Opinion

The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) carries mandates most physician practices must follow to make their offices accessible so as to not discriminate against patients with disabilities when providing care. And 7 years ago, the government raised the penalties for failing to do so. So it might be time to re-educate yourself on what the ADA requires.

ADA compliance is not an issue that we talk about or provide training for in medical schools or with our professional organizations. Since fines for small businesses are now $75,000 for a first offense and $150,000 for each subsequent violation, this could be an expensive oversight that malpractice and other liability policies will not cover.

A 2019 study in Boston examined physicians’ knowledge of legal obligations when caring for patients with disabilities. Researchers concluded that most physicians interviewed “exhibited a superficial or incorrect understanding of their legal responsibilities to patients with a disability.” If you feel you’re in that boat, you might want to consult federal guidance with information and common questions physicians ask about their ADA obligations.

The ADA defines a person with a disability as someone with “a physical or mental impairment that substantially limits one or more life activities”; someone with a record of such an impairment; or someone who is “regarded as having such an impairment.” Among the ADA standards required for accessible exam rooms, according to the guidance:

• The entry door to the exam room should be a minimum width of 32 inches when the door is opened at a 90-degree angle.
• There should be a minimum of 30 by 48 inches of clear floor space next to the exam table.
• An accessible exam table should be able to be lowered to the height of the patient’s wheelchair seat, 17 to 19 inches from the floor.

This does not mean that all of your exam rooms must meet these standards, of course; but if you see any patients with disabilities – and who doesn’t? – you need at least one room that meets the criteria.

Federal guidance also includes requirements on removal of architectural barriers, accessible parking, and entrance and maneuvering spaces – which apply to both for-profit and nonprofit organizations. Among them:

• Designated accessible parking spaces must be included among any parking the business provides for the public “if doing so is readily achievable.” Those parking spaces should be the closest to the accessible entrance, on level ground. The spaces should be at least eight feet wide, with an access aisle on either side.
• For accessible spaces for cars, the adjacent access aisle must be at least five feet wide; for van spaces, eight feet wide.
• “If achievable,” an accessible service counter must have a maximum height of 36 inches, with a clear floor space of 30 by 48 inches to permit the use of a wheelchair.

A common misconception is that only new construction and alterations need to be accessible, and that older facilities are “grandfathered,” but that’s not true. Because the ADA is a civil rights law and not a building code, ADA rules apply equally to all facilities, young and old. This is particularly important to remember in light of the long-standing cottage industry of attorneys who sue small businesses for alleged ADA violations.

Another common mistake made by physicians who lease their office space is to assume that their landlord is responsible for meeting all ADA obligations. In fact, The ADA places the legal obligation on both the landlord and the tenant. The landlord and the tenant may decide among themselves who will actually make the changes and provide the aids and services, but both remain legally responsible.

Another aspect that you might not have thought of is access to your website. While ADA applicability to online services remains vague, lawsuits have been filed, and are likely to increase. Online accessibility issues that have been identified include:
 

• Ability to find and process information on a website (e.g., providing audio descriptions for video content, for the sight-impaired).
• Ability to navigate and use a website (e.g., ensuring that all site functions are easily accessible with only a keyboard).
• Ability to comprehend all information (including clearly understandable error messages).

Hearing-impaired patients present their own considerations for delivering adequate care, which I will discuss in my next column.
 

Dr. Eastern practices dermatology and dermatologic surgery in Belleville, N.J. He is the author of numerous articles and textbook chapters, and is a longtime monthly columnist for Dermatology News. Write to him at [email protected].

The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) carries mandates most physician practices must follow to make their offices accessible so as to not discriminate against patients with disabilities when providing care. And 7 years ago, the government raised the penalties for failing to do so. So it might be time to re-educate yourself on what the ADA requires.

ADA compliance is not an issue that we talk about or provide training for in medical schools or with our professional organizations. Since fines for small businesses are now $75,000 for a first offense and $150,000 for each subsequent violation, this could be an expensive oversight that malpractice and other liability policies will not cover.

A 2019 study in Boston examined physicians’ knowledge of legal obligations when caring for patients with disabilities. Researchers concluded that most physicians interviewed “exhibited a superficial or incorrect understanding of their legal responsibilities to patients with a disability.” If you feel you’re in that boat, you might want to consult federal guidance with information and common questions physicians ask about their ADA obligations.

The ADA defines a person with a disability as someone with “a physical or mental impairment that substantially limits one or more life activities”; someone with a record of such an impairment; or someone who is “regarded as having such an impairment.” Among the ADA standards required for accessible exam rooms, according to the guidance:

• The entry door to the exam room should be a minimum width of 32 inches when the door is opened at a 90-degree angle.
• There should be a minimum of 30 by 48 inches of clear floor space next to the exam table.
• An accessible exam table should be able to be lowered to the height of the patient’s wheelchair seat, 17 to 19 inches from the floor.

This does not mean that all of your exam rooms must meet these standards, of course; but if you see any patients with disabilities – and who doesn’t? – you need at least one room that meets the criteria.

Federal guidance also includes requirements on removal of architectural barriers, accessible parking, and entrance and maneuvering spaces – which apply to both for-profit and nonprofit organizations. Among them:

• Designated accessible parking spaces must be included among any parking the business provides for the public “if doing so is readily achievable.” Those parking spaces should be the closest to the accessible entrance, on level ground. The spaces should be at least eight feet wide, with an access aisle on either side.
• For accessible spaces for cars, the adjacent access aisle must be at least five feet wide; for van spaces, eight feet wide.
• “If achievable,” an accessible service counter must have a maximum height of 36 inches, with a clear floor space of 30 by 48 inches to permit the use of a wheelchair.

A common misconception is that only new construction and alterations need to be accessible, and that older facilities are “grandfathered,” but that’s not true. Because the ADA is a civil rights law and not a building code, ADA rules apply equally to all facilities, young and old. This is particularly important to remember in light of the long-standing cottage industry of attorneys who sue small businesses for alleged ADA violations.

Another common mistake made by physicians who lease their office space is to assume that their landlord is responsible for meeting all ADA obligations. In fact, The ADA places the legal obligation on both the landlord and the tenant. The landlord and the tenant may decide among themselves who will actually make the changes and provide the aids and services, but both remain legally responsible.

Another aspect that you might not have thought of is access to your website. While ADA applicability to online services remains vague, lawsuits have been filed, and are likely to increase. Online accessibility issues that have been identified include:
 

• Ability to find and process information on a website (e.g., providing audio descriptions for video content, for the sight-impaired).
• Ability to navigate and use a website (e.g., ensuring that all site functions are easily accessible with only a keyboard).
• Ability to comprehend all information (including clearly understandable error messages).

Hearing-impaired patients present their own considerations for delivering adequate care, which I will discuss in my next column.
 

Dr. Eastern practices dermatology and dermatologic surgery in Belleville, N.J. He is the author of numerous articles and textbook chapters, and is a longtime monthly columnist for Dermatology News. Write to him at [email protected].

The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) carries mandates most physician practices must follow to make their offices accessible so as to not discriminate against patients with disabilities when providing care. And 7 years ago, the government raised the penalties for failing to do so. So it might be time to re-educate yourself on what the ADA requires.

ADA compliance is not an issue that we talk about or provide training for in medical schools or with our professional organizations. Since fines for small businesses are now $75,000 for a first offense and $150,000 for each subsequent violation, this could be an expensive oversight that malpractice and other liability policies will not cover.

A 2019 study in Boston examined physicians’ knowledge of legal obligations when caring for patients with disabilities. Researchers concluded that most physicians interviewed “exhibited a superficial or incorrect understanding of their legal responsibilities to patients with a disability.” If you feel you’re in that boat, you might want to consult federal guidance with information and common questions physicians ask about their ADA obligations.

The ADA defines a person with a disability as someone with “a physical or mental impairment that substantially limits one or more life activities”; someone with a record of such an impairment; or someone who is “regarded as having such an impairment.” Among the ADA standards required for accessible exam rooms, according to the guidance:

• The entry door to the exam room should be a minimum width of 32 inches when the door is opened at a 90-degree angle.
• There should be a minimum of 30 by 48 inches of clear floor space next to the exam table.
• An accessible exam table should be able to be lowered to the height of the patient’s wheelchair seat, 17 to 19 inches from the floor.

This does not mean that all of your exam rooms must meet these standards, of course; but if you see any patients with disabilities – and who doesn’t? – you need at least one room that meets the criteria.

Federal guidance also includes requirements on removal of architectural barriers, accessible parking, and entrance and maneuvering spaces – which apply to both for-profit and nonprofit organizations. Among them:

• Designated accessible parking spaces must be included among any parking the business provides for the public “if doing so is readily achievable.” Those parking spaces should be the closest to the accessible entrance, on level ground. The spaces should be at least eight feet wide, with an access aisle on either side.
• For accessible spaces for cars, the adjacent access aisle must be at least five feet wide; for van spaces, eight feet wide.
• “If achievable,” an accessible service counter must have a maximum height of 36 inches, with a clear floor space of 30 by 48 inches to permit the use of a wheelchair.

A common misconception is that only new construction and alterations need to be accessible, and that older facilities are “grandfathered,” but that’s not true. Because the ADA is a civil rights law and not a building code, ADA rules apply equally to all facilities, young and old. This is particularly important to remember in light of the long-standing cottage industry of attorneys who sue small businesses for alleged ADA violations.

Another common mistake made by physicians who lease their office space is to assume that their landlord is responsible for meeting all ADA obligations. In fact, The ADA places the legal obligation on both the landlord and the tenant. The landlord and the tenant may decide among themselves who will actually make the changes and provide the aids and services, but both remain legally responsible.

Another aspect that you might not have thought of is access to your website. While ADA applicability to online services remains vague, lawsuits have been filed, and are likely to increase. Online accessibility issues that have been identified include:
 

• Ability to find and process information on a website (e.g., providing audio descriptions for video content, for the sight-impaired).
• Ability to navigate and use a website (e.g., ensuring that all site functions are easily accessible with only a keyboard).
• Ability to comprehend all information (including clearly understandable error messages).

Hearing-impaired patients present their own considerations for delivering adequate care, which I will discuss in my next column.
 

Dr. Eastern practices dermatology and dermatologic surgery in Belleville, N.J. He is the author of numerous articles and textbook chapters, and is a longtime monthly columnist for Dermatology News. Write to him at [email protected].

I arrived on the 6th floor nursing unit one day last fall to find halls abuzz with people. Something didn’t feel right, and then I a saw a nursing colleague with tears streaming down her face. My heart dropped. She looked up at me and said, “Dr Hass, K died last night.” She started to sob. I stood dumbfounded for a moment. We had lost a beloved coworker to COVID.

There has been a collective sense of grief in our country since the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic as we have all been suffering losses: smiles, touch, in-person relationships, a “normal life.” But it went to another level for us at Alta Bates Summit Medical Center in Oakland, Calif., with the passing of a couple of our beloved teammates in the fall. Strong emotions triggered by these events caused me to pause and think: “What is grief? Is it another word for sadness? How do we work through it?”

What is the difference between sadness and grief? While related, they are temporally and functionally quite different. Sadness is an emotion, and like all emotions, we feel it in brief episodes. Those moments of profound sadness only last minutes at a time. Sadness leads to decreased physiological arousal, especially after crying. When less intense, the physiological slowing is thought to allow for some mental clarity that lets the loss sink in and moves us toward a recalibration process. These episodes of sadness occur more frequently and with greater intensity the closer we are to the triggering event.

While emotions last minutes, mood, another affective state, lasts hours to days and is less intense and specific in content. A sad mood can be present much of the time after a significant loss. Emotions predispose to moods and vice versa.

Grief, on the other hand, is a complex and lengthy process that moves us from a place of loss to a new place with a new equilibrium without the lost object. While sadness is about fully acknowledging the loss, the grieving process is about getting beyond it. The bigger the loss, the bigger the hole in your life and the longer the grieving process. Grief is a multi-emotional process with people often experiencing a range of emotions, such as shock, anger, and fear in addition to sadness.

As I grappled with my sense of loss, I realized that understanding the grieving process was going to help me as I navigate this world now full of loss. Here are a few things we should all keep in mind.
 

A sense of mindful self-awareness

As we work through our grief, a mindful self-awareness can help us identify our emotions and see them as part of the grieving process. Simply anticipating emotions can lessen the impact of them when they come. As they come on, try to name the emotion, e.g., “I am so sad,” and feel the experience in the body. The sadness can be cathartic, and by focusing on the body and not the head, we can also drop the sometimes healthy, sometimes unhealthy rants and ruminations that can accompany these events. If we experience the emotions with mindful self-awareness, we can see our emotions as part of a healing, grieving process, and we will likely be able to handle them more gracefully.

In the days after the death of my nursing colleague, my sad mood would be interrupted with flares of anger triggered by thoughts of those not wearing masks or spreading misinformation. Moving my thoughts to the emotions, I would say to myself, “I am really angry, and I am angry because of these deaths.” I felt the recognition of the emotions helped me better ride the big waves on the grieving journey.

Counter to the thinking of the 20th century, research by George Bonanno at Columbia University found that the majority of bereavement is met with resilience. We will be sad, we might have moments of anger or denial or fear, but for most of us, despite the gravity of the loss, our innate resilience will lead about 50-80% of us to recover to near our baseline in months. It is nice to know we are not repressing things if we don’t pass through all the stages postulated by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, the dominate paradigm in the field.¹

For those grieving, this idea of resilience being the norm can provide reassurance during tough moments. While our degree of resilience will depend on our loss and our circumstance, the work of Lucy Hone, PhD, suggests that resilience can be fostered. Many of the negative feelings we experience have a flip side we can seek out. We can be grateful for what remains and what the departed has left us with. We can aid in our grieving journey by using many of the resources available from UC Berkeley’s Greater Good in Action (https://ggia.berkeley.edu/).

While most grief is met with resilience, complicated grieving with persistent negative moods and emotions is common. We should consider seeking professional help if our emotions and pattern of thought continue to feel unhealthy.
 

Meaning and wisdom, not acceptance

Another change in our understanding of grief is this: Instead of “acceptance” being seen as the end result of grieving, meaning and wisdom are now recognized as the outcomes. Research has found that efforts to find meaning in loss facilitates the grieving process. As time passes and our sadness lessens, the loved one doesn’t leave us but stays with us as a better understanding of the beauty and complexity of life. The loss, through grieving, is transformed to wisdom that will guide us through future challenges and help us make sense of the world.

Last week, masked and robed and with an iPad in hand so the family could join the conversation, I was talking to Ms. B who is hospitalized with COVID-19. She said, “I just keep thinking, ‘Why is this happening to me? To all of us?’ And then I realized that it is a message from God that we need to do a better job of taking care of each other, and I suddenly felt a little better. What do you think, Dr. Hass?”

“Wow,” I said. “Thank you for sharing that. There is definitely some truth there. There is a lot to learn from the pandemic about how we care for each other. I need to keep that in mind when I start feeling down.”

So much is going on now: climate change, racial violence, frightening political dysfunction, and a global pandemic that has upended our daily routines and the economy. It is hard to keep track of all the loss and uncertainty. We might not know why feelings of sadness, anger and anxiety come on, but if we can meet these emotions with mindful equanimity, see them as part of our intrinsic healing process and keep in mind that our path will likely be towards one of wisdom and sense-making, we can better navigate these profoundly unsettling times.

Just as sadness is not grief, joy alone does not lead to happiness. A happy life comes as much from meaning as joy. While unbridled joy might be in short supply, our grief, our work as hospitalists with the suffering, and confronting the many problems our world faces gives us the opportunity to lead a meaningful life. If we couple this search for meaning with healthy habits that promote wellbeing, such as hugs, investing in relationships, and moving our body in the natural world, we can survive these crazy times and be wiser beings as a result of our experiences.
 

