Allan M. Block, MD

Recently, when I logged on to see what medication refills had come in, I was greeted with a notice that Walgreens would no longer carry promethazine/codeine cough syrup. It wouldn’t surprise me if other pharmacies follow.

This doesn’t affect me much. As a neurologist I’ve never prescribed it, and as a patient I’ve never used it.

The unwritten reason was likely because of its popularity for abuse. It is often mixed with various beverages and called “purple drank.” It has both social, and legal, consequences that can come back and bite the pharmacy.

A friend of mine commented that if everything that can be abused gets banned, all we’ll be left with are Tylenol and Preparation H. Another friend made the comment that it’s a shame, because codeine is a remarkably effective antitussive.

I agree with both of them, but Walgreens is pulling only the combo preparation off the shelves. Codeine and promethazine are still available. The former is on WHO’s list of essential medications.

Even if every pharmacy were to drop promethazine/codeine cough syrup, and it was withdrawn from the market, it wouldn’t keep people from abusing it. They’d still find a way to get the components and whip up some equivalent. Human innovation can be remarkable. All of us who trained in the inner city (which is pretty much all of us at some point) have seen people who drank mouthwash, hairspray, and who knows what else in desperation.

No one believes it’s going to stop drug abuse, but it will make it harder to have purple drank, which is often passed around as a low-level drug at parties. Putting Sudafed behind the counter has reduced, though not stopped, meth. Walter White can tell you that.

A patient of mine who’s a pharmacist also was talking about this. He’s in favor of it, as he’s tired of dealing with people trying to get it through faked prescriptions and bogus visits to urgent care pretending to have a cough, not to mention the additional paperwork and reporting requirements that a controlled drug carries.

I agree with it, mostly, but there are those who truly do need it at times, and who now will have to take it as individual components, or find a pharmacy that does carry it. The issue here becomes that, by punishing the abusers, you’re also punishing the responsible.

The vast majority of alcohol users are responsible drinkers. I have the occasional beer myself. Unfortunately, there are a comparative few who aren’t, and their actions can bring tremendous grief to many others. So we have tougher laws all around that we all have to follow.

I agree with Walgreens actions on this, but still find myself wondering how much of a difference it will make.

Probably not as much as I hope.

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

Recently, when I logged on to see what medication refills had come in, I was greeted with a notice that Walgreens would no longer carry promethazine/codeine cough syrup. It wouldn’t surprise me if other pharmacies follow.

This doesn’t affect me much. As a neurologist I’ve never prescribed it, and as a patient I’ve never used it.

The unwritten reason was likely because of its popularity for abuse. It is often mixed with various beverages and called “purple drank.” It has both social, and legal, consequences that can come back and bite the pharmacy.

A friend of mine commented that if everything that can be abused gets banned, all we’ll be left with are Tylenol and Preparation H. Another friend made the comment that it’s a shame, because codeine is a remarkably effective antitussive.

I agree with both of them, but Walgreens is pulling only the combo preparation off the shelves. Codeine and promethazine are still available. The former is on WHO’s list of essential medications.

Even if every pharmacy were to drop promethazine/codeine cough syrup, and it was withdrawn from the market, it wouldn’t keep people from abusing it. They’d still find a way to get the components and whip up some equivalent. Human innovation can be remarkable. All of us who trained in the inner city (which is pretty much all of us at some point) have seen people who drank mouthwash, hairspray, and who knows what else in desperation.

No one believes it’s going to stop drug abuse, but it will make it harder to have purple drank, which is often passed around as a low-level drug at parties. Putting Sudafed behind the counter has reduced, though not stopped, meth. Walter White can tell you that.

A patient of mine who’s a pharmacist also was talking about this. He’s in favor of it, as he’s tired of dealing with people trying to get it through faked prescriptions and bogus visits to urgent care pretending to have a cough, not to mention the additional paperwork and reporting requirements that a controlled drug carries.

I agree with it, mostly, but there are those who truly do need it at times, and who now will have to take it as individual components, or find a pharmacy that does carry it. The issue here becomes that, by punishing the abusers, you’re also punishing the responsible.

The vast majority of alcohol users are responsible drinkers. I have the occasional beer myself. Unfortunately, there are a comparative few who aren’t, and their actions can bring tremendous grief to many others. So we have tougher laws all around that we all have to follow.

I agree with Walgreens actions on this, but still find myself wondering how much of a difference it will make.

Probably not as much as I hope.

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

Recently, when I logged on to see what medication refills had come in, I was greeted with a notice that Walgreens would no longer carry promethazine/codeine cough syrup. It wouldn’t surprise me if other pharmacies follow.

This doesn’t affect me much. As a neurologist I’ve never prescribed it, and as a patient I’ve never used it.

The unwritten reason was likely because of its popularity for abuse. It is often mixed with various beverages and called “purple drank.” It has both social, and legal, consequences that can come back and bite the pharmacy.

A friend of mine commented that if everything that can be abused gets banned, all we’ll be left with are Tylenol and Preparation H. Another friend made the comment that it’s a shame, because codeine is a remarkably effective antitussive.

I agree with both of them, but Walgreens is pulling only the combo preparation off the shelves. Codeine and promethazine are still available. The former is on WHO’s list of essential medications.

Even if every pharmacy were to drop promethazine/codeine cough syrup, and it was withdrawn from the market, it wouldn’t keep people from abusing it. They’d still find a way to get the components and whip up some equivalent. Human innovation can be remarkable. All of us who trained in the inner city (which is pretty much all of us at some point) have seen people who drank mouthwash, hairspray, and who knows what else in desperation.

No one believes it’s going to stop drug abuse, but it will make it harder to have purple drank, which is often passed around as a low-level drug at parties. Putting Sudafed behind the counter has reduced, though not stopped, meth. Walter White can tell you that.

A patient of mine who’s a pharmacist also was talking about this. He’s in favor of it, as he’s tired of dealing with people trying to get it through faked prescriptions and bogus visits to urgent care pretending to have a cough, not to mention the additional paperwork and reporting requirements that a controlled drug carries.

I agree with it, mostly, but there are those who truly do need it at times, and who now will have to take it as individual components, or find a pharmacy that does carry it. The issue here becomes that, by punishing the abusers, you’re also punishing the responsible.

The vast majority of alcohol users are responsible drinkers. I have the occasional beer myself. Unfortunately, there are a comparative few who aren’t, and their actions can bring tremendous grief to many others. So we have tougher laws all around that we all have to follow.

I agree with Walgreens actions on this, but still find myself wondering how much of a difference it will make.

Probably not as much as I hope.

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

What could you do with $18 billion?

I could pay off my mortgage roughly 60,000 times, or take my wife on a never-ending world cruise so we don’t need a mortgage, or at least hire someone to clean my pool regularly so I don’t have to.

A recent report from the OIG found that, in the last 3 years, the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services spent $18 billion on drugs for which there’s no proof of significant clinical benefit.

That’s a lot of money on things that may or may not be placebos, some of which are WAY overdue on Food and Drug Administration–mandated efficacy studies. A few have even been on the market so long that they’ve become equally unproven generics.

Now, if you put this in the big picture, that immense amount of money is still only 2% of their total spending in health care. Hell, probably at least 2% of my personal spending is on pointless things, too. So, realistically, you could say 98% of CMS spending is on worthwhile care, which is as it should be.

But the bottom line is that $18 billion is still a lot of money if it’s being spent on fruitless treatments. I’m sure it could be better used in many other programs (refunding it to taxpayers comes out to maybe $55 for each of us, which probably isn’t worth the effort).

As pointed out in the movie “Dave,” shoving that kind of money in even a low-yield savings account would generate at least $180 million in interest each year.

That’s a lot of money, too, that could be used for something. Of course, no one in the government thinks that way. That’s why we all loved the movie.

The problem is that the phrase “no proof of significant clinical benefit” doesn’t mean something doesn’t work. It just means we aren’t sure. Some of those people on one of these drugs may be getting benefit – or not. After all, the placebo effect is remarkably strong. But if they are helping someone, who wants to be the one to tell them “we’re not going to pay for this anymore?”

