Hitting a Nerve

For most of my formative years in medicine it was taken as gospel that 1-2 drinks/day, particularly red wine, was good for you.

Today though, the pendulum has swung the other way (granted, that could change in a year).

Recent re-analysis of the data now suggests there’s no benefit to any amount of alcohol. Zero. Zip. Nada.

This certainly isn’t the first time in medicine this has happened. It’s amazing how many studies end up getting re-analyzed, and re-re-analyzed, years later, with different conclusions reached.

It makes you wonder how these things happen. Possible explanations include flawed methodologies that either weren’t recognized at the time, confirmation bias, a rush to publish, and, rarely, outright fraud.

All of them, except for the last, are understandable. We all make mistakes. We’re all susceptible to the same statistical and psychological biases. Isn’t that part of the reason we do the peer-review process, so more than one pair of eyes can look for errors?

So, basically, no amount of alcohol is good for you.

Do I really think this is going to change anything? Hell no.

A huge amount of our culture revolves around alcohol. I’m not much of a drinker, but have no desire to give up my 2-3 beers per month, either. Just shopping in the store you see T-shirts, kitchen towels, gift bags, etc., that say things like “wine is just fruit salad” or “1 tequila, 2, tequila, 3 tequila, floor.”

The archaeological record suggests we began making alcoholic beverages 13,000 years ago. That’s a long time, and a pretty hard cultural habit to break. For comparison, tobacco has only been used for 3000 years.

In one of our strangest moments, America launched a 13-year experiment in prohibition, which failed miserably. Think about that. One hundred years ago, in 1924, you couldn’t legally buy alcohol anywhere in the United States. You had to break the law to get a drink, which most people did. Even then it was dangerous —in order to keep industrial ethanol from being sold to the public it was denatured with various toxins. As a result several thousand Americans died from their routine nightcap — with the government’s blessing.

Basically, alcohol isn’t going away. Not now, probably not ever.

There may be some out there who will alter their drinking habits based on the study, but I doubt it. I just don’t see too many people having a glass solely for the same reason they might take Lipitor or a multivitamin.

But I have no issue with correcting the original data. In medicine, and life in general, finding out what works is just as important as learning what doesn’t.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

For most of my formative years in medicine it was taken as gospel that 1-2 drinks/day, particularly red wine, was good for you.

Today though, the pendulum has swung the other way (granted, that could change in a year).

Recent re-analysis of the data now suggests there’s no benefit to any amount of alcohol. Zero. Zip. Nada.

This certainly isn’t the first time in medicine this has happened. It’s amazing how many studies end up getting re-analyzed, and re-re-analyzed, years later, with different conclusions reached.

It makes you wonder how these things happen. Possible explanations include flawed methodologies that either weren’t recognized at the time, confirmation bias, a rush to publish, and, rarely, outright fraud.

All of them, except for the last, are understandable. We all make mistakes. We’re all susceptible to the same statistical and psychological biases. Isn’t that part of the reason we do the peer-review process, so more than one pair of eyes can look for errors?

So, basically, no amount of alcohol is good for you.

Do I really think this is going to change anything? Hell no.

A huge amount of our culture revolves around alcohol. I’m not much of a drinker, but have no desire to give up my 2-3 beers per month, either. Just shopping in the store you see T-shirts, kitchen towels, gift bags, etc., that say things like “wine is just fruit salad” or “1 tequila, 2, tequila, 3 tequila, floor.”

The archaeological record suggests we began making alcoholic beverages 13,000 years ago. That’s a long time, and a pretty hard cultural habit to break. For comparison, tobacco has only been used for 3000 years.

In one of our strangest moments, America launched a 13-year experiment in prohibition, which failed miserably. Think about that. One hundred years ago, in 1924, you couldn’t legally buy alcohol anywhere in the United States. You had to break the law to get a drink, which most people did. Even then it was dangerous —in order to keep industrial ethanol from being sold to the public it was denatured with various toxins. As a result several thousand Americans died from their routine nightcap — with the government’s blessing.

Basically, alcohol isn’t going away. Not now, probably not ever.

There may be some out there who will alter their drinking habits based on the study, but I doubt it. I just don’t see too many people having a glass solely for the same reason they might take Lipitor or a multivitamin.

But I have no issue with correcting the original data. In medicine, and life in general, finding out what works is just as important as learning what doesn’t.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

For most of my formative years in medicine it was taken as gospel that 1-2 drinks/day, particularly red wine, was good for you.

Today though, the pendulum has swung the other way (granted, that could change in a year).

Recent re-analysis of the data now suggests there’s no benefit to any amount of alcohol. Zero. Zip. Nada.

This certainly isn’t the first time in medicine this has happened. It’s amazing how many studies end up getting re-analyzed, and re-re-analyzed, years later, with different conclusions reached.

It makes you wonder how these things happen. Possible explanations include flawed methodologies that either weren’t recognized at the time, confirmation bias, a rush to publish, and, rarely, outright fraud.

All of them, except for the last, are understandable. We all make mistakes. We’re all susceptible to the same statistical and psychological biases. Isn’t that part of the reason we do the peer-review process, so more than one pair of eyes can look for errors?

So, basically, no amount of alcohol is good for you.

Do I really think this is going to change anything? Hell no.

A huge amount of our culture revolves around alcohol. I’m not much of a drinker, but have no desire to give up my 2-3 beers per month, either. Just shopping in the store you see T-shirts, kitchen towels, gift bags, etc., that say things like “wine is just fruit salad” or “1 tequila, 2, tequila, 3 tequila, floor.”

The archaeological record suggests we began making alcoholic beverages 13,000 years ago. That’s a long time, and a pretty hard cultural habit to break. For comparison, tobacco has only been used for 3000 years.

In one of our strangest moments, America launched a 13-year experiment in prohibition, which failed miserably. Think about that. One hundred years ago, in 1924, you couldn’t legally buy alcohol anywhere in the United States. You had to break the law to get a drink, which most people did. Even then it was dangerous —in order to keep industrial ethanol from being sold to the public it was denatured with various toxins. As a result several thousand Americans died from their routine nightcap — with the government’s blessing.