Dr. Hass is a hospitalist at Sutter East Bay Medical Group in Oakland, Calif. He is a member of the clinical faculty at the University of California, Berkeley-UC San Francisco joint medical program, and an adviser on health and health care at the Greater Good Science Center at UC Berkeley.

Reference

1. Bonanno GA, and Boerner K. The stage theory of grief. JAMA. 2007;297(24):2692-2694. doi:10.1001/jama.297.24.2693-a.

I arrived on the 6th floor nursing unit one day last fall to find halls abuzz with people. Something didn’t feel right, and then I a saw a nursing colleague with tears streaming down her face. My heart dropped. She looked up at me and said, “Dr Hass, K died last night.” She started to sob. I stood dumbfounded for a moment. We had lost a beloved coworker to COVID.

There has been a collective sense of grief in our country since the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic as we have all been suffering losses: smiles, touch, in-person relationships, a “normal life.” But it went to another level for us at Alta Bates Summit Medical Center in Oakland, Calif., with the passing of a couple of our beloved teammates in the fall. Strong emotions triggered by these events caused me to pause and think: “What is grief? Is it another word for sadness? How do we work through it?”

What is the difference between sadness and grief? While related, they are temporally and functionally quite different. Sadness is an emotion, and like all emotions, we feel it in brief episodes. Those moments of profound sadness only last minutes at a time. Sadness leads to decreased physiological arousal, especially after crying. When less intense, the physiological slowing is thought to allow for some mental clarity that lets the loss sink in and moves us toward a recalibration process. These episodes of sadness occur more frequently and with greater intensity the closer we are to the triggering event.

While emotions last minutes, mood, another affective state, lasts hours to days and is less intense and specific in content. A sad mood can be present much of the time after a significant loss. Emotions predispose to moods and vice versa.

Grief, on the other hand, is a complex and lengthy process that moves us from a place of loss to a new place with a new equilibrium without the lost object. While sadness is about fully acknowledging the loss, the grieving process is about getting beyond it. The bigger the loss, the bigger the hole in your life and the longer the grieving process. Grief is a multi-emotional process with people often experiencing a range of emotions, such as shock, anger, and fear in addition to sadness.

As I grappled with my sense of loss, I realized that understanding the grieving process was going to help me as I navigate this world now full of loss. Here are a few things we should all keep in mind.
 

A sense of mindful self-awareness

As we work through our grief, a mindful self-awareness can help us identify our emotions and see them as part of the grieving process. Simply anticipating emotions can lessen the impact of them when they come. As they come on, try to name the emotion, e.g., “I am so sad,” and feel the experience in the body. The sadness can be cathartic, and by focusing on the body and not the head, we can also drop the sometimes healthy, sometimes unhealthy rants and ruminations that can accompany these events. If we experience the emotions with mindful self-awareness, we can see our emotions as part of a healing, grieving process, and we will likely be able to handle them more gracefully.

In the days after the death of my nursing colleague, my sad mood would be interrupted with flares of anger triggered by thoughts of those not wearing masks or spreading misinformation. Moving my thoughts to the emotions, I would say to myself, “I am really angry, and I am angry because of these deaths.” I felt the recognition of the emotions helped me better ride the big waves on the grieving journey.

Counter to the thinking of the 20th century, research by George Bonanno at Columbia University found that the majority of bereavement is met with resilience. We will be sad, we might have moments of anger or denial or fear, but for most of us, despite the gravity of the loss, our innate resilience will lead about 50-80% of us to recover to near our baseline in months. It is nice to know we are not repressing things if we don’t pass through all the stages postulated by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, the dominate paradigm in the field.¹

For those grieving, this idea of resilience being the norm can provide reassurance during tough moments. While our degree of resilience will depend on our loss and our circumstance, the work of Lucy Hone, PhD, suggests that resilience can be fostered. Many of the negative feelings we experience have a flip side we can seek out. We can be grateful for what remains and what the departed has left us with. We can aid in our grieving journey by using many of the resources available from UC Berkeley’s Greater Good in Action (https://ggia.berkeley.edu/).

While most grief is met with resilience, complicated grieving with persistent negative moods and emotions is common. We should consider seeking professional help if our emotions and pattern of thought continue to feel unhealthy.
 

Meaning and wisdom, not acceptance

Another change in our understanding of grief is this: Instead of “acceptance” being seen as the end result of grieving, meaning and wisdom are now recognized as the outcomes. Research has found that efforts to find meaning in loss facilitates the grieving process. As time passes and our sadness lessens, the loved one doesn’t leave us but stays with us as a better understanding of the beauty and complexity of life. The loss, through grieving, is transformed to wisdom that will guide us through future challenges and help us make sense of the world.

Last week, masked and robed and with an iPad in hand so the family could join the conversation, I was talking to Ms. B who is hospitalized with COVID-19. She said, “I just keep thinking, ‘Why is this happening to me? To all of us?’ And then I realized that it is a message from God that we need to do a better job of taking care of each other, and I suddenly felt a little better. What do you think, Dr. Hass?”

“Wow,” I said. “Thank you for sharing that. There is definitely some truth there. There is a lot to learn from the pandemic about how we care for each other. I need to keep that in mind when I start feeling down.”

So much is going on now: climate change, racial violence, frightening political dysfunction, and a global pandemic that has upended our daily routines and the economy. It is hard to keep track of all the loss and uncertainty. We might not know why feelings of sadness, anger and anxiety come on, but if we can meet these emotions with mindful equanimity, see them as part of our intrinsic healing process and keep in mind that our path will likely be towards one of wisdom and sense-making, we can better navigate these profoundly unsettling times.

Just as sadness is not grief, joy alone does not lead to happiness. A happy life comes as much from meaning as joy. While unbridled joy might be in short supply, our grief, our work as hospitalists with the suffering, and confronting the many problems our world faces gives us the opportunity to lead a meaningful life. If we couple this search for meaning with healthy habits that promote wellbeing, such as hugs, investing in relationships, and moving our body in the natural world, we can survive these crazy times and be wiser beings as a result of our experiences.
 

Dr. Hass is a hospitalist at Sutter East Bay Medical Group in Oakland, Calif. He is a member of the clinical faculty at the University of California, Berkeley-UC San Francisco joint medical program, and an adviser on health and health care at the Greater Good Science Center at UC Berkeley.

Reference

1. Bonanno GA, and Boerner K. The stage theory of grief. JAMA. 2007;297(24):2692-2694. doi:10.1001/jama.297.24.2693-a.

I arrived on the 6th floor nursing unit one day last fall to find halls abuzz with people. Something didn’t feel right, and then I a saw a nursing colleague with tears streaming down her face. My heart dropped. She looked up at me and said, “Dr Hass, K died last night.” She started to sob. I stood dumbfounded for a moment. We had lost a beloved coworker to COVID.

There has been a collective sense of grief in our country since the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic as we have all been suffering losses: smiles, touch, in-person relationships, a “normal life.” But it went to another level for us at Alta Bates Summit Medical Center in Oakland, Calif., with the passing of a couple of our beloved teammates in the fall. Strong emotions triggered by these events caused me to pause and think: “What is grief? Is it another word for sadness? How do we work through it?”

What is the difference between sadness and grief? While related, they are temporally and functionally quite different. Sadness is an emotion, and like all emotions, we feel it in brief episodes. Those moments of profound sadness only last minutes at a time. Sadness leads to decreased physiological arousal, especially after crying. When less intense, the physiological slowing is thought to allow for some mental clarity that lets the loss sink in and moves us toward a recalibration process. These episodes of sadness occur more frequently and with greater intensity the closer we are to the triggering event.

While emotions last minutes, mood, another affective state, lasts hours to days and is less intense and specific in content. A sad mood can be present much of the time after a significant loss. Emotions predispose to moods and vice versa.

Grief, on the other hand, is a complex and lengthy process that moves us from a place of loss to a new place with a new equilibrium without the lost object. While sadness is about fully acknowledging the loss, the grieving process is about getting beyond it. The bigger the loss, the bigger the hole in your life and the longer the grieving process. Grief is a multi-emotional process with people often experiencing a range of emotions, such as shock, anger, and fear in addition to sadness.

As I grappled with my sense of loss, I realized that understanding the grieving process was going to help me as I navigate this world now full of loss. Here are a few things we should all keep in mind.
 

A sense of mindful self-awareness

As we work through our grief, a mindful self-awareness can help us identify our emotions and see them as part of the grieving process. Simply anticipating emotions can lessen the impact of them when they come. As they come on, try to name the emotion, e.g., “I am so sad,” and feel the experience in the body. The sadness can be cathartic, and by focusing on the body and not the head, we can also drop the sometimes healthy, sometimes unhealthy rants and ruminations that can accompany these events. If we experience the emotions with mindful self-awareness, we can see our emotions as part of a healing, grieving process, and we will likely be able to handle them more gracefully.

In the days after the death of my nursing colleague, my sad mood would be interrupted with flares of anger triggered by thoughts of those not wearing masks or spreading misinformation. Moving my thoughts to the emotions, I would say to myself, “I am really angry, and I am angry because of these deaths.” I felt the recognition of the emotions helped me better ride the big waves on the grieving journey.

Counter to the thinking of the 20th century, research by George Bonanno at Columbia University found that the majority of bereavement is met with resilience. We will be sad, we might have moments of anger or denial or fear, but for most of us, despite the gravity of the loss, our innate resilience will lead about 50-80% of us to recover to near our baseline in months. It is nice to know we are not repressing things if we don’t pass through all the stages postulated by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, the dominate paradigm in the field.¹

For those grieving, this idea of resilience being the norm can provide reassurance during tough moments. While our degree of resilience will depend on our loss and our circumstance, the work of Lucy Hone, PhD, suggests that resilience can be fostered. Many of the negative feelings we experience have a flip side we can seek out. We can be grateful for what remains and what the departed has left us with. We can aid in our grieving journey by using many of the resources available from UC Berkeley’s Greater Good in Action (https://ggia.berkeley.edu/).

While most grief is met with resilience, complicated grieving with persistent negative moods and emotions is common. We should consider seeking professional help if our emotions and pattern of thought continue to feel unhealthy.
 

Meaning and wisdom, not acceptance

Another change in our understanding of grief is this: Instead of “acceptance” being seen as the end result of grieving, meaning and wisdom are now recognized as the outcomes. Research has found that efforts to find meaning in loss facilitates the grieving process. As time passes and our sadness lessens, the loved one doesn’t leave us but stays with us as a better understanding of the beauty and complexity of life. The loss, through grieving, is transformed to wisdom that will guide us through future challenges and help us make sense of the world.

Last week, masked and robed and with an iPad in hand so the family could join the conversation, I was talking to Ms. B who is hospitalized with COVID-19. She said, “I just keep thinking, ‘Why is this happening to me? To all of us?’ And then I realized that it is a message from God that we need to do a better job of taking care of each other, and I suddenly felt a little better. What do you think, Dr. Hass?”

“Wow,” I said. “Thank you for sharing that. There is definitely some truth there. There is a lot to learn from the pandemic about how we care for each other. I need to keep that in mind when I start feeling down.”

So much is going on now: climate change, racial violence, frightening political dysfunction, and a global pandemic that has upended our daily routines and the economy. It is hard to keep track of all the loss and uncertainty. We might not know why feelings of sadness, anger and anxiety come on, but if we can meet these emotions with mindful equanimity, see them as part of our intrinsic healing process and keep in mind that our path will likely be towards one of wisdom and sense-making, we can better navigate these profoundly unsettling times.

Just as sadness is not grief, joy alone does not lead to happiness. A happy life comes as much from meaning as joy. While unbridled joy might be in short supply, our grief, our work as hospitalists with the suffering, and confronting the many problems our world faces gives us the opportunity to lead a meaningful life. If we couple this search for meaning with healthy habits that promote wellbeing, such as hugs, investing in relationships, and moving our body in the natural world, we can survive these crazy times and be wiser beings as a result of our experiences.
 

Dr. Hass is a hospitalist at Sutter East Bay Medical Group in Oakland, Calif. He is a member of the clinical faculty at the University of California, Berkeley-UC San Francisco joint medical program, and an adviser on health and health care at the Greater Good Science Center at UC Berkeley.

Reference

1. Bonanno GA, and Boerner K. The stage theory of grief. JAMA. 2007;297(24):2692-2694. doi:10.1001/jama.297.24.2693-a.

“It’s good to be in something from the ground floor. I came too late for that. ... But lately, I’m getting the feeling that I came in at the end. The best is over.” –Tony Soprano

If you could choose, would you rather be transported to live 25 years ago in the past or 25 years from now in the future? For me, I’m unsure. Sometimes it feels like our best days are behind us. When I was a kid, we explored life in pond water, watching water fleas and hydra swim under our Child World toy microscopes. Today, kids learn to eat Tide Pods from TikTok. Back when I was young, a doctor’s appointment was a special occasion! My brothers and I had a bath and got dressed in our Sunday best for our appointment with Dr. Bellin, a genteel, gray-haired pediatrician who worked out of his Victorian office with wooden floors and crystal door handles. Contrast that with the appointment I had with a patient the other day, done by telephone while she was in line ordering at Starbucks. I waited patiently for her to give her order.

This ache I feel for the past is called nostalgia. At one time, it was a diagnosable condition. It was first used by Dr. Johannes Hofer in the 17th century to describe Swiss soldiers fighting in foreign lands. From the Greek, it means “homecoming pain.” Although over time nostalgia has lost its clinical meaning, the feeling of yearning for the past has dramatically gained in prevalence. The word “nostalgia” appears more in print now than at any point since 1800. We are most nostalgic during times of duress, it seems. This, no doubt, is because it’s comforting to think we’d be better off back in pastoral, idyll times, back when work ended at 5 p.m. and cotton balls were soaked in alcohol and office visits ended with a lollipop on a loop.

Of course, the good old days weren’t really better. We have a selective view of history – as many things were contemptible or bad then as now. Yes, Dr. Bellin was the consummate professional, but thank goodness, I didn’t have acute lymphocytic leukemia or Haemophilus influenzae type B or even suffocate under a pile of blankets while sleeping on my stomach. Without doubt, clinically we’re much better today. Also back then, there was hardly a consideration for atrocious racial disparities in care. We’ve not come far, but we are at least better off today than a few decades ago. And what about medicine as a profession? Although he had loads of autonomy and respect, Dr. Bellin also started every day of his 50-year career at 6 a.m. rounding in the newborn nursery before seeing patients in the office 6 days a week. Not many of us would trade our practice for his.

Yet, there’s reasons to be nostalgic. Chart notes might have been barely legible, but at least they served a purpose. The problem-oriented medical record was intended to logically capture and organize data. SOAP notes were invented to help us think better, to get diagnoses correct, to succinctly see progress. Today, notes are written for administrators and payers and patients. As a result, they’re often useless to us.

And although it may have been inconvenient to sit in the waiting room reading Highlights magazine, I’m unsure it was a worse user experience, compared with a chain pharmacy “virtual” doctor visit. (Particularly because you could always drop pennies down the large hot-air iron floor grate in the corner).

The thrumming undercurrent of progress promises artificial intelligence and genomics and wearable diagnostics in our future. But the assumption is the new things will be better suited to our needs than the old. Sometimes, they are not. Sometimes technology diminishes us instead of enhancing us.

I cannot count how many times I’ve hit my head or whacked my shin because our Tesla Model X doors open by magic and of their own accord. Back when I was young, we opened car doors by pulling on the door handle. I sometimes miss those days.
 

