Publishing good science is the closest most of us get to immortality

First, a story about the last time I cried: a few weeks ago, I began to wonder how Dr. Susan Braithwaite, one of my professors from my endocrine fellowship at the University of North Carolina, was doing. I had asked her for a letter of reference in January of this year, 2022, because I was applying for a part-time job back at my medical school alma mater, the University of Kansas School of Medicine here in Wichita.

I emailed her to ask for the letter, which seems kind of strange and unprofessional except for the fact that she was a furious, enthusiastic emailer; during hospital rounds, she would go from floor to floor, opening computers and buzzing through her inbox to make sure no patient or physician had contacted her with critical information in the last fifteen minutes. In her immediate emailed response to my request, she mentioned she was having some health issues, but that she hoped to get back to work soon. She graciously agreed to write my letter of reference. It was promptly delivered to the Promotion and Tenure Committee at KUSM-W.

I got the job, and I wrote her an e-mail to thank her for her help. I offered to send her a physical, snail-mailed thank-you note, but I didn't know her physical address, and I don't think she was interested in giving it to me. In my thank-you email, I mentioned that I had used, and continue to use, her basal-bolus insulin titration algorithm that she, with an alliterative panache, published as “Five Steps to Freedom” on New Year’s Day in 2005. If you’re curious, here are the five steps:

But I’m getting ahead of myself. I promised a story about crying, not a story about blood sugars. A few weeks ago, after using the Five Steps algorithm for what must have been my 1,000th patient, I wondered how her health was holding up. So, I sent her a quick email.

I did not get an immediate response.

After a few days, I got a gmail nudge telling me that I had sent the email to Dr. Braithwaite five days earlier and asking, did I want to try again? I felt a wet, furry sense of dread. Instead of sending another email, I instinctively typed “Susan Braithwaite obituary” into Google and closed my eyes as I hit “enter.” Then I saw this:

And that’s when I cried. I cried for the reasons most of us cry when we encounter loss. I mostly cried for my guilt. I hadn’t reached out to her in January because I wanted to see how she was doing; I knew she’d taken a new job at Florida State, and I wasn’t curious enough to simply see how that was going for her. Nope. I reached out to ask a favor. And she gave it to me, even though she had maybe five months to live. It wasn’t even her first time doing me a favor. Once upon a time, she invited me to publish a letter with her in JAMA Internal Medicine, something I was underqualified to do. But she dragged me along, anyway, just like she helped hoist me into a new job at KUSM-W.

I also cried for the loss of such a beautiful, mathematical mind so dedicated to making the world a better place. But, in processing her loss, I thought of how many people will continue to benefit from her brief presence on Earth. She seemed to know her time was short, from the first moment I met her in 2006. She wouldn't talk to drug reps, a practice that I admired and now follow myself. I don’t think she saw them as a threat to her decision-making, the way some of us do. And there was no Sunshine Act back then, so she wasn’t protecting her reputation. I suspect she simply thought they were wasting her time. I wish I could say that she had endless time to spend with patients. Actually, I don’t. She didn’t have endless time to spend with patients. She had the exact amount of time it took to get an accurate history, do the proper exam, give advice, prescribe medications, and document the visit. She didn’t suffer through the rituals of the exam room that many of us believe make us better doctors. She refused, even, to type into the electronic health record. Instead, she would dictate a quick note in front of the patient, nodding to the patient to make sure she was getting the details right. Somehow (I really don’t know), the notes ended up in the EHR. They were shorter, more concise, and more useful than almost anyone else’s.

Instead, she spent her time using her mathematical mind to examine dose responses to insulin at varying blood glucose levels and coming up with novel treatment algorithms for critically ill patients with diabetes. I'm guilty of showing her graphs of insulin-versus-blood glucose levels in presentations of my own and intentionally breezing over them to hide my own mathematical shortcomings. And, though I can’t prove it, I suspect that modern-day smart insulin pumps use similar mathematical logic to what she was able to casually draw up on conference room whiteboards. To get a taste of this, see her 2014 paper on “Multiplicative standard deviation for blood glucose.” Or a dozen others. Just enter “Braithwaite SS” into Pubmed. You’ll find that her dozens of publications are pragmatic and aimed, laser-like, at the immediate, demonstrable improvement of patient care.

Sigh… my point is, Susan Shapiro Braithwaite lives on. She did the hard work of inching the science of medical delivery ever so slightly forward. And, for those of us in the academic world, that’s as close as we can get to immortality.

When is the last time you taught your doctor something?

An average visit to a primary care doctor addresses about three primary complaints, like back pain, blood pressure, fatigue, cough, and the like. Each of those problems may have a pretty complex workup and therapeutic plan, so it is no surprise that people often leave their doctor’s office with a muddled idea of what they’re supposed to do next. Forty to eighty percent of what is discussed in doctor’s visits is forgotten immediately, and almost half of the information retained is incorrect. To fight this problem, Medicare (CMS) requires that doctors supply a summary of the visit on paper within three business days of the visit, but the summaries generated by many electronic health records are jumbled messes of computer-generated tech-speak gobbledygook. Some patients go so far as to secretly record medical visits, a practice that has been condemned by people within and outside the medical community. But, sensing an opportunity, clever apps to facilitate consensual recordings, like Abridge, have cropped up.

 But less tech-oriented doctors are interested in a more analog method called “teach-back.” You may know this better as how you make sure your teenagers have heard you when you ask them to mow the lawn; the phrase “repeat what I just said” may ring a bell. But don’t be insulted if your doctor uses the same technique with you. Entire websites and continuing medical education enterprises have been built on teaching it.

 Recently, investigators writing in the Journal of Primary Care & Community Health analyzed six years of data on 2,901 patients with diabetes from the Medical Expenditure Panel Survey (MEPS), a data collection of access, utilization, and payments for American patients. They were able to link the MEPS data to data on hospital inpatient stays. They specifically looked for two pieces of information about doctor visits: 1) did the patient receive medical instruction which was easy to understand, and 2) was the patient asked to describe how to follow the instructions given. If both answers were “yes,” the patient was designated as having had a “teach-back experience.”

 To determine the quality of the patient-doctor interaction that went along with these teach-backs, they looked for several questions that looked into patients’ perceptions of the provider’s listening, respect, time utilization, and the patient’s “global satisfaction.” And, if the survey data showed that the provider helped decide between treatment options and showed respect for the patient’s preference, “shared decision-making” was believed to have taken place.

 Finally, patients were asked about their perceived confidence in their diabetes treatment plan, and the likelihood of having complications (like eye, heart, or kidney problems) or hospitalization related to diabetes within two years was calculated.

 What the investigators found was encouraging. Patient teach-back experiences were associated with a lower risk of hospitalization, a higher perceived interaction quality with the provider, more shared decision-making, and a higher likelihood of lifestyle advice having been given. Patients who’d “taught back” to their provider were more confident in their treatment plan.

 So the next time you get a set of instructions from your doctor, take a second and ask her, “Let me repeat that back to you in my own words.” If she affirms that what you just said is true, you’re in good shape. If what you say back to her doesn’t quite match what she intended, you’ll both walk out of the visit having learned something.

As the Medical Director of the Kansas Business Group on Health, I’m sometimes asked to weigh in on hot topics that might affect employers or employees. This is a reprint of a blog post from KBGH.

No, your doctor doesn't know what that medication will cost you, either

In seven years of working on CDC grants focusing on improved care of metabolic diseases like diabetes and high cholesterol, I’ve come to think that two broad factors determine the success or failure of chronic disease management. First, doctors must overcome clinical inertia, the phenomenon in which the doctor and the patient follow the easier path in the encounter and generally leave things as they are rather than stop, start, or adjust therapy when indicated. As many as 85% of visits for high blood pressure are affected by clinical inertia, meaning that medications are not adjusted when the patient’s blood pressure, symptoms, or labs indicate that they should be.

Second, patients who are prescribed therapy must adhere to it. Only about a third of patients two years removed from a diagnosis of heart disease are still taking their cholesterol medications, for example, and only about two-thirds of patients with hypertension take their blood pressure medications on any given day.

One of the most significant predictors of medication adherence is cost. High-deductible plans, the old Medicare “donut hole,” high copays, and expensive branded medications have all been linked to lower adherence rates. One potential solution to this problem is good coaching by the physician and better choice of drugs at the bedside, driven by the physician’s intimate knowledge of medication costs. But do doctors really have a grasp on medication costs? A recent study (paywall) suggests, to no one’s surprise, that they do not.

Investigators sent a survey to 900 outpatient physicians (300 each of primary care, gastroenterology, and rheumatology). A mix of 374 responded. The survey contained a hypothetical vignette in which a patient was prescribed a new drug that cost $1000/month without insurance. A summary of the fictional patient’s private insurance information was provided, including her deductible, coinsurance rate, copay, and out-of-pocket maximum. Doctors were asked to estimate the drug’s out-of-pocket cost at four time points in a theoretical year as the patient’s cost-sharing changed due to other medical expenses.