Basically, alcohol isn’t going away. Not now, probably not ever.

There may be some out there who will alter their drinking habits based on the study, but I doubt it. I just don’t see too many people having a glass solely for the same reason they might take Lipitor or a multivitamin.

But I have no issue with correcting the original data. In medicine, and life in general, finding out what works is just as important as learning what doesn’t.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

I need a hobby. Any suggestions?

Due to the annual summertime slowdown, I find myself with less to do and catch up on during weekends. My kids are grown. Nowadays, when I have free time, I have no idea what to do with myself.

That’s not to say I don’t do things to relax. Jigsaw puzzles, reading P.G. Wodehouse ... but there’s only so long I can sit there, maybe 30 minutes, before I get bored. Then I go back to my desk, check email, log in to see if any prescription refills need to be addressed ...

I look online for ideas. No, I don’t want to collect things. Or start gardening. Or learn an instrument. Or paint. Or take up photography. The last thing I want is a hobby that involves a significant financial outlay for stuff I may be selling on eBay in 3 months.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

I need a hobby. Any suggestions?

Due to the annual summertime slowdown, I find myself with less to do and catch up on during weekends. My kids are grown. Nowadays, when I have free time, I have no idea what to do with myself.

That’s not to say I don’t do things to relax. Jigsaw puzzles, reading P.G. Wodehouse ... but there’s only so long I can sit there, maybe 30 minutes, before I get bored. Then I go back to my desk, check email, log in to see if any prescription refills need to be addressed ...

I look online for ideas. No, I don’t want to collect things. Or start gardening. Or learn an instrument. Or paint. Or take up photography. The last thing I want is a hobby that involves a significant financial outlay for stuff I may be selling on eBay in 3 months.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

I need a hobby. Any suggestions?

Due to the annual summertime slowdown, I find myself with less to do and catch up on during weekends. My kids are grown. Nowadays, when I have free time, I have no idea what to do with myself.

That’s not to say I don’t do things to relax. Jigsaw puzzles, reading P.G. Wodehouse ... but there’s only so long I can sit there, maybe 30 minutes, before I get bored. Then I go back to my desk, check email, log in to see if any prescription refills need to be addressed ...

I look online for ideas. No, I don’t want to collect things. Or start gardening. Or learn an instrument. Or paint. Or take up photography. The last thing I want is a hobby that involves a significant financial outlay for stuff I may be selling on eBay in 3 months.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Earlier in 2024 the French government proposed fining patients €5 ($5.36 at the time of writing) for no-show doctor appointments.

The rationale is that there are 27 million missed medical appointments annually in France (just based on population size, I’d guess it’s higher in the United States) and that they not only waste time, but also keep people who need to be seen sooner from getting in.

The penalty wouldn’t be automatic, and it’s up to the physician to decide if a patient’s excuse is valid. As I understand it, the €5 is paid as a fine to the national healthcare service, and not to the physician (I may be wrong on that).

In many ways I agree with this. No-shows are a waste of time and money for every medical practice. Given the patchwork of regulations and insurance rules we face in the United States, it’s almost impossible to penalize patients for missed visits unless you don’t take insurance at all.

Some people have legitimate reasons for no-showing. Cars break, family emergencies happen, storms roll in. Even the most punctual of us sometimes just space on something. If someone calls in at the last minute to say “I can’t make it” I’m more forgiving than if we never hear from them at all. That’s why it’s good to have the doctors, who know the people they’re dealing with, make the final call.

Of course, there are those who will just lie and make up an excuse, and sometimes it’s tricky to know who is or isn’t worth penalizing. Some people just don’t care, or are dishonest, or both.

$5.36 isn’t a huge amount for most. But it’s still symbolic. It forces people to, as they say, “have skin in the game.” Yes, they may still have a copay, but that’s only paid if they show up. This puts them in the position of being penalized for thoughtlessness.

Is it a great idea? Not really. I suspect most of us would dismiss it rather than fight with the patient.

But there aren’t any easy answers, and I’d like to see how, if they go ahead with the proposal, it plays out. If it works, I hope we won’t be too far behind.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Earlier in 2024 the French government proposed fining patients €5 ($5.36 at the time of writing) for no-show doctor appointments.

The rationale is that there are 27 million missed medical appointments annually in France (just based on population size, I’d guess it’s higher in the United States) and that they not only waste time, but also keep people who need to be seen sooner from getting in.

The penalty wouldn’t be automatic, and it’s up to the physician to decide if a patient’s excuse is valid. As I understand it, the €5 is paid as a fine to the national healthcare service, and not to the physician (I may be wrong on that).

In many ways I agree with this. No-shows are a waste of time and money for every medical practice. Given the patchwork of regulations and insurance rules we face in the United States, it’s almost impossible to penalize patients for missed visits unless you don’t take insurance at all.

Some people have legitimate reasons for no-showing. Cars break, family emergencies happen, storms roll in. Even the most punctual of us sometimes just space on something. If someone calls in at the last minute to say “I can’t make it” I’m more forgiving than if we never hear from them at all. That’s why it’s good to have the doctors, who know the people they’re dealing with, make the final call.

Of course, there are those who will just lie and make up an excuse, and sometimes it’s tricky to know who is or isn’t worth penalizing. Some people just don’t care, or are dishonest, or both.

$5.36 isn’t a huge amount for most. But it’s still symbolic. It forces people to, as they say, “have skin in the game.” Yes, they may still have a copay, but that’s only paid if they show up. This puts them in the position of being penalized for thoughtlessness.

Is it a great idea? Not really. I suspect most of us would dismiss it rather than fight with the patient.

But there aren’t any easy answers, and I’d like to see how, if they go ahead with the proposal, it plays out. If it works, I hope we won’t be too far behind.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Earlier in 2024 the French government proposed fining patients €5 ($5.36 at the time of writing) for no-show doctor appointments.

The rationale is that there are 27 million missed medical appointments annually in France (just based on population size, I’d guess it’s higher in the United States) and that they not only waste time, but also keep people who need to be seen sooner from getting in.

The penalty wouldn’t be automatic, and it’s up to the physician to decide if a patient’s excuse is valid. As I understand it, the €5 is paid as a fine to the national healthcare service, and not to the physician (I may be wrong on that).