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

“It’s good to be in something from the ground floor. I came too late for that. ... But lately, I’m getting the feeling that I came in at the end. The best is over.” –Tony Soprano

If you could choose, would you rather be transported to live 25 years ago in the past or 25 years from now in the future? For me, I’m unsure. Sometimes it feels like our best days are behind us. When I was a kid, we explored life in pond water, watching water fleas and hydra swim under our Child World toy microscopes. Today, kids learn to eat Tide Pods from TikTok. Back when I was young, a doctor’s appointment was a special occasion! My brothers and I had a bath and got dressed in our Sunday best for our appointment with Dr. Bellin, a genteel, gray-haired pediatrician who worked out of his Victorian office with wooden floors and crystal door handles. Contrast that with the appointment I had with a patient the other day, done by telephone while she was in line ordering at Starbucks. I waited patiently for her to give her order.

This ache I feel for the past is called nostalgia. At one time, it was a diagnosable condition. It was first used by Dr. Johannes Hofer in the 17th century to describe Swiss soldiers fighting in foreign lands. From the Greek, it means “homecoming pain.” Although over time nostalgia has lost its clinical meaning, the feeling of yearning for the past has dramatically gained in prevalence. The word “nostalgia” appears more in print now than at any point since 1800. We are most nostalgic during times of duress, it seems. This, no doubt, is because it’s comforting to think we’d be better off back in pastoral, idyll times, back when work ended at 5 p.m. and cotton balls were soaked in alcohol and office visits ended with a lollipop on a loop.

Of course, the good old days weren’t really better. We have a selective view of history – as many things were contemptible or bad then as now. Yes, Dr. Bellin was the consummate professional, but thank goodness, I didn’t have acute lymphocytic leukemia or Haemophilus influenzae type B or even suffocate under a pile of blankets while sleeping on my stomach. Without doubt, clinically we’re much better today. Also back then, there was hardly a consideration for atrocious racial disparities in care. We’ve not come far, but we are at least better off today than a few decades ago. And what about medicine as a profession? Although he had loads of autonomy and respect, Dr. Bellin also started every day of his 50-year career at 6 a.m. rounding in the newborn nursery before seeing patients in the office 6 days a week. Not many of us would trade our practice for his.

Yet, there’s reasons to be nostalgic. Chart notes might have been barely legible, but at least they served a purpose. The problem-oriented medical record was intended to logically capture and organize data. SOAP notes were invented to help us think better, to get diagnoses correct, to succinctly see progress. Today, notes are written for administrators and payers and patients. As a result, they’re often useless to us.

And although it may have been inconvenient to sit in the waiting room reading Highlights magazine, I’m unsure it was a worse user experience, compared with a chain pharmacy “virtual” doctor visit. (Particularly because you could always drop pennies down the large hot-air iron floor grate in the corner).

The thrumming undercurrent of progress promises artificial intelligence and genomics and wearable diagnostics in our future. But the assumption is the new things will be better suited to our needs than the old. Sometimes, they are not. Sometimes technology diminishes us instead of enhancing us.

I cannot count how many times I’ve hit my head or whacked my shin because our Tesla Model X doors open by magic and of their own accord. Back when I was young, we opened car doors by pulling on the door handle. I sometimes miss those days.
 

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

“It’s good to be in something from the ground floor. I came too late for that. ... But lately, I’m getting the feeling that I came in at the end. The best is over.” –Tony Soprano

If you could choose, would you rather be transported to live 25 years ago in the past or 25 years from now in the future? For me, I’m unsure. Sometimes it feels like our best days are behind us. When I was a kid, we explored life in pond water, watching water fleas and hydra swim under our Child World toy microscopes. Today, kids learn to eat Tide Pods from TikTok. Back when I was young, a doctor’s appointment was a special occasion! My brothers and I had a bath and got dressed in our Sunday best for our appointment with Dr. Bellin, a genteel, gray-haired pediatrician who worked out of his Victorian office with wooden floors and crystal door handles. Contrast that with the appointment I had with a patient the other day, done by telephone while she was in line ordering at Starbucks. I waited patiently for her to give her order.

This ache I feel for the past is called nostalgia. At one time, it was a diagnosable condition. It was first used by Dr. Johannes Hofer in the 17th century to describe Swiss soldiers fighting in foreign lands. From the Greek, it means “homecoming pain.” Although over time nostalgia has lost its clinical meaning, the feeling of yearning for the past has dramatically gained in prevalence. The word “nostalgia” appears more in print now than at any point since 1800. We are most nostalgic during times of duress, it seems. This, no doubt, is because it’s comforting to think we’d be better off back in pastoral, idyll times, back when work ended at 5 p.m. and cotton balls were soaked in alcohol and office visits ended with a lollipop on a loop.

Of course, the good old days weren’t really better. We have a selective view of history – as many things were contemptible or bad then as now. Yes, Dr. Bellin was the consummate professional, but thank goodness, I didn’t have acute lymphocytic leukemia or Haemophilus influenzae type B or even suffocate under a pile of blankets while sleeping on my stomach. Without doubt, clinically we’re much better today. Also back then, there was hardly a consideration for atrocious racial disparities in care. We’ve not come far, but we are at least better off today than a few decades ago. And what about medicine as a profession? Although he had loads of autonomy and respect, Dr. Bellin also started every day of his 50-year career at 6 a.m. rounding in the newborn nursery before seeing patients in the office 6 days a week. Not many of us would trade our practice for his.

Yet, there’s reasons to be nostalgic. Chart notes might have been barely legible, but at least they served a purpose. The problem-oriented medical record was intended to logically capture and organize data. SOAP notes were invented to help us think better, to get diagnoses correct, to succinctly see progress. Today, notes are written for administrators and payers and patients. As a result, they’re often useless to us.

And although it may have been inconvenient to sit in the waiting room reading Highlights magazine, I’m unsure it was a worse user experience, compared with a chain pharmacy “virtual” doctor visit. (Particularly because you could always drop pennies down the large hot-air iron floor grate in the corner).

The thrumming undercurrent of progress promises artificial intelligence and genomics and wearable diagnostics in our future. But the assumption is the new things will be better suited to our needs than the old. Sometimes, they are not. Sometimes technology diminishes us instead of enhancing us.

I cannot count how many times I’ve hit my head or whacked my shin because our Tesla Model X doors open by magic and of their own accord. Back when I was young, we opened car doors by pulling on the door handle. I sometimes miss those days.
 

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

Gradually, we are emerging from the chaos, isolation, and anxiety of COVID-19. As the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention adjusts its recommendations and vaccinations become more widely available, our communities are beginning to return to normalcy. We are encouraged to put aside our masks if vaccinated and rejoin society, to venture out with less hesitancy and anxiety. As family and friends reunite, memories of confusion, frustration, and fear are beginning to fade to black. Despite the prevailing belief that we should move on, look forward, and remember the past to safeguard our future, remnants of the pandemic remain.

shironosov/Getty Images

Unvaccinated individuals, notably children under the age of 12, are quite significant in number. The use of telehealth is now standard practice.

For several years, we were warned about the looming “mental health crisis.” The past year has demonstrated that a crisis no longer looms – it has arrived. Our patients can reveal the vulnerability COVID-19 has wrought – from the devastation of lives lost, supply shortages, loss of employment and financial stability – to a lack of access to computers and thereby, the risk of educational decline. Those factors, coupled with isolation and uncertainty about the future, have led to an influx of individuals with anxiety, depression, and other mood disorders seeking mental health treatment.
 

Doctors, others suffering

As result of a medical culture guided by the sacred oath to which care, compassion, and dedication held as true in ancient Greece as it does today, the focus centers on those around us – while signs of our own weariness are waved away as “a bad day.” Even though several support groups are readily available to offer a listening ear and mental health physicians who focus on the treatment of health care professionals are becoming more ubiquitous, the vestiges of past doctrine remain.

In this modern age of medical training, there is often as much sacrifice as there is attainment of knowledge. This philosophy is so ingrained that throughout training and practice one may come across colleagues experiencing an abundance of guilt when leave is needed for personal reasons. We are quick to recommend such steps for our patients, family, and friends, but hesitant to consider such for ourselves. Yet, of all the lessons this past year has wrought, the importance of mental health and self-care cannot be overstated. This raises the question: How do we incorporate wellness into our routines while navigating the complexity of medicine?

It is vital to accept our humanity as something not to repair, treat, or overcome but to understand. There is strength and power in vulnerability. If we do not perceive and validate this process within ourselves, how can we do so for others? In other words, the oxygen mask must be placed on us first before we can place it on anyone else – patients or otherwise.

Chiefly and above all else, the importance of identifying individual signs of stress is essential. Where do you hold tension? Are you prone to GI distress or headaches when taxed? Do you tend toward irritability, apathy, or exhaustion?

Once this is determined, it is important to assess your stress on a numerical scale, such as those used for pain. Are you a 5 or an 8? Finally, are there identifiable triggers or reliable alleviators? Is there a time of day or day of the week that is most difficult to manage? Can you anticipate potential stressors? Understanding your triggers, listening to your body, and practicing the language of self is the first step toward wellness.

Following introspection and observation, the next step is inventory. Take stock of your reserves. What replenishes? What depletes? What brings joy? What brings dread? Are there certain activities that mitigate stress? If so, how much time do they entail? Identify your number on a scale and associate that number with specific strategies or techniques. Remember that decompression for a 6 might be excessive for a 4. Furthermore, what is the duration of these feelings? Chronic stressors may incur gradual change verses sudden impact if acute. Through identifying personal signs, devising and using a scale, as well as escalating or de-escalating factors, individuals become more in tune with their bodies and therefore, more likely to intervene before burnout takes hold.

With this process well integrated, one can now consider stylized approaches for stress management. For example, those inclined toward mindfulness practices may find yoga, meditation, and relaxation exercises beneficial. Others may thrive on positive affirmations, gratitude, and thankfulness. While some might find relief in physical activity, be it strenuous or casual, the creative arts might appeal to those who find joy in painting, writing, or doing crafts. In addition, baking, reading, dancing, and/or listening to music might help lift stress.

Along with those discoveries, or in some cases, rediscoveries, basic needs such as dietary habits and nutrition, hydration, and sleep are vital toward emotional regulation, physiological homeostasis, and stress modulation. Remember HALT: Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired, Too hot, Too cold, Sad or Stressed. Those strategies are meant to guide self-care and highlight the importance of allowing time for self-awareness. Imagine yourself as if you are meeting a new patient. Establish rapport, identify symptoms, and explore options for treatment. When we give time to ourselves, we can give time more freely to others. With this in mind, try following the 5-minute wellness check that I formulated:

1. How am I feeling? What am I feeling?

2. Assess HALTS.

3. Identify the number on your scale.

4. Methods of quick de-escalation:

• Designate and schedule personal time.
• Write down daily goals.
• Repeat positive affirmations or write down words of gratitude.
• Use deep breathing exercises.
• Stretch or take a brief walk.
• Engage in mindfulness practices, such as meditation.

Once we develop a habit of monitoring, assessing, and practicing self-care, the process becomes more efficient and effective. Think of the way a seasoned attending can manage workflow with ease, compared with an intern. Recognizing signs and using these strategies routinely can become a quick daily measure of well-being.
 

Dr. Thomas is a board-certified adult psychiatrist with interests in chronic illness, women’s behavioral health, and minority mental health. She currently practices in North Kingstown and East Providence, R.I. Dr. Thomas has no conflicts of interest.

Gradually, we are emerging from the chaos, isolation, and anxiety of COVID-19. As the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention adjusts its recommendations and vaccinations become more widely available, our communities are beginning to return to normalcy. We are encouraged to put aside our masks if vaccinated and rejoin society, to venture out with less hesitancy and anxiety. As family and friends reunite, memories of confusion, frustration, and fear are beginning to fade to black. Despite the prevailing belief that we should move on, look forward, and remember the past to safeguard our future, remnants of the pandemic remain.

shironosov/Getty Images

Unvaccinated individuals, notably children under the age of 12, are quite significant in number. The use of telehealth is now standard practice.

For several years, we were warned about the looming “mental health crisis.” The past year has demonstrated that a crisis no longer looms – it has arrived. Our patients can reveal the vulnerability COVID-19 has wrought – from the devastation of lives lost, supply shortages, loss of employment and financial stability – to a lack of access to computers and thereby, the risk of educational decline. Those factors, coupled with isolation and uncertainty about the future, have led to an influx of individuals with anxiety, depression, and other mood disorders seeking mental health treatment.
 

Doctors, others suffering

As result of a medical culture guided by the sacred oath to which care, compassion, and dedication held as true in ancient Greece as it does today, the focus centers on those around us – while signs of our own weariness are waved away as “a bad day.” Even though several support groups are readily available to offer a listening ear and mental health physicians who focus on the treatment of health care professionals are becoming more ubiquitous, the vestiges of past doctrine remain.

In this modern age of medical training, there is often as much sacrifice as there is attainment of knowledge. This philosophy is so ingrained that throughout training and practice one may come across colleagues experiencing an abundance of guilt when leave is needed for personal reasons. We are quick to recommend such steps for our patients, family, and friends, but hesitant to consider such for ourselves. Yet, of all the lessons this past year has wrought, the importance of mental health and self-care cannot be overstated. This raises the question: How do we incorporate wellness into our routines while navigating the complexity of medicine?

It is vital to accept our humanity as something not to repair, treat, or overcome but to understand. There is strength and power in vulnerability. If we do not perceive and validate this process within ourselves, how can we do so for others? In other words, the oxygen mask must be placed on us first before we can place it on anyone else – patients or otherwise.

Chiefly and above all else, the importance of identifying individual signs of stress is essential. Where do you hold tension? Are you prone to GI distress or headaches when taxed? Do you tend toward irritability, apathy, or exhaustion?

Once this is determined, it is important to assess your stress on a numerical scale, such as those used for pain. Are you a 5 or an 8? Finally, are there identifiable triggers or reliable alleviators? Is there a time of day or day of the week that is most difficult to manage? Can you anticipate potential stressors? Understanding your triggers, listening to your body, and practicing the language of self is the first step toward wellness.

Following introspection and observation, the next step is inventory. Take stock of your reserves. What replenishes? What depletes? What brings joy? What brings dread? Are there certain activities that mitigate stress? If so, how much time do they entail? Identify your number on a scale and associate that number with specific strategies or techniques. Remember that decompression for a 6 might be excessive for a 4. Furthermore, what is the duration of these feelings? Chronic stressors may incur gradual change verses sudden impact if acute. Through identifying personal signs, devising and using a scale, as well as escalating or de-escalating factors, individuals become more in tune with their bodies and therefore, more likely to intervene before burnout takes hold.

With this process well integrated, one can now consider stylized approaches for stress management. For example, those inclined toward mindfulness practices may find yoga, meditation, and relaxation exercises beneficial. Others may thrive on positive affirmations, gratitude, and thankfulness. While some might find relief in physical activity, be it strenuous or casual, the creative arts might appeal to those who find joy in painting, writing, or doing crafts. In addition, baking, reading, dancing, and/or listening to music might help lift stress.

Along with those discoveries, or in some cases, rediscoveries, basic needs such as dietary habits and nutrition, hydration, and sleep are vital toward emotional regulation, physiological homeostasis, and stress modulation. Remember HALT: Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired, Too hot, Too cold, Sad or Stressed. Those strategies are meant to guide self-care and highlight the importance of allowing time for self-awareness. Imagine yourself as if you are meeting a new patient. Establish rapport, identify symptoms, and explore options for treatment. When we give time to ourselves, we can give time more freely to others. With this in mind, try following the 5-minute wellness check that I formulated:

1. How am I feeling? What am I feeling?

2. Assess HALTS.

3. Identify the number on your scale.

4. Methods of quick de-escalation:

• Designate and schedule personal time.
• Write down daily goals.
• Repeat positive affirmations or write down words of gratitude.
• Use deep breathing exercises.
• Stretch or take a brief walk.
• Engage in mindfulness practices, such as meditation.

