caused the harm

Those who run medical offices and facilities have a duty to provide reasonably safe public spaces. Unmasked individuals are a risk to others nearby, so the “breach” element is satisfied if a practice fails to impose safety measures. Causation could be proven, or at least inferred, if contact tracing of an individual with COVID-19 showed that the only contact likely to have exposed the ill individual to the virus was an unmasked individual in a medical practice’s waiting room, especially if the unmasked individual was COVID-19 positive before, during, or shortly after the visit to the practice.

What about patient abandonment?

“Patient abandonment” is the legal term for terminating the physician-patient relationship in such a manner that the patient is denied necessary medical care. It is a form of negligence.

Refusing to see a patient unless the patient wears a mask is not denying care, in this attorney’s view, but rather establishing reasonable conditions for getting care. The patient simply needs to put on a mask.

What about the patient who refuses to wear a mask for medical reasons? There are exceptions in most of the governors’ orders for individuals with medical conditions that preclude covering nose and mouth with a mask. A medical office is the perfect place to test an individual’s ability or inability to breathe well while wearing a mask. “Put the mask on and we’ll see how you do” is a reasonable response. Monitor the patient visually and apply a pulse oximeter with mask off and mask on.

One physician recently wrote about measuring her own oxygen levels while wearing four different masks for 5 minutes each, with no change in breathing.

Editor’s note: Read more about mask exemptions in a Medscape interview with pulmonologist Albert Rizzo, MD, chief medical officer of the American Lung Association.

What are some practical tips?

Assuming that a patient is not in acute distress, options in this scenario include:

• Send the patient home and offer a return visit if masked or when the pandemic is over.
• Offer a telehealth visit, with the patient at home.

What if the unmasked person is not a patient but the companion of a patient? What if the individual refusing to wear a mask is an employee? In neither of these two hypotheticals is there a basis for legal action against a practice whose policy requires that everyone wear masks on the premises.

A companion who arrives without a mask should leave the office. An employee who refuses to mask up could be sent home. If the employee has a disability covered by the Americans with Disabilities Act, then the practice may need to make reasonable accommodations so that the employee works in a room alone if unable to work from home.

Those who manage medical practices should check the websites of the state health department and medical societies at least weekly, to see whether the agencies have issued guidance. For example, the Texas Medical Association has issued limited guidance.

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

I didn’t have any doctors in my family. The only doctor I knew was my pediatrician. At 6 years old – and this gives you a glimpse into my personality – I told my parents I did not think he was a good doctor. I said, “When I grow up to be a doctor, I’m going to be a better doctor than him.” Fast forward to 7th grade, when I saw an orthopedic surgeon for my scoliosis. He was phenomenal. He listened. He explained to me all of the science and medicine and his rationale for decisions. I thought, “That is the kind of doctor I want to be.”

I went to medical school at Penn and didn’t think psychiatry was a medical specialty. I thought it was just Freud and laying on couches. I thought, “Where’s the science, where’s the physiology, where’s the genetics?” I was headed toward surgery.

Then, I rotated with an incredible psychiatrist. I saw behavior was biological, chemical, electrical, and physiological. I realize, looking back, that I had an interest because there is mental illness in my family. And there is so much stigma against psychiatric illnesses and addiction. It’s shocking how badly our patients get treated in the general medicine construct. So, I thought, “This field has science, the human body, activism, and marginalized patients? This is for me!” 

I went to Howard University, which was the most freeing time of my life. There was no code-switching, no working hard to be a “presentable” Black person. When I started interviewing for medical schools, I was told by someone I interviewed with at one school that I should straighten my hair if I wanted to get accepted. I marked that school off my list. I decided right then that I would rather not go to medical school than straighten my hair to get into medical school. I went to Penn; they accepted me without my hair straight.

Penn Med was majorly White. There were six of us who were Black in a class of about 150 people. There was this feeling like “we let you in” even though every single one of us who was there was clearly at the top of the game to have been able to get there. I loved Penn Med. My class was amazing. I became the first Black president of medical student government there and I won a lot of awards.

When I was finishing up, my dean at the time, who was a White woman, said, “I’m so proud of you. You came in a piece of coal and look how we shined you up. “What do you say? I have a smart mouth, so I said, “I was already shiny when I got here.” She said, “See, that’s part of your problem, you don’t know how to take a compliment.” That was 2002, and I still remember every word of that conversation. 

I was on the psychiatry unit rounding as a medical student and introduced myself to a patient. He said, “What’s your name?” And I thought, here it comes. I said, “Nzinga Ajabu,” my name at the time. He said “Nzinga? You probably have a spear in your closet.” When I tell these stories to White people, they’re always shocked. When I tell these stories to Black people, they say, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

You can talk to Black medical students, Black interns, Black residents. When patients say something racist to you, nobody speaks up for you, nobody. It should be the attending that professionally approaches the patient and says something, anything. But they just laugh uncomfortably, they let it pass, they pretend they didn’t hear it. Meanwhile, you are fuming, and injured, and have to maintain your professionalism. It happens all the time. When people say, “Oh, you don’t look like a doctor,” I know what that means, but someone else may not even notice it’s an insult. When they do notice an insult, they don’t have the language or the courage to address it. And it’s not always a patient leveling racial insults. It very often is the attending, the fellow, the resident, or another medical student. 

These things happen to me less now because I’m in a position of power. I’d say most insults that come my way now are overwhelmingly unintentional. I call people out on it 95% of the time. The other 5% of the time, I’m either exhausted, or I’m in some power structure where I decide it’s too risky. And those are the days – when I decide it’s too risky for me to speak up – when I come home exhausted. Because there will always be a power dynamic, as long as I’m alive, where you can’t speak up because you’re a Black woman, and that just wears me out.

Ultimately, I opted out of academic medicine because I thought it was too constraining, that I wouldn’t be able to raise my voice and do the activism I needed to do. In my position – as chief medical officer for a network of addiction clinics – I’m able to advocate for people who are marginalized by medicine and, in treating addiction, advocate for people who are marginalized by psychiatry, which is marginalized by medicine.