In many ways I agree with this. No-shows are a waste of time and money for every medical practice. Given the patchwork of regulations and insurance rules we face in the United States, it’s almost impossible to penalize patients for missed visits unless you don’t take insurance at all.

Some people have legitimate reasons for no-showing. Cars break, family emergencies happen, storms roll in. Even the most punctual of us sometimes just space on something. If someone calls in at the last minute to say “I can’t make it” I’m more forgiving than if we never hear from them at all. That’s why it’s good to have the doctors, who know the people they’re dealing with, make the final call.

Of course, there are those who will just lie and make up an excuse, and sometimes it’s tricky to know who is or isn’t worth penalizing. Some people just don’t care, or are dishonest, or both.

$5.36 isn’t a huge amount for most. But it’s still symbolic. It forces people to, as they say, “have skin in the game.” Yes, they may still have a copay, but that’s only paid if they show up. This puts them in the position of being penalized for thoughtlessness.

Is it a great idea? Not really. I suspect most of us would dismiss it rather than fight with the patient.

But there aren’t any easy answers, and I’d like to see how, if they go ahead with the proposal, it plays out. If it works, I hope we won’t be too far behind.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Recently, the British Journal of General Practice published a paper that claimed that anxiety may be a prodromal feature of Parkinson’s disease). That news was widely picked up and spread.

The researchers certainly have some interesting data, but this sort of article, once enough general and social media websites get a hold of it, is bound to cause panic in the streets. And phone calls to my office.

An anxious-by-nature friend even emailed me the link with a laconic “Well, I’m screwed” in the subject line.

Is there a correlation between Parkinson’s disease and anxiety? Probably. Any of us practicing neurology have seen it. Some of it is likely from the anxiety of the situation, but the biochemical changes brought by the disease are also likely a big part.

But does that mean everyone with anxiety has Parkinson’s disease? Of course not. Anxiety is common, probably more common in our current era than ever before (this is why I tell patients not to watch the news and to avoid social media — they’re bad for your sanity and blood pressure).

Stories like this, once they start getting forwarded on Facebook (or another social media outlet), only raise anxiety, which results in more forwarding, and the snowball begins rolling downhill before crashing into my office (obviously this is a figure of speech, as it’s July in Phoenix).

The research is interesting. The point is valid. But the leaps the public makes are ... problematic. It’s only a matter of time before someone comes in demanding a DaT scan because they’re anxious. At $4K a test, that’s not happening.

The intersection between medical research and mass media, while not new, becomes increasingly problematic in the social media era, where things that are preliminary in the medical literature make the jump to certainty in the public arena.

Which raises anxiety all around.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Recently, the British Journal of General Practice published a paper that claimed that anxiety may be a prodromal feature of Parkinson’s disease). That news was widely picked up and spread.

The researchers certainly have some interesting data, but this sort of article, once enough general and social media websites get a hold of it, is bound to cause panic in the streets. And phone calls to my office.

An anxious-by-nature friend even emailed me the link with a laconic “Well, I’m screwed” in the subject line.

Is there a correlation between Parkinson’s disease and anxiety? Probably. Any of us practicing neurology have seen it. Some of it is likely from the anxiety of the situation, but the biochemical changes brought by the disease are also likely a big part.

But does that mean everyone with anxiety has Parkinson’s disease? Of course not. Anxiety is common, probably more common in our current era than ever before (this is why I tell patients not to watch the news and to avoid social media — they’re bad for your sanity and blood pressure).

Stories like this, once they start getting forwarded on Facebook (or another social media outlet), only raise anxiety, which results in more forwarding, and the snowball begins rolling downhill before crashing into my office (obviously this is a figure of speech, as it’s July in Phoenix).

The research is interesting. The point is valid. But the leaps the public makes are ... problematic. It’s only a matter of time before someone comes in demanding a DaT scan because they’re anxious. At $4K a test, that’s not happening.

The intersection between medical research and mass media, while not new, becomes increasingly problematic in the social media era, where things that are preliminary in the medical literature make the jump to certainty in the public arena.

Which raises anxiety all around.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Recently, the British Journal of General Practice published a paper that claimed that anxiety may be a prodromal feature of Parkinson’s disease). That news was widely picked up and spread.

The researchers certainly have some interesting data, but this sort of article, once enough general and social media websites get a hold of it, is bound to cause panic in the streets. And phone calls to my office.

An anxious-by-nature friend even emailed me the link with a laconic “Well, I’m screwed” in the subject line.

Is there a correlation between Parkinson’s disease and anxiety? Probably. Any of us practicing neurology have seen it. Some of it is likely from the anxiety of the situation, but the biochemical changes brought by the disease are also likely a big part.

But does that mean everyone with anxiety has Parkinson’s disease? Of course not. Anxiety is common, probably more common in our current era than ever before (this is why I tell patients not to watch the news and to avoid social media — they’re bad for your sanity and blood pressure).

Stories like this, once they start getting forwarded on Facebook (or another social media outlet), only raise anxiety, which results in more forwarding, and the snowball begins rolling downhill before crashing into my office (obviously this is a figure of speech, as it’s July in Phoenix).

The research is interesting. The point is valid. But the leaps the public makes are ... problematic. It’s only a matter of time before someone comes in demanding a DaT scan because they’re anxious. At $4K a test, that’s not happening.

The intersection between medical research and mass media, while not new, becomes increasingly problematic in the social media era, where things that are preliminary in the medical literature make the jump to certainty in the public arena.

Which raises anxiety all around.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

She was young, neatly dressed, professional. I don’t remember her name, though she handed me a business card as soon as I stepped up to the front window.

I thought she was a new drug rep to my territory, and I usually try to say “hi” when they first come in. They’re just doing their job, and I don’t mind chatting for a few minutes.

But she, as it turned out, was here for a whole new thing. Taking out a glossy brochure, she dived into a spiel about my offering a medical credit card through my office. I would get paid quickly, I might even get some extra money from patient interest payments, it is convenient for patients, win-win situation all around, yadda yadda yadda.