Once we develop a habit of monitoring, assessing, and practicing self-care, the process becomes more efficient and effective. Think of the way a seasoned attending can manage workflow with ease, compared with an intern. Recognizing signs and using these strategies routinely can become a quick daily measure of well-being.
 

Dr. Thomas is a board-certified adult psychiatrist with interests in chronic illness, women’s behavioral health, and minority mental health. She currently practices in North Kingstown and East Providence, R.I. Dr. Thomas has no conflicts of interest.

Gradually, we are emerging from the chaos, isolation, and anxiety of COVID-19. As the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention adjusts its recommendations and vaccinations become more widely available, our communities are beginning to return to normalcy. We are encouraged to put aside our masks if vaccinated and rejoin society, to venture out with less hesitancy and anxiety. As family and friends reunite, memories of confusion, frustration, and fear are beginning to fade to black. Despite the prevailing belief that we should move on, look forward, and remember the past to safeguard our future, remnants of the pandemic remain.

shironosov/Getty Images

Unvaccinated individuals, notably children under the age of 12, are quite significant in number. The use of telehealth is now standard practice.

For several years, we were warned about the looming “mental health crisis.” The past year has demonstrated that a crisis no longer looms – it has arrived. Our patients can reveal the vulnerability COVID-19 has wrought – from the devastation of lives lost, supply shortages, loss of employment and financial stability – to a lack of access to computers and thereby, the risk of educational decline. Those factors, coupled with isolation and uncertainty about the future, have led to an influx of individuals with anxiety, depression, and other mood disorders seeking mental health treatment.
 

Doctors, others suffering

As result of a medical culture guided by the sacred oath to which care, compassion, and dedication held as true in ancient Greece as it does today, the focus centers on those around us – while signs of our own weariness are waved away as “a bad day.” Even though several support groups are readily available to offer a listening ear and mental health physicians who focus on the treatment of health care professionals are becoming more ubiquitous, the vestiges of past doctrine remain.

In this modern age of medical training, there is often as much sacrifice as there is attainment of knowledge. This philosophy is so ingrained that throughout training and practice one may come across colleagues experiencing an abundance of guilt when leave is needed for personal reasons. We are quick to recommend such steps for our patients, family, and friends, but hesitant to consider such for ourselves. Yet, of all the lessons this past year has wrought, the importance of mental health and self-care cannot be overstated. This raises the question: How do we incorporate wellness into our routines while navigating the complexity of medicine?

It is vital to accept our humanity as something not to repair, treat, or overcome but to understand. There is strength and power in vulnerability. If we do not perceive and validate this process within ourselves, how can we do so for others? In other words, the oxygen mask must be placed on us first before we can place it on anyone else – patients or otherwise.

Chiefly and above all else, the importance of identifying individual signs of stress is essential. Where do you hold tension? Are you prone to GI distress or headaches when taxed? Do you tend toward irritability, apathy, or exhaustion?

Once this is determined, it is important to assess your stress on a numerical scale, such as those used for pain. Are you a 5 or an 8? Finally, are there identifiable triggers or reliable alleviators? Is there a time of day or day of the week that is most difficult to manage? Can you anticipate potential stressors? Understanding your triggers, listening to your body, and practicing the language of self is the first step toward wellness.

Following introspection and observation, the next step is inventory. Take stock of your reserves. What replenishes? What depletes? What brings joy? What brings dread? Are there certain activities that mitigate stress? If so, how much time do they entail? Identify your number on a scale and associate that number with specific strategies or techniques. Remember that decompression for a 6 might be excessive for a 4. Furthermore, what is the duration of these feelings? Chronic stressors may incur gradual change verses sudden impact if acute. Through identifying personal signs, devising and using a scale, as well as escalating or de-escalating factors, individuals become more in tune with their bodies and therefore, more likely to intervene before burnout takes hold.

With this process well integrated, one can now consider stylized approaches for stress management. For example, those inclined toward mindfulness practices may find yoga, meditation, and relaxation exercises beneficial. Others may thrive on positive affirmations, gratitude, and thankfulness. While some might find relief in physical activity, be it strenuous or casual, the creative arts might appeal to those who find joy in painting, writing, or doing crafts. In addition, baking, reading, dancing, and/or listening to music might help lift stress.

Along with those discoveries, or in some cases, rediscoveries, basic needs such as dietary habits and nutrition, hydration, and sleep are vital toward emotional regulation, physiological homeostasis, and stress modulation. Remember HALT: Hungry, Angry, Lonely, Tired, Too hot, Too cold, Sad or Stressed. Those strategies are meant to guide self-care and highlight the importance of allowing time for self-awareness. Imagine yourself as if you are meeting a new patient. Establish rapport, identify symptoms, and explore options for treatment. When we give time to ourselves, we can give time more freely to others. With this in mind, try following the 5-minute wellness check that I formulated:

1. How am I feeling? What am I feeling?

2. Assess HALTS.

3. Identify the number on your scale.

4. Methods of quick de-escalation:

• Designate and schedule personal time.
• Write down daily goals.
• Repeat positive affirmations or write down words of gratitude.
• Use deep breathing exercises.
• Stretch or take a brief walk.
• Engage in mindfulness practices, such as meditation.

Once we develop a habit of monitoring, assessing, and practicing self-care, the process becomes more efficient and effective. Think of the way a seasoned attending can manage workflow with ease, compared with an intern. Recognizing signs and using these strategies routinely can become a quick daily measure of well-being.
 

Dr. Thomas is a board-certified adult psychiatrist with interests in chronic illness, women’s behavioral health, and minority mental health. She currently practices in North Kingstown and East Providence, R.I. Dr. Thomas has no conflicts of interest.

Last month we converged virtually for our annual conference, SHM Converge – the second time since the start of the coronavirus pandemic. We are thankful for innovations and advancements in technology that have allowed the world, including SHM, to continue connecting us all together. And yet, 18 months in, having forged new roads, experienced unique and life-changing events, we long for the in-person human connection that allows us to share a common experience. At a time of imperatives in our world – a global pandemic, systemic racism, and deep geopolitical divides – more than ever, we need to converge. Isolation only festers, deepening our divisions and conflicts.

In high school, I read Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken” and clung to the notion of diverging roads and choosing the road less traveled. Like most young people, my years since reading the poem were filled with attempts at forging new paths and experiencing great things – and yet, always feeling unaccomplished. Was Oscar Wilde right when he wrote: “Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life?” After all, these past 18 months, we have shared in the traumas of our times, and still, we remain isolated and alone. Our diverse experiences have been real, both tragic and heroic, from east to west, city to country, black to white, and red to blue.

At SHM, it’s time to converge and face the great challenges of our lifetime. A deadly pandemic continues to rage around the world, bringing unprecedented human suffering and loss of lives. In its wake, this pandemic also laid bare the ugly face of systemic racism, brought our deepest divisions to the surface – all threatening the very fabric of our society. This pandemic has been a stress test for health care systems, revealing our vulnerabilities and expanding the chasm of care between urban and rural communities, all in turn worsening our growing health disparities. This moment needs convergence to rekindle connection and solidarity.

Scholars do not interpret “The Road Not Taken” as a recommendation to take the road less traveled. Instead, it is a suggestion that the diverging roads lead to a common place having been “worn about the same” as they “equally lay.” It is true that our roads are unique and shape our lives, but so, too, does the destination and common place our roads lead us to. At that common place, during these taxing times, SHM enables hospitalists to tackle these great challenges.

For over 2 decades of dynamic changes in health care, SHM has been the workshop where hospitalists converged to sharpen clinical skills, improve quality and safety, develop acute care models inside and outside of hospitals, advocate for better health policy and blaze new trails. Though the issues evolved, and new ones emerge, today is no different.

Indeed, this is an historic time. This weighted moment meets us at the crossroads. A moment that demands synergy, cooperation, and creativity. A dynamic change to health care policy, advances in care innovation, renewed prioritization of public health, and rich national discourse on our social fabric; hospitalists are essential to every one of those conversations. SHM has evolved to meet our growing needs, equipping hospitalists with tools to engage at every level, and most importantly, enabled us to find our common place.

Where do we go now? I suggest we continue to take the roads not taken and at the destination, build the map of tomorrow, together.

Dr. Siy is division medical director, hospital specialties, in the departments of hospital medicine and community senior and palliative care at HealthPartners in Bloomington, Minn. He is the new president of SHM.

Last month we converged virtually for our annual conference, SHM Converge – the second time since the start of the coronavirus pandemic. We are thankful for innovations and advancements in technology that have allowed the world, including SHM, to continue connecting us all together. And yet, 18 months in, having forged new roads, experienced unique and life-changing events, we long for the in-person human connection that allows us to share a common experience. At a time of imperatives in our world – a global pandemic, systemic racism, and deep geopolitical divides – more than ever, we need to converge. Isolation only festers, deepening our divisions and conflicts.

In high school, I read Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken” and clung to the notion of diverging roads and choosing the road less traveled. Like most young people, my years since reading the poem were filled with attempts at forging new paths and experiencing great things – and yet, always feeling unaccomplished. Was Oscar Wilde right when he wrote: “Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life?” After all, these past 18 months, we have shared in the traumas of our times, and still, we remain isolated and alone. Our diverse experiences have been real, both tragic and heroic, from east to west, city to country, black to white, and red to blue.

At SHM, it’s time to converge and face the great challenges of our lifetime. A deadly pandemic continues to rage around the world, bringing unprecedented human suffering and loss of lives. In its wake, this pandemic also laid bare the ugly face of systemic racism, brought our deepest divisions to the surface – all threatening the very fabric of our society. This pandemic has been a stress test for health care systems, revealing our vulnerabilities and expanding the chasm of care between urban and rural communities, all in turn worsening our growing health disparities. This moment needs convergence to rekindle connection and solidarity.

Scholars do not interpret “The Road Not Taken” as a recommendation to take the road less traveled. Instead, it is a suggestion that the diverging roads lead to a common place having been “worn about the same” as they “equally lay.” It is true that our roads are unique and shape our lives, but so, too, does the destination and common place our roads lead us to. At that common place, during these taxing times, SHM enables hospitalists to tackle these great challenges.

For over 2 decades of dynamic changes in health care, SHM has been the workshop where hospitalists converged to sharpen clinical skills, improve quality and safety, develop acute care models inside and outside of hospitals, advocate for better health policy and blaze new trails. Though the issues evolved, and new ones emerge, today is no different.

Indeed, this is an historic time. This weighted moment meets us at the crossroads. A moment that demands synergy, cooperation, and creativity. A dynamic change to health care policy, advances in care innovation, renewed prioritization of public health, and rich national discourse on our social fabric; hospitalists are essential to every one of those conversations. SHM has evolved to meet our growing needs, equipping hospitalists with tools to engage at every level, and most importantly, enabled us to find our common place.

Where do we go now? I suggest we continue to take the roads not taken and at the destination, build the map of tomorrow, together.

Dr. Siy is division medical director, hospital specialties, in the departments of hospital medicine and community senior and palliative care at HealthPartners in Bloomington, Minn. He is the new president of SHM.

Last month we converged virtually for our annual conference, SHM Converge – the second time since the start of the coronavirus pandemic. We are thankful for innovations and advancements in technology that have allowed the world, including SHM, to continue connecting us all together. And yet, 18 months in, having forged new roads, experienced unique and life-changing events, we long for the in-person human connection that allows us to share a common experience. At a time of imperatives in our world – a global pandemic, systemic racism, and deep geopolitical divides – more than ever, we need to converge. Isolation only festers, deepening our divisions and conflicts.

In high school, I read Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken” and clung to the notion of diverging roads and choosing the road less traveled. Like most young people, my years since reading the poem were filled with attempts at forging new paths and experiencing great things – and yet, always feeling unaccomplished. Was Oscar Wilde right when he wrote: “Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life?” After all, these past 18 months, we have shared in the traumas of our times, and still, we remain isolated and alone. Our diverse experiences have been real, both tragic and heroic, from east to west, city to country, black to white, and red to blue.

At SHM, it’s time to converge and face the great challenges of our lifetime. A deadly pandemic continues to rage around the world, bringing unprecedented human suffering and loss of lives. In its wake, this pandemic also laid bare the ugly face of systemic racism, brought our deepest divisions to the surface – all threatening the very fabric of our society. This pandemic has been a stress test for health care systems, revealing our vulnerabilities and expanding the chasm of care between urban and rural communities, all in turn worsening our growing health disparities. This moment needs convergence to rekindle connection and solidarity.

Scholars do not interpret “The Road Not Taken” as a recommendation to take the road less traveled. Instead, it is a suggestion that the diverging roads lead to a common place having been “worn about the same” as they “equally lay.” It is true that our roads are unique and shape our lives, but so, too, does the destination and common place our roads lead us to. At that common place, during these taxing times, SHM enables hospitalists to tackle these great challenges.

For over 2 decades of dynamic changes in health care, SHM has been the workshop where hospitalists converged to sharpen clinical skills, improve quality and safety, develop acute care models inside and outside of hospitals, advocate for better health policy and blaze new trails. Though the issues evolved, and new ones emerge, today is no different.

Indeed, this is an historic time. This weighted moment meets us at the crossroads. A moment that demands synergy, cooperation, and creativity. A dynamic change to health care policy, advances in care innovation, renewed prioritization of public health, and rich national discourse on our social fabric; hospitalists are essential to every one of those conversations. SHM has evolved to meet our growing needs, equipping hospitalists with tools to engage at every level, and most importantly, enabled us to find our common place.

Where do we go now? I suggest we continue to take the roads not taken and at the destination, build the map of tomorrow, together.

Dr. Siy is division medical director, hospital specialties, in the departments of hospital medicine and community senior and palliative care at HealthPartners in Bloomington, Minn. He is the new president of SHM.

Clinical scenario

An 83-year-old man is admitted with a hemiplegic cerebrovascular accident. He is found to have dysphagia, and a nasogastric feeding tube is placed. Over the next several days, his strength begins to recover, and he tolerates his tube feeding well. Discharge to a skilled nursing facility (SNF) for subacute rehabilitation is planned. His swallowing is showing signs of recovery; it has not recovered adequately but is expected to continue to improve such that he is predicted to be independent of tube feeding within 7-14 days. None of the facilities in the region are willing to admit a patient with a nasal feeding tube, despite the anticipated short duration. The patient is medically ready for discharge but is refusing the feeding gastrostomy. “Why would I want a hole in my stomach, if I’m only going to need it for 1-2 weeks and this tube in my nose is working fine and is comfortable?” he pleads with tears in his eyes.

Feeding dysphagic patients after stroke

Dysphagia, potentially leading to aspiration and/or pneumonia, is a common sequela of stroke – up to half of hospitalized patients are affected.¹ When oral intake is contraindicated, patients are often fed by nasogastric tube (NGT) or by surgically or endoscopically placed gastrostomy tube (GT). Without good justification based on outcomes, NGTs are traditionally used when the need for feeding is thought to be short term (<4 weeks) and GTs are used for long term (>4 weeks). However, in 2005, a large multicenter randomized control trial found that the majority of stroke patients with dysphagia that would resolve had resolution within 2-3 weeks. Moreover, outcomes were equivalent or better for patients fed with an NGT versus GT.