Overall, 52% of physicians could accurately estimate costs before her deductible was met, 62% accurately used coinsurance information, 61% accurately used copay information, and 57% accurately estimated costs once she met her out-of-pocket maximum. (This performance actually exceeded my expectations. Prior to my exit from daily clinical medicine and entree into the benefits game, I think I would have failed most of these tests.) But only 21% of respondents answered all four questions correctly. The docs’ ability to estimate out-of-pocket costs was not associated with their specialty, attitudes toward cost conversations, or other clinic characteristics.

We need to acknowledge that this is a feature of the system, not a bug. Doctors are not trained to be HR professionals. They’re forced into the role. To quote Malcolm Gladwell:

I don’t understand, given the constraints physicians have in doing their job and the paperwork demanded of them, why people want to be physicians. I think we've made it very, very difficult for them to perform their job. I think that’s a shame. My principal concern is the amount of time and attention spent worrying about the business side. You don’t train someone for all of those years of medical school and residency, particularly people who want to help others optimize their physical and psychological health, and then have them run a claims-processing operation for insurance companies.

Many people in the health care industry want the system to stay complex and opaque. That’s why large groups like the AMA and AHA are fighting some of the rules that have come about in the past couple of years. But I hope that your instincts match mine. We have myriad reasons to simplify insurance coverage, but I’ll start with two:

First, by reducing cost and administrative burden, we can make patients more likely to adhere to helpful therapy.

Second, if we can make the system more efficient by eliminating administrative complexity, we can leave doctors, nurses, pharmacists, allied health professionals, mental health professionals, dieticians, and others the brain power to do the work they were trained to do.

We hope you have a happy holiday season!

As the Medical Director of the Kansas Business Group on Health, I’m sometimes asked to weigh in on hot topics that might affect employers or employees. This is a reprint of a blog post from KBGH.

Discipline is freedom

Spend even a little bit of time in the literature and blogosphere surrounding productivity culture, and you’ll read that “discipline is freedom.” Writers almost always attribute it to Aristotle, but he probably never said it, at least not in the context in which it is usually applied. And I know it sounds like what a dystopian government would print above the entryway into a forced labor camp. But its softer interpretation has some merit in medicine. Let me explain.

Many investigators frame the regulation of medicine according to scope. “Macroscopic” regulation, they say, comes in the form of payer policy, some of the things that Matt, Shelley, and I rant about in this post almost weekly.

“Microscopic” regulation, though, is where our notion of discipline may apply. It refers to things like safety initiatives and professional practice guidelines at the institutional and clinician levels. Take the “hemoglobin A1c” level, the nearly ubiquitous marker of diabetes control. If your personal physician adheres to the American Association of Clinical Endocrinologists’ guideline on diabetes, for example, he might treat you to a goal hemoglobin A1c level of ⩽6.5% for your diabetes. But if someone else’s doctor is a member of the American College of Physicians, she might aim for a more relaxed number for an A1c goal, like 7-8%.

A physician group seeing your employees should be able to defend their treatment target. I promise that they obsess over it in training and in evidence-based medicine conferences. But maybe more importantly, regardless of the physician’s treatment goal, he or she should be able to articulate how they intend for the patient to get there. Medicine now has a substantial body of evidence proving that structured treatment algorithms tend to outperform artisanal, patient-centered, off-the-cuff physician recommendations at the bedside. Sticking to diabetes as our example, we know that nurses and diabetes educators, following rules set by endocrinologists, tend to perform at least as well as doctors in getting patients’ A1c levels down to an acceptable range. We know that nurses outperform doctors in the treatment of gout when given a set of rules to follow. And in maybe the most famous example of this, we know that medical assistants operating in systems that give them rules and resources for the care of patients with high blood pressures perform astonishingly well (paywall), with control rates exceeding almost every other practice in the world.

The “discipline” here is the willingness of the nurses and medical assistants to follow rules set out for them by the care team. The “freedom” is the doctors’ ability in these systems to work as doctors. Instead of getting bogged down in the thick of therapeutic inertia, the doctors can focus on what they were really trained to do: diagnosing tricky cases, developing good relationships with patients and other providers, and designing treatment plans for the fraction of patients whose disease states don’t neatly fall into one of the algorithms.

Have you experienced any protocol-based care, such as chemotherapy, diabetes treatment, or management of things like gout or hypertension? We’d love to know your experience!

As the Medical Director of the Kansas Business Group on Health, I’m sometimes asked to weigh in on hot topics that might affect employers or employees. This is a reprint of a blog post from KBGH.

Diabetes screening comes for the millenials

When I was a junior medical school faculty member, we spent a lot of time talking about the special educational needs of the Millenial generation. At the time, as a proud Gen Xer myself, Millenials seemed so...distant. But now the oldest millennials are 40(!), and the youngest are 25. As the age of Millenials has risen, so have rates of obesity and diabetes. About one in three Americans now has “prediabetes,” meaning a blood glucose level that is abnormally high but not high enough to be declared diabetes mellitus. Around ten percent of Americans are currently diabetic, and the rate of diabetes in people under age 20 has gone up a staggering 95% in the last twenty years (paywall).

So, inevitably, these streams have crossed, and the United States Preventive Services Task Force, or USPSTF, has now reduced the recommended age to screen for diabetes down from ages 40-70 to ages 35-70, starting smack dab in the middle of the Millenial bracket. They recommend we repeat the screening every third year. The screening recommendation applies only to people with a body mass index of 25.0 kg/m2 or above, but that is still a huge population, more than 40 percent of Americans by some estimates. And the guideline recommends considering even earlier screening for “...American Indians, Black people, Hispanics and other groups with ”overweight or obesity with “disproportionately high diabetes rates.”

The purpose of screening people for diabetes and prediabetes, typically with a fasting blood test, is not to simply attach a hurtful label to someone; it is to find people whose progression from prediabetes to diabetes, which normally proceeds at a rate of ~5-15% per year, can be slowed or halted with lifestyle changes or medications. The most tried-and-true program to accomplish this is the National Diabetes Prevention Program, or DPP, a one-year behavior change program conducted by peer coaches in-person or virtually. The USPSTF “found evidence that medical interventions for newly diagnosed diabetes have a moderate benefit in reducing diabetes-related deaths and heart attacks over a span of 10 to 20 years.” But the most compelling reason for screening for and preventing diabetes may be monetary savings. In addition to being the seventh leading cause of death in the United States, diabetes is an astonishingly expensive disease. The American Diabetes Association estimates that the cost of caring for a person with diabetes is roughly 2.3 times the cost of caring for the average person without diabetes. Diabetes accounts for about one in seven dollars spent in the American medical system. At a cost of around $500 for a year of the DPP, then, with one in seven participants subsequently avoiding a diagnosis of diabetes, it is no surprise that diabetes screening and the DPP are wildly cost-effective. And that is without taking into account that people enrolled in the DPP have lower rates of absenteeism and a reduced need for blood pressure and cholesterol medications.

We at KBGH so believe in the DPP that we’ve offered two employers funding for pilot programs. If you’re interested in exploring offering the DPP as a medical benefit, please reach out to us!

[disclaimer: KBGH receives CDC and KDHE funding in part for increased detection and prevention of type 2 diabetes]

As the Medical Director of the Kansas Business Group on Health, I’m sometimes asked to weigh in on hot topics that might affect employers or employees. This is a reprint of a blog post from KBGH.

Wanting to Improve Is Not the Same Thing as Improving

Around 2013, I was diagnosed with pre-diabetes. Doctors fear dying of the diseases they know best: gastroenterologists of colon cancer, infectious disease specialists of sepsis, you get the idea. So, for the sake of my blood sugars, after a decade-plus of abstention due to medical school, young kids, and a growing medical practice, I decided to get back into racing bicycles. I dusted off my old cyclocross bike, aired up the tires, bought some Chamois Butt’r, and congratulated myself for my reentry into competition. But note what I did not do, which is put in the miles that it takes to be a competent, competitive rider. In my first race back, a fifty-mile gravel race around Sun City, Kansas, I barely finished. If not for the help of a fellow rider who felt sorry for me, I may not even have crossed the finish line. To say the least, I had not earned my smug self-congratulatory attitude going into the race. On the drive home, the Stuart Smalley voice in my head told me I wasn’t a bad person. He told me I was human. All I had done was give myself credit for wanting to improve when I should have waited to give myself credit for actually taking the steps to improve.

I was reminded of my past foibles recently when I came across a report in the British Medical Journal pithily titled Wanting to improve is not always the same as knowing how to improve. The authors described a quality improvement project in an English hospital that aimed to reduce the length of stay of patients after knee replacement surgery. Early in the project, the investigators decided that the method of anesthesia–light sedation, heavy sedation, local anesthesia, etc.–was the primary obstacle to getting patients out of the hospital quickly. Then they went through five (five!) different anesthesia protocols over the course of seven (seven!) years. In all that time, they didn’t budge patients’ length of stay. They didn’t show an effect on any other indicator of quality, like time until the patient first walked, the patient’s reported pain, or overall pain medication use, either.

But I’m willing to bet that in that seven years, the folks involved in the study were proud of their work on improving the project, in spite of what we can see now, with the benefit of time and perspective. After all, we give ourselves credit in a number of ways that we refuse to extend to others when we have some distance from the problem, even outside of quality improvement. I may have no problem recognizing how reckless another driver is when he blasts through a fading yellow light. But when I tap the accelerator to do the same thing, since I’m generally intending to be a safe driver, it never occurs to me that my actions, too, have put other people in danger. Princeton University psychologist Emily Pronin calls this the “introspection illusion.” Our distorted self-image, blinded by the stage lights of our own personal sitcom, sees our desire to be good and ignores the fact that our objective goodness might fall short.