A bias people have is that when you talk about Black people, they think you are talking about poor people. When we talk about police brutality, or being pulled over by the police, or dying in childbirth, our colleagues don’t think that’s happening to us. They think that’s happening to “those” Black people. Regardless of my socioeconomic status, I still have a higher chance of dying in childbirth or dying from COVID.

COVID had already turned my work up to 100 – we had staff losing loved ones and coming down with fevers themselves. And I had just launched my podcast. Then they killed Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Amy Cooper called the cops on Christian Cooper, and they killed George Floyd. This is how it happens. Bam. Bam. Bam.

The series of killings turned up my work at Physicians for Criminal Justice Reform, but it also turned up my work as a mother. My boys are 13 and 14. I personally can’t watch some of the videos because I see my own sons. I was already tired. Now I’m exhausted, I’m furious and I’m desperate to protect my kids. They have this on their backs already. Both of them have already had to deal with overt racism – they’ve had this burden since they were 5 years old, if not younger. I have to teach them to fight this war. Should that be how it is?

Nzinga Harrison, MD, 43, is a psychiatrist and the cofounder and chief medical officer of Eleanor Health, a network of physician clinics that treats people affected by addiction in North Carolina and New Jersey. She is also a cofounder of Physicians for Criminal Justice Reform. and host of the new podcast In Recovery. Harrison was raised in Indianapolis, went to college at Howard University and received her MD from the Perelman School of Medicine at the University of Pennsylvania in 2002. Her mother was an elementary school teacher. Her father, an electrical engineer, was commander of the local Black Panther Militia. Both supported her love of math and science and brought her with them to picket lines and marches.

This article first appeared on Medscape.com.

I didn’t have any doctors in my family. The only doctor I knew was my pediatrician. At 6 years old – and this gives you a glimpse into my personality – I told my parents I did not think he was a good doctor. I said, “When I grow up to be a doctor, I’m going to be a better doctor than him.” Fast forward to 7th grade, when I saw an orthopedic surgeon for my scoliosis. He was phenomenal. He listened. He explained to me all of the science and medicine and his rationale for decisions. I thought, “That is the kind of doctor I want to be.”

I went to medical school at Penn and didn’t think psychiatry was a medical specialty. I thought it was just Freud and laying on couches. I thought, “Where’s the science, where’s the physiology, where’s the genetics?” I was headed toward surgery.

Then, I rotated with an incredible psychiatrist. I saw behavior was biological, chemical, electrical, and physiological. I realize, looking back, that I had an interest because there is mental illness in my family. And there is so much stigma against psychiatric illnesses and addiction. It’s shocking how badly our patients get treated in the general medicine construct. So, I thought, “This field has science, the human body, activism, and marginalized patients? This is for me!” 

I went to Howard University, which was the most freeing time of my life. There was no code-switching, no working hard to be a “presentable” Black person. When I started interviewing for medical schools, I was told by someone I interviewed with at one school that I should straighten my hair if I wanted to get accepted. I marked that school off my list. I decided right then that I would rather not go to medical school than straighten my hair to get into medical school. I went to Penn; they accepted me without my hair straight.

Penn Med was majorly White. There were six of us who were Black in a class of about 150 people. There was this feeling like “we let you in” even though every single one of us who was there was clearly at the top of the game to have been able to get there. I loved Penn Med. My class was amazing. I became the first Black president of medical student government there and I won a lot of awards.

When I was finishing up, my dean at the time, who was a White woman, said, “I’m so proud of you. You came in a piece of coal and look how we shined you up. “What do you say? I have a smart mouth, so I said, “I was already shiny when I got here.” She said, “See, that’s part of your problem, you don’t know how to take a compliment.” That was 2002, and I still remember every word of that conversation. 

I was on the psychiatry unit rounding as a medical student and introduced myself to a patient. He said, “What’s your name?” And I thought, here it comes. I said, “Nzinga Ajabu,” my name at the time. He said “Nzinga? You probably have a spear in your closet.” When I tell these stories to White people, they’re always shocked. When I tell these stories to Black people, they say, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

You can talk to Black medical students, Black interns, Black residents. When patients say something racist to you, nobody speaks up for you, nobody. It should be the attending that professionally approaches the patient and says something, anything. But they just laugh uncomfortably, they let it pass, they pretend they didn’t hear it. Meanwhile, you are fuming, and injured, and have to maintain your professionalism. It happens all the time. When people say, “Oh, you don’t look like a doctor,” I know what that means, but someone else may not even notice it’s an insult. When they do notice an insult, they don’t have the language or the courage to address it. And it’s not always a patient leveling racial insults. It very often is the attending, the fellow, the resident, or another medical student. 

These things happen to me less now because I’m in a position of power. I’d say most insults that come my way now are overwhelmingly unintentional. I call people out on it 95% of the time. The other 5% of the time, I’m either exhausted, or I’m in some power structure where I decide it’s too risky. And those are the days – when I decide it’s too risky for me to speak up – when I come home exhausted. Because there will always be a power dynamic, as long as I’m alive, where you can’t speak up because you’re a Black woman, and that just wears me out.

Ultimately, I opted out of academic medicine because I thought it was too constraining, that I wouldn’t be able to raise my voice and do the activism I needed to do. In my position – as chief medical officer for a network of addiction clinics – I’m able to advocate for people who are marginalized by medicine and, in treating addiction, advocate for people who are marginalized by psychiatry, which is marginalized by medicine.

A bias people have is that when you talk about Black people, they think you are talking about poor people. When we talk about police brutality, or being pulled over by the police, or dying in childbirth, our colleagues don’t think that’s happening to us. They think that’s happening to “those” Black people. Regardless of my socioeconomic status, I still have a higher chance of dying in childbirth or dying from COVID.

COVID had already turned my work up to 100 – we had staff losing loved ones and coming down with fevers themselves. And I had just launched my podcast. Then they killed Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Amy Cooper called the cops on Christian Cooper, and they killed George Floyd. This is how it happens. Bam. Bam. Bam.