The authors concluded by recommending feeding via NGT for 2-3 weeks, after which conversion to GT can be considered if dysphagia persists.¹ Notably, the recommendation allows consideration, and no evidence-based guideline requires or recommends GT be placed based on duration of tube feed dependence. Currently, while nutrition and neurology authorities have adopted these recommendations,^2,3 many authors have noted poor adherence to this guideline, and many find that the median period between stroke and GT placement is 7 days rather than the recommended minimum of 14.^4,5,6 While ignorance can partially explain the lack of widespread compliance,⁶ the policies of posthospital facilities are another culprit. Increasingly, and for a variety of reasons unsupported by the literature, SNFs refuse NGT and require GT.^4,7,8,9

Ethical considerations

The four principles of medical ethics – autonomy, beneficence, nonmaleficence, and justice – can guide clinicians, patients, and family members in decision-making. In our case, by withholding needed and desired treatment (discharge to and treatment by a rehabilitation facility) the patient is being coerced to undergo a procedure he does not want, and clinicians participate in denying him autonomy. Further, given that the evidence, national guidelines, and in fact federal regulations indicate that his preferences are congruent with best practices, pressuring him to accept gastrostomy placement runs afoul of the principles of beneficence and nonmaleficence. Though the mechanism is unclear, early gastrostomy (<14-21 days) is associated with increased risk of death, worse functional outcomes, and a lower rate of return to oral feeding, as well as a significant procedure-specific complication rate.^1,10 By insisting on gastrostomy, we neither act in this patient’s best interests nor “do no harm.”

However, the medical system is complex. The clinician at the bedside can evaluate this scenario, review the national guidelines, discuss the procedure and risks with the patient and family, and conclude that the patient should be discharged with a nasal feeding tube. Nevertheless, if no facility is willing to accept him without a gastrostomy, our decision-making model – previously limited to our patient’s best interests alone – is forced to change. Despite our misgivings, we often conclude that the harm done by an early gastrostomy is outweighed by the harm of remaining unnecessarily in the acute hospital setting. We further worry about other patients lingering in the emergency department for lack of an inpatient bed and the possible – though unknowable – harm done to them.
 

Looking forward

It is an unfortunate fact that medical decision-making must often include factors unrelated to the patient’s best interests, with financial considerations and structural barriers frequently driving deviation from ideal care. Providers and patients navigate these decisions to their best abilities, making compromises when forced. However, with education and professional activism, providers can advocate for the elimination of barriers to providing medically sound and ethically appropriate care. In our experience, delay of gastrostomy placement, until discharge is imminent and planning for postdischarge care is initiated, has resulted in a decrease by half the fraction of patients with tracheostomies who had gastrostomies placed prior to discharge.¹¹ With aggressive outreach and education, we now have nursing homes willing to accept patients with NGTs.

Criteria for admission to discharge facilities can drive medical decision-making that is unethical and unsupported by evidence. Continued efforts to eliminate barriers to appropriate and ethical care have been successful and are encouraged.
 

Dr. Cowan is administrative chief resident in the department of surgery at Columbia University Irving Medical Center, New York. Dr. Seres is professor of medicine in the Institute of Human Nutrition and associate clinical ethicist at Columbia University Irving Medical Center. The authors have no conflicts of interest to disclose.

References

1. Dennis MS et al. Lancet. 2005 Feb 26-Mar 4;365(9461):764-72.

2. Powers W. et al. Stroke. 2018 Mar;49(3):e46-e110.

3. Burgos R et al. Clin Nutr. 2018 Feb;37(1):354-96.

4. Wilmskoetter J et al. J Stroke Cerebrovasc Dis. 2016 Nov;25(11):2694-700.

5. George BP et al. Stroke. 2017 Feb;48(2):420-7.

6. Fessler TA. et al. Surg Endosc. 2019 Dec;33(12):4089-97.

7. Burgermaster M et al. Nutr Clin Pract. 2016 Jun;31(3):342-8.

8. Moran C and O’Mahoney S. Curr Opin Gastroenterol. 2015 Mar;31(2):137-42.

9. Gomes CA et al. Cochrane Database Syst Rev. 2010 Nov 10;(11):CD008096.

10. Joundi RA et al. Neurology. 2018 Feb 13;90(7):e544-52.

11. Bothra A et al. J Parenter Enteral Nutr. 2018 Feb;42(2):491.

Clinical scenario

An 83-year-old man is admitted with a hemiplegic cerebrovascular accident. He is found to have dysphagia, and a nasogastric feeding tube is placed. Over the next several days, his strength begins to recover, and he tolerates his tube feeding well. Discharge to a skilled nursing facility (SNF) for subacute rehabilitation is planned. His swallowing is showing signs of recovery; it has not recovered adequately but is expected to continue to improve such that he is predicted to be independent of tube feeding within 7-14 days. None of the facilities in the region are willing to admit a patient with a nasal feeding tube, despite the anticipated short duration. The patient is medically ready for discharge but is refusing the feeding gastrostomy. “Why would I want a hole in my stomach, if I’m only going to need it for 1-2 weeks and this tube in my nose is working fine and is comfortable?” he pleads with tears in his eyes.

Feeding dysphagic patients after stroke

Dysphagia, potentially leading to aspiration and/or pneumonia, is a common sequela of stroke – up to half of hospitalized patients are affected.¹ When oral intake is contraindicated, patients are often fed by nasogastric tube (NGT) or by surgically or endoscopically placed gastrostomy tube (GT). Without good justification based on outcomes, NGTs are traditionally used when the need for feeding is thought to be short term (<4 weeks) and GTs are used for long term (>4 weeks). However, in 2005, a large multicenter randomized control trial found that the majority of stroke patients with dysphagia that would resolve had resolution within 2-3 weeks. Moreover, outcomes were equivalent or better for patients fed with an NGT versus GT.

The authors concluded by recommending feeding via NGT for 2-3 weeks, after which conversion to GT can be considered if dysphagia persists.¹ Notably, the recommendation allows consideration, and no evidence-based guideline requires or recommends GT be placed based on duration of tube feed dependence. Currently, while nutrition and neurology authorities have adopted these recommendations,^2,3 many authors have noted poor adherence to this guideline, and many find that the median period between stroke and GT placement is 7 days rather than the recommended minimum of 14.^4,5,6 While ignorance can partially explain the lack of widespread compliance,⁶ the policies of posthospital facilities are another culprit. Increasingly, and for a variety of reasons unsupported by the literature, SNFs refuse NGT and require GT.^4,7,8,9

Ethical considerations

The four principles of medical ethics – autonomy, beneficence, nonmaleficence, and justice – can guide clinicians, patients, and family members in decision-making. In our case, by withholding needed and desired treatment (discharge to and treatment by a rehabilitation facility) the patient is being coerced to undergo a procedure he does not want, and clinicians participate in denying him autonomy. Further, given that the evidence, national guidelines, and in fact federal regulations indicate that his preferences are congruent with best practices, pressuring him to accept gastrostomy placement runs afoul of the principles of beneficence and nonmaleficence. Though the mechanism is unclear, early gastrostomy (<14-21 days) is associated with increased risk of death, worse functional outcomes, and a lower rate of return to oral feeding, as well as a significant procedure-specific complication rate.^1,10 By insisting on gastrostomy, we neither act in this patient’s best interests nor “do no harm.”

However, the medical system is complex. The clinician at the bedside can evaluate this scenario, review the national guidelines, discuss the procedure and risks with the patient and family, and conclude that the patient should be discharged with a nasal feeding tube. Nevertheless, if no facility is willing to accept him without a gastrostomy, our decision-making model – previously limited to our patient’s best interests alone – is forced to change. Despite our misgivings, we often conclude that the harm done by an early gastrostomy is outweighed by the harm of remaining unnecessarily in the acute hospital setting. We further worry about other patients lingering in the emergency department for lack of an inpatient bed and the possible – though unknowable – harm done to them.
 

Looking forward

It is an unfortunate fact that medical decision-making must often include factors unrelated to the patient’s best interests, with financial considerations and structural barriers frequently driving deviation from ideal care. Providers and patients navigate these decisions to their best abilities, making compromises when forced. However, with education and professional activism, providers can advocate for the elimination of barriers to providing medically sound and ethically appropriate care. In our experience, delay of gastrostomy placement, until discharge is imminent and planning for postdischarge care is initiated, has resulted in a decrease by half the fraction of patients with tracheostomies who had gastrostomies placed prior to discharge.¹¹ With aggressive outreach and education, we now have nursing homes willing to accept patients with NGTs.

Criteria for admission to discharge facilities can drive medical decision-making that is unethical and unsupported by evidence. Continued efforts to eliminate barriers to appropriate and ethical care have been successful and are encouraged.
 

Dr. Cowan is administrative chief resident in the department of surgery at Columbia University Irving Medical Center, New York. Dr. Seres is professor of medicine in the Institute of Human Nutrition and associate clinical ethicist at Columbia University Irving Medical Center. The authors have no conflicts of interest to disclose.

References

1. Dennis MS et al. Lancet. 2005 Feb 26-Mar 4;365(9461):764-72.

2. Powers W. et al. Stroke. 2018 Mar;49(3):e46-e110.

3. Burgos R et al. Clin Nutr. 2018 Feb;37(1):354-96.

4. Wilmskoetter J et al. J Stroke Cerebrovasc Dis. 2016 Nov;25(11):2694-700.

5. George BP et al. Stroke. 2017 Feb;48(2):420-7.

6. Fessler TA. et al. Surg Endosc. 2019 Dec;33(12):4089-97.

7. Burgermaster M et al. Nutr Clin Pract. 2016 Jun;31(3):342-8.

8. Moran C and O’Mahoney S. Curr Opin Gastroenterol. 2015 Mar;31(2):137-42.

9. Gomes CA et al. Cochrane Database Syst Rev. 2010 Nov 10;(11):CD008096.

10. Joundi RA et al. Neurology. 2018 Feb 13;90(7):e544-52.

11. Bothra A et al. J Parenter Enteral Nutr. 2018 Feb;42(2):491.

Clinical scenario

An 83-year-old man is admitted with a hemiplegic cerebrovascular accident. He is found to have dysphagia, and a nasogastric feeding tube is placed. Over the next several days, his strength begins to recover, and he tolerates his tube feeding well. Discharge to a skilled nursing facility (SNF) for subacute rehabilitation is planned. His swallowing is showing signs of recovery; it has not recovered adequately but is expected to continue to improve such that he is predicted to be independent of tube feeding within 7-14 days. None of the facilities in the region are willing to admit a patient with a nasal feeding tube, despite the anticipated short duration. The patient is medically ready for discharge but is refusing the feeding gastrostomy. “Why would I want a hole in my stomach, if I’m only going to need it for 1-2 weeks and this tube in my nose is working fine and is comfortable?” he pleads with tears in his eyes.

Feeding dysphagic patients after stroke

Dysphagia, potentially leading to aspiration and/or pneumonia, is a common sequela of stroke – up to half of hospitalized patients are affected.¹ When oral intake is contraindicated, patients are often fed by nasogastric tube (NGT) or by surgically or endoscopically placed gastrostomy tube (GT). Without good justification based on outcomes, NGTs are traditionally used when the need for feeding is thought to be short term (<4 weeks) and GTs are used for long term (>4 weeks). However, in 2005, a large multicenter randomized control trial found that the majority of stroke patients with dysphagia that would resolve had resolution within 2-3 weeks. Moreover, outcomes were equivalent or better for patients fed with an NGT versus GT.

The authors concluded by recommending feeding via NGT for 2-3 weeks, after which conversion to GT can be considered if dysphagia persists.¹ Notably, the recommendation allows consideration, and no evidence-based guideline requires or recommends GT be placed based on duration of tube feed dependence. Currently, while nutrition and neurology authorities have adopted these recommendations,^2,3 many authors have noted poor adherence to this guideline, and many find that the median period between stroke and GT placement is 7 days rather than the recommended minimum of 14.^4,5,6 While ignorance can partially explain the lack of widespread compliance,⁶ the policies of posthospital facilities are another culprit. Increasingly, and for a variety of reasons unsupported by the literature, SNFs refuse NGT and require GT.^4,7,8,9

Ethical considerations

The four principles of medical ethics – autonomy, beneficence, nonmaleficence, and justice – can guide clinicians, patients, and family members in decision-making. In our case, by withholding needed and desired treatment (discharge to and treatment by a rehabilitation facility) the patient is being coerced to undergo a procedure he does not want, and clinicians participate in denying him autonomy. Further, given that the evidence, national guidelines, and in fact federal regulations indicate that his preferences are congruent with best practices, pressuring him to accept gastrostomy placement runs afoul of the principles of beneficence and nonmaleficence. Though the mechanism is unclear, early gastrostomy (<14-21 days) is associated with increased risk of death, worse functional outcomes, and a lower rate of return to oral feeding, as well as a significant procedure-specific complication rate.^1,10 By insisting on gastrostomy, we neither act in this patient’s best interests nor “do no harm.”

However, the medical system is complex. The clinician at the bedside can evaluate this scenario, review the national guidelines, discuss the procedure and risks with the patient and family, and conclude that the patient should be discharged with a nasal feeding tube. Nevertheless, if no facility is willing to accept him without a gastrostomy, our decision-making model – previously limited to our patient’s best interests alone – is forced to change. Despite our misgivings, we often conclude that the harm done by an early gastrostomy is outweighed by the harm of remaining unnecessarily in the acute hospital setting. We further worry about other patients lingering in the emergency department for lack of an inpatient bed and the possible – though unknowable – harm done to them.
 

Looking forward

It is an unfortunate fact that medical decision-making must often include factors unrelated to the patient’s best interests, with financial considerations and structural barriers frequently driving deviation from ideal care. Providers and patients navigate these decisions to their best abilities, making compromises when forced. However, with education and professional activism, providers can advocate for the elimination of barriers to providing medically sound and ethically appropriate care. In our experience, delay of gastrostomy placement, until discharge is imminent and planning for postdischarge care is initiated, has resulted in a decrease by half the fraction of patients with tracheostomies who had gastrostomies placed prior to discharge.¹¹ With aggressive outreach and education, we now have nursing homes willing to accept patients with NGTs.

Criteria for admission to discharge facilities can drive medical decision-making that is unethical and unsupported by evidence. Continued efforts to eliminate barriers to appropriate and ethical care have been successful and are encouraged.
 

Dr. Cowan is administrative chief resident in the department of surgery at Columbia University Irving Medical Center, New York. Dr. Seres is professor of medicine in the Institute of Human Nutrition and associate clinical ethicist at Columbia University Irving Medical Center. The authors have no conflicts of interest to disclose.

References

1. Dennis MS et al. Lancet. 2005 Feb 26-Mar 4;365(9461):764-72.

2. Powers W. et al. Stroke. 2018 Mar;49(3):e46-e110.

3. Burgos R et al. Clin Nutr. 2018 Feb;37(1):354-96.

4. Wilmskoetter J et al. J Stroke Cerebrovasc Dis. 2016 Nov;25(11):2694-700.

5. George BP et al. Stroke. 2017 Feb;48(2):420-7.

6. Fessler TA. et al. Surg Endosc. 2019 Dec;33(12):4089-97.

7. Burgermaster M et al. Nutr Clin Pract. 2016 Jun;31(3):342-8.

8. Moran C and O’Mahoney S. Curr Opin Gastroenterol. 2015 Mar;31(2):137-42.

9. Gomes CA et al. Cochrane Database Syst Rev. 2010 Nov 10;(11):CD008096.

10. Joundi RA et al. Neurology. 2018 Feb 13;90(7):e544-52.

11. Bothra A et al. J Parenter Enteral Nutr. 2018 Feb;42(2):491.

Imagine this scenario: You are seated at the dinner table with your family when your smartphone buzzes; you look over, and the push notification reads “new biopsy results!”