This intersects with the “Dunning Kruger effect,” the demonstration that the more incompetent people are, the less aware they are of their incompetence (like a slightly chubby cyclist entering his first race in years, blind to his abject lack of fitness or preparation). The more we miss the mark on a given task, the more our estimation of our success departs from reality. Physicians are especially prone to Dunning Kruger.

So the next time you set out to improve a process in your work, avoid the mistakes made by our English friends. First, measure the outcome you’re interested in and don’t rely on an intuitive understanding of the issue. This may require pressuring your administrative consultants to help you get meaningful data. Then put some distance between yourself and the problem through “meta-cognition.” Instead of saying, “Let’s increase the number of employees getting their diabetes screenings,” say to yourself, “Here is a company [i.e., the company you work for] in which xx% of employees received diabetes screening in the last three years.” Instead of jumping to a presumed problem to solve, think of the environment that led to the outcome you’ve measured. As Don Berwick famously said, paraphrasing others, “every outcome is the product of a system perfectly designed to achieve that outcome.” At KBGH we do this through a process called Ishikawa Analysis, first applied in post-World War II Yokohama shipyards:

https://vanguardcommunications.net/fishbone-problem-solving/

Here, the company has divided inputs into Procedures, Technology, Patients, and People. But those are relatively arbitrary. You may find you have more or fewer input classes and that they’re more process or environmentally-oriented than the example.

Next, use that loose framework to talk to employees and the health care team about what is holding them back, what we call a “stakeholder analysis.” You may have gone into the problem assuming that employees are swamping their doctors with complaints of back pain or depression, based on claims data. But you may find instead that scheduling issues aren’t allowing patients to arrive at the lab fasting before work. This process is what led the folks in the study above to a breakthrough. In talking to staff, investigators realized that, in concentrating so closely on anesthesia, they had overlooked (for seven years!) other potential contributing factors, like patient expectations, limited staff, time constraints, and cultural factors like lack of staff ‘buy in’ to the project.

Eventually, I went on to finish and do well in many, many bike races. More importantly, I lost enough weight and stayed active enough to return my blood sugars to a normal range, where they thankfully remain. And I did it not by wishing my way to better performance, but by eliminating problem foods I knew I was over-eating, increasing my fiber intake to a pre-specified goal, scheduling time to ride, working on specific skills, and measuring specific outputs. But getting modestly faster on a bicycle is trivial compared to the challenge of improving the lives of our covered employees.

As the Medical Director of the Kansas Business Group on Health, I’m sometimes asked to weigh in on hot topics that might affect employers or employees. This is a reprint of a blog post from KBGH.

Can We Trust Information on YouTube?

Once upon a time, in my academic career, I worried that inaccurate mass media depictions of, say, diabetics would cause people to make bad care choices. If you’re thinking of Julia Roberts in Steel Magnolias right now, trust me: Julia Roberts in Dolly Parton’s hair salon is the tippy-tip of the iceberg. Now I worry more about YouTube, the modern-day Library of Alexandria of instructional videos.

In the past year or so I have watched YouTube videos, off the top of my head, to learn to: change a blinker bulb in my car, fix my thermostat, learn to run specific reports within Quickbooks, refresh my memory on how to do certain math problems for helping with my daughter’s homework, and shut off the “move to wake” feature in my iPhone. And dozens more.

But I’ve also used YouTube in the past to remind myself how to reduce my son’s dislocated elbow (my son’s orthopedic history gets more complex by the year). There’s an old saying in medicine: “see one, do one, teach one.” I needed to “see one” again before I subjected my son to it. The procedure was successful, for what it’s worth. (Being a doctor’s kid is weird. I digress.) Are you scheduled to have your thyroid gland removed? YouTube can show you the procedure. Are you a new type 1 diabetic who wants to practice carbohydrate counting for insulin dosing? Boom. Starting chemotherapy and interested in using cooling therapy to reduce hair loss? Look no further. Recently we talked about the reliability of physician rating sites (spoiler: potentially useful, but with major caveats). How do YouTube videos stack up for general medical information? For the purposes of this post, I’m mostly ignoring obvious conspiracy-mongering about COVID vaccinations, cholesterol medications, and whatnot. Like pornography, I trust that you’ll know those when you see them.

To get an answer on the accuracy and utility of YouTube videos for medical inquiry, I looked not to YouTube, but to PubMed, the search engine of the National Library of Medicine. Here’s what I found:

YouTube contains so much information that investigators tend to categorize it by learner, generally either medical trainees or the general public. Videos for medical trainees seem to be relatively generously reviewed by researchers. Using our example of thyroid surgery from above, one study found that most YouTube thyroid surgery videos were posted by surgeons operating in academic institutions, which they took to mean the intentions of the videos were purely educational and not promotional. But the researchers also noted that surgeons who had no history of traditional academic publications–i.e., not necessarily the most respected people in the field–posted the majority of surgeon-sourced videos. This led the authors to conclude that “Trainees and educators alike should critically analyze the quality of video content,” which is the academic equivalent of throwing shade. A systematic review of studies of YouTube videos aimed at medical learners backed this up, concluding that “While videos authored by academic physicians were of higher quality on average, their quality still varied significantly,” and “Video characteristics and engagement metrics were found to be unreliable surrogate measures of video quality.” That is, a video’s slick production and millions of views did not mean it was accurate.

Videos aimed at the general public tend to be more harshly judged. One study by two emergency room doctors investigating the quality of videos pertaining to the management of low blood sugars went so far as to say that “health videos should only be uploaded by physicians,” a statement hilarious in both its confidence and its wrongness. Surely someone without a medical degree somewhere, at some point, has been filmed saying something accurate and helpful. But, in general, the quality of public-facing YouTube videos does appear to suffer in comparison to professional learner-directed videos. A systematic review from 2015, admittedly ancient history in internet years, concluded that “YouTube contains misleading information, primarily anecdotal, that contradicts the reference standards and the probability of a lay user finding such content is relatively high.” But, on the bright side, they also found that “videos from government organizations and professional associations contained trustworthy and high-quality information.” We at KBGH, who have produced and posted videos of our own, hope that we fall into that category.

Let’s bottom-line what we can take from this research. First, beware of any video that makes claims that seem extraordinary. Someone who says that removing a food from your diet is as powerful as taking cholesterol medications for preventing heart attacks, for example, better have good evidence to back that statement up. Second, pay attention to the source. Videos from academic centers, government agencies, and professional associations appear to be the most reliable. But they’re also, I suspect, the most conservative. Few such organizations are willing to put themselves out on a limb compared to their peers. Finally, beware of using the number of views or shares as a marker of the reliability of a video’s contents. As we’ve discussed before in this very blog, the internet is set up to make sure the most radical statements get the most eyeballs.

As the Medical Director of the Kansas Business Group on Health I’m sometimes asked to weigh in on hot topics that might affect employers or employees. This is a reprint of a blog post from KBGH.

The Robots Are Coming, Part 1

We are mostly techno-optimists here at KBGH. We have talked about the possibility of technology saving the aging primary care workforce by augmenting their skills in certain areas. But if you are a techno-pessimist, you might think more in terms of what automation or robots will do to certain jobs, the way factory automation has decreased the availability of jobs in manufacturing. (Or you may worry about safety because of bias in machines or a Tom Selleck-Runaway style robot rebellion. Great movie with Wichita native Kirstie Alley. I digress.)

My training is in endocrinology and metabolism, disorders of the finely tuned feedback loops of chemical messengers in the body. About half of most endocrinologists’ practices is the care of diabetes mellitus, a collection of metabolic defects that cause excess sugar to build up in the blood and cause blindness, kidney disease, and nerve damage, among other devastating problems. When I was in training in the mid-aughts, a big part of my day was spent managing insulin pumps, small pager-sized devices worn by some diabetic patients that deliver precise doses of insulin to meet their dietary and exercise patterns. My job was to observe blood glucose levels the patients took from fingersticks and coach patients on how to change their pump settings. For all their sophistication, insulin pumps were still pretty manual.

In the last few years, though, a new type of insulin pump has emerged. We call them “closed-loop” devices because, when paired with an implanted sensor that constantly tracks the patient’s blood sugar levels, the pumps can make adjustments to insulin infusion rates without the wearer even being involved. For now, the automation in the devices is mostly confined to rates of insulin infusion when the wearer is not eating or exercising. But pumps that can detect food intake and activity and make rapid adjustments are just around the corner. Insulin pumps will eventually use artificial intelligence, complex intelligence uninvolved with messy human emotionality or consciousness, to make adjustments in the background that are seemingly unrelated to our traditional understanding of diet, exercise, or adherence to therapy. Accidentally load your insulin pump with insulin that is slightly out of date and less potent than last week’s supply? The machine may detect it and adjust your rates of infusion to make up the difference. Have a family tragedy that increases your stress hormone levels, causing blood sugars to spike? The insulin pump’s “brain” may be able to detect this and bring your sugars back to normal without your input or recognition.