I smiled, thanked her for coming in, but told her this wasn’t a good fit for my practice.

I’m well aware that keeping a small practice afloat ain’t easy. Medicine is one of the few fields (unless you’re strictly doing cash pay) where we can’t raise prices to keep up with inflation. Well, we can, but what we get paid won’t change. That’s the nature of dealing with Medicare and insurance. What you charge and what you’ll get (and have to accept) are generally not the same.

But even so, I try to stick with what I know — being a neurologist. I’m not here to offer a range of financial services. I have neither the time, nor interest, to run a patient’s copay while trying to sell them on a medical credit card.

For that matter I’m not going to set up shop selling vitamin supplements, hangover-curing infusions, endorsing products on X, or any of the other dubious things touted as “thinking outside the box” ways to increase revenue.

I suppose some will say I’m old-fashioned, or this is why my practice operates on a thin margin, or that I’m focusing more on patients than business. I don’t mind. Caring for patients is why I’m here.

I also hear the argument that if I don’t market a medical credit card (or whatever), someone else will. That’s fine. Let them. I wish them good luck. It’s just not for me.

Like I’ve said in the past, I’m an old dog, but a happy one. I’ll leave the new tricks to someone else.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

She was young, neatly dressed, professional. I don’t remember her name, though she handed me a business card as soon as I stepped up to the front window.

I thought she was a new drug rep to my territory, and I usually try to say “hi” when they first come in. They’re just doing their job, and I don’t mind chatting for a few minutes.

But she, as it turned out, was here for a whole new thing. Taking out a glossy brochure, she dived into a spiel about my offering a medical credit card through my office. I would get paid quickly, I might even get some extra money from patient interest payments, it is convenient for patients, win-win situation all around, yadda yadda yadda.

I smiled, thanked her for coming in, but told her this wasn’t a good fit for my practice.

I’m well aware that keeping a small practice afloat ain’t easy. Medicine is one of the few fields (unless you’re strictly doing cash pay) where we can’t raise prices to keep up with inflation. Well, we can, but what we get paid won’t change. That’s the nature of dealing with Medicare and insurance. What you charge and what you’ll get (and have to accept) are generally not the same.

But even so, I try to stick with what I know — being a neurologist. I’m not here to offer a range of financial services. I have neither the time, nor interest, to run a patient’s copay while trying to sell them on a medical credit card.

For that matter I’m not going to set up shop selling vitamin supplements, hangover-curing infusions, endorsing products on X, or any of the other dubious things touted as “thinking outside the box” ways to increase revenue.

I suppose some will say I’m old-fashioned, or this is why my practice operates on a thin margin, or that I’m focusing more on patients than business. I don’t mind. Caring for patients is why I’m here.

I also hear the argument that if I don’t market a medical credit card (or whatever), someone else will. That’s fine. Let them. I wish them good luck. It’s just not for me.

Like I’ve said in the past, I’m an old dog, but a happy one. I’ll leave the new tricks to someone else.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

She was young, neatly dressed, professional. I don’t remember her name, though she handed me a business card as soon as I stepped up to the front window.

I thought she was a new drug rep to my territory, and I usually try to say “hi” when they first come in. They’re just doing their job, and I don’t mind chatting for a few minutes.

But she, as it turned out, was here for a whole new thing. Taking out a glossy brochure, she dived into a spiel about my offering a medical credit card through my office. I would get paid quickly, I might even get some extra money from patient interest payments, it is convenient for patients, win-win situation all around, yadda yadda yadda.

I smiled, thanked her for coming in, but told her this wasn’t a good fit for my practice.

I’m well aware that keeping a small practice afloat ain’t easy. Medicine is one of the few fields (unless you’re strictly doing cash pay) where we can’t raise prices to keep up with inflation. Well, we can, but what we get paid won’t change. That’s the nature of dealing with Medicare and insurance. What you charge and what you’ll get (and have to accept) are generally not the same.

But even so, I try to stick with what I know — being a neurologist. I’m not here to offer a range of financial services. I have neither the time, nor interest, to run a patient’s copay while trying to sell them on a medical credit card.

For that matter I’m not going to set up shop selling vitamin supplements, hangover-curing infusions, endorsing products on X, or any of the other dubious things touted as “thinking outside the box” ways to increase revenue.

I suppose some will say I’m old-fashioned, or this is why my practice operates on a thin margin, or that I’m focusing more on patients than business. I don’t mind. Caring for patients is why I’m here.

I also hear the argument that if I don’t market a medical credit card (or whatever), someone else will. That’s fine. Let them. I wish them good luck. It’s just not for me.

Like I’ve said in the past, I’m an old dog, but a happy one. I’ll leave the new tricks to someone else.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

After 26 years in practice, there are still things about the brain that amaze me, often that I first notice on myself.

Filtering (I guess “selective attention” sounds better) is one of them. We don’t notice it, but it’s definitely there.

Working at a jigsaw puzzle, I find myself looking for a specific piece, say, a white tab with a dark background and yellow stripe in the center. There may be several hundred pieces spread around me at the table, but the brain quickly starts filtering them out. In a fraction of a second I only notice ones with a white tab, then mentally those are broken down by the other characteristics. If it looks promising, I’ll look back at the space I’m trying to fit it in, mentally rotate the piece (another tricky thing if you think about it) and, if that seems to match, will pick up the piece to try. If it doesn’t fit the process repeats.

It’s a remarkable ability to see a relationship between two separate objects that isn’t always apparent.

But it’s not just sight. Although I’ve always loved music, it wasn’t until my own kids were in a band that I found the ability to break it down, removing the other instruments. It brings a remarkable clarity to suddenly hearing my daughter on the marimba, or son on the flute. Even with 70 other instrument playing around them.

You can try it yourself, listening to Keith Moon’s amazing drums on The Who’s “5:15.” Or in Bob Seger’s “Fire Lake.” Take out Seger and the instruments and you suddenly realize it’s the Eagles doing the background singing.

In Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain,” a song you generally don’t attribute to the Rolling Stones, a little bit of focus will reveal Mick Jagger’s distinctive voice in the background chorus of “Don’t you, don’t you, don’t you?”