PxHere

There is a sudden spill of icy anxiety down your spine as you pick up your phone in your shaking hands. It’s 6 p.m.; your doctor’s office is closed. You open the message, and your worst fears are confirmed ... the cancer is back.

Or is it? You’re not sure. The biopsy sure sounds bad. But you’re an English teacher, not a doctor, and you spend the rest of the night Googling words like “tubulovillous” and “high-grade dysplasia.” You sit awake, terrified in front of the computer screen desperately trying to make sense of the possibly life-changing results. You wish you knew someone who could help you understand; you consider calling your doctor’s emergency line, or your cousin who is an ophthalmologist – anybody who can help you make sense of the results.

Or imagine another scenario: you’re a trans teen who has asked your doctor to refer to you by your preferred pronouns. You’re still presenting as your birth sex, in part because your family would disown you if they knew, and you’re not financially or emotionally ready for that step. You feel proud of yourself for advocating for your needs to your long-time physician, and excited about the resources they’ve included in your after visit summary and the referrals they’d made to gender-confirming specialists.

When you get home, you are confronted with a terrible reality that your doctor’s notes, orders, and recommendations are immediately viewable to anybody with your MyChart login – your parents knew the second your doctor signed the note. They received the notification, logged on as your guardians, and you have effectively been “outed” by the physician who took and oath to care for you and who you trusted implicitly.
 

How the Cures Act is affecting patients

While these examples may sound extreme, they are becoming more and more commonplace thanks to a recently enacted 21st Century Cures Act. The act was originally written to improve communication between physicians and patients. Part of the act stipulates that nearly all medical information – from notes to biopsies to lab results – must be available within 24 hours, published to a patient portal and a notification be sent to the patient by phone.

Oftentimes, this occurs before the ordering physician has even seen the results, much less interpreted them and made a plan for the patient. What happens now, not long after its enactment date, when it has become clear that the Cures Act is causing extreme harm to our patients?

Take, for example, the real example of a physician whose patient found out about her own intrauterine fetal demise by way of an EMR text message alert of “new imaging results!” sent directly to her phone. Or a physician colleague who witnessed firsthand the intrusive unhelpfulness of the Cures Act when she was informed via patient portal releasing her imaging information that she had a large, possibly malignant breast mass. “No phone call,” she said. “No human being for questions or comfort. Just a notification on my phone.”

The stories about the impact of the Cures Act across the medical community are an endless stream of anxiety, hurt, and broken trust. The relationship between a physician and a patient should be sacred, bolstered by communication and mutual respect.

In many ways, the new act feels like a third party to the patient-physician relationship – a digital imposter, oftentimes blurting out personal and life-altering medical information without any of the finesse, context, and perspective of an experienced physician.
 

Breaking ‘bad news’ to a patient

In training, some residents are taught how to “break bad news” to a patient. Some good practices for doing this are to have information available for the patient, provide emotional support, have a plan for their next steps already formulated, and call the appropriate specialist ahead of time if you can.

Above all, it’s most important to let the patient be the one to direct their own care. Give them time to ask questions and answer them honestly and clearly. Ask them how much they want to know and help them to understand the complex change in their usual state of health.

Now, unless physicians are keeping a very close eye on their inbox, results are slipping out to patients in a void. The bad news conversations aren’t happening at all, or if they are, they’re happening at 8 p.m. on a phone call after an exhausted physician ends their shift but has to slog through their results bin, calling all the patients who shouldn’t have to find out their results in solitude.

Reaching out to these patients immediately is an honorable, kind thing to, but for a physician, knowing they need to beat the patient to opening an email creates anxiety. Plus, making these calls at whatever hour the results are released to a patient is another burden added to doctors’ already-full plates.
 

Interpreting results

None of us want to harm our patients. All of us want to be there for them. But this act stands in the way of delivering quality, humanizing medical care.

It is true that patients have a right to access their own medical information. It is also true that waiting anxiously on results can cause undue harm to a patient. But the across-the-board, breakneck speed of information release mandated in this act causes irreparable harm not only to patients, but to the patient-physician relationship.

No patient should find out their cancer recurred while checking their emails at their desk. No patient should first learn of a life-altering diagnosis by way of scrolling through their smartphone in bed. The role of a physician is more than just a healer – we should also be educators, interpreters, partners and, first and foremost, advocates for our patients’ needs.

Our patients are depending on us to stand up and speak out about necessary changes to this act. Result releases should be delayed until they are viewed by a physician. Our patients deserve the dignity and opportunity of a conversation with their medical provider about their test results, and physicians deserve the chance to interpret results and frame the conversation in a way which is conducive to patient understanding and healing.

Dr. Persampiere is a first-year resident in the family medicine residency program at Abington (Pa.) Hospital–Jefferson Health. Dr. Skolnik is professor of family and community medicine at Sidney Kimmel Medical College, Philadelphia, and associate director of the family medicine residency program at Abington Hospital–Jefferson Health. They have no conflicts related to the content of this piece. You can contact them at [email protected].

Imagine this scenario: You are seated at the dinner table with your family when your smartphone buzzes; you look over, and the push notification reads “new biopsy results!”

PxHere

There is a sudden spill of icy anxiety down your spine as you pick up your phone in your shaking hands. It’s 6 p.m.; your doctor’s office is closed. You open the message, and your worst fears are confirmed ... the cancer is back.

Or is it? You’re not sure. The biopsy sure sounds bad. But you’re an English teacher, not a doctor, and you spend the rest of the night Googling words like “tubulovillous” and “high-grade dysplasia.” You sit awake, terrified in front of the computer screen desperately trying to make sense of the possibly life-changing results. You wish you knew someone who could help you understand; you consider calling your doctor’s emergency line, or your cousin who is an ophthalmologist – anybody who can help you make sense of the results.

Or imagine another scenario: you’re a trans teen who has asked your doctor to refer to you by your preferred pronouns. You’re still presenting as your birth sex, in part because your family would disown you if they knew, and you’re not financially or emotionally ready for that step. You feel proud of yourself for advocating for your needs to your long-time physician, and excited about the resources they’ve included in your after visit summary and the referrals they’d made to gender-confirming specialists.

When you get home, you are confronted with a terrible reality that your doctor’s notes, orders, and recommendations are immediately viewable to anybody with your MyChart login – your parents knew the second your doctor signed the note. They received the notification, logged on as your guardians, and you have effectively been “outed” by the physician who took and oath to care for you and who you trusted implicitly.
 

How the Cures Act is affecting patients

While these examples may sound extreme, they are becoming more and more commonplace thanks to a recently enacted 21st Century Cures Act. The act was originally written to improve communication between physicians and patients. Part of the act stipulates that nearly all medical information – from notes to biopsies to lab results – must be available within 24 hours, published to a patient portal and a notification be sent to the patient by phone.

Oftentimes, this occurs before the ordering physician has even seen the results, much less interpreted them and made a plan for the patient. What happens now, not long after its enactment date, when it has become clear that the Cures Act is causing extreme harm to our patients?

Take, for example, the real example of a physician whose patient found out about her own intrauterine fetal demise by way of an EMR text message alert of “new imaging results!” sent directly to her phone. Or a physician colleague who witnessed firsthand the intrusive unhelpfulness of the Cures Act when she was informed via patient portal releasing her imaging information that she had a large, possibly malignant breast mass. “No phone call,” she said. “No human being for questions or comfort. Just a notification on my phone.”

The stories about the impact of the Cures Act across the medical community are an endless stream of anxiety, hurt, and broken trust. The relationship between a physician and a patient should be sacred, bolstered by communication and mutual respect.

In many ways, the new act feels like a third party to the patient-physician relationship – a digital imposter, oftentimes blurting out personal and life-altering medical information without any of the finesse, context, and perspective of an experienced physician.
 

Breaking ‘bad news’ to a patient

In training, some residents are taught how to “break bad news” to a patient. Some good practices for doing this are to have information available for the patient, provide emotional support, have a plan for their next steps already formulated, and call the appropriate specialist ahead of time if you can.

Above all, it’s most important to let the patient be the one to direct their own care. Give them time to ask questions and answer them honestly and clearly. Ask them how much they want to know and help them to understand the complex change in their usual state of health.

Now, unless physicians are keeping a very close eye on their inbox, results are slipping out to patients in a void. The bad news conversations aren’t happening at all, or if they are, they’re happening at 8 p.m. on a phone call after an exhausted physician ends their shift but has to slog through their results bin, calling all the patients who shouldn’t have to find out their results in solitude.

Reaching out to these patients immediately is an honorable, kind thing to, but for a physician, knowing they need to beat the patient to opening an email creates anxiety. Plus, making these calls at whatever hour the results are released to a patient is another burden added to doctors’ already-full plates.
 

Interpreting results

None of us want to harm our patients. All of us want to be there for them. But this act stands in the way of delivering quality, humanizing medical care.

It is true that patients have a right to access their own medical information. It is also true that waiting anxiously on results can cause undue harm to a patient. But the across-the-board, breakneck speed of information release mandated in this act causes irreparable harm not only to patients, but to the patient-physician relationship.

No patient should find out their cancer recurred while checking their emails at their desk. No patient should first learn of a life-altering diagnosis by way of scrolling through their smartphone in bed. The role of a physician is more than just a healer – we should also be educators, interpreters, partners and, first and foremost, advocates for our patients’ needs.

Our patients are depending on us to stand up and speak out about necessary changes to this act. Result releases should be delayed until they are viewed by a physician. Our patients deserve the dignity and opportunity of a conversation with their medical provider about their test results, and physicians deserve the chance to interpret results and frame the conversation in a way which is conducive to patient understanding and healing.

Dr. Persampiere is a first-year resident in the family medicine residency program at Abington (Pa.) Hospital–Jefferson Health. Dr. Skolnik is professor of family and community medicine at Sidney Kimmel Medical College, Philadelphia, and associate director of the family medicine residency program at Abington Hospital–Jefferson Health. They have no conflicts related to the content of this piece. You can contact them at [email protected].

Imagine this scenario: You are seated at the dinner table with your family when your smartphone buzzes; you look over, and the push notification reads “new biopsy results!”

PxHere

There is a sudden spill of icy anxiety down your spine as you pick up your phone in your shaking hands. It’s 6 p.m.; your doctor’s office is closed. You open the message, and your worst fears are confirmed ... the cancer is back.

Or is it? You’re not sure. The biopsy sure sounds bad. But you’re an English teacher, not a doctor, and you spend the rest of the night Googling words like “tubulovillous” and “high-grade dysplasia.” You sit awake, terrified in front of the computer screen desperately trying to make sense of the possibly life-changing results. You wish you knew someone who could help you understand; you consider calling your doctor’s emergency line, or your cousin who is an ophthalmologist – anybody who can help you make sense of the results.

Or imagine another scenario: you’re a trans teen who has asked your doctor to refer to you by your preferred pronouns. You’re still presenting as your birth sex, in part because your family would disown you if they knew, and you’re not financially or emotionally ready for that step. You feel proud of yourself for advocating for your needs to your long-time physician, and excited about the resources they’ve included in your after visit summary and the referrals they’d made to gender-confirming specialists.

When you get home, you are confronted with a terrible reality that your doctor’s notes, orders, and recommendations are immediately viewable to anybody with your MyChart login – your parents knew the second your doctor signed the note. They received the notification, logged on as your guardians, and you have effectively been “outed” by the physician who took and oath to care for you and who you trusted implicitly.
 

How the Cures Act is affecting patients

While these examples may sound extreme, they are becoming more and more commonplace thanks to a recently enacted 21st Century Cures Act. The act was originally written to improve communication between physicians and patients. Part of the act stipulates that nearly all medical information – from notes to biopsies to lab results – must be available within 24 hours, published to a patient portal and a notification be sent to the patient by phone.

Oftentimes, this occurs before the ordering physician has even seen the results, much less interpreted them and made a plan for the patient. What happens now, not long after its enactment date, when it has become clear that the Cures Act is causing extreme harm to our patients?

Take, for example, the real example of a physician whose patient found out about her own intrauterine fetal demise by way of an EMR text message alert of “new imaging results!” sent directly to her phone. Or a physician colleague who witnessed firsthand the intrusive unhelpfulness of the Cures Act when she was informed via patient portal releasing her imaging information that she had a large, possibly malignant breast mass. “No phone call,” she said. “No human being for questions or comfort. Just a notification on my phone.”

The stories about the impact of the Cures Act across the medical community are an endless stream of anxiety, hurt, and broken trust. The relationship between a physician and a patient should be sacred, bolstered by communication and mutual respect.

In many ways, the new act feels like a third party to the patient-physician relationship – a digital imposter, oftentimes blurting out personal and life-altering medical information without any of the finesse, context, and perspective of an experienced physician.
 

Breaking ‘bad news’ to a patient

In training, some residents are taught how to “break bad news” to a patient. Some good practices for doing this are to have information available for the patient, provide emotional support, have a plan for their next steps already formulated, and call the appropriate specialist ahead of time if you can.

Above all, it’s most important to let the patient be the one to direct their own care. Give them time to ask questions and answer them honestly and clearly. Ask them how much they want to know and help them to understand the complex change in their usual state of health.

Now, unless physicians are keeping a very close eye on their inbox, results are slipping out to patients in a void. The bad news conversations aren’t happening at all, or if they are, they’re happening at 8 p.m. on a phone call after an exhausted physician ends their shift but has to slog through their results bin, calling all the patients who shouldn’t have to find out their results in solitude.

Reaching out to these patients immediately is an honorable, kind thing to, but for a physician, knowing they need to beat the patient to opening an email creates anxiety. Plus, making these calls at whatever hour the results are released to a patient is another burden added to doctors’ already-full plates.
 

Interpreting results

None of us want to harm our patients. All of us want to be there for them. But this act stands in the way of delivering quality, humanizing medical care.

It is true that patients have a right to access their own medical information. It is also true that waiting anxiously on results can cause undue harm to a patient. But the across-the-board, breakneck speed of information release mandated in this act causes irreparable harm not only to patients, but to the patient-physician relationship.

No patient should find out their cancer recurred while checking their emails at their desk. No patient should first learn of a life-altering diagnosis by way of scrolling through their smartphone in bed. The role of a physician is more than just a healer – we should also be educators, interpreters, partners and, first and foremost, advocates for our patients’ needs.

Our patients are depending on us to stand up and speak out about necessary changes to this act. Result releases should be delayed until they are viewed by a physician. Our patients deserve the dignity and opportunity of a conversation with their medical provider about their test results, and physicians deserve the chance to interpret results and frame the conversation in a way which is conducive to patient understanding and healing.

Dr. Persampiere is a first-year resident in the family medicine residency program at Abington (Pa.) Hospital–Jefferson Health. Dr. Skolnik is professor of family and community medicine at Sidney Kimmel Medical College, Philadelphia, and associate director of the family medicine residency program at Abington Hospital–Jefferson Health. They have no conflicts related to the content of this piece. You can contact them at [email protected].

I’m not an academic. Never will be.

I’m also a crappy statistician. Neither my university nor medical school required statistics classes, so I never really learned them. In medicine you pick up an idea of how to interpret them as part of the job, but I’m certainly not a pro with numbers.

Which brings me to the word of the day, Aduhelm, AKA aducanumab.

A lot of drugs have come and gone in the 30 years since my medical school pharmacology class, but very few with this one’s degree of uncertainty.

Clearly its mechanism works: It removes amyloid from the brain. I don’t think anyone will argue that. But the real question is whether this translates into actual clinical benefit.

The water is murky here, and even its most ardent supporters admit the evidence isn’t exactly overwhelming. To some extent the approval basically puts it in a huge open-label clinical trial, with the Food and Drug Administration saying that it will be withdrawn if success isn’t seen in follow-up studies.