And this is just the tip of the iceberg in terms of medical technology. Already “decision support systems,” like the alert your doctor gets through her electronic health record to make sure you get your cancer screenings, show small, persistent improvements in overall care. And as we touched on in previous blog posts, robots have proved themselves to be superior to humans in a range of medical tasks, from finding diabetic eye disease to detecting bleeding in brains on CT scans.

All this will require a cultural shift. Often patients express frustration at having “only seen the PA” when they have gone to the doctor, in spite of ample evidence that physicians’ assistants and nurse practitioners provide excellent care, sometimes exceeding the quality of care of physicians in trials. Our culture currently places value on face-to-face time with the physician. And Americans are anxious about the potential safety of driverless cars in spite of the fact that human-driven cars currently kill more than 30,000 people a year. So how will we respond to robots guiding certain potentially high-risk parts of our care like insulin adjustment or detection of bleeding in radiology studies? Maybe we will give them the same brush-off we sometimes give PAs. Or maybe we will accept their input the way we have accepted advertising algorithms from Facebook and Google. It is completely possible that medical professionals will resent medical robots the way we resent automation for taking away factory jobs. To tiptoe into these ideas we will talk about a potential regulatory framework next week.

As the Medical Director of the Kansas Business Group on Health I’m sometimes asked to weigh in on hot topics that might affect employers or employees. This is a reprint of a blog post from KBGH.

Diabetes Education is Important. It's So Important That You're Already Covering It

As the Medical Director of the Kansas Business Group on Health I’m sometimes asked to weigh in on topics that might affect employers or employees. This is a reprint of a blog post from KBGH:

The burden of diabetes

34.2 million Americans—a little over one in ten—have diabetes mellitus, a group of disorders of glucose metabolism that causes a buildup of sugar in the blood. Diabetes is the leading cause of blindness, kidney dialysis, and non-traumatic foot amputation in the United States. The damage of diabetes isn’t limited to its physical or psychological burden. People with diabetes spend about 2.3 times as much on medical care than people without diabetes: $16,750 in medical expenditures per year, compared with $7,151 for non-diabetic persons.

Empowerment through education

In spite of the incredible disease burden and cost of diabetes, less than seven percent of people diagnosed with diabetes receive Diabetes Self-Management Education and Support (DSMES, or “diabetes education”) within a year of their diagnosis. This is a problem. Diabetes education is one of the most powerful interventions we have for keeping people with diabetes alive. One meta-analysis (a study that combines the data of several separate trials into one dataset) found that attending diabetes education reduced the hemoglobin A1c level, the measure of one’s average blood sugar over a three-month time period, by almost 0.6%, roughly equivalent to taking another daily diabetes medication. Another meta-analysis found that attending diabetes education cut the risk of death by 26%. If true, this is as powerful an effect on death as blood pressure control or treatment of cholesterol.

So the Kansas Business Group on Health is working with the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) to increase awareness of and referral into diabetes education programs. You’re probably covering diabetes education services for your employees already, whether you intend to or not. The Diabetes Coverage Act states:

“Any individual or group health insurance policy, medical service plan, contract, hospital service corporation contract, hospital and medical service corporation contract, fraternal benefit society or health maintenance organization which provides coverage for accident and health services and which is delivered, issued for delivery, amended or renewed on or after January 1, 1999, also, shall provide coverage for equipment, and supplies, limited to hypodermic needles and supplies used exclusively with diabetes management and outpatient self-management training and education, including medical nutrition therapy, for the treatment of insulin dependent diabetes, insulin-using diabetes, gestational diabetes and noninsulin-using diabetes if prescribed by a health care professional legally authorized to prescribe such services and supplies under the law.”

 

The benefit is still subject to the usual deductible and co-insurance, and medical necessity requirements.

And we believe employers should be working to get their diabetic employees to attend diabetes education classes. It may prolong the lives of workers, and it may save you, the employer, money (paywall). If you are interested in starting a program through your workplace to get more of your diabetic employees into diabetes education programs, please let us help!

If you’re not ready to go there yet, but you’re interested in finding a diabetes education program in your area, visit here.

Which of your employees can return to work – and when?

As the Medical Director of the Kansas Business Group on Health I’m sometimes asked to weigh in on topics that might affect employers or employees. This is a reprint of a blog post from KBGH:

In a perspective piece in this week’s New England Journal of Medicine, Dr. Marc Larochelle proposes a three-component strategy for returning to work: 1) a framework for counseling patients about the risks posed by continuing to work, 2) urgent policy changes to ensure financial protections for people who are kept out of work, and 3) a data-driven plan for safe re-entry into the workforce.

Let’s go through his framework for work-related risk first. He summarizes it with this diagram:

New England Journal of Medicine

New England Journal of Medicine

The occupational risk on the vertical y-axis is defined by OSHA standards. The horizontal x-axis is based on age and the presence of high-risk chronic conditions identified by the CDC, like diabetes and heart disease.

How this could work

Let’s consider a couple hypothetical employees to see how this rubric might work: “Matt” is a 65 year-old man with no chronic medical problems who takes no medications other than an occasional ibuprofen for joint pain. By the CDC risk stratification rubric, then, he is at high-risk based on his age alone. Matt works as a radiology technician with no direct patient contact, but he is within six feet of patients with confirmed or suspected SARS-CoV-2 infections daily. By the OSHA standard, then, he is at high, but not “very high,” risk. Regardless, by the proposed Larochelle risk stratification above, Matt would be category “C” and should not go back to work.

“Shelley” is a 25 year-old woman with a history of type 1 diabetes complicated by neuropathy and kidney disease. So she is medium-risk in spite of her complex medical history, in spite of her young age. She works in a retail setting in Wichita, a city with currently relatively modest levels of community transmission. Therefore her occupational risk would be considered “medium.” This would put her in category “A,” in which Dr. Larochelle recommends that she be able to return to work, albeit likely with fastidious use of personal protective equipment (PPE).

But beyond a strategy to determine the safety of the workplace, we owe it to people of elevated risk, even those working in risky jobs, to work on two additional goals: first, we should conceive strategies to allow people to live a dignified life without hardship while away from work. This is largely a policy position we can support through elected officials at the state and federal level.

Second, we owe it to high-risk people to develop strategies to allow them to eventually return to their jobs, preferably even before the risk of those jobs drops due to decreased community prevalence of the virus. In a widely read piece in The Atlantic a couple weeks ago, Dr. Julia Marcus analogized our current predicament to the HIV/AIDS epidemic of the 1980s and 1990s. It would have been easy, in theory, to stop HIV cold in its tracks: people just needed to stop having sex. But people like having sex, just like they like going to work and eating at restaurants and watching baseball. So public health officials were forced to come up with alternative, innovative strategies like promoting condom use.

Similarly, COVID-19 could be stopped cold, much as Mongolia has accomplished, by instituting strict limits on social interactions. But we’re at a point of quarantine fatigue in which further efforts at social distancing in the immediate future are likely to be met with resistance. And a vaccine is months, if not years, away. This is where testing comes in, especially in regard to risk stratifying people for return to work and social interaction.

The role of testing

In listening or watching the news on testing, you are likely to think that risk is binary: a positive swab test means you have COVID-19, and a negative test means you don’t. Likewise, one might believe, a positive IgG antibody test means that you’re immune to COVID-19, and a negative antibody test means you’re still at risk. But neither of these assertions are true. The “positive predictive” value of a test, meaning the likelihood of a positive test predicting the presence of an actual disease state, depends on the “pre-test probability.” So a person who lives in a community with low prevalence of COVID-19 and has had no known exposure to someone with the disease is unlikely to have immunity, regardless of what her antibody test says. Even with a test that is 90% sensitive and 95% specific, that person likely has only about a 25% chance of having immunity.

This doesn’t only apply to infectious disease testing, by the way, and testing for other conditions has real implications for your employees. It is popular for doctors to routinely check the thyroid blood tests of patients as part of routine medical testing. It is not uncommon for mildly abnormal results of such testing to result in the patient being put on thyroid hormone for life. But mildly abnormal thyroid blood testing in someone who feels well and has no physical signs of thyroid disease does not mean that person has a thyroid problem. It only means the person has about a one in three chance of having a thyroid problem. As with COVID-19 antibody testing, the initial abnormal test result should prompt additional evaluation, not a definitive diagnosis.

So what do we do with the results of COVID-19 antibody testing? CDC suggests that we use them to “risk stratify” people on a population level, not as a marker to indicate safe return to the workplace.

Instead, we should aggressively use nasal testing for the virus itself to determine the status of people with exposure to persons with known or suspected COVID-19, much as we’ve discussed in the past.

Should Specialists Be Paid Fee-For-Service?

As the Medical Director of the Kansas Business Group on Health I’m sometimes asked to weigh in on hot topics that might affect employers or employees. This is a reprint of a blog post from KBGH:

How did the fee-for-service model originate?

Once upon a time, legends say, if you could not afford to pay your doctor cash, you could pay him with commodities like grain, chickens, Brussels sprouts, or milk. Whatever goods or currency were exchanged, we called this model “fee for service.” For decades it has been the dominant model in American medicine, and it defines the patient-doctor interaction as fundamentally transactional: the doctor gets something in return for the advice/diagnostics/prescription/procedure she provides you. So historically the way to increase your income as a doctor was to simply increase volume: the more patients you saw, the more money you made.