Another issue is this: Let’s say the drugs only work for 10% of the people who take them ($1.8 billion worth), and for the other 90% it’s iffy ($16.2 billion worth), but the latter want to stay on them anyway, just to be sure. Do we cut them? Or just say that $18 billion is too much money when only 10% are being helped, and cut them all off? I’m sure we could use the money elsewhere (see “Dave” above), so let them find a way to work it out with the manufacturer. The greatest good for the greatest number and all that jazz.

I don’t know, either. Health care dollars are finite, and human suffering is infinite. It’s a balancing act that can’t be won. There are no easy answers.

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

What could you do with $18 billion?

I could pay off my mortgage roughly 60,000 times, or take my wife on a never-ending world cruise so we don’t need a mortgage, or at least hire someone to clean my pool regularly so I don’t have to.

A recent report from the OIG found that, in the last 3 years, the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services spent $18 billion on drugs for which there’s no proof of significant clinical benefit.

That’s a lot of money on things that may or may not be placebos, some of which are WAY overdue on Food and Drug Administration–mandated efficacy studies. A few have even been on the market so long that they’ve become equally unproven generics.

Now, if you put this in the big picture, that immense amount of money is still only 2% of their total spending in health care. Hell, probably at least 2% of my personal spending is on pointless things, too. So, realistically, you could say 98% of CMS spending is on worthwhile care, which is as it should be.

But the bottom line is that $18 billion is still a lot of money if it’s being spent on fruitless treatments. I’m sure it could be better used in many other programs (refunding it to taxpayers comes out to maybe $55 for each of us, which probably isn’t worth the effort).

As pointed out in the movie “Dave,” shoving that kind of money in even a low-yield savings account would generate at least $180 million in interest each year.

That’s a lot of money, too, that could be used for something. Of course, no one in the government thinks that way. That’s why we all loved the movie.

The problem is that the phrase “no proof of significant clinical benefit” doesn’t mean something doesn’t work. It just means we aren’t sure. Some of those people on one of these drugs may be getting benefit – or not. After all, the placebo effect is remarkably strong. But if they are helping someone, who wants to be the one to tell them “we’re not going to pay for this anymore?”

Another issue is this: Let’s say the drugs only work for 10% of the people who take them ($1.8 billion worth), and for the other 90% it’s iffy ($16.2 billion worth), but the latter want to stay on them anyway, just to be sure. Do we cut them? Or just say that $18 billion is too much money when only 10% are being helped, and cut them all off? I’m sure we could use the money elsewhere (see “Dave” above), so let them find a way to work it out with the manufacturer. The greatest good for the greatest number and all that jazz.

I don’t know, either. Health care dollars are finite, and human suffering is infinite. It’s a balancing act that can’t be won. There are no easy answers.

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

What could you do with $18 billion?

I could pay off my mortgage roughly 60,000 times, or take my wife on a never-ending world cruise so we don’t need a mortgage, or at least hire someone to clean my pool regularly so I don’t have to.

A recent report from the OIG found that, in the last 3 years, the Centers for Medicare & Medicaid Services spent $18 billion on drugs for which there’s no proof of significant clinical benefit.

That’s a lot of money on things that may or may not be placebos, some of which are WAY overdue on Food and Drug Administration–mandated efficacy studies. A few have even been on the market so long that they’ve become equally unproven generics.

Now, if you put this in the big picture, that immense amount of money is still only 2% of their total spending in health care. Hell, probably at least 2% of my personal spending is on pointless things, too. So, realistically, you could say 98% of CMS spending is on worthwhile care, which is as it should be.

But the bottom line is that $18 billion is still a lot of money if it’s being spent on fruitless treatments. I’m sure it could be better used in many other programs (refunding it to taxpayers comes out to maybe $55 for each of us, which probably isn’t worth the effort).

As pointed out in the movie “Dave,” shoving that kind of money in even a low-yield savings account would generate at least $180 million in interest each year.

That’s a lot of money, too, that could be used for something. Of course, no one in the government thinks that way. That’s why we all loved the movie.

The problem is that the phrase “no proof of significant clinical benefit” doesn’t mean something doesn’t work. It just means we aren’t sure. Some of those people on one of these drugs may be getting benefit – or not. After all, the placebo effect is remarkably strong. But if they are helping someone, who wants to be the one to tell them “we’re not going to pay for this anymore?”

Another issue is this: Let’s say the drugs only work for 10% of the people who take them ($1.8 billion worth), and for the other 90% it’s iffy ($16.2 billion worth), but the latter want to stay on them anyway, just to be sure. Do we cut them? Or just say that $18 billion is too much money when only 10% are being helped, and cut them all off? I’m sure we could use the money elsewhere (see “Dave” above), so let them find a way to work it out with the manufacturer. The greatest good for the greatest number and all that jazz.

I don’t know, either. Health care dollars are finite, and human suffering is infinite. It’s a balancing act that can’t be won. There are no easy answers.

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

I hear other doctors talk about online reviews, both good and bad.

I recently read a piece where a practice gave doctors a bonus for getting 5-star reviews, though it doesn’t say if they were penalized for getting bad reviews. I assume the latter docs got a good “talking to” by someone in administration, or marketing, or both.

I get my share of them, too, both good and bad, scattered across at least a dozen sites that profess to offer accurate ratings.

I tend to ignore all of them.

Bad ratings mean nothing. They might be reasonable. They can also be from patients whom I fired for noncompliance, or from patients I refused to give an early narcotic refill to. They can also be from people who aren’t patients, such as a neighbor angry at the way I voted at a home owners association meeting, or a person who never saw me but was upset because I don’t take their insurance, or someone at the hospital whom I had to hang up on after being put on hold for 10 minutes.

Good reviews also don’t mean much, either. They might be from patients. They could also be from well-meaning family and friends. Or the waiter I left an extra-large tip for the other night.

One of my 1-star reviews even goes on to describe me in glowing terms (the lady called my office to apologize, saying the site confused her).

There’s also a whole cottage industry around this: Like restaurants, you can pay people to give you good reviews. They’re on Craig’s list and other sites. Some are freelancers. Others are actually well-organized companies, offering to give you X number of good reviews per month for a regular fee. I see ads for the latter online, usually describing themselves as “reputation recovery services.”

There was even a recent post on Sermo about this. A doctor noted he’d gotten a string of bad reviews from nonpatients, and shortly afterward was contacted by a reputation recovery service to help. He wondered if the crappy reviews were intentionally written by that business before they called him. He also questioned if it was an unspoken blackmail tactic – pay us or we’ll write more bad reviews.

Unlike a restaurant, we can’t respond because of patient confidentiality. Unless it’s something meaninglessly generic like “thank you” or “sorry you had a bad experience.”

A friend of mine (not in medicine) said that picking your doctor from online reviews is like selecting a wine recommended by a guy who lives at the train yard.

While there are pros and cons to the whole online review thing, in medicine there are mostly cons. Many reviews are anonymous, with no way to trace them. Unless details are provided, you don’t know if the reviewer is really a patient (or even a human in this bot era). Neither does the general public, reading them and presumably making decisions about who to see.

Like many things about the Internet, online reviews are the wild west. There are minimal (if any) rules, no law enforcement, and no one knows who the good guys and bad guys really are.

And there’s nothing we can do about it, either.

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

I hear other doctors talk about online reviews, both good and bad.

I recently read a piece where a practice gave doctors a bonus for getting 5-star reviews, though it doesn’t say if they were penalized for getting bad reviews. I assume the latter docs got a good “talking to” by someone in administration, or marketing, or both.

I get my share of them, too, both good and bad, scattered across at least a dozen sites that profess to offer accurate ratings.

I tend to ignore all of them.

Bad ratings mean nothing. They might be reasonable. They can also be from patients whom I fired for noncompliance, or from patients I refused to give an early narcotic refill to. They can also be from people who aren’t patients, such as a neighbor angry at the way I voted at a home owners association meeting, or a person who never saw me but was upset because I don’t take their insurance, or someone at the hospital whom I had to hang up on after being put on hold for 10 minutes.