The series of killings turned up my work at Physicians for Criminal Justice Reform, but it also turned up my work as a mother. My boys are 13 and 14. I personally can’t watch some of the videos because I see my own sons. I was already tired. Now I’m exhausted, I’m furious and I’m desperate to protect my kids. They have this on their backs already. Both of them have already had to deal with overt racism – they’ve had this burden since they were 5 years old, if not younger. I have to teach them to fight this war. Should that be how it is?

Nzinga Harrison, MD, 43, is a psychiatrist and the cofounder and chief medical officer of Eleanor Health, a network of physician clinics that treats people affected by addiction in North Carolina and New Jersey. She is also a cofounder of Physicians for Criminal Justice Reform. and host of the new podcast In Recovery. Harrison was raised in Indianapolis, went to college at Howard University and received her MD from the Perelman School of Medicine at the University of Pennsylvania in 2002. Her mother was an elementary school teacher. Her father, an electrical engineer, was commander of the local Black Panther Militia. Both supported her love of math and science and brought her with them to picket lines and marches.

This article first appeared on Medscape.com.

I didn’t have any doctors in my family. The only doctor I knew was my pediatrician. At 6 years old – and this gives you a glimpse into my personality – I told my parents I did not think he was a good doctor. I said, “When I grow up to be a doctor, I’m going to be a better doctor than him.” Fast forward to 7th grade, when I saw an orthopedic surgeon for my scoliosis. He was phenomenal. He listened. He explained to me all of the science and medicine and his rationale for decisions. I thought, “That is the kind of doctor I want to be.”

I went to medical school at Penn and didn’t think psychiatry was a medical specialty. I thought it was just Freud and laying on couches. I thought, “Where’s the science, where’s the physiology, where’s the genetics?” I was headed toward surgery.

Then, I rotated with an incredible psychiatrist. I saw behavior was biological, chemical, electrical, and physiological. I realize, looking back, that I had an interest because there is mental illness in my family. And there is so much stigma against psychiatric illnesses and addiction. It’s shocking how badly our patients get treated in the general medicine construct. So, I thought, “This field has science, the human body, activism, and marginalized patients? This is for me!” 

I went to Howard University, which was the most freeing time of my life. There was no code-switching, no working hard to be a “presentable” Black person. When I started interviewing for medical schools, I was told by someone I interviewed with at one school that I should straighten my hair if I wanted to get accepted. I marked that school off my list. I decided right then that I would rather not go to medical school than straighten my hair to get into medical school. I went to Penn; they accepted me without my hair straight.

Penn Med was majorly White. There were six of us who were Black in a class of about 150 people. There was this feeling like “we let you in” even though every single one of us who was there was clearly at the top of the game to have been able to get there. I loved Penn Med. My class was amazing. I became the first Black president of medical student government there and I won a lot of awards.

When I was finishing up, my dean at the time, who was a White woman, said, “I’m so proud of you. You came in a piece of coal and look how we shined you up. “What do you say? I have a smart mouth, so I said, “I was already shiny when I got here.” She said, “See, that’s part of your problem, you don’t know how to take a compliment.” That was 2002, and I still remember every word of that conversation. 

I was on the psychiatry unit rounding as a medical student and introduced myself to a patient. He said, “What’s your name?” And I thought, here it comes. I said, “Nzinga Ajabu,” my name at the time. He said “Nzinga? You probably have a spear in your closet.” When I tell these stories to White people, they’re always shocked. When I tell these stories to Black people, they say, “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

You can talk to Black medical students, Black interns, Black residents. When patients say something racist to you, nobody speaks up for you, nobody. It should be the attending that professionally approaches the patient and says something, anything. But they just laugh uncomfortably, they let it pass, they pretend they didn’t hear it. Meanwhile, you are fuming, and injured, and have to maintain your professionalism. It happens all the time. When people say, “Oh, you don’t look like a doctor,” I know what that means, but someone else may not even notice it’s an insult. When they do notice an insult, they don’t have the language or the courage to address it. And it’s not always a patient leveling racial insults. It very often is the attending, the fellow, the resident, or another medical student. 

These things happen to me less now because I’m in a position of power. I’d say most insults that come my way now are overwhelmingly unintentional. I call people out on it 95% of the time. The other 5% of the time, I’m either exhausted, or I’m in some power structure where I decide it’s too risky. And those are the days – when I decide it’s too risky for me to speak up – when I come home exhausted. Because there will always be a power dynamic, as long as I’m alive, where you can’t speak up because you’re a Black woman, and that just wears me out.

Ultimately, I opted out of academic medicine because I thought it was too constraining, that I wouldn’t be able to raise my voice and do the activism I needed to do. In my position – as chief medical officer for a network of addiction clinics – I’m able to advocate for people who are marginalized by medicine and, in treating addiction, advocate for people who are marginalized by psychiatry, which is marginalized by medicine.

A bias people have is that when you talk about Black people, they think you are talking about poor people. When we talk about police brutality, or being pulled over by the police, or dying in childbirth, our colleagues don’t think that’s happening to us. They think that’s happening to “those” Black people. Regardless of my socioeconomic status, I still have a higher chance of dying in childbirth or dying from COVID.

COVID had already turned my work up to 100 – we had staff losing loved ones and coming down with fevers themselves. And I had just launched my podcast. Then they killed Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Amy Cooper called the cops on Christian Cooper, and they killed George Floyd. This is how it happens. Bam. Bam. Bam.

The series of killings turned up my work at Physicians for Criminal Justice Reform, but it also turned up my work as a mother. My boys are 13 and 14. I personally can’t watch some of the videos because I see my own sons. I was already tired. Now I’m exhausted, I’m furious and I’m desperate to protect my kids. They have this on their backs already. Both of them have already had to deal with overt racism – they’ve had this burden since they were 5 years old, if not younger. I have to teach them to fight this war. Should that be how it is?

Nzinga Harrison, MD, 43, is a psychiatrist and the cofounder and chief medical officer of Eleanor Health, a network of physician clinics that treats people affected by addiction in North Carolina and New Jersey. She is also a cofounder of Physicians for Criminal Justice Reform. and host of the new podcast In Recovery. Harrison was raised in Indianapolis, went to college at Howard University and received her MD from the Perelman School of Medicine at the University of Pennsylvania in 2002. Her mother was an elementary school teacher. Her father, an electrical engineer, was commander of the local Black Panther Militia. Both supported her love of math and science and brought her with them to picket lines and marches.