Quality was generally measured, if at all, by the likelihood of a patient returning to see the doctor. In cases of possible patient harm, doctors tried to hold one another accountable by reviewing peers’ cases and participating in meetings such as “Morbidity and Mortality” (M & M) conferences to catch obvious errors. Working within a model that so rewarded quantity of care over quality of care, it comes as no surprise that doctors may miss half of indicated care, and that somewhere between a fifth and a third of the care that doctors provide may not be indicated at all.

A move towards quality over quantity

We are gradually moving away from “fee for service.” With the Medicare Access and CHIP Reauthorization Act of 2015 (MACRA), a rare bipartisan bill, doctors can earn significant bonuses or incur significant penalties from Medicare by meeting or failing to meet certain benchmarks of quality of care.

We’ve long experimented with capitated Medicare Advantage plans that seek to incentivize private insurers to find cost savings and quality opportunities. And around half of payments from private insurers are now thought to be tied to some degree of value-based payment, or “pay for performance.” The goal of this change is to incentivize not just quantity of care, but quality as well.

We’ve even seen a modest rise in doctors operating outside the insurance system in so-called “Direct Primary Care” practices. These doctors ask for a modest recurring fee—usually $50-$100 per month—in exchange for unlimited access, with the underlying assumption that by limiting their patient panels (in part by eliminating administrative overhead), quality will inherently rise.

Should specialists be paid fee-for-service?

It was in this line of thinking that investigators recently undertook an examination of costs associated with specialty care in Canada. Canadian specialist physicians seeing patients with diabetes and chronic kidney disease can be paid under an American-style fee for service system, or they can be salaried with potential benefits tied to the quality of care they provide. *Disclosure: Justin Moore, MD, is a diabetes specialist by training*

Researchers compared the costs and quality of care associated with each one, and the results were surprising: diabetic patients were 12% more likely to have a hospital admission or an emergency department visit for a diabetes-related condition if they were seen by a salaried physician rather than a fee-for-service physician, although the difference was not quite statistically significant (1.63 admissions or visits per 1000 patient-days in salaried docs vs 1.47 in fee-for-service docs).

A lazy interpretation of this might lead you to believe that the salaried physicians, having their paycheck guaranteed, simply didn’t see the patients in clinic frequently enough. But the researchers actually found the opposite: patients seen by salaried docs had 13% higher rates of follow-up visits and procedures (and their associated costs) than the fee-for-service docs, although again, the numbers didn’t quite reach statistical significance (1.74 visits per 1000 patient-days in the salaried docs vs 1.54 visits in the fee-for-service docs).

From this data–admittedly in a Canadian system that differs in many important ways from our own–editorialists concluded that “It would appear that salary-based payment does not have the same association with reduced quantity of care provided for specialist physicians who treat chronic diseases as it does in some primary care settings.”

The lesson to be taken from this study seems to be, as it so often is, that we should proceed with caution. While primary care may be in some ways best delivered in a salaried model, for now a fee-for-service payment model may remain preferable in specialty care. When designing your benefits, or when thinking of innovative ways to contain costs in your high-utilizing employees, this might be worth keeping in mind.

Your Doctor Is Your Real Financial Planner

As the Medical Director of the Kansas Business Group on Health I’m sometimes asked to weigh in on hot topics that might affect employers or employees. This is a reprint of a blog post from KBGH:

The last time you spoke to your financial planner, I suspect the first question she asked you was some version of “Where would you like to be in ten years?” Or twenty, or thirty. Maybe you told her that you wanted to have your house paid off, or to be out of debt, or to be retired, or to have enough savings to send your kids to college.

The last time you went to the doctor, though, I’m willing to bet your conversation was more…retrospective. Medical students are taught to use open-ended questions to initiate a visit, so he probably asked something like “What brings you in today?” And if you’re like most people your answer wasn’t “I want to make sure I’m happier and healthier ten years from now than I am today.” Instead you probably led with whatever complaint was bothering you that day: a rash, a sore joint, shortness of breath. This doesn’t mean you were doing it wrong. Doctors exist to relieve suffering, after all. The Hippocratic Oath states in part that “I will apply, for the benefit of the sick, all measures which are required.”

``Where would you like to be in ten years?`` isn't just a question that should come from your financial planner. It should come from your doctor, too.

But if you’ll allow the slight stretching of a metaphor, what if your interactions with your health care professional sounded more like your conversations with your financial professional? Because the person that is most in charge of your financial future may not be your financial advisor. It’s more likely your doctor. Here are some hard truths at the intersection of medicine and finance:

So “Where would you like to be in ten years?” isn’t just a question that should come from your financial planner. It should come from your doctor, too.

What if we applied a financial planning rubric to health and wellness? Once the shock wore off from your doctor asking you where you wanted to be in ten years, what would you say? If you were diabetic, you might first answer that you wanted to avoid the complications of diabetes: you wanted to keep your vision, you wanted to keep all your toes, and you wanted to avoid having to go on dialysis for kidney failure. These are all perfectly good answers, but they suffer from low expectations. They’re a little like telling your financial advisor that you want to avoid bankruptcy and avoid having the bank repossess your house.

What if you were more ambitious? What if you said that, in addition to all those, you wanted to run a 5k with your granddaughter, or dance at your son’s wedding without being out of breath? What if you said you wanted to be able to carry your infant grandson up and down stairs without fearing a fall? Fortunately, just as the best financial strategies tend to be simple, the best health strategies are simple, too. Just as the financial advisor would hopefully come up with a plan to start putting money away, your doctor would work with you to make a shared decision on how to get to the last dance at that wedding a few years from now. The financial advisor might tell you to maximize deposits into tax-deferred annuities, while the doc might work with you to start scheduling “deposits” of physical activity. Just as your financial advisor might tell you to knock off the daily trips to Starbucks, your doc might tell you to knock off the bright screens in your eyes for an hour or two before bed (and, hopefully, would tell you to take it easy on the #PSL).

The next time you have a meeting with employees about their health benefits, ask them what they think of this philosophy. After all, the Hippocratic Oath also says, “I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure.” And more powerfully, “I will remember that I do not treat a fever chart, a cancerous growth, but a sick human being, whose illness may affect the person’s family and economic stability.”  Also remember that as an employer, you have the opportunity to help your employees stay healthy by offering real food at work instead of processed foods, providing a wellness program in a box, or by helping to shape the environment in which your employees live.

Are Sugared-Beverage Bans an Effective Employer Wellness Strategy?

As the Medical Director of the Kansas Business Group on Health I’m sometimes asked to weigh in on hot topics that might affect employers or employees. This is a reprint of a blog post from KBGH:

Health impact of sugared beverages

Sugared beverages account for the majority of excess calories Americans take in. Accordingly, a person’s intake of sugared drinks tracks very neatly to his or her risk of diabetes and cardiovascular disease. Even artificially sweetened beverages are linked to early death, possibly through their effect on the bacteria, or “microbiome” growing in our intestines. But getting people to drink less of them is a vexing problem. Countries and cities including Mexico, Philadelphia, and Berkeley, California, among many others, have experimented with taxing sugared drinks, with mostly health-positive results. New York City under Mayor Michael Bloomberg attempted to limit the size of sugared drinks that could be sold to sixteen ounces or less, a move that was eventually blocked by the courts. And banning sugar-sweetened beverages in schools has not reduced consumption, at least in survey data.

Is banning the sale of sugared beverages effective?

Recently the we’ve seen the results of a sugared-drink sales ban implemented by the University of California at San Francisco (UCSF) in 2015 (students and employees were still able to bring drinks on-campus). Investigators followed the habits and health indicators of 202 volunteer subjects before and after the prohibition. Ten months after the ban, subjects’ consumption of sugared drinks was down by almost half: 48.5 percent. Even though the participants still drank a large quantity of sugared drinks after the ban—18 ounces a day, on average—they saw dramatic improvements in health. They lost almost an inch from their waists, and the fraction of the study population who decreased their drink intake the most saw improvements in insulin resistance, the phenomenon that leads to diabetes.

Obstacles to overcome

So the science of limiting sugared drinks at the worksite seems sound, at least in terms of reducing the risk of employee illness. But major obstacles threaten such policies: first, the happiness of workers is likely to be affected, at least in the short-term. Employees may rebel against a workplace culture they perceive as too paternalistic. This viewpoint was exploited by tobacco companies during the implementation of smoking bans in the recent past. This is where an honest outreach program to employees would be worthwhile: we know that excess sugar intake is linked to depression, and that improved dietary habits can profoundly improve mood in depressed people. Sharing these stories with employees in an engaging way that shows light at the end of the sugared-drink tunnel may help. After all, a decade after widespread smoking bans, norms have shifted to the point that a re-introduction of smoking in worksites and restaurants would be met with fierce opposition.