Good reviews also don’t mean much, either. They might be from patients. They could also be from well-meaning family and friends. Or the waiter I left an extra-large tip for the other night.

One of my 1-star reviews even goes on to describe me in glowing terms (the lady called my office to apologize, saying the site confused her).

There’s also a whole cottage industry around this: Like restaurants, you can pay people to give you good reviews. They’re on Craig’s list and other sites. Some are freelancers. Others are actually well-organized companies, offering to give you X number of good reviews per month for a regular fee. I see ads for the latter online, usually describing themselves as “reputation recovery services.”

There was even a recent post on Sermo about this. A doctor noted he’d gotten a string of bad reviews from nonpatients, and shortly afterward was contacted by a reputation recovery service to help. He wondered if the crappy reviews were intentionally written by that business before they called him. He also questioned if it was an unspoken blackmail tactic – pay us or we’ll write more bad reviews.

Unlike a restaurant, we can’t respond because of patient confidentiality. Unless it’s something meaninglessly generic like “thank you” or “sorry you had a bad experience.”

A friend of mine (not in medicine) said that picking your doctor from online reviews is like selecting a wine recommended by a guy who lives at the train yard.

While there are pros and cons to the whole online review thing, in medicine there are mostly cons. Many reviews are anonymous, with no way to trace them. Unless details are provided, you don’t know if the reviewer is really a patient (or even a human in this bot era). Neither does the general public, reading them and presumably making decisions about who to see.

Like many things about the Internet, online reviews are the wild west. There are minimal (if any) rules, no law enforcement, and no one knows who the good guys and bad guys really are.

And there’s nothing we can do about it, either.

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

I hear other doctors talk about online reviews, both good and bad.

I recently read a piece where a practice gave doctors a bonus for getting 5-star reviews, though it doesn’t say if they were penalized for getting bad reviews. I assume the latter docs got a good “talking to” by someone in administration, or marketing, or both.

I get my share of them, too, both good and bad, scattered across at least a dozen sites that profess to offer accurate ratings.

I tend to ignore all of them.

Bad ratings mean nothing. They might be reasonable. They can also be from patients whom I fired for noncompliance, or from patients I refused to give an early narcotic refill to. They can also be from people who aren’t patients, such as a neighbor angry at the way I voted at a home owners association meeting, or a person who never saw me but was upset because I don’t take their insurance, or someone at the hospital whom I had to hang up on after being put on hold for 10 minutes.

Good reviews also don’t mean much, either. They might be from patients. They could also be from well-meaning family and friends. Or the waiter I left an extra-large tip for the other night.

One of my 1-star reviews even goes on to describe me in glowing terms (the lady called my office to apologize, saying the site confused her).

There’s also a whole cottage industry around this: Like restaurants, you can pay people to give you good reviews. They’re on Craig’s list and other sites. Some are freelancers. Others are actually well-organized companies, offering to give you X number of good reviews per month for a regular fee. I see ads for the latter online, usually describing themselves as “reputation recovery services.”

There was even a recent post on Sermo about this. A doctor noted he’d gotten a string of bad reviews from nonpatients, and shortly afterward was contacted by a reputation recovery service to help. He wondered if the crappy reviews were intentionally written by that business before they called him. He also questioned if it was an unspoken blackmail tactic – pay us or we’ll write more bad reviews.

Unlike a restaurant, we can’t respond because of patient confidentiality. Unless it’s something meaninglessly generic like “thank you” or “sorry you had a bad experience.”

A friend of mine (not in medicine) said that picking your doctor from online reviews is like selecting a wine recommended by a guy who lives at the train yard.

While there are pros and cons to the whole online review thing, in medicine there are mostly cons. Many reviews are anonymous, with no way to trace them. Unless details are provided, you don’t know if the reviewer is really a patient (or even a human in this bot era). Neither does the general public, reading them and presumably making decisions about who to see.

Like many things about the Internet, online reviews are the wild west. There are minimal (if any) rules, no law enforcement, and no one knows who the good guys and bad guys really are.

And there’s nothing we can do about it, either.

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

Recently an article crossed my screen that drinking 4 cups of tea per day lowered the risk of type 2 diabetes by 17%. As these thing always seem to, it ended with a variant of “further research is needed.”

Encouraging? Sure. Definite? Nope.

That’s the trouble with a lot of research papers. They have some promise, but really nothing definite. I’ve seen plenty of articles suggesting coffee and/or tea have health benefits, though specifically on what varies, from lifespan to lowering the risk of a chronic medical condition (in this case, type 2 diabetes).

There are always numerous variables that aren’t clear. What kind of tea? Decaf or regular? Hot or iced? When you say cup, what do you mean? A lot of people, including me, probably consider anything smaller that a Starbucks grande to be for wimps.

While I can’t think of any off the top of my head, there’s probably a reasonable chance that, if I looked, I could find something that says coffee or tea are bad for you in some way, too.

Not that I’m planning on changing my already caffeinated drinking habits, which is probably the crux of these things for most of us. In a given day I have 1-2 cups of coffee and 3-4 bottles of diet green tea. Maybe 1-2 Diet Cokes in there some days. In winter more hot black tea. I’m probably a poster child for methylyxanthine toxicity.

I have no idea if all that coffee and tea are doing anything besides keeping me awake and alert for my patients. If they are, I certainly hope they’re lowering my risk of something bad.

Articles like this always get attention, and are often picked up by the general media. People love to think something so simple as drinking more tea or coffee would make a big difference in their lives. So it gets forwarded, people never read past the first paragraph or two, and don’t make it to the “further research is needed” line.

If an article ever came out refuting it, it probably wouldn’t get nearly as much press (who wants to read bad news?) and would be quickly forgotten outside of medical circles.

But the reality is that people are really looking for shortcuts. Unless you live under a rock, it’s pretty clear to both medical and lay people that such things as exercise and a healthy diet can help avoid multiple chronic health conditions. This doesn’t mean most of us, myself included, will do such faithfully. It just takes less time and effort to drink more tea than it does to go to the gym, so we want to believe.

That’s just human nature.

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

Recently an article crossed my screen that drinking 4 cups of tea per day lowered the risk of type 2 diabetes by 17%. As these thing always seem to, it ended with a variant of “further research is needed.”

Encouraging? Sure. Definite? Nope.

That’s the trouble with a lot of research papers. They have some promise, but really nothing definite. I’ve seen plenty of articles suggesting coffee and/or tea have health benefits, though specifically on what varies, from lifespan to lowering the risk of a chronic medical condition (in this case, type 2 diabetes).

There are always numerous variables that aren’t clear. What kind of tea? Decaf or regular? Hot or iced? When you say cup, what do you mean? A lot of people, including me, probably consider anything smaller that a Starbucks grande to be for wimps.

While I can’t think of any off the top of my head, there’s probably a reasonable chance that, if I looked, I could find something that says coffee or tea are bad for you in some way, too.

Not that I’m planning on changing my already caffeinated drinking habits, which is probably the crux of these things for most of us. In a given day I have 1-2 cups of coffee and 3-4 bottles of diet green tea. Maybe 1-2 Diet Cokes in there some days. In winter more hot black tea. I’m probably a poster child for methylyxanthine toxicity.

I have no idea if all that coffee and tea are doing anything besides keeping me awake and alert for my patients. If they are, I certainly hope they’re lowering my risk of something bad.

Articles like this always get attention, and are often picked up by the general media. People love to think something so simple as drinking more tea or coffee would make a big difference in their lives. So it gets forwarded, people never read past the first paragraph or two, and don’t make it to the “further research is needed” line.

If an article ever came out refuting it, it probably wouldn’t get nearly as much press (who wants to read bad news?) and would be quickly forgotten outside of medical circles.