This article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Opioid overdose deaths in the United States have more than tripled in recent years, from 6.1 deaths per 100,000 individuals in 1999 to 20.7 per 100,000 individuals in 2018.¹ Although the availability of medication-assisted treatment (MAT) has expanded over the past decade, this lifesaving treatment remains largely inaccessible to some of the most vulnerable members of our communities: opioid users facing reentry after incarceration.

Just as abstinence in the community brings a loss of tolerance to opioids, individuals who are incarcerated lose tolerance as well. Clinicians who treat patients with opioid use disorders (OUD) are accustomed to warning patients about the risk of returning to prior levels of use too quickly. Harm reduction strategies include using slowly, using with friends, and having naloxone on hand to prevent unintended overdose.

The risks of opioid use are magnified for those facing reentry; incarceration contributes to a loss of employment, social supports, and connection to care. Those changes can create an exceptionally stressful reentry period – one that places individuals at an acutely high risk of relapse and overdose. Within the first 2 years of release, an individual with a history of incarceration has a risk of death 3.5 times higher than that of someone in the general population. Within the first 2 weeks, those recently incarcerated are 129 times more likely to overdose on opioids and 12.7 times more likely to die than members of the general population.2

Treatment with MAT dramatically reduces deaths during this crucial period. In Rhode Island, for example, implementation of a corrections MAT program decreased all-cause death rates after release by an astonishing 60.5%.³ In England, large national studies have shown a similar 75% decrease in all-cause mortality within the first 4 weeks of release among individuals with OUD.⁴ In California, the counties with the highest overdose death rates are consistently those with fewer opioid treatment programs, which suggests that access to treatment is necessary to prolong the lives of those suffering from OUD.⁵ In-custody overdose deaths are quite rare, and access to MAT during incarceration has decreased in-custody deaths by 74%.⁶

Decreased opioid overdose deaths is not the only outcome of MAT. Pharmacotherapy for OUD also has been shown to increase treatment retention,⁷ reduce reincarceration,⁸ prevent communicable infections,⁹ and decrease use of other illicit substances.¹⁰ The provision of MAT also has been shown to be cost effective.¹¹

Despite those benefits, as of 2017, only 30 out of 5,100 jails and prisons in the United States provided treatment with methadone or buprenorphine.¹² When individuals on maintenance therapy are incarcerated, most correctional facilities force them to taper and discontinue those medications. This practice can cause distressing withdrawal symptoms and actively increase the risk of death for these individuals.

Concerns related to the provision of MAT, and specifically buprenorphine, in the correctional health setting often are related to diversion. Although safe administration of opioid full and partial agonists is a priority, recent literature has suggested that buprenorphine is not a medication frequently used for euphoric properties. In fact, the literature suggests that individuals using illicit buprenorphine primarily do so to treat withdrawal symptoms and that illicit use diminishes with access to formal treatment.^13,14

Another concern is that pharmacotherapy for OUD should not be used without adjunctive psychotherapies and social supports. While dual pharmacotherapy and psychotherapy is ideal, the American Society for Addiction Medicine 2020 National Practice Guidelines for the treatment of OUD state: “a patient’s decision to decline psychosocial treatment or the absence of available psychosocial treatment should not preclude or delay pharmacotherapy, with appropriate medication management.”¹⁵ Just as some patients wish to engage in mutual help or psychotherapeutic modalities only, some patients wish to engage only in psychopharmacologic interventions. Declaring one modality of treatment better, or worse, or more worthwhile is not borne out by the literature and often places clinicians’ preferences over the preferences of patients.

Individuals who suffer from substance use disorders are at high risk of incarceration, relapse, and overdose death. These patients also suffer from stigmatization from peers and health care workers alike, making the process of engaging in care incredibly burdensome. Because of the disease of addiction, many of our patients cannot envision a healthy future: a future with the potential for intimate relationships, meaningful community engagement, and a rich inner life. The provision of MAT is lifesaving and improves the chances of a successful reentry – an intuitive first step in a long, but worthwhile, journey.
 

References

1. Hedegaard H et al; National Center for Health Statistics. Drug overdose deaths in the United States, 1999–2018. NCHS Data Brief, 2020 Jan, No. 356.

2. Binswanger IA et al. N Engl J Med. 2007;356:157-65.

3. Green TC et al. JAMA Psychiatry. 2018;75(4):405-7.

4. Marsden J et al. Addiction. 2017;112(8):1408-18.

5. Joshi V and Urada D. State Targeted Response to the Opioid Crisis: California Strategic Plan. 2017 Aug 30.

6. Larney S et al. BMJ Open. 2014. doi: 10.1136/bmjopen-2013-004666.

7. Rich JD et al. Lancet. 2015;386(9991):350-9.

8. Deck D et al. J Addict Dis. 2009. 28(2):89-102.

9. MacArthur GJ et al. BMJ. 2012. doi: 10.1136/bmj.e5945.

10. Tsui J et al. J Subst Abuse Treat. 2019. 109:80-5.

11. Gisev N et al. Addiction. 2015 Dec;110(12):1975-84.

12. National Mental Health and Substance Use Policy Laboratory. “Use of Medication-Assisted Treatment for Opioid Use Disorder in Criminal Justice Settings.” HHS Publication No. PEP19-MATUSECJS. Rockville, Md.: Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration, 2019.

13. Bazazi AR et al. J Addict Med. 2011;5(3):175-80.

14. Schuman-Olivier Z. et al. J Subst Abuse Treat. 2010 Jul;39(1):41-50.

15. Crotty K et al. J Addict Med. 2020;14(2)99-112.
 

Dr. Barnes is chief resident at San Mateo County Behavioral Health and Recovery Services in California. He disclosed no relevant financial relationships. Dr. Lenane is resident* at San Mateo County Behavioral Health and Recovery Services. He disclosed no relevant financial relationships. The opinions shared in this article represent the viewpoints of the authors and are not necessarily representative of the viewpoints or policies of their academic program or employer.

*This article was updated 7/9/2020.