The ability isn’t something we created. It was there from our ancestors in the trees and caves. They used this ability to identify friend from foe, find the right path home, and pick out what was edible from what was poisonous. Like with so many other things, and without realizing it, our brains have retooled it for the world we now face, even if it’s just to find our car in the parking lot.

Sodium, calcium, potassium, and other ions flow in and out of nerve cells, an electrical impulse propagates though a network, matching incoming sounds and images to ones previously stored. That’s all it is, but the results are remarkable.

We take the everyday for granted, but should stop and think how amazing it really is.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

After 26 years in practice, there are still things about the brain that amaze me, often that I first notice on myself.

Filtering (I guess “selective attention” sounds better) is one of them. We don’t notice it, but it’s definitely there.

Working at a jigsaw puzzle, I find myself looking for a specific piece, say, a white tab with a dark background and yellow stripe in the center. There may be several hundred pieces spread around me at the table, but the brain quickly starts filtering them out. In a fraction of a second I only notice ones with a white tab, then mentally those are broken down by the other characteristics. If it looks promising, I’ll look back at the space I’m trying to fit it in, mentally rotate the piece (another tricky thing if you think about it) and, if that seems to match, will pick up the piece to try. If it doesn’t fit the process repeats.

It’s a remarkable ability to see a relationship between two separate objects that isn’t always apparent.

But it’s not just sight. Although I’ve always loved music, it wasn’t until my own kids were in a band that I found the ability to break it down, removing the other instruments. It brings a remarkable clarity to suddenly hearing my daughter on the marimba, or son on the flute. Even with 70 other instrument playing around them.

You can try it yourself, listening to Keith Moon’s amazing drums on The Who’s “5:15.” Or in Bob Seger’s “Fire Lake.” Take out Seger and the instruments and you suddenly realize it’s the Eagles doing the background singing.

In Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain,” a song you generally don’t attribute to the Rolling Stones, a little bit of focus will reveal Mick Jagger’s distinctive voice in the background chorus of “Don’t you, don’t you, don’t you?”

The ability isn’t something we created. It was there from our ancestors in the trees and caves. They used this ability to identify friend from foe, find the right path home, and pick out what was edible from what was poisonous. Like with so many other things, and without realizing it, our brains have retooled it for the world we now face, even if it’s just to find our car in the parking lot.

Sodium, calcium, potassium, and other ions flow in and out of nerve cells, an electrical impulse propagates though a network, matching incoming sounds and images to ones previously stored. That’s all it is, but the results are remarkable.

We take the everyday for granted, but should stop and think how amazing it really is.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

After 26 years in practice, there are still things about the brain that amaze me, often that I first notice on myself.

Filtering (I guess “selective attention” sounds better) is one of them. We don’t notice it, but it’s definitely there.

Working at a jigsaw puzzle, I find myself looking for a specific piece, say, a white tab with a dark background and yellow stripe in the center. There may be several hundred pieces spread around me at the table, but the brain quickly starts filtering them out. In a fraction of a second I only notice ones with a white tab, then mentally those are broken down by the other characteristics. If it looks promising, I’ll look back at the space I’m trying to fit it in, mentally rotate the piece (another tricky thing if you think about it) and, if that seems to match, will pick up the piece to try. If it doesn’t fit the process repeats.

It’s a remarkable ability to see a relationship between two separate objects that isn’t always apparent.

But it’s not just sight. Although I’ve always loved music, it wasn’t until my own kids were in a band that I found the ability to break it down, removing the other instruments. It brings a remarkable clarity to suddenly hearing my daughter on the marimba, or son on the flute. Even with 70 other instrument playing around them.

You can try it yourself, listening to Keith Moon’s amazing drums on The Who’s “5:15.” Or in Bob Seger’s “Fire Lake.” Take out Seger and the instruments and you suddenly realize it’s the Eagles doing the background singing.

In Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain,” a song you generally don’t attribute to the Rolling Stones, a little bit of focus will reveal Mick Jagger’s distinctive voice in the background chorus of “Don’t you, don’t you, don’t you?”

The ability isn’t something we created. It was there from our ancestors in the trees and caves. They used this ability to identify friend from foe, find the right path home, and pick out what was edible from what was poisonous. Like with so many other things, and without realizing it, our brains have retooled it for the world we now face, even if it’s just to find our car in the parking lot.

Sodium, calcium, potassium, and other ions flow in and out of nerve cells, an electrical impulse propagates though a network, matching incoming sounds and images to ones previously stored. That’s all it is, but the results are remarkable.

We take the everyday for granted, but should stop and think how amazing it really is.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

The records came in by fax. A patient who’d recently moved here and needed to connect with a local neurologist.

When I had time, I flipped through the records. He needed ongoing treatment for a rare neurological disease that I’d heard of, but wasn’t otherwise familiar with. It didn’t even exist in the textbooks or conferences when I was in residency. I’d never seen a case of it, just read about it here and there in journals.

I looked it up, reviewed current treatment options, monitoring, and other knowledge about it, then stared at the notes for a minute. Finally, after thinking it over, I attached a sticky note for my secretary that, if the person called, to redirect them to one of the local subspecialty neurology centers.

I have nothing against this patient, but realistically he would be better served seeing someone with time to keep up on advancements in esoteric disorders, not a general neurologist like myself.

Isn’t that why we have subspecialty centers?

Some of it is also me. There was a time in my career when keeping up on newly discovered disorders and their treatments was, well, cool. But after 25 years in practice, that changes.

In the daily trenches of general neurology, one can only be on top of so much. You have to prioritize the things you’re most likely to see. It’s important to be at least somewhat aware of new developments (such as in this case) as you may encounter them, and need to know when it’s something you can handle and when to send it elsewhere.

Driving home that afternoon I thought, “I’m an old dog. I don’t want to learn new tricks.” Maybe that’s all it is. There are other neurologists my age and older who thrive on the challenge of learning about and treating new and rare disorders that were unknown when they started out. There’s nothing wrong with that.

But I’ve never pretended to be an academic or sub-sub-specialist. My patients depend on me to stay up to date on the large number of commonly seen neurological disorders, and I do my best to do that.