But the reality is that people are really looking for shortcuts. Unless you live under a rock, it’s pretty clear to both medical and lay people that such things as exercise and a healthy diet can help avoid multiple chronic health conditions. This doesn’t mean most of us, myself included, will do such faithfully. It just takes less time and effort to drink more tea than it does to go to the gym, so we want to believe.

That’s just human nature.

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

Recently an article crossed my screen that drinking 4 cups of tea per day lowered the risk of type 2 diabetes by 17%. As these thing always seem to, it ended with a variant of “further research is needed.”

Encouraging? Sure. Definite? Nope.

That’s the trouble with a lot of research papers. They have some promise, but really nothing definite. I’ve seen plenty of articles suggesting coffee and/or tea have health benefits, though specifically on what varies, from lifespan to lowering the risk of a chronic medical condition (in this case, type 2 diabetes).

There are always numerous variables that aren’t clear. What kind of tea? Decaf or regular? Hot or iced? When you say cup, what do you mean? A lot of people, including me, probably consider anything smaller that a Starbucks grande to be for wimps.

While I can’t think of any off the top of my head, there’s probably a reasonable chance that, if I looked, I could find something that says coffee or tea are bad for you in some way, too.

Not that I’m planning on changing my already caffeinated drinking habits, which is probably the crux of these things for most of us. In a given day I have 1-2 cups of coffee and 3-4 bottles of diet green tea. Maybe 1-2 Diet Cokes in there some days. In winter more hot black tea. I’m probably a poster child for methylyxanthine toxicity.

I have no idea if all that coffee and tea are doing anything besides keeping me awake and alert for my patients. If they are, I certainly hope they’re lowering my risk of something bad.

Articles like this always get attention, and are often picked up by the general media. People love to think something so simple as drinking more tea or coffee would make a big difference in their lives. So it gets forwarded, people never read past the first paragraph or two, and don’t make it to the “further research is needed” line.

If an article ever came out refuting it, it probably wouldn’t get nearly as much press (who wants to read bad news?) and would be quickly forgotten outside of medical circles.

But the reality is that people are really looking for shortcuts. Unless you live under a rock, it’s pretty clear to both medical and lay people that such things as exercise and a healthy diet can help avoid multiple chronic health conditions. This doesn’t mean most of us, myself included, will do such faithfully. It just takes less time and effort to drink more tea than it does to go to the gym, so we want to believe.

That’s just human nature.

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

He’s 24 years younger than I am, recently married, no kids. Just starting out as a neurologist. He also has a full head of hair, something I’m admittedly jealous of.

He’s always in a sweater, something that seems oddly out of place in Phoenix, Arizona.

He’s the picture on my hospital ID.

I don’t go to the hospital much anymore, but he still sits in my car, greeting me whenever I open the center console to get my sunglasses or phone charger. He looks very enthusiastic about starting his career. I clearly remember the day I had the picture taken, as a newly-minted attending getting his first hospital privileges.

Sometimes I talk to him. Usually it’s just silly advice (“bet on the ’16 Cubs”). Other times I wonder what he’d do in certain situations, with all his youthful enthusiasm. I’m sure he wonders the same about me, with my 24 years of experience.

To a large extent we are the same people we started out as, but time changes us, in ways besides the obvious (like my hairs jumping off like lemmings). We learn from experience, both good and bad.

Looking back at him (or even the older pic on my medical school application) I have no complaints about where life and my career have taken me. Would there be a few things I might have changed if I could go back?

Realistically, maybe one or two, both involving my father, but neither of them would likely change where I am.

But as far as medicine goes? Not really. The things I liked then, that got me into the field? I still enjoy them. The horse hockey? Yeah, it’s always there, probably has gotten worse over time, and it still bothers me. But there isn’t a job that doesn’t have its share of cow patties. It’s just a matter of trying not to step in them more than necessary as you do the parts you enjoy.

Sometimes I look at my younger self, and wonder what I’d really say to him if we actually met.

Probably just “good luck, enjoy the ride, and ditch the sweater.”
 

We measure our gains out in luck and coincidence

Lanterns to turn back the night.

And put our defeats down to chance or experience

And try once again for the light.

– Al Stewart

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

He’s 24 years younger than I am, recently married, no kids. Just starting out as a neurologist. He also has a full head of hair, something I’m admittedly jealous of.

He’s always in a sweater, something that seems oddly out of place in Phoenix, Arizona.

He’s the picture on my hospital ID.

I don’t go to the hospital much anymore, but he still sits in my car, greeting me whenever I open the center console to get my sunglasses or phone charger. He looks very enthusiastic about starting his career. I clearly remember the day I had the picture taken, as a newly-minted attending getting his first hospital privileges.

Sometimes I talk to him. Usually it’s just silly advice (“bet on the ’16 Cubs”). Other times I wonder what he’d do in certain situations, with all his youthful enthusiasm. I’m sure he wonders the same about me, with my 24 years of experience.

To a large extent we are the same people we started out as, but time changes us, in ways besides the obvious (like my hairs jumping off like lemmings). We learn from experience, both good and bad.

Looking back at him (or even the older pic on my medical school application) I have no complaints about where life and my career have taken me. Would there be a few things I might have changed if I could go back?

Realistically, maybe one or two, both involving my father, but neither of them would likely change where I am.

But as far as medicine goes? Not really. The things I liked then, that got me into the field? I still enjoy them. The horse hockey? Yeah, it’s always there, probably has gotten worse over time, and it still bothers me. But there isn’t a job that doesn’t have its share of cow patties. It’s just a matter of trying not to step in them more than necessary as you do the parts you enjoy.

Sometimes I look at my younger self, and wonder what I’d really say to him if we actually met.

Probably just “good luck, enjoy the ride, and ditch the sweater.”
 

We measure our gains out in luck and coincidence

Lanterns to turn back the night.

And put our defeats down to chance or experience

And try once again for the light.

– Al Stewart

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

He’s 24 years younger than I am, recently married, no kids. Just starting out as a neurologist. He also has a full head of hair, something I’m admittedly jealous of.

He’s always in a sweater, something that seems oddly out of place in Phoenix, Arizona.

He’s the picture on my hospital ID.

I don’t go to the hospital much anymore, but he still sits in my car, greeting me whenever I open the center console to get my sunglasses or phone charger. He looks very enthusiastic about starting his career. I clearly remember the day I had the picture taken, as a newly-minted attending getting his first hospital privileges.

Sometimes I talk to him. Usually it’s just silly advice (“bet on the ’16 Cubs”). Other times I wonder what he’d do in certain situations, with all his youthful enthusiasm. I’m sure he wonders the same about me, with my 24 years of experience.

To a large extent we are the same people we started out as, but time changes us, in ways besides the obvious (like my hairs jumping off like lemmings). We learn from experience, both good and bad.

Looking back at him (or even the older pic on my medical school application) I have no complaints about where life and my career have taken me. Would there be a few things I might have changed if I could go back?

Realistically, maybe one or two, both involving my father, but neither of them would likely change where I am.

But as far as medicine goes? Not really. The things I liked then, that got me into the field? I still enjoy them. The horse hockey? Yeah, it’s always there, probably has gotten worse over time, and it still bothers me. But there isn’t a job that doesn’t have its share of cow patties. It’s just a matter of trying not to step in them more than necessary as you do the parts you enjoy.

Sometimes I look at my younger self, and wonder what I’d really say to him if we actually met.

Probably just “good luck, enjoy the ride, and ditch the sweater.”
 

We measure our gains out in luck and coincidence

Lanterns to turn back the night.

And put our defeats down to chance or experience

And try once again for the light.

– Al Stewart

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

A long time ago, as a fourth-year medical student, I did a neurology rotation at a large academic center.

One of the attendings was talking to me about reading, and how, once learned, it became innate: a function that, like breathing, couldn’t be turned off.

He was right, as is obvious to anyone. Driving down the road, walking past a newsstand, even opening a fridge covered with magnets from various other medical businesses ... it’s impossible NOT to process the letters into words and words into meanings, even if just for a second. Advertisers and headline-writers figured this out long ago. The key is to make those few words something that grabs our attention and interest, so we’ll either want to read more or retain it.