Second, your company may have a contractual arrangement with beverage vendors. This is particularly true of institutions of higher learning. However, possibly sensing the movement of the tide away from sugared drinks, beverage companies are frantically working to offer healthier alternatives and the National Automatic Merchandising Association, the trade organization for vending companies themselves, has pledged to make at least a third of its offered products meet the standards of at least two of the healthy food standards set by Partnership for a Healthier America, the Center for Science in the Public Interest, the American Heart Association, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, or the USDA’s Smart Snacks. So leaving vending on-site but reducing or eliminating sugared drinks is a potential compromise.

Has your worksite attempted to change the availability of certain snack foods or sugared drinks? The Kansas Business Group on Health would love to hear about your experience.

My comments from the Envision Adult Support Group

I had the pleasure of speaking at Envision this morning about diabetes awareness. Here are my comments:

Thank you for having me. This is not my first time speaking at Envision. It’s always a pleasure to be here. There’s an old joke that the moment a speaker steps to the lectern the crowd wonders: will this be a short, informative talk, or are we stepping into a low-key hostage situation? I promise this is not a hostage situation.

This is the story of Victoria. When we tell biographies, one of our first instincts is to say when and where someone was born. “Robert Goddard was born October 5, 1882 in Worcester, Massachusetts.” You know what I’m saying. But here’s the thing: Victoria hasn’t been born yet. Yet we already know some things about her, assuming she’ll be born in the United States. We know she’ll have a lifetime risk of developing diabetes of around 50%. A coin toss. We know she’ll have a lifetime risk of being overweight or obese of at least 70%. Way worse than a coin toss. We know that these risks will be less related to any specific decision Victoria makes than to the environment in which she is conceived, gestated, born, raised, and in which she ultimately works.

But before we get to that, you deserve to know how I make my money. I have a strange career. I’m an endocrinologist by training. That’s a doctor who specializes in metabolism and hormonal disorders. I’m still board-certified, and I still see patients at Guadalupe Clinic. But the much bigger fraction of my career is spent trying to change the way care is delivered. That sounds too simple. You know the frustration of calling for a doctor visit, waiting on hold, getting an appointment months from now, then waiting in the waiting room for a half an hour while you do paperwork, then waiting in the exam room in a paper gown for another twenty minutes, and then never even getting a copy of your labs once you’re done? That’s what I mean. That’s what we’re trying to change. More care can be delivered by non-doctors in non-offices and at the convenience of you, the patient. 

One of the organizations that pays me to try to affect this change is the Centers for Disease Control, the CDC. Specifically, they along with the Kansas Department of Health and Environment pay me to try to encourage more doctors to offer care like the Diabetes Prevention Program or Diabetes Self-Management Education, or the Diabetes Self Management Program, all of which we’re going to talk about today. So be a cautious consumer. As I talk, ask yourself if you think I really believe the things I’m saying, or if I’m just a government stooge repeating words put into my mouth by my benign overlords.

I originally called this talk, “Should I go to diabetes education?” But I’ll talk about more than that.

Let’s get back to Victoria, our future, not-yet-even-a-twinkle-in-her-mom’s-eye. When Victoria grows into adulthood she’ll be told by her doctor that she needs to take in fewer calories and burn more calories in the form of physical activity or exercise. Good advice. We call these the “Big Two”: diet and exercise. And historically we’ve blamed the obesity and diabetes epidemics on decreased physical activity and increased caloric intake. The physics of it just make sense: you can’t make fat out of air. But there’s a big problem with limiting our explanation of her risk to this simple “calories in, calories out” model: the math doesn’t add up. 

Intentional leisure time physical activity--that’s the kind that takes equipment, like shorts or special shoes or a bicycle or a pool--has gone up (way up) since the 1980s. Yet as a nation we’re fatter than ever. Investigators writing on the findings of a 2016 study in Obesity Research & Clinical Practice noted, “A given person, in 2006, eating the same amount of calories, taking in the same quantities of macronutrients like protein and fat, and exercising the same amount as a person of the same age did in 1988 would have a BMI that was about 2.3 points higher…about 10 percent heavier, even if they follow the exact same diet and exercise plans.”

Why is this? Why are we punished for having habits that are objectively better than those of our parents?

Well, it is no one thing. Anyone who tells you that they know the exact problem and have the precise solution is lying or excessively optimistic or both. It’s the combination of a lot of things, and like Victoria’s, our risk is teetering one way or the other long before we’re conceived, let alone born. Let’s go back to pregestational Victoria. 

If Victoria’s mom is anything like most of us, we know a couple things. First, she probably carries a few extra pounds. And we know that those extra pounds carry just the slightest advantage in reproduction. That is, Victoria’s mom is ever so slightly more likely to get pregnant and carry a baby than a woman who is of a normal body weight or who is too thin. So Victoria is simply more likely to be born than someone with a very thin, non-diabetic mom would be.

The second thing we know about Victoria’s mom is that she has probably had some chronic, low-grade lead exposure, especially if she has lived her life in an urban center where dense car traffic spewed leaded exhaust into the air for decades and let it settle into the soil. The higher the lead level in Victoria’s mom’s blood, the higher Victoria’s risk for obesity, even if mom never had enough lead in her blood to be considered “lead poisoned,” and even if Victoria herself never had enough lead in her own blood to be considered dangerous by current standards. 

And birds of a feather, well, you know…flock together. Victoria’s mom is likely to choose a mate whose body in some way matches hers. Or he chooses Victoria’s mom. Either way, since we know that something like two-thirds of body weight is heritable (that is, two-thirds of your risk of being thin or being heavy), having both a mom and a dad who carry extra weight puts even more pressure on Victoria’s future weight.

Since Victoria’s mom and dad have bills to pay, there’s a big chance they put off having a family. That’s the new American way. Not only the American way; the western way. The age at first birth in the United States has gone from 22 to 26 since the 1960s. And every five years parents wait to have a child, the risk of obesity in the child may go up fourteen percent

Five years after they marry, Victoria’s mom and dad decide to get pregnant, and they have good luck. But during Victoria’s gestation, her dad encourages her mom to “eat for two.” We now know that increased fat and sugar in mom’s diet can cause “epigenetic effects” in the fetus. Remember the way DNA is put together, with A and T and C and G all writing a code that turns amino acids into proteins? Epigenetic effects aren’t changes in the A-T-C-G order of base pairs in the DNA itself; these are modifications of those base pairs, like sticking an extra branch onto the side of the “A” to keep it from coding quite as efficiently as it should. And we know one of the possible effects of these epigenetic effects may be to make Victoria more prone to weight gain and diabetes.

Finally, Victoria is born. Her mom breastfeeds her, like most moms do now, and which may have some protective effect. But after that Victoria eats what her folks buy for her: a largely government-subsidized diet that is >50% highly processed, has little fiber, and contains >2x the meat needed. We now know that this highly processed food dramatically increases our risk for weight gain and diabetes.

Investigators at the NIH recently paid twenty volunteers (ten men, ten women) to live in a research hospital for a month. They were randomly assigned to eat either an “ultra-processed” diet (think packaged meat, gravy, and potatoes) or an unprocessed diet (like fresh broccoli, cooked rice, and frozen beef) for two weeks. The diets were identical in the number of calories and amount of nutrients like fat, sugar, protein, and fiber. The volunteers were observed closely for food intake, and frequent testing was done to determine how many calories they were burning. After two weeks each person in the study was “crossed over” to the  opposite diet from what they’d started on. That is, the processed diet folks started eating the unprocessed diet, and vice-versa.

What the investigators found was dramatic. In spite of having equal  numbers of calories available to them at every meal and snack, the people eating the processed diet ate about 500 calories per day more  than the people eating the unprocessed diet. This showed up in their weight: the processed dieters weighed, on average, 2 pounds more at the  end of two weeks than they did at the start of the diet. All their extra weight was in the form of fat. And this may not have even done the effect justice: since the processed food had so little fiber, investigators had to sneak fiber into the processed food just to bring the level up to the unprocessed diet’s fiber. Without that, the results probably would have been even more dramatic. 

When young Victoria turns twelve her parents decide to reward her for her good grades with new cell phone. To keep up with the social scene at school she starts sleeping with it, checking social media when she wakes up at night. As a result of this she ends up sleeping less than seven hours per night. This disrupted sleep has a measurable, clinical effect on her appetite, probably because of changes in hormone levels like ghrelin (from the stomach) and leptin (from fat). 

In addition to the effect of abnormal hormones, Victoria is exposed to a lifetime of endocrine disrupting chemicals like those in air pollution, pesticides, flame retardants, and food packaging. Endocrine disruptors are chemicals that mimic or block the effects of naturally occurring hormones. Investigators in 2017 measured the amount of bisphenol A, a chemical you’ve heard of as “BPA,” in the urine of volunteers. They noted that people in the top quartile of BPA excretion, that is, the people who had more BPA in their urine than 75% of their peers, had a mean body mass index (BMI) a full point higher than people with the lowest BPA level. And BPA is one of thousands of potential chemicals we are exposed to now that were not in our environment even a few decades ago. 

While Victoria eats her processed diet and takes in a strange brew of endocrine-disrupting chemicals, she lives and works in a strictly air-conditioned, heated car, office, and home that block any exposure she would normally have to hourly or seasonal temperature excursions. She’s almost never hot and almost never so cold that a cardigan can’t fix it. The effect of this may be to increase hunger. Researchers in the journal Physiology and Behavior noted that people in an office experimentally heated to 81 degrees reported decreased hunger, decreased desire to eat, feeling fuller longer. Not surprisingly, they were thirstier than their cooler peers. 