It ain’t easy being an old dog.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

The records came in by fax. A patient who’d recently moved here and needed to connect with a local neurologist.

When I had time, I flipped through the records. He needed ongoing treatment for a rare neurological disease that I’d heard of, but wasn’t otherwise familiar with. It didn’t even exist in the textbooks or conferences when I was in residency. I’d never seen a case of it, just read about it here and there in journals.

I looked it up, reviewed current treatment options, monitoring, and other knowledge about it, then stared at the notes for a minute. Finally, after thinking it over, I attached a sticky note for my secretary that, if the person called, to redirect them to one of the local subspecialty neurology centers.

I have nothing against this patient, but realistically he would be better served seeing someone with time to keep up on advancements in esoteric disorders, not a general neurologist like myself.

Isn’t that why we have subspecialty centers?

Some of it is also me. There was a time in my career when keeping up on newly discovered disorders and their treatments was, well, cool. But after 25 years in practice, that changes.

In the daily trenches of general neurology, one can only be on top of so much. You have to prioritize the things you’re most likely to see. It’s important to be at least somewhat aware of new developments (such as in this case) as you may encounter them, and need to know when it’s something you can handle and when to send it elsewhere.

Driving home that afternoon I thought, “I’m an old dog. I don’t want to learn new tricks.” Maybe that’s all it is. There are other neurologists my age and older who thrive on the challenge of learning about and treating new and rare disorders that were unknown when they started out. There’s nothing wrong with that.

But I’ve never pretended to be an academic or sub-sub-specialist. My patients depend on me to stay up to date on the large number of commonly seen neurological disorders, and I do my best to do that.

It ain’t easy being an old dog.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

The records came in by fax. A patient who’d recently moved here and needed to connect with a local neurologist.

When I had time, I flipped through the records. He needed ongoing treatment for a rare neurological disease that I’d heard of, but wasn’t otherwise familiar with. It didn’t even exist in the textbooks or conferences when I was in residency. I’d never seen a case of it, just read about it here and there in journals.

I looked it up, reviewed current treatment options, monitoring, and other knowledge about it, then stared at the notes for a minute. Finally, after thinking it over, I attached a sticky note for my secretary that, if the person called, to redirect them to one of the local subspecialty neurology centers.

I have nothing against this patient, but realistically he would be better served seeing someone with time to keep up on advancements in esoteric disorders, not a general neurologist like myself.

Isn’t that why we have subspecialty centers?

Some of it is also me. There was a time in my career when keeping up on newly discovered disorders and their treatments was, well, cool. But after 25 years in practice, that changes.

In the daily trenches of general neurology, one can only be on top of so much. You have to prioritize the things you’re most likely to see. It’s important to be at least somewhat aware of new developments (such as in this case) as you may encounter them, and need to know when it’s something you can handle and when to send it elsewhere.

Driving home that afternoon I thought, “I’m an old dog. I don’t want to learn new tricks.” Maybe that’s all it is. There are other neurologists my age and older who thrive on the challenge of learning about and treating new and rare disorders that were unknown when they started out. There’s nothing wrong with that.

But I’ve never pretended to be an academic or sub-sub-specialist. My patients depend on me to stay up to date on the large number of commonly seen neurological disorders, and I do my best to do that.

It ain’t easy being an old dog.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Recently, “low field” MRIs have been in the news, with the promise that they’ll be safer and easier. People can go in them with their cell phones, car keys in pockets, no ear plugs needed for the noise, etc. They’re cheaper to build and can be plugged into a standard outlet.

That’s all well and good, but what about accuracy and image quality?

That’s a big question. Even proponents of the technology say it’s not as good as what we see with 3T MRI, so they’re trying to compensate by using AI and other software protocols to enhance the pictures. Allegedly it looks good, but so far only healthy volunteers have been scanned. How will it do with a small low-grade glioma or other subtle (but important) findings? We don’t know yet.

Personally, I think having to give up your iPhone and car keys for an hour, and put in foam ear plugs, are small trade-offs to get an accurate diagnosis.

Of course, I’m also approaching this as someone who deals with brain imaging. Maybe for other structures, like a knee, that kind of detail isn’t as necessary (or maybe it is. I’m definitely not in that field).

So, as with so many things that make it into the popular press, they likely have potential, but are still not ready for prime time.

This sort of stuff always gets my office phones ringing. Patients see a blurb about it on the news or Facebook and assume it’s available now, so they want one. They seem to think the new MRI is like Bones McCoy’s tricorder. I take the scanner off my belt, wave it over them, and the answer comes up on the screen. The fact that the unit still weighs over a ton is hidden at the bottom of the blurb, if it’s even mentioned at all.

There’s also the likelihood that this sort of thing is going to be taken to the public, in the same way carotid Dopplers have been. Marketed to the worried well with celebrity endorsements and taglines like “see what your doctor won’t look for.” Of course, MRIs are chock full of things like nonspecific white matter changes, disc bulges, tiny meningiomas, and a host of other incidental findings that cause panic in cyberchondriacs. Who then call us.

But that’s another story.

I understand that for some parts of the world a comparatively inexpensive, transportable, MRI that requires less shielding and power is a HUGE deal. Its availability can make the difference between life and death.

I’m not knocking the technology. I’m sure it will be useful. But, like so much in medicine, it’s not here yet.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Recently, “low field” MRIs have been in the news, with the promise that they’ll be safer and easier. People can go in them with their cell phones, car keys in pockets, no ear plugs needed for the noise, etc. They’re cheaper to build and can be plugged into a standard outlet.

That’s all well and good, but what about accuracy and image quality?

That’s a big question. Even proponents of the technology say it’s not as good as what we see with 3T MRI, so they’re trying to compensate by using AI and other software protocols to enhance the pictures. Allegedly it looks good, but so far only healthy volunteers have been scanned. How will it do with a small low-grade glioma or other subtle (but important) findings? We don’t know yet.

Personally, I think having to give up your iPhone and car keys for an hour, and put in foam ear plugs, are small trade-offs to get an accurate diagnosis.

Of course, I’m also approaching this as someone who deals with brain imaging. Maybe for other structures, like a knee, that kind of detail isn’t as necessary (or maybe it is. I’m definitely not in that field).