So too is being a doctor. Once that switch is on, you can’t flip it off. We all come to this field with varying degrees of curiosity and analytical ability, and once those are refined by experience they don’t shut down.

Recently Queen Elizabeth II died. In reading the news stories, without intending to, I found my mind trying to pick out details about her medical condition, formulate a differential ... after all these years of being in medicine it’s second nature to do that.

Of course, it’s none of my business, and I greatly respect personal privacy. But the point is there. At some point, like reading, we can’t turn off the doctor circuit (for lack of a better term). We do it all the time, analyzing gait patterns and arm swings as people go by. Noticing facial asymmetries, tremors, speech patterns. It may be turned down a few notches from when we’re in the office or hospital, but it’s still there.

It becomes second nature, a part of who we are.

It’s not just doctors. Architects casually notice building details that no one else would. Software engineers off-handedly see program features (good and bad) that the rest of us wouldn’t. Teachers and editors pick up on grammatical errors even when they’re not trying to.

None of these (aside from basic observation) are things that brains originally started out to do. But through training and experience we’ve adapted them to do this. We never stop observing, collecting data, and processing it, in ways peculiar to our backgrounds.

Which, if you think about it, is pretty remarkable.

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

A long time ago, as a fourth-year medical student, I did a neurology rotation at a large academic center.

One of the attendings was talking to me about reading, and how, once learned, it became innate: a function that, like breathing, couldn’t be turned off.

He was right, as is obvious to anyone. Driving down the road, walking past a newsstand, even opening a fridge covered with magnets from various other medical businesses ... it’s impossible NOT to process the letters into words and words into meanings, even if just for a second. Advertisers and headline-writers figured this out long ago. The key is to make those few words something that grabs our attention and interest, so we’ll either want to read more or retain it.

So too is being a doctor. Once that switch is on, you can’t flip it off. We all come to this field with varying degrees of curiosity and analytical ability, and once those are refined by experience they don’t shut down.

Recently Queen Elizabeth II died. In reading the news stories, without intending to, I found my mind trying to pick out details about her medical condition, formulate a differential ... after all these years of being in medicine it’s second nature to do that.

Of course, it’s none of my business, and I greatly respect personal privacy. But the point is there. At some point, like reading, we can’t turn off the doctor circuit (for lack of a better term). We do it all the time, analyzing gait patterns and arm swings as people go by. Noticing facial asymmetries, tremors, speech patterns. It may be turned down a few notches from when we’re in the office or hospital, but it’s still there.

It becomes second nature, a part of who we are.

It’s not just doctors. Architects casually notice building details that no one else would. Software engineers off-handedly see program features (good and bad) that the rest of us wouldn’t. Teachers and editors pick up on grammatical errors even when they’re not trying to.

None of these (aside from basic observation) are things that brains originally started out to do. But through training and experience we’ve adapted them to do this. We never stop observing, collecting data, and processing it, in ways peculiar to our backgrounds.

Which, if you think about it, is pretty remarkable.

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

A long time ago, as a fourth-year medical student, I did a neurology rotation at a large academic center.

One of the attendings was talking to me about reading, and how, once learned, it became innate: a function that, like breathing, couldn’t be turned off.

He was right, as is obvious to anyone. Driving down the road, walking past a newsstand, even opening a fridge covered with magnets from various other medical businesses ... it’s impossible NOT to process the letters into words and words into meanings, even if just for a second. Advertisers and headline-writers figured this out long ago. The key is to make those few words something that grabs our attention and interest, so we’ll either want to read more or retain it.

So too is being a doctor. Once that switch is on, you can’t flip it off. We all come to this field with varying degrees of curiosity and analytical ability, and once those are refined by experience they don’t shut down.

Recently Queen Elizabeth II died. In reading the news stories, without intending to, I found my mind trying to pick out details about her medical condition, formulate a differential ... after all these years of being in medicine it’s second nature to do that.

Of course, it’s none of my business, and I greatly respect personal privacy. But the point is there. At some point, like reading, we can’t turn off the doctor circuit (for lack of a better term). We do it all the time, analyzing gait patterns and arm swings as people go by. Noticing facial asymmetries, tremors, speech patterns. It may be turned down a few notches from when we’re in the office or hospital, but it’s still there.

It becomes second nature, a part of who we are.

It’s not just doctors. Architects casually notice building details that no one else would. Software engineers off-handedly see program features (good and bad) that the rest of us wouldn’t. Teachers and editors pick up on grammatical errors even when they’re not trying to.

None of these (aside from basic observation) are things that brains originally started out to do. But through training and experience we’ve adapted them to do this. We never stop observing, collecting data, and processing it, in ways peculiar to our backgrounds.

Which, if you think about it, is pretty remarkable.

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

Statins have, overall, been a remarkably beneficial class of drugs. Yes, you occasionally get patients who see them as part of some huge pharma-government conspiracy (along with vaccines and 5G, presumably) but the data are there to support them.

One of the issues with them is myalgias. We all see this to varying degrees. We all warn patients about it, as do their pharmacists, the information sheets from the pharmacy, some TV show, a Facebook friend, that guy in their Tuesday bowling league ... etc.

It is a legitimate concern. Some people definitely do get muscle cramps from them and need to come off. Scanning the medication list of someone who comes in with muscle cramps is a key part of the case.

Recently, the Lancet published a meta-analysis on the subject and found that, in 9 out of 10 patients who complained of muscle cramps on statins, the symptoms were unrelated to the drug. While previous data suggested rates of myalgias as high as 29%, this paper found it was closer to 7% compared with placebo. Only one in 15 of the muscle-related reports by patients while taking statins were clearly caused by the drug.

The power of suggestion is remarkable indeed.

The study is interesting. It might be correct.

But try telling that to the patients.

We all have patients who will get pretty much any side effect we mention, or that they read about online. That’s just human nature for some. But even reasonable adults can confuse things. The guy who starts Lipitor one week then helps his daughter move into her apartment the next. The lady who starts Crestor while training for a half-marathon. And so on.

The fact is that a lot of people take statins. And a lot of people (like, pretty much all of us) do things that can cause muscle injuries. Sooner or later these lines are going to intersect, but that doesn’t mean they have anything to do with each other.

It’s a lot harder to explain that, and have people believe it, once they’ve convinced themselves otherwise. Pravachol definitely did this, Dr. Google said so. It doesn’t help that trust in doctors, and health care science in general, has been eroded by political pundits and nonmedical experts during the COVID-19 pandemic. To some people our years of experience and training are nothing compared to what an anonymous guy on Parler told them.

Certainly this paper will help. A lot of people can benefit from statins. With this data maybe we can convince some to give them a fair shot.

But, as we’ve all experienced in practice, sometimes no amount of solid data will change the mind of someone who’s already made theirs up.

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

Statins have, overall, been a remarkably beneficial class of drugs. Yes, you occasionally get patients who see them as part of some huge pharma-government conspiracy (along with vaccines and 5G, presumably) but the data are there to support them.

One of the issues with them is myalgias. We all see this to varying degrees. We all warn patients about it, as do their pharmacists, the information sheets from the pharmacy, some TV show, a Facebook friend, that guy in their Tuesday bowling league ... etc.

It is a legitimate concern. Some people definitely do get muscle cramps from them and need to come off. Scanning the medication list of someone who comes in with muscle cramps is a key part of the case.

Recently, the Lancet published a meta-analysis on the subject and found that, in 9 out of 10 patients who complained of muscle cramps on statins, the symptoms were unrelated to the drug. While previous data suggested rates of myalgias as high as 29%, this paper found it was closer to 7% compared with placebo. Only one in 15 of the muscle-related reports by patients while taking statins were clearly caused by the drug.

The power of suggestion is remarkable indeed.

The study is interesting. It might be correct.

But try telling that to the patients.

We all have patients who will get pretty much any side effect we mention, or that they read about online. That’s just human nature for some. But even reasonable adults can confuse things. The guy who starts Lipitor one week then helps his daughter move into her apartment the next. The lady who starts Crestor while training for a half-marathon. And so on.