Because she lives in a cul-de-sacced suburb that is poorly designed for walkability, Victoria does not have the opportunity to walk anywhere. Not to the store, not to work. Her only opportunities for meaningful physical activity come from going to the gym. She cannot spontaneously exercise. The effect of this can be dramatic. In 2014, engineers reported in the Journal of Transportation and Health that going from an intersection density of 81 per square mile to 324 per square mile dropped was associated with a reduction in obesity from 25% to less than 5%. Similarly, going from a community design that made walking difficult to a grid-like walkable layout cut the obesity rate by a third. 

Perhaps in part because of her poor sleep, processed diet, lack of exercise, Victoria becomes depressed and is put on an SSRI medication by her doctor. These medications and many others have the effect of a small but predictable amount of weight gain.

Depressed yet? Don’t be. There’s not a thing on that list that we couldn’t fix if we wanted to. But I’m not here to talk politics or policy. I’m here to talk about things you can do personally to change your risk of weight gain, diabetes, and complications of diabetes. And anyone in the room with type 1 diabetes, which is less affected by weight, don’t go away. A lot of this applies to you, too. 

If you’ve heard me talk before you might be aware of Justin’s Rubric for Quality Health Care. Any potential medical test or treatment should meet one of three standards. Either:

  1. It should make the patient feel better. This includes hundreds of treatments, like using medications and physical therapy for pain, prescribing inhalers for asthma, giving antidepressants and therapy for depression, and replacing knees. It does not, unfortunately, include much of diabetes care. Any person in the room who takes multiple doses of insulin per day and checks her blood sugar even more often than that can attest to this. Or:

  2. If it does not make the patient feel better, the test or treatment should make the patient live longer. This applies to everyday things like checking and treating high blood pressure and high cholesterol (neither one of which make most patients feel any better or worse today) to surgery and chemotherapy for cancers (most of which make patients feel much, much worse at least in the short-term, but prolongs many lives). Or finally:

  3. If a treatment makes no difference in how the patient feels and makes no difference in how long the patient lives, it should at the very least save money. The best example of this may be diabetes screening. As far as we can tell, screening for diabetes does not prolong life, at least not in the two or three trials that have specifically addressed the question. But diabetes screening linked to preventive measures like the Diabetes Prevention Program clearly saves money.

Diabetes was once a syndromic diagnosis, usually diagnosed when someone presented with epic amounts of urine, extreme thirst, unintentional weight loss, and sometimes strange infections. The very words we use to describe this condition give the crudeness of the diagnosis away: diabetes is from a Greek word meaning siphon, “to pass through.” Mellitus is from a Latin root word meaning honeyed or sweet. Because once upon a time, the diagnosis was confirmed by your doctor tasting your urine for sweetness.

But as our ability to test became more sophisticated, we began finding asymptomatic people with elevated blood sugars, and we had to decide who was normal and who was abnormal. It’s a tougher question than you may think, and we may still not know the answer.

So when should Victoria be screened? Or should she be screened at all? Like many questions in medicine, it depends on who you ask. Every test has risks and benefits. In the case of diabetes screening, the risks are small. There is the issue of the needlestick, but beyond that you mainly risk having an abnormal lab value on your chart. The primary benefit is financial. If Victoria is diagnosed with diabetes she can expect to spend $8,000-12,000 dollars more on medical care than the average non-diabetic person, with 12 percent of that coming out of her own pocket. Unfortunately people who are screened for diabetes and catch it early don’t seem to live longer than those who are caught according to symptoms, but they may feel better in the long run. And if we’re lucky enough to catch Victoria’s blood sugars before they rise into the frank diabetes range, we have things we can offer her.

With this in mind The United States Preventive Services Task Force (USPSTF) says that anyone between the ages of 40 and 75 should be screened at least every third year. The American Diabetes Association says that screening should begin at age 45 but expands this to say that anyone as young as age 10 with certain risk factors like family history; Native American, African American, Latino, Asian American, or Pacific Islander heritage; or certain signs of insulin resistance in the skin or reproductive organs should be screened. They’ve developed a tool alongside the American Medical Assocation and the Centers for Disease Control called the Diabetes Risk Test--you can take it yourself at preventdiabeteswichita.com--that asks a few questions (some demographics, your family history, your physical activity, your height and weight) and tells you whether they think you ought to be screened.

Screening generally means a check of Victoria’s first-morning blood sugar after fasting overnight. It can’t be done with a fingerstick, so Victoria has to resist the urge to borrow a machine from her mom. It needs to be done in the lab with blood drawn from a vein.The cutoffs that we set for pre-diabetes and diabetes are, naturally, semi-arbitrary, but they’re ultimately based on the eye. If Victoria’s result is a blood sugar of 126 or above repeatedly, it means she’s diabetic. If you think 126 is kind of a strange number, you’re right. That number is set at the point where she’s more likely to develop diabetic eye disease. So it’s the eyes that make all the difference in how we define diabetes.

If her blood sugar is below 100, she’s normal. But again, if she’s over 40, most people think she should get it repeated at least every third year.

If Victoria’s blood sugar falls into that range of 100 to 125, between “normal” and “diabetic,” her best bet is to seek out the Diabetes Prevention Program, a one-year program designed to help people decrease their risk of going on to develop diabetes. The DPP, as it’s called, is sixteen weekly one hour visits with a health educator followed by eight monthly visits. In those visits you learn problem solving strategies around food choices and physical activity with the support of your coach and a team of other patients. The program has been shown to reduce the risk of going on to develop diabetes by almost sixty percent, roughly twice as effective as metformin, a common diabetes medication. In addition to simply making your numbers look better, the DPP has been shown to improve cholesterol levels, to reduce absenteeism from work, and to increase patients’ sense of well-being. For anyone insured by Medicare, the program is a covered benefit. 

But what about the unlucky folks who go on to have diabetes?

We have a great program available here in town called the diabetes self-management program, or DSMP. It was developed by researchers at Stanford who were interested in making people with chronic diseases feel more in control of their lives and their destinies. It is 2.5 hours a week for six weeks, and it is taught not by a nurse or a doctor, but by a person who has diabetes herself. Investigators have determined that going through a self-management program like this reduces days in the hospital by almost two per year, probably cuts ER visits, cuts the risk of depression, and reduces low blood sugars. Best of all, it is free! If you’re interested, either ask your doctor or go to selfmanageks.org.

Last year investigators looked for randomized trials--that is, studies where patients are randomly assigned one treatment or another--of diabetes education. They included only trials that compared diabetes education with usual care, and they included only trials that lasted at least a year. Ultimately they found 42 trials that met these criteria, enrolling just over 13,000 patients and lasting an average of a year and a half. What they found was striking: diabetes self-management education significantly cut the risk of dying of any cause in type 2 diabetes patients by 26 percent. That is, a patient in the diabetes education arm of one of these studies was 26% less likely to die, by car wreck, chocolate poisoning, diabetic ketoacidosis, or any other cause, than a person receiving usual care.

In spite of this evidence, the utilization of diabetes education is disappointingly low. Only about one in five patients with diabetes ever attend. 

So let’s review, very briefly. Our risk--and Victoria’s--for being overweight or obese or having diabetes begins to accrue long before we’re even conceived and is constantly modified by our environment as we age. But many of the things that affect that risk--the cleanliness of our air, the foods available for us to eat, the design of our streets, and others--are modifiable. If in spite of optimizing all those things you still find yourself with an elevated blood sugar, you have several options.

So if you think you might be at risk for diabetes, get tested. If you’re pre-diabetic, ask for a referral to the diabetes prevention program. If you’re like Victoria, if your diabetes is out of control--if your hemoglobin A1c level is higher than what your doctor would like it to be, or if you have low blood sugars--ask your doctor about getting into a diabetes education program. If your diabetes is well-controlled numbers-wise but you feel out of control, also consider going to the  diabetes self-management program. The risk of the program is vanishingly low, and the potential benefit is large.

My remarks from the Wichita Business Coalition on Health Care's Obesity Forum this morning

Thanks for inviting me to kick off this very important event. Let’s start with a healthy dose of intellectual honesty. Obesity is a disease. It has arguably been so since the beginning of time, but it was made official in this country in 1985 when the National Institutes of Health issued a statement following its Consensus Development Conference on Obesity. This was followed by the report of the World Health Organization’s Consultation on Obesity and then the report of a committee of the Institute of Medicine, now known as the Health and Medicine Division of the National Academy of Sciences. Finally, the American Medical Association in 2013. Obesity is a disease because it is a “definite, morbid process with characteristic symptoms which affects the entire body; and has a known pathology and prognosis.” Obesity shouldn’t need this label in order to be taken seriously. Whether we--our institutions and organizations--pay for obesity treatment should ultimately depend more on what outcomes we value and the cost of achieving those outcomes. That is, the material inputs and outputs of the process, not our opinions of the people or behaviors that lead to them. A materialist versus spiritualist argument. I recently spoke at the Chronic Disease Alliance of Kansas meeting. Some of you were there. I made the argument that even if you are a spiritualist by nature, if you’re interested in medicine or public health, you must invest in a materialist point of view. That means you have to provide evidence for your assertions. How does this little philosophical cul-de-sac apply to obesity? Because I would argue that in spite of ample evidence and the label of disease applied by the NIH, the National Academy of Sciences, the AMA, and others, we don’t treat obesity in this country as a disease.