So, as with so many things that make it into the popular press, they likely have potential, but are still not ready for prime time.

This sort of stuff always gets my office phones ringing. Patients see a blurb about it on the news or Facebook and assume it’s available now, so they want one. They seem to think the new MRI is like Bones McCoy’s tricorder. I take the scanner off my belt, wave it over them, and the answer comes up on the screen. The fact that the unit still weighs over a ton is hidden at the bottom of the blurb, if it’s even mentioned at all.

There’s also the likelihood that this sort of thing is going to be taken to the public, in the same way carotid Dopplers have been. Marketed to the worried well with celebrity endorsements and taglines like “see what your doctor won’t look for.” Of course, MRIs are chock full of things like nonspecific white matter changes, disc bulges, tiny meningiomas, and a host of other incidental findings that cause panic in cyberchondriacs. Who then call us.

But that’s another story.

I understand that for some parts of the world a comparatively inexpensive, transportable, MRI that requires less shielding and power is a HUGE deal. Its availability can make the difference between life and death.

I’m not knocking the technology. I’m sure it will be useful. But, like so much in medicine, it’s not here yet.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Recently, “low field” MRIs have been in the news, with the promise that they’ll be safer and easier. People can go in them with their cell phones, car keys in pockets, no ear plugs needed for the noise, etc. They’re cheaper to build and can be plugged into a standard outlet.

That’s all well and good, but what about accuracy and image quality?

That’s a big question. Even proponents of the technology say it’s not as good as what we see with 3T MRI, so they’re trying to compensate by using AI and other software protocols to enhance the pictures. Allegedly it looks good, but so far only healthy volunteers have been scanned. How will it do with a small low-grade glioma or other subtle (but important) findings? We don’t know yet.

Personally, I think having to give up your iPhone and car keys for an hour, and put in foam ear plugs, are small trade-offs to get an accurate diagnosis.

Of course, I’m also approaching this as someone who deals with brain imaging. Maybe for other structures, like a knee, that kind of detail isn’t as necessary (or maybe it is. I’m definitely not in that field).

So, as with so many things that make it into the popular press, they likely have potential, but are still not ready for prime time.

This sort of stuff always gets my office phones ringing. Patients see a blurb about it on the news or Facebook and assume it’s available now, so they want one. They seem to think the new MRI is like Bones McCoy’s tricorder. I take the scanner off my belt, wave it over them, and the answer comes up on the screen. The fact that the unit still weighs over a ton is hidden at the bottom of the blurb, if it’s even mentioned at all.

There’s also the likelihood that this sort of thing is going to be taken to the public, in the same way carotid Dopplers have been. Marketed to the worried well with celebrity endorsements and taglines like “see what your doctor won’t look for.” Of course, MRIs are chock full of things like nonspecific white matter changes, disc bulges, tiny meningiomas, and a host of other incidental findings that cause panic in cyberchondriacs. Who then call us.

But that’s another story.

I understand that for some parts of the world a comparatively inexpensive, transportable, MRI that requires less shielding and power is a HUGE deal. Its availability can make the difference between life and death.

I’m not knocking the technology. I’m sure it will be useful. But, like so much in medicine, it’s not here yet.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

The envelope was a small one, with a handwritten address. Of course, there were other things in the mail to sort through: insurance payments, bills, correspondence. So I attended to those while I made coffee and started my computer.

After a few minutes I came back to the small envelope.

Inside was a card from a recently widowed lady, thanking me for my care of her husband and telling me I was very kind.

I’d only seem him once, about a year ago, and then had a follow-up phone call to go over the results.

In medicine you develop, as I’ve previously written, “Spidey Sense.” Things alert you that something bad is going on, even when you can’t quite put your finger on it yet. His story set off several of my alarms, and I sent him off for tests.

A few days later the electromyography and nerve conduction velocity (EMG/NCV) specialist I’d referred him to called to confirm the gentleman had ALS. He’d given him the diagnosis and started him on riluzole.

I called the patient and his wife that night to discuss things in more detail. My colleague, since neuromuscular disease is his field, had already started the process (this isn’t patient poaching, he and I have worked together long enough that he knows I’d rather he take over the case). I explained things further. They didn’t have any questions.

I didn’t hear from them again until the card came. On the flip side was a picture of them and their extended family. I have no idea how they vote, or what their religion is, or how much money they have. None of that matters.

They’re nice people, and a patient, who came to me for help. I was touched by her appreciation for the little I could do, and that she took time to express that to me.

None of us cures anyone in the long run. We can put off the inevitable, do our best to relieve suffering, and try to bring comfort — even when the last is all we can do.

Here in 2024, with all of our medications and computers and tests it’s hard to believe that we still come up short — very short – against so many diseases. Yet we do.

All of us can only do our best, even when the best we can do is to be kind.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

The envelope was a small one, with a handwritten address. Of course, there were other things in the mail to sort through: insurance payments, bills, correspondence. So I attended to those while I made coffee and started my computer.

After a few minutes I came back to the small envelope.

Inside was a card from a recently widowed lady, thanking me for my care of her husband and telling me I was very kind.

I’d only seem him once, about a year ago, and then had a follow-up phone call to go over the results.

In medicine you develop, as I’ve previously written, “Spidey Sense.” Things alert you that something bad is going on, even when you can’t quite put your finger on it yet. His story set off several of my alarms, and I sent him off for tests.

A few days later the electromyography and nerve conduction velocity (EMG/NCV) specialist I’d referred him to called to confirm the gentleman had ALS. He’d given him the diagnosis and started him on riluzole.

I called the patient and his wife that night to discuss things in more detail. My colleague, since neuromuscular disease is his field, had already started the process (this isn’t patient poaching, he and I have worked together long enough that he knows I’d rather he take over the case). I explained things further. They didn’t have any questions.

I didn’t hear from them again until the card came. On the flip side was a picture of them and their extended family. I have no idea how they vote, or what their religion is, or how much money they have. None of that matters.

They’re nice people, and a patient, who came to me for help. I was touched by her appreciation for the little I could do, and that she took time to express that to me.