I’m not a statistics person, but I understand that, when numbers are marginal, they can be spun to mean whatever someone wants them to mean. And the stakes here, both medically and financially, are pretty high.

Alzheimer’s disease, unquestionably, is a devastating illness. The best treatments we have for it are modest at best. The demand for new treatments is huge.

But “new” doesn’t mean the same as “effective.” This is where the statistics, and their supporters and detractors, come in.

Patients and their families aren’t (usually) doctors. They want a treatment that’s both effective and reasonably safe, especially for a disease where a tragic prognosis is well established. With this drug (and similar ones in development) we face a balance between uncertain benefits and a clear risk of amyloid-related imaging abnormalities. The best we can do is explain these vagaries to people so they understand the uncertainties involved.

Perhaps more troubling is the possibility lurking in the background: The amyloid comes out, but the prognosis doesn’t improve. This brings us to the possibility (already voiced in journals) that the whole amyloid theory is wrong, and we’ve spent all this time and money chasing the wrong villain. As Morpheus, in The Matrix, implies, our whole reality on this may not be real.

Regrettably, in science (and medicine is a science) the only way to find out what works and what doesn’t is through trial and error. Computer modeling can take us only so far. Whether Aduhelm succeeds or fails will all be in the numbers.

But if it (and similar agents) fail in the general population, then it may be time to accept that we’re chasing the wrong bad guy.

That’s what data and statistics do.

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

I’m not an academic. Never will be.

I’m also a crappy statistician. Neither my university nor medical school required statistics classes, so I never really learned them. In medicine you pick up an idea of how to interpret them as part of the job, but I’m certainly not a pro with numbers.

Which brings me to the word of the day, Aduhelm, AKA aducanumab.

A lot of drugs have come and gone in the 30 years since my medical school pharmacology class, but very few with this one’s degree of uncertainty.

Clearly its mechanism works: It removes amyloid from the brain. I don’t think anyone will argue that. But the real question is whether this translates into actual clinical benefit.

The water is murky here, and even its most ardent supporters admit the evidence isn’t exactly overwhelming. To some extent the approval basically puts it in a huge open-label clinical trial, with the Food and Drug Administration saying that it will be withdrawn if success isn’t seen in follow-up studies.

I’m not a statistics person, but I understand that, when numbers are marginal, they can be spun to mean whatever someone wants them to mean. And the stakes here, both medically and financially, are pretty high.

Alzheimer’s disease, unquestionably, is a devastating illness. The best treatments we have for it are modest at best. The demand for new treatments is huge.

But “new” doesn’t mean the same as “effective.” This is where the statistics, and their supporters and detractors, come in.

Patients and their families aren’t (usually) doctors. They want a treatment that’s both effective and reasonably safe, especially for a disease where a tragic prognosis is well established. With this drug (and similar ones in development) we face a balance between uncertain benefits and a clear risk of amyloid-related imaging abnormalities. The best we can do is explain these vagaries to people so they understand the uncertainties involved.

Perhaps more troubling is the possibility lurking in the background: The amyloid comes out, but the prognosis doesn’t improve. This brings us to the possibility (already voiced in journals) that the whole amyloid theory is wrong, and we’ve spent all this time and money chasing the wrong villain. As Morpheus, in The Matrix, implies, our whole reality on this may not be real.

Regrettably, in science (and medicine is a science) the only way to find out what works and what doesn’t is through trial and error. Computer modeling can take us only so far. Whether Aduhelm succeeds or fails will all be in the numbers.

But if it (and similar agents) fail in the general population, then it may be time to accept that we’re chasing the wrong bad guy.

That’s what data and statistics do.

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

I’m not an academic. Never will be.

I’m also a crappy statistician. Neither my university nor medical school required statistics classes, so I never really learned them. In medicine you pick up an idea of how to interpret them as part of the job, but I’m certainly not a pro with numbers.

Which brings me to the word of the day, Aduhelm, AKA aducanumab.

A lot of drugs have come and gone in the 30 years since my medical school pharmacology class, but very few with this one’s degree of uncertainty.

Clearly its mechanism works: It removes amyloid from the brain. I don’t think anyone will argue that. But the real question is whether this translates into actual clinical benefit.

The water is murky here, and even its most ardent supporters admit the evidence isn’t exactly overwhelming. To some extent the approval basically puts it in a huge open-label clinical trial, with the Food and Drug Administration saying that it will be withdrawn if success isn’t seen in follow-up studies.

I’m not a statistics person, but I understand that, when numbers are marginal, they can be spun to mean whatever someone wants them to mean. And the stakes here, both medically and financially, are pretty high.

Alzheimer’s disease, unquestionably, is a devastating illness. The best treatments we have for it are modest at best. The demand for new treatments is huge.

But “new” doesn’t mean the same as “effective.” This is where the statistics, and their supporters and detractors, come in.

Patients and their families aren’t (usually) doctors. They want a treatment that’s both effective and reasonably safe, especially for a disease where a tragic prognosis is well established. With this drug (and similar ones in development) we face a balance between uncertain benefits and a clear risk of amyloid-related imaging abnormalities. The best we can do is explain these vagaries to people so they understand the uncertainties involved.

Perhaps more troubling is the possibility lurking in the background: The amyloid comes out, but the prognosis doesn’t improve. This brings us to the possibility (already voiced in journals) that the whole amyloid theory is wrong, and we’ve spent all this time and money chasing the wrong villain. As Morpheus, in The Matrix, implies, our whole reality on this may not be real.

Regrettably, in science (and medicine is a science) the only way to find out what works and what doesn’t is through trial and error. Computer modeling can take us only so far. Whether Aduhelm succeeds or fails will all be in the numbers.

But if it (and similar agents) fail in the general population, then it may be time to accept that we’re chasing the wrong bad guy.

That’s what data and statistics do.

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

A potassium hydroxide preparation (KOH) from skin scrapings from the scalp lesions demonstrated no fungal elements. Further laboratory work up revealed a normal blood cell count, normal liver enzymes, an antinuclear antibody (ANA) titer of less than 1:80, a positive anti–Sjögren’s syndrome type B (SSB) antibody but negative anti–Sjögren’s syndrome type A (SSA) antibody and anti-U1RNP antibody. An electrocardiogram revealed no abnormalities. Liver function tests were normal. The complete blood count showed mild thrombocytopenia. Given the typical skin lesions and the positive SSB test and associated thrombocytopenia, the baby was diagnosed with neonatal lupus erythematosus.

Because of the diagnosis of neonatal lupus the mother was also tested and was found to have an elevated ANA of 1:640, positive SSB and antiphospholipid antibodies. The mother was healthy and her review of systems was negative for any collagen vascular disease–related symptoms.
 

Discussion

Neonatal lupus erythematosus (NLE) is a rare form of systemic lupus erythematosus (SLE) believed to be caused by transplacental transfer of anti-Ro (Sjögren’s syndrome antigen A, SSA), or, less commonly, anti-La (Sjögren’s syndrome antigen B, SSB) from mothers who are positive for these antibodies. Approximately 95% of NLE is associated with maternal anti-SSA; of these cases, 40% are also associated with maternal anti-SSB.¹ Only about 2% of children of mothers who have anti-SSA or anti-SSB develop NLE, a finding that has led some researchers to postulate that maternal factors, fetal genetic factors, and environmental factors determine which children of anti-SSA or SSB positive mothers develop NLE.

A recent review found no association between the development of NLE and fetal birth weight, prematurity, or age.³ Over half of mothers of children who develop NLE are asymptomatic at the time of diagnosis of the neonate,³ though many become symptomatic in following years. Of mothers who are symptomatic, SLE and undifferentiated autoimmune syndrome are the most common diagnoses, though NLE has been rarely reported in the offspring of mothers with Sjögren’s syndrome, rheumatoid arthritis, and psoriasis.^4,5

Fetal genetics are not an absolute determinant of development of NLE, as discordance in the development of NLE in twins has been reported. However, certain genetic relationships have been established. Fetal mutations in tumor necrosis factor–alpha appear to increase the likelihood of cutaneous manifestations. Mutations in transforming growth factor beta appear to increase the likelihood of cardiac manifestations, and experiments in cultured mouse cardiocytes have shown anti-SSB antibodies to impair macrophage phagocytosis of apoptotic cells in the developing fetal heart. These observations taken together suggest a fibroblast-mediated response to unphagocytosed cardiocyte debris may account for conduction abnormalities in neonates with NLE-induced heart block.⁶

Cutaneous disease in NLE is possible at birth, but more skin findings develop upon exposure to the sun. Nearly 80% of neonates affected by NLE develop cutaneous manifestations in the first few months of life. The head, neck, and extensor surfaces of the arms are most commonly affected, presumably because they are most likely to be exposed to the sun. Erythematous, annular, or discoid lesions are most common, and periorbital erythema with or without scale (“raccoon eyes”) should prompt consideration of NLE. However, annular, or discoid lesions are sometimes not present in NLE; telangiectasias, bullae, atrophic divots (“ice-pick scars”) or ulcerations may be seen instead. Lesions in the genital area have been described in fewer than 5% of patients with NLE.

The differential diagnosis of annular, scaly lesions in neonates includes annular erythema of infancy, tinea corporis, and seborrheic dermatitis. Annular erythema of infancy is a rare skin condition characterized by a cyclical eruption of erythematous annular lesions with minimal scaling which resolve spontaneously within a few weeks to months without leaving scaring or pigment changes. There is no treatment needed as the lesions self-resolve.⁷ Acute urticaria can sometimes appear similar to NLE but these are not scaly and also the lesions will disappear within 24-36 hours, compared with NLE lesions, which may take weeks to months to go away. Seborrheic dermatitis is a common skin condition seen in newborns with in the first few weeks of life and can present as scaly annular erythematous plaques on the face, scalp, torso, and the diaper area. Seborrheic dermatitis usually responds well to a combination of an antiyeast cream and a low-potency topical corticosteroid medication.

When NLE is suspected, diagnostic testing for lupus antibodies (anti-SSA, anti-SSB, and anti-U1RNP) in both maternal and neonatal serum should be undertaken. The presence of a characteristic rash plus maternal or neonatal antibodies is sufficient to make the diagnosis. If the rash is less characteristic, a biopsy showing an interface dermatitis can help solidify the diagnosis. Neonates with cutaneous manifestations of lupus may also have systemic disease. The most common and serious complication is heart block, whose pathophysiology is described above. Neonates with evidence of first-, second-, or third-degree heart block should be referred to a pediatric cardiologist for careful monitoring and management. Hepatic involvement has been reported, but is usually mild. Hematologic abnormalities have also been described that include anemia, neutropenia, and thrombocytopenia, which resolve by 9 months of age. Central nervous system involvement may rarely occur. The mainstay of treatment for the rash in NLE is diligent sun avoidance and sun protection. Topical corticosteroids may be used, but are not needed as the rash typically resolves by 9 months to 1 year without treatment. Mothers who have one child with NLE should be advised that they are more likely to have another with NLE – the risk is as high as 30%-40% in the second child. Hydroxychloroquine taken during subsequent pregnancies can reduce the incidence of cardiac complications,⁸ as can the so-called “triple therapy” of plasmapheresis, steroids, and IVIg.⁹

The cutaneous manifestations of NLE are usually self-limiting. However, they can serve as important clues that can prompt diagnosis of SLE in the mother, investigation of cardiac complications in the infant, and appropriate preventative care in future pregnancies.

Dr. Matiz is with the department of dermatology, Southern California Permanente Medical Group, San Diego. Mr. Kusari is with the department of dermatology, University of California, San Francisco.

References

1. Moretti D et al. Int J Dermatol. 2014;53(12):1508-12.

2. Buyon JP et al. Nature Clin Prac Rheum. 2009;5(3):139-48.

3. Li Y-Q et al. Int J Rheum Dis. 2015;18(7):761-7.

4. Rivera TL et al. Annals Rheum Dis. 2009;68(6):828-35.

5. Li L et al. Zhonghua er ke za zhi 2011;49(2):146-50.

6. Izmirly PM et al. Clin Rheumatol. 2011;30(12):1641-5.

7. Toledo-Alberola F and Betlloch-Mas I. Actas Dermosifiliogr. 2010 Jul;101(6):473-84.

8. Izmirly PM et al. Circulation. 2012;126(1):76-82.

9. Martinez-Sanchez N et al. Autoimmun Rev. 2015;14(5):423-8.

A potassium hydroxide preparation (KOH) from skin scrapings from the scalp lesions demonstrated no fungal elements. Further laboratory work up revealed a normal blood cell count, normal liver enzymes, an antinuclear antibody (ANA) titer of less than 1:80, a positive anti–Sjögren’s syndrome type B (SSB) antibody but negative anti–Sjögren’s syndrome type A (SSA) antibody and anti-U1RNP antibody. An electrocardiogram revealed no abnormalities. Liver function tests were normal. The complete blood count showed mild thrombocytopenia. Given the typical skin lesions and the positive SSB test and associated thrombocytopenia, the baby was diagnosed with neonatal lupus erythematosus.

Because of the diagnosis of neonatal lupus the mother was also tested and was found to have an elevated ANA of 1:640, positive SSB and antiphospholipid antibodies. The mother was healthy and her review of systems was negative for any collagen vascular disease–related symptoms.
 

Discussion

Neonatal lupus erythematosus (NLE) is a rare form of systemic lupus erythematosus (SLE) believed to be caused by transplacental transfer of anti-Ro (Sjögren’s syndrome antigen A, SSA), or, less commonly, anti-La (Sjögren’s syndrome antigen B, SSB) from mothers who are positive for these antibodies. Approximately 95% of NLE is associated with maternal anti-SSA; of these cases, 40% are also associated with maternal anti-SSB.¹ Only about 2% of children of mothers who have anti-SSA or anti-SSB develop NLE, a finding that has led some researchers to postulate that maternal factors, fetal genetic factors, and environmental factors determine which children of anti-SSA or SSB positive mothers develop NLE.

A recent review found no association between the development of NLE and fetal birth weight, prematurity, or age.³ Over half of mothers of children who develop NLE are asymptomatic at the time of diagnosis of the neonate,³ though many become symptomatic in following years. Of mothers who are symptomatic, SLE and undifferentiated autoimmune syndrome are the most common diagnoses, though NLE has been rarely reported in the offspring of mothers with Sjögren’s syndrome, rheumatoid arthritis, and psoriasis.^4,5

Fetal genetics are not an absolute determinant of development of NLE, as discordance in the development of NLE in twins has been reported. However, certain genetic relationships have been established. Fetal mutations in tumor necrosis factor–alpha appear to increase the likelihood of cutaneous manifestations. Mutations in transforming growth factor beta appear to increase the likelihood of cardiac manifestations, and experiments in cultured mouse cardiocytes have shown anti-SSB antibodies to impair macrophage phagocytosis of apoptotic cells in the developing fetal heart. These observations taken together suggest a fibroblast-mediated response to unphagocytosed cardiocyte debris may account for conduction abnormalities in neonates with NLE-induced heart block.⁶

Cutaneous disease in NLE is possible at birth, but more skin findings develop upon exposure to the sun. Nearly 80% of neonates affected by NLE develop cutaneous manifestations in the first few months of life. The head, neck, and extensor surfaces of the arms are most commonly affected, presumably because they are most likely to be exposed to the sun. Erythematous, annular, or discoid lesions are most common, and periorbital erythema with or without scale (“raccoon eyes”) should prompt consideration of NLE. However, annular, or discoid lesions are sometimes not present in NLE; telangiectasias, bullae, atrophic divots (“ice-pick scars”) or ulcerations may be seen instead. Lesions in the genital area have been described in fewer than 5% of patients with NLE.