The fact is that a lot of people take statins. And a lot of people (like, pretty much all of us) do things that can cause muscle injuries. Sooner or later these lines are going to intersect, but that doesn’t mean they have anything to do with each other.

It’s a lot harder to explain that, and have people believe it, once they’ve convinced themselves otherwise. Pravachol definitely did this, Dr. Google said so. It doesn’t help that trust in doctors, and health care science in general, has been eroded by political pundits and nonmedical experts during the COVID-19 pandemic. To some people our years of experience and training are nothing compared to what an anonymous guy on Parler told them.

Certainly this paper will help. A lot of people can benefit from statins. With this data maybe we can convince some to give them a fair shot.

But, as we’ve all experienced in practice, sometimes no amount of solid data will change the mind of someone who’s already made theirs up.

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

Statins have, overall, been a remarkably beneficial class of drugs. Yes, you occasionally get patients who see them as part of some huge pharma-government conspiracy (along with vaccines and 5G, presumably) but the data are there to support them.

One of the issues with them is myalgias. We all see this to varying degrees. We all warn patients about it, as do their pharmacists, the information sheets from the pharmacy, some TV show, a Facebook friend, that guy in their Tuesday bowling league ... etc.

It is a legitimate concern. Some people definitely do get muscle cramps from them and need to come off. Scanning the medication list of someone who comes in with muscle cramps is a key part of the case.

Recently, the Lancet published a meta-analysis on the subject and found that, in 9 out of 10 patients who complained of muscle cramps on statins, the symptoms were unrelated to the drug. While previous data suggested rates of myalgias as high as 29%, this paper found it was closer to 7% compared with placebo. Only one in 15 of the muscle-related reports by patients while taking statins were clearly caused by the drug.

The power of suggestion is remarkable indeed.

The study is interesting. It might be correct.

But try telling that to the patients.

We all have patients who will get pretty much any side effect we mention, or that they read about online. That’s just human nature for some. But even reasonable adults can confuse things. The guy who starts Lipitor one week then helps his daughter move into her apartment the next. The lady who starts Crestor while training for a half-marathon. And so on.

The fact is that a lot of people take statins. And a lot of people (like, pretty much all of us) do things that can cause muscle injuries. Sooner or later these lines are going to intersect, but that doesn’t mean they have anything to do with each other.

It’s a lot harder to explain that, and have people believe it, once they’ve convinced themselves otherwise. Pravachol definitely did this, Dr. Google said so. It doesn’t help that trust in doctors, and health care science in general, has been eroded by political pundits and nonmedical experts during the COVID-19 pandemic. To some people our years of experience and training are nothing compared to what an anonymous guy on Parler told them.

Certainly this paper will help. A lot of people can benefit from statins. With this data maybe we can convince some to give them a fair shot.

But, as we’ve all experienced in practice, sometimes no amount of solid data will change the mind of someone who’s already made theirs up.

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

Medicare, like any other business (regardless of how you want to view it, it’s as much a business as any other insurance company), is dependent on cash flow. Money comes in from young people and their employers through withholding and taxes, and goes back out again in payments to doctors, hospitals, and all the others who bill Medicare for services and supplies in providing health care.

Unlike other businesses, it’s hampered by regulations and competing interests that affect its viability and capacity to adapt to changing markets and circumstances.

For a while, estimates were that Medicare would run out of cash in 2026, but with a stronger-then-expected COVID recovery, it’s been pushed back all the way to ... 2028.

Yeah.

The trouble here is that nobody wants to fix the system to keep it from happening. It’s easier to blame the other side for losing the game than it is to work together to win it. This isn’t a Republican or Democrat issue. Both of them are the problem.

Since Medicare started, the changes in American lifespan, population dynamics, and medical costs have meant that, as years go by, the spending on health care would eventually outstrip the cash coming in. Pushing it back 2 years doesn’t keep it from happening, though it does give more time to find a solution. But that’s only if you have people willing to do so.

Currently politicians favor a strategy of kicking the can down the road for the next congress to deal with. But we’re running out of road to kick it down, and the odds of the next generation of politicians being reasonable, functioning, adults seem to get lower each year.

Can you run your practice like that? In such a way that you know that in a few years your expenses will outweigh your income? And just figure that at some point you’ll get it figured out before your creditors come knocking?

Me neither.

If you were like me, or any other small business owner, you’d sit down and figure out what changes are needed so you’ll still have a viable business down the road.

Of course, that’s part of the issue. The people making these decisions for Medicare don’t have a vested interest in it. If it fails, they have other jobs and income sources to move on to, not to mention some pension-funded health insurance plan. It’s not their problem.

But for the patients, doctors, and other health care professionals who will be depending on it in 6 years, it is a problem, and a serious one.

Hopefully someone will listen before then.

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

Medicare, like any other business (regardless of how you want to view it, it’s as much a business as any other insurance company), is dependent on cash flow. Money comes in from young people and their employers through withholding and taxes, and goes back out again in payments to doctors, hospitals, and all the others who bill Medicare for services and supplies in providing health care.

Unlike other businesses, it’s hampered by regulations and competing interests that affect its viability and capacity to adapt to changing markets and circumstances.

For a while, estimates were that Medicare would run out of cash in 2026, but with a stronger-then-expected COVID recovery, it’s been pushed back all the way to ... 2028.

Yeah.

The trouble here is that nobody wants to fix the system to keep it from happening. It’s easier to blame the other side for losing the game than it is to work together to win it. This isn’t a Republican or Democrat issue. Both of them are the problem.

Since Medicare started, the changes in American lifespan, population dynamics, and medical costs have meant that, as years go by, the spending on health care would eventually outstrip the cash coming in. Pushing it back 2 years doesn’t keep it from happening, though it does give more time to find a solution. But that’s only if you have people willing to do so.

Currently politicians favor a strategy of kicking the can down the road for the next congress to deal with. But we’re running out of road to kick it down, and the odds of the next generation of politicians being reasonable, functioning, adults seem to get lower each year.

Can you run your practice like that? In such a way that you know that in a few years your expenses will outweigh your income? And just figure that at some point you’ll get it figured out before your creditors come knocking?

Me neither.

If you were like me, or any other small business owner, you’d sit down and figure out what changes are needed so you’ll still have a viable business down the road.

Of course, that’s part of the issue. The people making these decisions for Medicare don’t have a vested interest in it. If it fails, they have other jobs and income sources to move on to, not to mention some pension-funded health insurance plan. It’s not their problem.

But for the patients, doctors, and other health care professionals who will be depending on it in 6 years, it is a problem, and a serious one.

Hopefully someone will listen before then.

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

Medicare, like any other business (regardless of how you want to view it, it’s as much a business as any other insurance company), is dependent on cash flow. Money comes in from young people and their employers through withholding and taxes, and goes back out again in payments to doctors, hospitals, and all the others who bill Medicare for services and supplies in providing health care.

Unlike other businesses, it’s hampered by regulations and competing interests that affect its viability and capacity to adapt to changing markets and circumstances.

For a while, estimates were that Medicare would run out of cash in 2026, but with a stronger-then-expected COVID recovery, it’s been pushed back all the way to ... 2028.

Yeah.

The trouble here is that nobody wants to fix the system to keep it from happening. It’s easier to blame the other side for losing the game than it is to work together to win it. This isn’t a Republican or Democrat issue. Both of them are the problem.

Since Medicare started, the changes in American lifespan, population dynamics, and medical costs have meant that, as years go by, the spending on health care would eventually outstrip the cash coming in. Pushing it back 2 years doesn’t keep it from happening, though it does give more time to find a solution. But that’s only if you have people willing to do so.

Currently politicians favor a strategy of kicking the can down the road for the next congress to deal with. But we’re running out of road to kick it down, and the odds of the next generation of politicians being reasonable, functioning, adults seem to get lower each year.