Opioid overdose deaths in the United States have more than tripled in recent years, from 6.1 deaths per 100,000 individuals in 1999 to 20.7 per 100,000 individuals in 2018.¹ Although the availability of medication-assisted treatment (MAT) has expanded over the past decade, this lifesaving treatment remains largely inaccessible to some of the most vulnerable members of our communities: opioid users facing reentry after incarceration.

Just as abstinence in the community brings a loss of tolerance to opioids, individuals who are incarcerated lose tolerance as well. Clinicians who treat patients with opioid use disorders (OUD) are accustomed to warning patients about the risk of returning to prior levels of use too quickly. Harm reduction strategies include using slowly, using with friends, and having naloxone on hand to prevent unintended overdose.

The risks of opioid use are magnified for those facing reentry; incarceration contributes to a loss of employment, social supports, and connection to care. Those changes can create an exceptionally stressful reentry period – one that places individuals at an acutely high risk of relapse and overdose. Within the first 2 years of release, an individual with a history of incarceration has a risk of death 3.5 times higher than that of someone in the general population. Within the first 2 weeks, those recently incarcerated are 129 times more likely to overdose on opioids and 12.7 times more likely to die than members of the general population.2

Treatment with MAT dramatically reduces deaths during this crucial period. In Rhode Island, for example, implementation of a corrections MAT program decreased all-cause death rates after release by an astonishing 60.5%.³ In England, large national studies have shown a similar 75% decrease in all-cause mortality within the first 4 weeks of release among individuals with OUD.⁴ In California, the counties with the highest overdose death rates are consistently those with fewer opioid treatment programs, which suggests that access to treatment is necessary to prolong the lives of those suffering from OUD.⁵ In-custody overdose deaths are quite rare, and access to MAT during incarceration has decreased in-custody deaths by 74%.⁶

Decreased opioid overdose deaths is not the only outcome of MAT. Pharmacotherapy for OUD also has been shown to increase treatment retention,⁷ reduce reincarceration,⁸ prevent communicable infections,⁹ and decrease use of other illicit substances.¹⁰ The provision of MAT also has been shown to be cost effective.¹¹

Despite those benefits, as of 2017, only 30 out of 5,100 jails and prisons in the United States provided treatment with methadone or buprenorphine.¹² When individuals on maintenance therapy are incarcerated, most correctional facilities force them to taper and discontinue those medications. This practice can cause distressing withdrawal symptoms and actively increase the risk of death for these individuals.

Concerns related to the provision of MAT, and specifically buprenorphine, in the correctional health setting often are related to diversion. Although safe administration of opioid full and partial agonists is a priority, recent literature has suggested that buprenorphine is not a medication frequently used for euphoric properties. In fact, the literature suggests that individuals using illicit buprenorphine primarily do so to treat withdrawal symptoms and that illicit use diminishes with access to formal treatment.^13,14

Another concern is that pharmacotherapy for OUD should not be used without adjunctive psychotherapies and social supports. While dual pharmacotherapy and psychotherapy is ideal, the American Society for Addiction Medicine 2020 National Practice Guidelines for the treatment of OUD state: “a patient’s decision to decline psychosocial treatment or the absence of available psychosocial treatment should not preclude or delay pharmacotherapy, with appropriate medication management.”¹⁵ Just as some patients wish to engage in mutual help or psychotherapeutic modalities only, some patients wish to engage only in psychopharmacologic interventions. Declaring one modality of treatment better, or worse, or more worthwhile is not borne out by the literature and often places clinicians’ preferences over the preferences of patients.

Individuals who suffer from substance use disorders are at high risk of incarceration, relapse, and overdose death. These patients also suffer from stigmatization from peers and health care workers alike, making the process of engaging in care incredibly burdensome. Because of the disease of addiction, many of our patients cannot envision a healthy future: a future with the potential for intimate relationships, meaningful community engagement, and a rich inner life. The provision of MAT is lifesaving and improves the chances of a successful reentry – an intuitive first step in a long, but worthwhile, journey.
 

References

1. Hedegaard H et al; National Center for Health Statistics. Drug overdose deaths in the United States, 1999–2018. NCHS Data Brief, 2020 Jan, No. 356.

2. Binswanger IA et al. N Engl J Med. 2007;356:157-65.

3. Green TC et al. JAMA Psychiatry. 2018;75(4):405-7.

4. Marsden J et al. Addiction. 2017;112(8):1408-18.

5. Joshi V and Urada D. State Targeted Response to the Opioid Crisis: California Strategic Plan. 2017 Aug 30.

6. Larney S et al. BMJ Open. 2014. doi: 10.1136/bmjopen-2013-004666.

7. Rich JD et al. Lancet. 2015;386(9991):350-9.

8. Deck D et al. J Addict Dis. 2009. 28(2):89-102.

9. MacArthur GJ et al. BMJ. 2012. doi: 10.1136/bmj.e5945.

10. Tsui J et al. J Subst Abuse Treat. 2019. 109:80-5.

11. Gisev N et al. Addiction. 2015 Dec;110(12):1975-84.

12. National Mental Health and Substance Use Policy Laboratory. “Use of Medication-Assisted Treatment for Opioid Use Disorder in Criminal Justice Settings.” HHS Publication No. PEP19-MATUSECJS. Rockville, Md.: Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration, 2019.

13. Bazazi AR et al. J Addict Med. 2011;5(3):175-80.

14. Schuman-Olivier Z. et al. J Subst Abuse Treat. 2010 Jul;39(1):41-50.

15. Crotty K et al. J Addict Med. 2020;14(2)99-112.
 

Dr. Barnes is chief resident at San Mateo County Behavioral Health and Recovery Services in California. He disclosed no relevant financial relationships. Dr. Lenane is resident* at San Mateo County Behavioral Health and Recovery Services. He disclosed no relevant financial relationships. The opinions shared in this article represent the viewpoints of the authors and are not necessarily representative of the viewpoints or policies of their academic program or employer.

*This article was updated 7/9/2020.