The differential diagnosis of annular, scaly lesions in neonates includes annular erythema of infancy, tinea corporis, and seborrheic dermatitis. Annular erythema of infancy is a rare skin condition characterized by a cyclical eruption of erythematous annular lesions with minimal scaling which resolve spontaneously within a few weeks to months without leaving scaring or pigment changes. There is no treatment needed as the lesions self-resolve.⁷ Acute urticaria can sometimes appear similar to NLE but these are not scaly and also the lesions will disappear within 24-36 hours, compared with NLE lesions, which may take weeks to months to go away. Seborrheic dermatitis is a common skin condition seen in newborns with in the first few weeks of life and can present as scaly annular erythematous plaques on the face, scalp, torso, and the diaper area. Seborrheic dermatitis usually responds well to a combination of an antiyeast cream and a low-potency topical corticosteroid medication.

When NLE is suspected, diagnostic testing for lupus antibodies (anti-SSA, anti-SSB, and anti-U1RNP) in both maternal and neonatal serum should be undertaken. The presence of a characteristic rash plus maternal or neonatal antibodies is sufficient to make the diagnosis. If the rash is less characteristic, a biopsy showing an interface dermatitis can help solidify the diagnosis. Neonates with cutaneous manifestations of lupus may also have systemic disease. The most common and serious complication is heart block, whose pathophysiology is described above. Neonates with evidence of first-, second-, or third-degree heart block should be referred to a pediatric cardiologist for careful monitoring and management. Hepatic involvement has been reported, but is usually mild. Hematologic abnormalities have also been described that include anemia, neutropenia, and thrombocytopenia, which resolve by 9 months of age. Central nervous system involvement may rarely occur. The mainstay of treatment for the rash in NLE is diligent sun avoidance and sun protection. Topical corticosteroids may be used, but are not needed as the rash typically resolves by 9 months to 1 year without treatment. Mothers who have one child with NLE should be advised that they are more likely to have another with NLE – the risk is as high as 30%-40% in the second child. Hydroxychloroquine taken during subsequent pregnancies can reduce the incidence of cardiac complications,⁸ as can the so-called “triple therapy” of plasmapheresis, steroids, and IVIg.⁹

The cutaneous manifestations of NLE are usually self-limiting. However, they can serve as important clues that can prompt diagnosis of SLE in the mother, investigation of cardiac complications in the infant, and appropriate preventative care in future pregnancies.

Dr. Matiz is with the department of dermatology, Southern California Permanente Medical Group, San Diego. Mr. Kusari is with the department of dermatology, University of California, San Francisco.

References

1. Moretti D et al. Int J Dermatol. 2014;53(12):1508-12.

2. Buyon JP et al. Nature Clin Prac Rheum. 2009;5(3):139-48.

3. Li Y-Q et al. Int J Rheum Dis. 2015;18(7):761-7.

4. Rivera TL et al. Annals Rheum Dis. 2009;68(6):828-35.

5. Li L et al. Zhonghua er ke za zhi 2011;49(2):146-50.

6. Izmirly PM et al. Clin Rheumatol. 2011;30(12):1641-5.

7. Toledo-Alberola F and Betlloch-Mas I. Actas Dermosifiliogr. 2010 Jul;101(6):473-84.

8. Izmirly PM et al. Circulation. 2012;126(1):76-82.

9. Martinez-Sanchez N et al. Autoimmun Rev. 2015;14(5):423-8.

A potassium hydroxide preparation (KOH) from skin scrapings from the scalp lesions demonstrated no fungal elements. Further laboratory work up revealed a normal blood cell count, normal liver enzymes, an antinuclear antibody (ANA) titer of less than 1:80, a positive anti–Sjögren’s syndrome type B (SSB) antibody but negative anti–Sjögren’s syndrome type A (SSA) antibody and anti-U1RNP antibody. An electrocardiogram revealed no abnormalities. Liver function tests were normal. The complete blood count showed mild thrombocytopenia. Given the typical skin lesions and the positive SSB test and associated thrombocytopenia, the baby was diagnosed with neonatal lupus erythematosus.

Because of the diagnosis of neonatal lupus the mother was also tested and was found to have an elevated ANA of 1:640, positive SSB and antiphospholipid antibodies. The mother was healthy and her review of systems was negative for any collagen vascular disease–related symptoms.
 

Discussion

Neonatal lupus erythematosus (NLE) is a rare form of systemic lupus erythematosus (SLE) believed to be caused by transplacental transfer of anti-Ro (Sjögren’s syndrome antigen A, SSA), or, less commonly, anti-La (Sjögren’s syndrome antigen B, SSB) from mothers who are positive for these antibodies. Approximately 95% of NLE is associated with maternal anti-SSA; of these cases, 40% are also associated with maternal anti-SSB.¹ Only about 2% of children of mothers who have anti-SSA or anti-SSB develop NLE, a finding that has led some researchers to postulate that maternal factors, fetal genetic factors, and environmental factors determine which children of anti-SSA or SSB positive mothers develop NLE.

A recent review found no association between the development of NLE and fetal birth weight, prematurity, or age.³ Over half of mothers of children who develop NLE are asymptomatic at the time of diagnosis of the neonate,³ though many become symptomatic in following years. Of mothers who are symptomatic, SLE and undifferentiated autoimmune syndrome are the most common diagnoses, though NLE has been rarely reported in the offspring of mothers with Sjögren’s syndrome, rheumatoid arthritis, and psoriasis.^4,5

Fetal genetics are not an absolute determinant of development of NLE, as discordance in the development of NLE in twins has been reported. However, certain genetic relationships have been established. Fetal mutations in tumor necrosis factor–alpha appear to increase the likelihood of cutaneous manifestations. Mutations in transforming growth factor beta appear to increase the likelihood of cardiac manifestations, and experiments in cultured mouse cardiocytes have shown anti-SSB antibodies to impair macrophage phagocytosis of apoptotic cells in the developing fetal heart. These observations taken together suggest a fibroblast-mediated response to unphagocytosed cardiocyte debris may account for conduction abnormalities in neonates with NLE-induced heart block.⁶

Cutaneous disease in NLE is possible at birth, but more skin findings develop upon exposure to the sun. Nearly 80% of neonates affected by NLE develop cutaneous manifestations in the first few months of life. The head, neck, and extensor surfaces of the arms are most commonly affected, presumably because they are most likely to be exposed to the sun. Erythematous, annular, or discoid lesions are most common, and periorbital erythema with or without scale (“raccoon eyes”) should prompt consideration of NLE. However, annular, or discoid lesions are sometimes not present in NLE; telangiectasias, bullae, atrophic divots (“ice-pick scars”) or ulcerations may be seen instead. Lesions in the genital area have been described in fewer than 5% of patients with NLE.

The differential diagnosis of annular, scaly lesions in neonates includes annular erythema of infancy, tinea corporis, and seborrheic dermatitis. Annular erythema of infancy is a rare skin condition characterized by a cyclical eruption of erythematous annular lesions with minimal scaling which resolve spontaneously within a few weeks to months without leaving scaring or pigment changes. There is no treatment needed as the lesions self-resolve.⁷ Acute urticaria can sometimes appear similar to NLE but these are not scaly and also the lesions will disappear within 24-36 hours, compared with NLE lesions, which may take weeks to months to go away. Seborrheic dermatitis is a common skin condition seen in newborns with in the first few weeks of life and can present as scaly annular erythematous plaques on the face, scalp, torso, and the diaper area. Seborrheic dermatitis usually responds well to a combination of an antiyeast cream and a low-potency topical corticosteroid medication.

When NLE is suspected, diagnostic testing for lupus antibodies (anti-SSA, anti-SSB, and anti-U1RNP) in both maternal and neonatal serum should be undertaken. The presence of a characteristic rash plus maternal or neonatal antibodies is sufficient to make the diagnosis. If the rash is less characteristic, a biopsy showing an interface dermatitis can help solidify the diagnosis. Neonates with cutaneous manifestations of lupus may also have systemic disease. The most common and serious complication is heart block, whose pathophysiology is described above. Neonates with evidence of first-, second-, or third-degree heart block should be referred to a pediatric cardiologist for careful monitoring and management. Hepatic involvement has been reported, but is usually mild. Hematologic abnormalities have also been described that include anemia, neutropenia, and thrombocytopenia, which resolve by 9 months of age. Central nervous system involvement may rarely occur. The mainstay of treatment for the rash in NLE is diligent sun avoidance and sun protection. Topical corticosteroids may be used, but are not needed as the rash typically resolves by 9 months to 1 year without treatment. Mothers who have one child with NLE should be advised that they are more likely to have another with NLE – the risk is as high as 30%-40% in the second child. Hydroxychloroquine taken during subsequent pregnancies can reduce the incidence of cardiac complications,⁸ as can the so-called “triple therapy” of plasmapheresis, steroids, and IVIg.⁹

The cutaneous manifestations of NLE are usually self-limiting. However, they can serve as important clues that can prompt diagnosis of SLE in the mother, investigation of cardiac complications in the infant, and appropriate preventative care in future pregnancies.

Dr. Matiz is with the department of dermatology, Southern California Permanente Medical Group, San Diego. Mr. Kusari is with the department of dermatology, University of California, San Francisco.

References

1. Moretti D et al. Int J Dermatol. 2014;53(12):1508-12.

2. Buyon JP et al. Nature Clin Prac Rheum. 2009;5(3):139-48.

3. Li Y-Q et al. Int J Rheum Dis. 2015;18(7):761-7.

4. Rivera TL et al. Annals Rheum Dis. 2009;68(6):828-35.

5. Li L et al. Zhonghua er ke za zhi 2011;49(2):146-50.

6. Izmirly PM et al. Clin Rheumatol. 2011;30(12):1641-5.

7. Toledo-Alberola F and Betlloch-Mas I. Actas Dermosifiliogr. 2010 Jul;101(6):473-84.

8. Izmirly PM et al. Circulation. 2012;126(1):76-82.

9. Martinez-Sanchez N et al. Autoimmun Rev. 2015;14(5):423-8.

Decorative tattooing has increased in popularity over the last decade. Multiple reactions can be seen as a result of allergic contact dermatitis/sensitivities to pigment used, photoallergic reactions, infectious processes because of contaminated ink or a nonsterile environment, or as a Koebner response.

Dermatitis is commonly seen in patients with a sensitivity to certain pigments. Mercury sulfide or cinnabar in red, chromium in green, and cobalt in blue are common offenders. Cadmium, which is used for yellow, may cause a photoallergic reaction following exposure to ultraviolet light. Other inorganic salts of metals used for tattooing include ferric hydrate for ochre, ferric oxide for brown, manganese salts for purple. Reactions may be seen within a few weeks up to years after the tattoo is placed.

Reactions are often confined to the tattoo and may present as erythematous papules or plaques, although lesions may also present as scaly and eczematous patches. Psoriasis, vitiligo, and lichen planus may Koebnerize and appear in the tattoo. Sarcoidosis may occur in tattoos and can be seen upon histopathologic examination. Allergic contact dermatitis may also be seen in people who receive temporary henna tattoos in which the henna dye is mixed with paraphenylenediamine (PPD).

Histologically, granulomatous, sarcoidal, and lichenoid patterns may be seen. A punch biopsy was performed in this patient that revealed a lichenoid and interstitial lymphohistiocytic infiltrate with red tattoo pigment. Special stains for PAS, GMS, FITE, and AFB were negative. There was no polarizable foreign material identified.

Treatment includes topical steroids, which may be ineffective, intralesional kenalog, and surgical excision. Laser must be used with caution, as it may aggravate the allergic reaction and cause a systemic reaction.

This case and photo were provided by Dr. Bilu Martin.

Dr. Bilu Martin is a board-certified dermatologist in private practice at Premier Dermatology, MD, in Aventura, Fla. More diagnostic cases are available at mdedge.com/dermatology. To submit a case for possible publication, send an email to [email protected].

Decorative tattooing has increased in popularity over the last decade. Multiple reactions can be seen as a result of allergic contact dermatitis/sensitivities to pigment used, photoallergic reactions, infectious processes because of contaminated ink or a nonsterile environment, or as a Koebner response.

Dermatitis is commonly seen in patients with a sensitivity to certain pigments. Mercury sulfide or cinnabar in red, chromium in green, and cobalt in blue are common offenders. Cadmium, which is used for yellow, may cause a photoallergic reaction following exposure to ultraviolet light. Other inorganic salts of metals used for tattooing include ferric hydrate for ochre, ferric oxide for brown, manganese salts for purple. Reactions may be seen within a few weeks up to years after the tattoo is placed.

Reactions are often confined to the tattoo and may present as erythematous papules or plaques, although lesions may also present as scaly and eczematous patches. Psoriasis, vitiligo, and lichen planus may Koebnerize and appear in the tattoo. Sarcoidosis may occur in tattoos and can be seen upon histopathologic examination. Allergic contact dermatitis may also be seen in people who receive temporary henna tattoos in which the henna dye is mixed with paraphenylenediamine (PPD).

Histologically, granulomatous, sarcoidal, and lichenoid patterns may be seen. A punch biopsy was performed in this patient that revealed a lichenoid and interstitial lymphohistiocytic infiltrate with red tattoo pigment. Special stains for PAS, GMS, FITE, and AFB were negative. There was no polarizable foreign material identified.

Treatment includes topical steroids, which may be ineffective, intralesional kenalog, and surgical excision. Laser must be used with caution, as it may aggravate the allergic reaction and cause a systemic reaction.

This case and photo were provided by Dr. Bilu Martin.

Dr. Bilu Martin is a board-certified dermatologist in private practice at Premier Dermatology, MD, in Aventura, Fla. More diagnostic cases are available at mdedge.com/dermatology. To submit a case for possible publication, send an email to [email protected].

Decorative tattooing has increased in popularity over the last decade. Multiple reactions can be seen as a result of allergic contact dermatitis/sensitivities to pigment used, photoallergic reactions, infectious processes because of contaminated ink or a nonsterile environment, or as a Koebner response.

Dermatitis is commonly seen in patients with a sensitivity to certain pigments. Mercury sulfide or cinnabar in red, chromium in green, and cobalt in blue are common offenders. Cadmium, which is used for yellow, may cause a photoallergic reaction following exposure to ultraviolet light. Other inorganic salts of metals used for tattooing include ferric hydrate for ochre, ferric oxide for brown, manganese salts for purple. Reactions may be seen within a few weeks up to years after the tattoo is placed.

Reactions are often confined to the tattoo and may present as erythematous papules or plaques, although lesions may also present as scaly and eczematous patches. Psoriasis, vitiligo, and lichen planus may Koebnerize and appear in the tattoo. Sarcoidosis may occur in tattoos and can be seen upon histopathologic examination. Allergic contact dermatitis may also be seen in people who receive temporary henna tattoos in which the henna dye is mixed with paraphenylenediamine (PPD).

Histologically, granulomatous, sarcoidal, and lichenoid patterns may be seen. A punch biopsy was performed in this patient that revealed a lichenoid and interstitial lymphohistiocytic infiltrate with red tattoo pigment. Special stains for PAS, GMS, FITE, and AFB were negative. There was no polarizable foreign material identified.

Treatment includes topical steroids, which may be ineffective, intralesional kenalog, and surgical excision. Laser must be used with caution, as it may aggravate the allergic reaction and cause a systemic reaction.

This case and photo were provided by Dr. Bilu Martin.

Dr. Bilu Martin is a board-certified dermatologist in private practice at Premier Dermatology, MD, in Aventura, Fla. More diagnostic cases are available at mdedge.com/dermatology. To submit a case for possible publication, send an email to [email protected].