Can you run your practice like that? In such a way that you know that in a few years your expenses will outweigh your income? And just figure that at some point you’ll get it figured out before your creditors come knocking?

Me neither.

If you were like me, or any other small business owner, you’d sit down and figure out what changes are needed so you’ll still have a viable business down the road.

Of course, that’s part of the issue. The people making these decisions for Medicare don’t have a vested interest in it. If it fails, they have other jobs and income sources to move on to, not to mention some pension-funded health insurance plan. It’s not their problem.

But for the patients, doctors, and other health care professionals who will be depending on it in 6 years, it is a problem, and a serious one.

Hopefully someone will listen before then.

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

Recently I was reading an article on the histories behind great songs, and one section featured Procol Harem’s “A Whiter Shade of Pale.” It mentioned the verse that incorporated a reference to Chaucer (“As the Miller told his tale”).

This surprised me, as, since I’d first heard the song (1983, in “The Big Chill”) until I read this piece, I thought the line was “As the mirror told its tale.” The idea that it was a misheard Chaucer reference had never occurred to me.

These are called mondegreens. The brain translates the phrase into what it hears, often giving it an entirely different meaning. Manfred Mann’s version of “Blinded by the Light” is absolutely full of them. Even the national anthem isn’t immune (“José can you see by the donzerly light?”)

I’m sure there’s an interesting study idea about the brain and mondegreens, probably involving PET scans, somewhere in there.

The whole thing reminded me of an incident early in residency, I suppose you could call it a medical mondegreen.

During training I never went anywhere without a clipboard and notepad, frantically scribbling tidbits down during rounds, lectures, meetings, whatever. I’d go home and reread them over dinner, trying to commit them to memory.

And somewhere, on rounds early in my first year of training, an attending told me that you can sometimes see a Bell’s palsy cause a mild ipsilateral hemiparesis. This surprised me, but hey, I was the newly minted doctor, there to learn. So I wrote it down, memorized it, and moved on.

Even then, though, it made no sense to me. Of course, I was too afraid to ask other residents about it, for fear they’d think I was an idiot (a point that’s still debatable). And questioning the attending involved seemed unthinkable.

But I wandered through my hospital library (back then, young ones, we used paper textbooks and journals) trying to figure out why a peripheral VII palsy could cause an ipsilateral hemiparesis. It would not let me be.

Nothing.

Finally, one day after a lecture, I asked the attending involved. He had no recollection of having tossed the point out a few months ago, and said there was no reason. This confirmed what I’d already realized – a standard Bell’s palsy couldn’t possibly cause an ipsilateral hemiparesis (I’m not going into the crossed-brainstem syndromes here).

Maybe he’d misspoken and not realized it. Maybe I hadn’t heard him correctly. Maybe a little of both. Hospital hallways are anything but quiet. He also had a pending vacation to the coast which could have distracted him.

Like mondegreens in songs, it was just an error, and looking back on it with 30 years perspective, it’s kind of funny. Fortunately I never sent anyone with a hemiparesis home from the ER thinking they had a Bell’s palsy.

But it makes you realize how flawed human communication can be. By the time I asked the attending about it I’d realized it couldn’t possibly be right. It still leaves me wondering about how much we think we heard correctly but we didn’t – and that we don’t notice.

Sometimes you may think your ears are open, but they might just as well be closed if you don’t hear correctly. In medicine the consequences of such can be a lot worse than screwing up on karaoke night.

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

Recently I was reading an article on the histories behind great songs, and one section featured Procol Harem’s “A Whiter Shade of Pale.” It mentioned the verse that incorporated a reference to Chaucer (“As the Miller told his tale”).

This surprised me, as, since I’d first heard the song (1983, in “The Big Chill”) until I read this piece, I thought the line was “As the mirror told its tale.” The idea that it was a misheard Chaucer reference had never occurred to me.

These are called mondegreens. The brain translates the phrase into what it hears, often giving it an entirely different meaning. Manfred Mann’s version of “Blinded by the Light” is absolutely full of them. Even the national anthem isn’t immune (“José can you see by the donzerly light?”)

I’m sure there’s an interesting study idea about the brain and mondegreens, probably involving PET scans, somewhere in there.

The whole thing reminded me of an incident early in residency, I suppose you could call it a medical mondegreen.

During training I never went anywhere without a clipboard and notepad, frantically scribbling tidbits down during rounds, lectures, meetings, whatever. I’d go home and reread them over dinner, trying to commit them to memory.

And somewhere, on rounds early in my first year of training, an attending told me that you can sometimes see a Bell’s palsy cause a mild ipsilateral hemiparesis. This surprised me, but hey, I was the newly minted doctor, there to learn. So I wrote it down, memorized it, and moved on.

Even then, though, it made no sense to me. Of course, I was too afraid to ask other residents about it, for fear they’d think I was an idiot (a point that’s still debatable). And questioning the attending involved seemed unthinkable.

But I wandered through my hospital library (back then, young ones, we used paper textbooks and journals) trying to figure out why a peripheral VII palsy could cause an ipsilateral hemiparesis. It would not let me be.

Nothing.

Finally, one day after a lecture, I asked the attending involved. He had no recollection of having tossed the point out a few months ago, and said there was no reason. This confirmed what I’d already realized – a standard Bell’s palsy couldn’t possibly cause an ipsilateral hemiparesis (I’m not going into the crossed-brainstem syndromes here).

Maybe he’d misspoken and not realized it. Maybe I hadn’t heard him correctly. Maybe a little of both. Hospital hallways are anything but quiet. He also had a pending vacation to the coast which could have distracted him.

Like mondegreens in songs, it was just an error, and looking back on it with 30 years perspective, it’s kind of funny. Fortunately I never sent anyone with a hemiparesis home from the ER thinking they had a Bell’s palsy.

But it makes you realize how flawed human communication can be. By the time I asked the attending about it I’d realized it couldn’t possibly be right. It still leaves me wondering about how much we think we heard correctly but we didn’t – and that we don’t notice.

Sometimes you may think your ears are open, but they might just as well be closed if you don’t hear correctly. In medicine the consequences of such can be a lot worse than screwing up on karaoke night.

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

Recently I was reading an article on the histories behind great songs, and one section featured Procol Harem’s “A Whiter Shade of Pale.” It mentioned the verse that incorporated a reference to Chaucer (“As the Miller told his tale”).

This surprised me, as, since I’d first heard the song (1983, in “The Big Chill”) until I read this piece, I thought the line was “As the mirror told its tale.” The idea that it was a misheard Chaucer reference had never occurred to me.

These are called mondegreens. The brain translates the phrase into what it hears, often giving it an entirely different meaning. Manfred Mann’s version of “Blinded by the Light” is absolutely full of them. Even the national anthem isn’t immune (“José can you see by the donzerly light?”)

I’m sure there’s an interesting study idea about the brain and mondegreens, probably involving PET scans, somewhere in there.

The whole thing reminded me of an incident early in residency, I suppose you could call it a medical mondegreen.

During training I never went anywhere without a clipboard and notepad, frantically scribbling tidbits down during rounds, lectures, meetings, whatever. I’d go home and reread them over dinner, trying to commit them to memory.

And somewhere, on rounds early in my first year of training, an attending told me that you can sometimes see a Bell’s palsy cause a mild ipsilateral hemiparesis. This surprised me, but hey, I was the newly minted doctor, there to learn. So I wrote it down, memorized it, and moved on.

Even then, though, it made no sense to me. Of course, I was too afraid to ask other residents about it, for fear they’d think I was an idiot (a point that’s still debatable). And questioning the attending involved seemed unthinkable.

But I wandered through my hospital library (back then, young ones, we used paper textbooks and journals) trying to figure out why a peripheral VII palsy could cause an ipsilateral hemiparesis. It would not let me be.

Nothing.

Finally, one day after a lecture, I asked the attending involved. He had no recollection of having tossed the point out a few months ago, and said there was no reason. This confirmed what I’d already realized – a standard Bell’s palsy couldn’t possibly cause an ipsilateral hemiparesis (I’m not going into the crossed-brainstem syndromes here).