Opioid overdose deaths in the United States have more than tripled in recent years, from 6.1 deaths per 100,000 individuals in 1999 to 20.7 per 100,000 individuals in 2018.¹ Although the availability of medication-assisted treatment (MAT) has expanded over the past decade, this lifesaving treatment remains largely inaccessible to some of the most vulnerable members of our communities: opioid users facing reentry after incarceration.

Just as abstinence in the community brings a loss of tolerance to opioids, individuals who are incarcerated lose tolerance as well. Clinicians who treat patients with opioid use disorders (OUD) are accustomed to warning patients about the risk of returning to prior levels of use too quickly. Harm reduction strategies include using slowly, using with friends, and having naloxone on hand to prevent unintended overdose.

The risks of opioid use are magnified for those facing reentry; incarceration contributes to a loss of employment, social supports, and connection to care. Those changes can create an exceptionally stressful reentry period – one that places individuals at an acutely high risk of relapse and overdose. Within the first 2 years of release, an individual with a history of incarceration has a risk of death 3.5 times higher than that of someone in the general population. Within the first 2 weeks, those recently incarcerated are 129 times more likely to overdose on opioids and 12.7 times more likely to die than members of the general population.2

Treatment with MAT dramatically reduces deaths during this crucial period. In Rhode Island, for example, implementation of a corrections MAT program decreased all-cause death rates after release by an astonishing 60.5%.³ In England, large national studies have shown a similar 75% decrease in all-cause mortality within the first 4 weeks of release among individuals with OUD.⁴ In California, the counties with the highest overdose death rates are consistently those with fewer opioid treatment programs, which suggests that access to treatment is necessary to prolong the lives of those suffering from OUD.⁵ In-custody overdose deaths are quite rare, and access to MAT during incarceration has decreased in-custody deaths by 74%.⁶

Decreased opioid overdose deaths is not the only outcome of MAT. Pharmacotherapy for OUD also has been shown to increase treatment retention,⁷ reduce reincarceration,⁸ prevent communicable infections,⁹ and decrease use of other illicit substances.¹⁰ The provision of MAT also has been shown to be cost effective.¹¹

Despite those benefits, as of 2017, only 30 out of 5,100 jails and prisons in the United States provided treatment with methadone or buprenorphine.¹² When individuals on maintenance therapy are incarcerated, most correctional facilities force them to taper and discontinue those medications. This practice can cause distressing withdrawal symptoms and actively increase the risk of death for these individuals.

Concerns related to the provision of MAT, and specifically buprenorphine, in the correctional health setting often are related to diversion. Although safe administration of opioid full and partial agonists is a priority, recent literature has suggested that buprenorphine is not a medication frequently used for euphoric properties. In fact, the literature suggests that individuals using illicit buprenorphine primarily do so to treat withdrawal symptoms and that illicit use diminishes with access to formal treatment.^13,14

Another concern is that pharmacotherapy for OUD should not be used without adjunctive psychotherapies and social supports. While dual pharmacotherapy and psychotherapy is ideal, the American Society for Addiction Medicine 2020 National Practice Guidelines for the treatment of OUD state: “a patient’s decision to decline psychosocial treatment or the absence of available psychosocial treatment should not preclude or delay pharmacotherapy, with appropriate medication management.”¹⁵ Just as some patients wish to engage in mutual help or psychotherapeutic modalities only, some patients wish to engage only in psychopharmacologic interventions. Declaring one modality of treatment better, or worse, or more worthwhile is not borne out by the literature and often places clinicians’ preferences over the preferences of patients.

Individuals who suffer from substance use disorders are at high risk of incarceration, relapse, and overdose death. These patients also suffer from stigmatization from peers and health care workers alike, making the process of engaging in care incredibly burdensome. Because of the disease of addiction, many of our patients cannot envision a healthy future: a future with the potential for intimate relationships, meaningful community engagement, and a rich inner life. The provision of MAT is lifesaving and improves the chances of a successful reentry – an intuitive first step in a long, but worthwhile, journey.
 

References

1. Hedegaard H et al; National Center for Health Statistics. Drug overdose deaths in the United States, 1999–2018. NCHS Data Brief, 2020 Jan, No. 356.

2. Binswanger IA et al. N Engl J Med. 2007;356:157-65.

3. Green TC et al. JAMA Psychiatry. 2018;75(4):405-7.

4. Marsden J et al. Addiction. 2017;112(8):1408-18.

5. Joshi V and Urada D. State Targeted Response to the Opioid Crisis: California Strategic Plan. 2017 Aug 30.

6. Larney S et al. BMJ Open. 2014. doi: 10.1136/bmjopen-2013-004666.

7. Rich JD et al. Lancet. 2015;386(9991):350-9.

8. Deck D et al. J Addict Dis. 2009. 28(2):89-102.

9. MacArthur GJ et al. BMJ. 2012. doi: 10.1136/bmj.e5945.

10. Tsui J et al. J Subst Abuse Treat. 2019. 109:80-5.

11. Gisev N et al. Addiction. 2015 Dec;110(12):1975-84.

12. National Mental Health and Substance Use Policy Laboratory. “Use of Medication-Assisted Treatment for Opioid Use Disorder in Criminal Justice Settings.” HHS Publication No. PEP19-MATUSECJS. Rockville, Md.: Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration, 2019.

13. Bazazi AR et al. J Addict Med. 2011;5(3):175-80.

14. Schuman-Olivier Z. et al. J Subst Abuse Treat. 2010 Jul;39(1):41-50.

15. Crotty K et al. J Addict Med. 2020;14(2)99-112.
 

Dr. Barnes is chief resident at San Mateo County Behavioral Health and Recovery Services in California. He disclosed no relevant financial relationships. Dr. Lenane is resident* at San Mateo County Behavioral Health and Recovery Services. He disclosed no relevant financial relationships. The opinions shared in this article represent the viewpoints of the authors and are not necessarily representative of the viewpoints or policies of their academic program or employer.

*This article was updated 7/9/2020.