Think of what happens if you have, say, osteoarthritis of the knee. If you go to the doctor complaining of knee pain that fits the pattern of knee osteoarthritis, within some small confidence interval, you’ll get the same treatment regardless of what doctor you visit: x-rays to confirm the diagnosis, then some initial combination of anti-inflammatory drugs plus or minus strength training or physical therapy; then possibly an injection of hyaluronate or another agent; then a surgical procedure. All backed by some degree of clinical evidence as to their efficacy, with a set of professional guidelines that dictate the order and intensity in which they’re used.

And treatment for the disease--osteoarthritis still--is not limited to the clinical environment. We live under a robust set of laws, regulations, and expectations surrounding the humane treatment of people with osteoarthritis: handicapped parking stalls, construction standards around accessibility (curb cuts and whatnot). Furthermore, an enormous industry exists which caters to osteoarthritic people’s needs: handrails, higher toilets, special bathtubs, purpose-designed kitchen utensils, and others. For all its imperfections, this set of guidelines and expectations has the hallmarks of science: organization of knowledge, adaptability, the ability and willingness to change as evidence evolves.

But what happens if a patient goes to see his or her doctor for obesity? Even if the patient is lucky enough to encounter a doctor that considers obesity a disease and not a personal character failing, no such predictability exists. Doctor one may prescribes meal replacements, a la Nutrisystem, Weight Watchers, or dozens of competitors. Doctor two recommends avoiding “carbs.” (once called Atkins, now called paleo or ketogenic diet; it never goes away, we just change the name every ten years or so to convince people to avoid whole grains, the single most protective dietary component against diabetes) Doctor three prescribes phentermine, or if the patient is lucky, one of the drugs actually approved by the FDA for weight loss, all of which are exorbitantly expensive and modestly effective. Doctor four recommends the Diabetes Prevention Program. Doctor five recommends bariatric surgery. Doctor six recommends probiotics or another microbiome-directed treatment.

When the patient leaves the doctors office, she enters a built environment designed to be maximally obesogenic. Four-lane arterial roads replacing walkable, bikeable streets, even though we know beyond certainty that trips taken by car, rather than by bike, foot, or public transportation, are perfectly, directly related to the obesity rate in any community. And the amount of money any community spends on car-related transportation is perfectly aligned with obesity rates. Our patient pays sales taxes on obesogenic foods (red meat, refined carbohydrates, sugared beverages, and fats) at exactly the same rate as protective, high-fiber, unprocessed fruits, vegetables, and whole grains, in spite of evidence that Pigovian taxation, in which unhealthy foods are taxed at a rate equal to their the social cost and healthy foods are subsidized, has a powerful effect. Similarly, crop insurance and subsidy programs--in whatever form they take--favor meat and dairy production over fruits and vegetables.

When a peer gets cancer, we offer words of encouragement and give her rides to the doctor. We judge those with obesity and say they’re getting what they deserve for their weakness and sloth. We consider people who are competent, functioning members of society to be somehow constitutionally flawed and subject them to various levels of social discrimination. Obesity, along with intelligence, seems to be one of the final acceptable targets of discrimination; we casually make jokes about fat people and stupid people with none of the anxiety that accompanies insensitive remarks about race or sexual orientation. This is surely short-lived; over 80 million people in the U.S. have an I.Q. less than 90, and over 100 million are obese by body mass index criteria. These are groups large enough to fight back.

Viewed by an outsider, this set of circumstances does not resemble science. This is not the end result of a materialist view of the world. It resembles religion: a cultural system of competing behaviors, world views, and ethics that relate humanity’s problems not to the laws of the universe, but to supernatural elements. This elevation of the spiritual realm above the material realm is perfectly fine on Sunday mornings. I’m not here to make an anti-religion argument. Religion and spiritualism are vital in mobilizing public passion and opinion. NIH director Francis Collins, who discovered the gene mutation responsible for cystic fibrosis and later directed the Human Genome Project, is an evangelical Christian who advocates that religious belief can not only be reconciled with acceptance of scientific evidence, but that spirituality is vital to the responsible advancement of science. But spiritual thought in the absence of material evidence is unacceptable in the pursuit of a public health solution.

So how should we handle obesity as a health problem? As Kansans, we’re lucky to have perhaps the best model in our collective memories. We have Samuel Crumbine, early 20th century Dodge City physician who revolutionized the treatment of tuberculosis and other infectious diseases. At the outset of Dr. Crumbine’s career, infections were the leading cause of death by far and were dealt with in a quasi-spiritual manner. The consumption of tuberculosis was seen as God’s wrath. But Dr. Crumbine applied common sense strategies to limit the spread of the disease. He helped established sanitaria for tuberculosis patients, to isolate them from the public until they were no longer contagious. He spearheaded laws against spitting on the sidewalk (remember the bricks?), against shared drinking cups (you have him, indirectly, to thank for the modern bubbler-style drinking fountain), and against shared towels in public bathrooms. He advocated for fly-swatting campaigns. And all the while, he still promoted medical interventions for people already infected. Better antibiotics were developed. The entire specialty of cardiothoracic surgery grew not out of a need for coronary artery bypass grafting, but out of the need to drain tuberculous abscesses from the chests of infected patients.

When applied to obesity, I’m aware that lines blur. Calling something a disease moves individuals across a gauzy barrier between personhood and patienthood. You’re a person up until you’re labeled with a disease, then you’re a patient. The label inherently causes the patient to adopt a role in which he or she is excused from responsibility for his/her condition. This is healthy and appropriate; we know that the vast majority of lung cancers are caused by cigarette smoking, but we do not argue that smokers should be denied treatment. And the label creates an obligation for treatment that many obese people may not want. Roxane Gay and others have argued eloquently against the over-medicalization of body weight. And if this process (labeling of a disease, applying that label to people) entails an obligation for treatment, who will consent to pay the costs for that treatment? This social negotiation is just as big a part of what we need to address as any specific decision on the appropriateness or order of interventions.

I’m no Samuel Crumbine. I don’t even have a mustache. But if I channel Dr. Crumbine, I can see continued progress starting today. I can see the further development of a bike and pedestrian infrastructure, sensible parking policies, and street design that encourages higher density development with widely available green spaces. This can be partnered with local laws and regulations, a more sensible crop subsidy program, and a food tax system that encourages the production and consumption of quality foods over obesogenic foods. For patients who choose to seek help from their doctor, I can see a set of community-wide standards that promote a practical, stepwise approach to treatment that incorporates dietary and behavioral interventions alongside policies that make proven drug and surgical interventions more affordable. I can advocate for the development of a unified, science-based approach to obesity, motivated by spirituality but guided by material evidence.

Disclaimer: Health ICT was also a presenter, and the Forum was supported through a grant offered by the National Alliance of Healthcare Purchaser Coalitions and Novo Nordisk.

How to break up with your phone, Double Arrow Metabolism edition, days 16 and 17

Day 16 was to Practice Pausing. In ironic honor of this, I decided to try to write this blog post while listening to a podcast. Couldn't do it. I've never been a good multi-tasker. I'm so bad at it that I suspect anyone who says they can multitask is a liar. Which I suspect is exactly what Catherine would say. So I've proved her point. 

Anyway. The idea for Tuesday was to deliberately practice being still. To embrace boredom. She told me to pick a situation when I find myself reaching for my phone to kill some time. As I've said before, this time for me is almost exclusively potty time. And it's a problem. I go in for what ought to be a very simple procedure, and I walk out ten minutes later because I've been sucked into a New Yorker article about the Steele Dossier, and anyone in the vicinity mistakenly thinks I'm suffering from weapons-grade constipation when I've really just had a driveway moment on the toilet. 

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So I committed to doing it the old-fashioned way. Not by dragging a newspaper into the stall with me. I don't have that kind of self-confidence. By staring at the stall door, or by wondering why the screws on bathroom partitions are always loose even though they use those one-way screws:

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And it worked! I mean, I didn't time myself, even though the little scientist in me said that I should. I was in and out of there in no time. Nobody in the office thinks I'm all bound up over the last couple days. Good stuff. 

What I didn't experience was any kind of zen moment of really having my brain lock in on something profound. But it's early in this experiment.

Day 17 was to Exercise My Attention Span. This is like weightlifting, but for my brain. Catherine tells me that my newfound phone-free time can be spent doing something as simple as reading (done), something just for the sake of it, like practicing math in my head, or putting focus toward more meaningful tasks. I chose option 3. Yesterday I decided to spend some down time planning out a strategy for a clinic I'm consulting with to incorporate team-based strategies into their routine clinical care. In a ten-minute session, I planned out several steps to get a diabetes educator trained for the clinic, to get the clinic hooked up with their local pharmacy for a collaborative practice agreement around medication adherence, and to track outcomes related to these interventions. I raced to write all the steps and contact information down because I was afraid of forgetting it. But that's okay. The exercise made me feel like a downmarket Cal Newport.