None of us cures anyone in the long run. We can put off the inevitable, do our best to relieve suffering, and try to bring comfort — even when the last is all we can do.

Here in 2024, with all of our medications and computers and tests it’s hard to believe that we still come up short — very short – against so many diseases. Yet we do.

All of us can only do our best, even when the best we can do is to be kind.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

The envelope was a small one, with a handwritten address. Of course, there were other things in the mail to sort through: insurance payments, bills, correspondence. So I attended to those while I made coffee and started my computer.

After a few minutes I came back to the small envelope.

Inside was a card from a recently widowed lady, thanking me for my care of her husband and telling me I was very kind.

I’d only seem him once, about a year ago, and then had a follow-up phone call to go over the results.

In medicine you develop, as I’ve previously written, “Spidey Sense.” Things alert you that something bad is going on, even when you can’t quite put your finger on it yet. His story set off several of my alarms, and I sent him off for tests.

A few days later the electromyography and nerve conduction velocity (EMG/NCV) specialist I’d referred him to called to confirm the gentleman had ALS. He’d given him the diagnosis and started him on riluzole.

I called the patient and his wife that night to discuss things in more detail. My colleague, since neuromuscular disease is his field, had already started the process (this isn’t patient poaching, he and I have worked together long enough that he knows I’d rather he take over the case). I explained things further. They didn’t have any questions.

I didn’t hear from them again until the card came. On the flip side was a picture of them and their extended family. I have no idea how they vote, or what their religion is, or how much money they have. None of that matters.

They’re nice people, and a patient, who came to me for help. I was touched by her appreciation for the little I could do, and that she took time to express that to me.

None of us cures anyone in the long run. We can put off the inevitable, do our best to relieve suffering, and try to bring comfort — even when the last is all we can do.

Here in 2024, with all of our medications and computers and tests it’s hard to believe that we still come up short — very short – against so many diseases. Yet we do.

All of us can only do our best, even when the best we can do is to be kind.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

I don’t write many checks anymore.

When I started my practice in 2000 I wrote a lot. Paychecks for my staff, my rent, insurance, IRA contributions, federal & state withholding, payments on my EMG machine, pretty much everything.

Checks are old. We’ve been using them in some form for roughly 2000 years.

But the online world has changed a lot of that. Now I write maybe 2-3 a month. I could probably do fewer, but haven’t bothered to set those accounts up that way.

I recently was down to my last few checks, so ordered replacements. The minimum order was 600. As I unpacked the box I realized they’re probably the last ones I’ll need, both because checks are gradually passing by and because there are more days behind in my neurology career than ahead.

The checks are a minor thing, but they do make you think. Certainly we’re in the last generation of people who will ever need to use paper checks. Some phrases like “blank check” will likely be with us long after they’re gone (like “dialing a phone”), but the real deal is heading the same way as 8-Track and VHS tapes.

As my 600 checks dwindle down, realistically, so will my career. There is no rewind button on life. I have no desire to leave medicine right now, but the passage of time changes things.

Does that mean I, like my checks, am also getting obsolete?

I hope not. I’d like to think I still have something to offer. I have 30 years of neurology experience behind me, and try to keep up to date on my field. My patients and staff depend on me to bring my best to the office every day.

I hope to stay that way to the end. I’d rather leave voluntarily, still at the top of my game. Even if I end up leaving a few unused checks behind.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

I don’t write many checks anymore.

When I started my practice in 2000 I wrote a lot. Paychecks for my staff, my rent, insurance, IRA contributions, federal & state withholding, payments on my EMG machine, pretty much everything.

Checks are old. We’ve been using them in some form for roughly 2000 years.

But the online world has changed a lot of that. Now I write maybe 2-3 a month. I could probably do fewer, but haven’t bothered to set those accounts up that way.

I recently was down to my last few checks, so ordered replacements. The minimum order was 600. As I unpacked the box I realized they’re probably the last ones I’ll need, both because checks are gradually passing by and because there are more days behind in my neurology career than ahead.

The checks are a minor thing, but they do make you think. Certainly we’re in the last generation of people who will ever need to use paper checks. Some phrases like “blank check” will likely be with us long after they’re gone (like “dialing a phone”), but the real deal is heading the same way as 8-Track and VHS tapes.

As my 600 checks dwindle down, realistically, so will my career. There is no rewind button on life. I have no desire to leave medicine right now, but the passage of time changes things.

Does that mean I, like my checks, am also getting obsolete?

I hope not. I’d like to think I still have something to offer. I have 30 years of neurology experience behind me, and try to keep up to date on my field. My patients and staff depend on me to bring my best to the office every day.

I hope to stay that way to the end. I’d rather leave voluntarily, still at the top of my game. Even if I end up leaving a few unused checks behind.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

I don’t write many checks anymore.

When I started my practice in 2000 I wrote a lot. Paychecks for my staff, my rent, insurance, IRA contributions, federal & state withholding, payments on my EMG machine, pretty much everything.

Checks are old. We’ve been using them in some form for roughly 2000 years.

But the online world has changed a lot of that. Now I write maybe 2-3 a month. I could probably do fewer, but haven’t bothered to set those accounts up that way.

I recently was down to my last few checks, so ordered replacements. The minimum order was 600. As I unpacked the box I realized they’re probably the last ones I’ll need, both because checks are gradually passing by and because there are more days behind in my neurology career than ahead.

The checks are a minor thing, but they do make you think. Certainly we’re in the last generation of people who will ever need to use paper checks. Some phrases like “blank check” will likely be with us long after they’re gone (like “dialing a phone”), but the real deal is heading the same way as 8-Track and VHS tapes.

As my 600 checks dwindle down, realistically, so will my career. There is no rewind button on life. I have no desire to leave medicine right now, but the passage of time changes things.

Does that mean I, like my checks, am also getting obsolete?

I hope not. I’d like to think I still have something to offer. I have 30 years of neurology experience behind me, and try to keep up to date on my field. My patients and staff depend on me to bring my best to the office every day.

I hope to stay that way to the end. I’d rather leave voluntarily, still at the top of my game. Even if I end up leaving a few unused checks behind.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.