The editorials I have written so far in this series on COVID-19 have been on weighty topics as befits the serious situation of the pandemic, which as of June 30, 2020 had taken more than 500,000 lives across the globe and caused anguish and sorrow such as the world has not known since the 1918 influenza pandemic.²

The human spirit can bear only so much distress and tragedy before it is bowed and unable to stand. Stand though we must; not just against the inanimate invasion of viruses from the outside, but also our own endemic national tensions and conflicts. A periodic lifting of our burdens and a recharging of our psychological and spiritual energies are crucial to the resilience and flexibility that are necessary to walk the long difficult road ahead of us as a nation and as public servants in health care. This column takes a lighter look at COVID-19 and considers the restorative role companion animals, especially, for me, my beloved canines, have played in caring for and about us humans during the pandemic.

You will likely read this editorial during the official dog days of summer, which run from July 22 to August 22. We all may imagine a big dog laying on a porch in the American South while his owners drink lemonade and quietly rock in chairs watching the long lazy days pass in a simpler time.

However pleasant this bucolic picture, it has little to do with the origin of the expression, which dates back to ancient Greece. The dog refers not to our literal furry friends but, according to National Geographic (and who should know better), to the position of the “dog star” in a constellation in the night sky.³ Unfortunately, we cannot completely get away from the sobering theme of the pandemic: The rise of the star to prominence during the peak of the Mediterranean summer’s heat was a period associated with disaster and illness.

Real dogs, cats, and assorted other so-called pandemic pets, though, have been another type of star in this difficult period. Early in the shelter-in-place, pet adoptions from city and county animal shelters and rescue organizations skyrocketed.⁴ Although animal welfare experts have legitimate concerns that some of these adoptees will be surrendered if there is ever a return to normal. For now many people feel it is the perfect time to adopt, precisely because they now have space to bring a new member into the family. Before adopting, as a recent National Public Radio report emphasized, individuals should consider whether they truly have the resources both material and emotional to care for a pet.⁵ For those who take stock honestly and believe they have the room in their heart and budget, rescuing a companion is good psychological news, arguably even more for the human than for the animal.

Sheltering-in-place has reduced the transmission of the virus, which scientists estimate has saved thousands of lives.⁶ But it also has triggered a second health crisis, this time of mental health with an unprecedented increase in rates of depression, anxiety, suicide attempts, and substance use that is expected to worsen over the coming months and years.⁷ Companion animals certainly cannot solve this complex and mammoth public health problem; however, they can contribute in simple and small yet very significant ways to the mental health of individuals.⁸

Caring for a pet who shows unconditional love and loyalty to you can reduce isolation; foster hope; provide meaning, comfort, and cheer to you when you are down or afraid; and offer a routine and reason to get out of bed every day and take a walk outside. Research shows that those positive effects can decrease the risk of the very mental health conditions that are now plaguing us in such alarming numbers.^9,10

“How many more lives are we willing to sacrifice in the name of containing the virus?” Elinore McCance-Katz, MD, PhD, the nation’s top mental health official ominously asked about the potential effects of another shutdown during a cabinet meeting.¹¹ For some of us, a companion animal who does not require physical distancing (at least when you are healthy) may permit us to prevent the spread of the virus while protecting our mental health.

Nor is emotional support the only clinical way in which animals are helping pandemic- beleaguered humans. There is a low risk we can infect household pets, and dogs are not likely to transmit the virus. In fact, they even can be trained to serve as highly efficient virus testers who don’t need scarce reagents or carry high price tags—just a pat on the head and an occasional treat.¹² Medscape reported that clinical trials starting in the United Kingdom are set to evaluate the accuracy of these “bio-detection” dogs. The story quotes a leading British public health official as saying, “Properly trained sniffer dogs could revolutionise our approach to this whole pandemic, screening 250 people an hour for the virus.”¹³

Canines are not only healers who can ease our troubles through the pandemic but also peacemakers. As injustice and violence rock the country, we would do well to imitate their attitudes of nonjudgmental acceptance. “Dogs are our link to paradise. They do not know evil or jealousy or discontent,” wrote novelist Milan Kundera. “To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring—it was peace.”¹⁴ Those indeed would be dog days as when better nature we sometimes share with animals prevailed.

The editorials I have written so far in this series on COVID-19 have been on weighty topics as befits the serious situation of the pandemic, which as of June 30, 2020 had taken more than 500,000 lives across the globe and caused anguish and sorrow such as the world has not known since the 1918 influenza pandemic.²

The human spirit can bear only so much distress and tragedy before it is bowed and unable to stand. Stand though we must; not just against the inanimate invasion of viruses from the outside, but also our own endemic national tensions and conflicts. A periodic lifting of our burdens and a recharging of our psychological and spiritual energies are crucial to the resilience and flexibility that are necessary to walk the long difficult road ahead of us as a nation and as public servants in health care. This column takes a lighter look at COVID-19 and considers the restorative role companion animals, especially, for me, my beloved canines, have played in caring for and about us humans during the pandemic.

You will likely read this editorial during the official dog days of summer, which run from July 22 to August 22. We all may imagine a big dog laying on a porch in the American South while his owners drink lemonade and quietly rock in chairs watching the long lazy days pass in a simpler time.

However pleasant this bucolic picture, it has little to do with the origin of the expression, which dates back to ancient Greece. The dog refers not to our literal furry friends but, according to National Geographic (and who should know better), to the position of the “dog star” in a constellation in the night sky.³ Unfortunately, we cannot completely get away from the sobering theme of the pandemic: The rise of the star to prominence during the peak of the Mediterranean summer’s heat was a period associated with disaster and illness.

Real dogs, cats, and assorted other so-called pandemic pets, though, have been another type of star in this difficult period. Early in the shelter-in-place, pet adoptions from city and county animal shelters and rescue organizations skyrocketed.⁴ Although animal welfare experts have legitimate concerns that some of these adoptees will be surrendered if there is ever a return to normal. For now many people feel it is the perfect time to adopt, precisely because they now have space to bring a new member into the family. Before adopting, as a recent National Public Radio report emphasized, individuals should consider whether they truly have the resources both material and emotional to care for a pet.⁵ For those who take stock honestly and believe they have the room in their heart and budget, rescuing a companion is good psychological news, arguably even more for the human than for the animal.

Sheltering-in-place has reduced the transmission of the virus, which scientists estimate has saved thousands of lives.⁶ But it also has triggered a second health crisis, this time of mental health with an unprecedented increase in rates of depression, anxiety, suicide attempts, and substance use that is expected to worsen over the coming months and years.⁷ Companion animals certainly cannot solve this complex and mammoth public health problem; however, they can contribute in simple and small yet very significant ways to the mental health of individuals.⁸

Caring for a pet who shows unconditional love and loyalty to you can reduce isolation; foster hope; provide meaning, comfort, and cheer to you when you are down or afraid; and offer a routine and reason to get out of bed every day and take a walk outside. Research shows that those positive effects can decrease the risk of the very mental health conditions that are now plaguing us in such alarming numbers.^9,10

“How many more lives are we willing to sacrifice in the name of containing the virus?” Elinore McCance-Katz, MD, PhD, the nation’s top mental health official ominously asked about the potential effects of another shutdown during a cabinet meeting.¹¹ For some of us, a companion animal who does not require physical distancing (at least when you are healthy) may permit us to prevent the spread of the virus while protecting our mental health.

Nor is emotional support the only clinical way in which animals are helping pandemic- beleaguered humans. There is a low risk we can infect household pets, and dogs are not likely to transmit the virus. In fact, they even can be trained to serve as highly efficient virus testers who don’t need scarce reagents or carry high price tags—just a pat on the head and an occasional treat.¹² Medscape reported that clinical trials starting in the United Kingdom are set to evaluate the accuracy of these “bio-detection” dogs. The story quotes a leading British public health official as saying, “Properly trained sniffer dogs could revolutionise our approach to this whole pandemic, screening 250 people an hour for the virus.”¹³

Canines are not only healers who can ease our troubles through the pandemic but also peacemakers. As injustice and violence rock the country, we would do well to imitate their attitudes of nonjudgmental acceptance. “Dogs are our link to paradise. They do not know evil or jealousy or discontent,” wrote novelist Milan Kundera. “To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring—it was peace.”¹⁴ Those indeed would be dog days as when better nature we sometimes share with animals prevailed.

The editorials I have written so far in this series on COVID-19 have been on weighty topics as befits the serious situation of the pandemic, which as of June 30, 2020 had taken more than 500,000 lives across the globe and caused anguish and sorrow such as the world has not known since the 1918 influenza pandemic.²

The human spirit can bear only so much distress and tragedy before it is bowed and unable to stand. Stand though we must; not just against the inanimate invasion of viruses from the outside, but also our own endemic national tensions and conflicts. A periodic lifting of our burdens and a recharging of our psychological and spiritual energies are crucial to the resilience and flexibility that are necessary to walk the long difficult road ahead of us as a nation and as public servants in health care. This column takes a lighter look at COVID-19 and considers the restorative role companion animals, especially, for me, my beloved canines, have played in caring for and about us humans during the pandemic.

You will likely read this editorial during the official dog days of summer, which run from July 22 to August 22. We all may imagine a big dog laying on a porch in the American South while his owners drink lemonade and quietly rock in chairs watching the long lazy days pass in a simpler time.

However pleasant this bucolic picture, it has little to do with the origin of the expression, which dates back to ancient Greece. The dog refers not to our literal furry friends but, according to National Geographic (and who should know better), to the position of the “dog star” in a constellation in the night sky.³ Unfortunately, we cannot completely get away from the sobering theme of the pandemic: The rise of the star to prominence during the peak of the Mediterranean summer’s heat was a period associated with disaster and illness.

Real dogs, cats, and assorted other so-called pandemic pets, though, have been another type of star in this difficult period. Early in the shelter-in-place, pet adoptions from city and county animal shelters and rescue organizations skyrocketed.⁴ Although animal welfare experts have legitimate concerns that some of these adoptees will be surrendered if there is ever a return to normal. For now many people feel it is the perfect time to adopt, precisely because they now have space to bring a new member into the family. Before adopting, as a recent National Public Radio report emphasized, individuals should consider whether they truly have the resources both material and emotional to care for a pet.⁵ For those who take stock honestly and believe they have the room in their heart and budget, rescuing a companion is good psychological news, arguably even more for the human than for the animal.

Sheltering-in-place has reduced the transmission of the virus, which scientists estimate has saved thousands of lives.⁶ But it also has triggered a second health crisis, this time of mental health with an unprecedented increase in rates of depression, anxiety, suicide attempts, and substance use that is expected to worsen over the coming months and years.⁷ Companion animals certainly cannot solve this complex and mammoth public health problem; however, they can contribute in simple and small yet very significant ways to the mental health of individuals.⁸

Caring for a pet who shows unconditional love and loyalty to you can reduce isolation; foster hope; provide meaning, comfort, and cheer to you when you are down or afraid; and offer a routine and reason to get out of bed every day and take a walk outside. Research shows that those positive effects can decrease the risk of the very mental health conditions that are now plaguing us in such alarming numbers.^9,10

“How many more lives are we willing to sacrifice in the name of containing the virus?” Elinore McCance-Katz, MD, PhD, the nation’s top mental health official ominously asked about the potential effects of another shutdown during a cabinet meeting.¹¹ For some of us, a companion animal who does not require physical distancing (at least when you are healthy) may permit us to prevent the spread of the virus while protecting our mental health.

Nor is emotional support the only clinical way in which animals are helping pandemic- beleaguered humans. There is a low risk we can infect household pets, and dogs are not likely to transmit the virus. In fact, they even can be trained to serve as highly efficient virus testers who don’t need scarce reagents or carry high price tags—just a pat on the head and an occasional treat.¹² Medscape reported that clinical trials starting in the United Kingdom are set to evaluate the accuracy of these “bio-detection” dogs. The story quotes a leading British public health official as saying, “Properly trained sniffer dogs could revolutionise our approach to this whole pandemic, screening 250 people an hour for the virus.”¹³

Canines are not only healers who can ease our troubles through the pandemic but also peacemakers. As injustice and violence rock the country, we would do well to imitate their attitudes of nonjudgmental acceptance. “Dogs are our link to paradise. They do not know evil or jealousy or discontent,” wrote novelist Milan Kundera. “To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring—it was peace.”¹⁴ Those indeed would be dog days as when better nature we sometimes share with animals prevailed.