Maybe he’d misspoken and not realized it. Maybe I hadn’t heard him correctly. Maybe a little of both. Hospital hallways are anything but quiet. He also had a pending vacation to the coast which could have distracted him.

Like mondegreens in songs, it was just an error, and looking back on it with 30 years perspective, it’s kind of funny. Fortunately I never sent anyone with a hemiparesis home from the ER thinking they had a Bell’s palsy.

But it makes you realize how flawed human communication can be. By the time I asked the attending about it I’d realized it couldn’t possibly be right. It still leaves me wondering about how much we think we heard correctly but we didn’t – and that we don’t notice.

Sometimes you may think your ears are open, but they might just as well be closed if you don’t hear correctly. In medicine the consequences of such can be a lot worse than screwing up on karaoke night.

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

Summer, since 1975, is traditionally a time for the BIG blockbusters to hit theaters. Some are new, others are sequels in successful franchises. Some anticipated, some not as much.

And, in summer 2022, we have the least-wanted sequel in modern history – Polio II: The Return.

Of course, this sequel isn’t in the theaters (unless the concessions staff isn’t washing their hands), definitely isn’t funny, and could potentially cost a lot more money than the latest Marvel Cinematic Universe flick.

Personally and professionally, I’m in the middle generation on the disease. I’m young enough that I never had to worry about catching it or having afflicted classmates. But, as a doctor, I’m old enough to still see the consequences. Like most neurologists, I have a handful of patients who had childhood polio, and still deal with the chronic weakness (and consequent pain and orthopedic issues it brings). Signing off on braces and other mobility aids for them is still commonplace.

One of my attendings in residency was the renowned Parkinson’s disease expert Abraham Lieberman. On rounds it was impossible not to notice his marked limp, a consequence of childhood polio, and he’d tell us what it was like, being a 6-year-old boy and dealing with the disease. You learn as much from hearing firsthand experiences as you do from textbooks.

And now the virus is showing up again. A few victims, a lot of virions circulating in waste water, but it shouldn’t be there at all.

We aren’t in the era when schoolchildren died or were crippled by it. Elementary school kids today don’t see classmates catch polio and never return to school, or see their grieving parents.

To take 1 year: More than 3,000 American children died of polio in 1952, and more than 21,000 were left with lifelong paralysis – many of them still among us.

When you think of an iron lung, you think of polio.

Those were the casualties in a war to save future generations from this, along with smallpox and other horrors.

But today, that war is mostly forgotten. And now scientific evidence is drowned out by whatever’s on Facebook and the hard-earned miracle of vaccination is ignored in favor of a nonmedical “social influencer” on YouTube.

So polio is back. The majority of the population likely has nothing to worry about. But there may be segments that are hit hard, and when they are they will never accept the obvious reasons why. It will be part of a cover-up, or a conspiracy, or whatever the guy on Parler told them it was.

As doctors, we’re in the middle. We have to give patients the best recommendations we can, based on learning, evidence, and experience, but at the same time have to recognize their autonomy. I’m not following someone around to make sure they get vaccinated, or take the medication I prescribed.

But we’re also the ones who can be held legally responsible for bad outcomes, regardless of the actual facts of the matter. On the flip side, you don’t hear about someone suing a Facebook “influencer” for doling out inaccurate, potentially fatal, medical advice.

So cracks appear in herd immunity, and leaks will happen.

A few generations of neurologists, including mine, have completed training without considering polio in a differential diagnosis. It would, of course, get bandied about in grand rounds or at the conference table, but none of us really took it seriously. To us residents it was more of historical note. “Gone with the Wind” and the “Wizard of Oz” both came out in 1939, and while we all knew of them, none of us were going to be watching them at the theaters.

Unlike them, though, polio is trying make it back to prime time. It’s a sequel nobody wanted.

But here it is.

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

Summer, since 1975, is traditionally a time for the BIG blockbusters to hit theaters. Some are new, others are sequels in successful franchises. Some anticipated, some not as much.

And, in summer 2022, we have the least-wanted sequel in modern history – Polio II: The Return.

Of course, this sequel isn’t in the theaters (unless the concessions staff isn’t washing their hands), definitely isn’t funny, and could potentially cost a lot more money than the latest Marvel Cinematic Universe flick.

Personally and professionally, I’m in the middle generation on the disease. I’m young enough that I never had to worry about catching it or having afflicted classmates. But, as a doctor, I’m old enough to still see the consequences. Like most neurologists, I have a handful of patients who had childhood polio, and still deal with the chronic weakness (and consequent pain and orthopedic issues it brings). Signing off on braces and other mobility aids for them is still commonplace.

One of my attendings in residency was the renowned Parkinson’s disease expert Abraham Lieberman. On rounds it was impossible not to notice his marked limp, a consequence of childhood polio, and he’d tell us what it was like, being a 6-year-old boy and dealing with the disease. You learn as much from hearing firsthand experiences as you do from textbooks.

And now the virus is showing up again. A few victims, a lot of virions circulating in waste water, but it shouldn’t be there at all.

We aren’t in the era when schoolchildren died or were crippled by it. Elementary school kids today don’t see classmates catch polio and never return to school, or see their grieving parents.

To take 1 year: More than 3,000 American children died of polio in 1952, and more than 21,000 were left with lifelong paralysis – many of them still among us.

When you think of an iron lung, you think of polio.

Those were the casualties in a war to save future generations from this, along with smallpox and other horrors.

But today, that war is mostly forgotten. And now scientific evidence is drowned out by whatever’s on Facebook and the hard-earned miracle of vaccination is ignored in favor of a nonmedical “social influencer” on YouTube.

So polio is back. The majority of the population likely has nothing to worry about. But there may be segments that are hit hard, and when they are they will never accept the obvious reasons why. It will be part of a cover-up, or a conspiracy, or whatever the guy on Parler told them it was.

As doctors, we’re in the middle. We have to give patients the best recommendations we can, based on learning, evidence, and experience, but at the same time have to recognize their autonomy. I’m not following someone around to make sure they get vaccinated, or take the medication I prescribed.

But we’re also the ones who can be held legally responsible for bad outcomes, regardless of the actual facts of the matter. On the flip side, you don’t hear about someone suing a Facebook “influencer” for doling out inaccurate, potentially fatal, medical advice.

So cracks appear in herd immunity, and leaks will happen.

A few generations of neurologists, including mine, have completed training without considering polio in a differential diagnosis. It would, of course, get bandied about in grand rounds or at the conference table, but none of us really took it seriously. To us residents it was more of historical note. “Gone with the Wind” and the “Wizard of Oz” both came out in 1939, and while we all knew of them, none of us were going to be watching them at the theaters.

Unlike them, though, polio is trying make it back to prime time. It’s a sequel nobody wanted.

But here it is.

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

Summer, since 1975, is traditionally a time for the BIG blockbusters to hit theaters. Some are new, others are sequels in successful franchises. Some anticipated, some not as much.

And, in summer 2022, we have the least-wanted sequel in modern history – Polio II: The Return.

Of course, this sequel isn’t in the theaters (unless the concessions staff isn’t washing their hands), definitely isn’t funny, and could potentially cost a lot more money than the latest Marvel Cinematic Universe flick.

Personally and professionally, I’m in the middle generation on the disease. I’m young enough that I never had to worry about catching it or having afflicted classmates. But, as a doctor, I’m old enough to still see the consequences. Like most neurologists, I have a handful of patients who had childhood polio, and still deal with the chronic weakness (and consequent pain and orthopedic issues it brings). Signing off on braces and other mobility aids for them is still commonplace.

One of my attendings in residency was the renowned Parkinson’s disease expert Abraham Lieberman. On rounds it was impossible not to notice his marked limp, a consequence of childhood polio, and he’d tell us what it was like, being a 6-year-old boy and dealing with the disease. You learn as much from hearing firsthand experiences as you do from textbooks.

And now the virus is showing up again. A few victims, a lot of virions circulating in waste water, but it shouldn’t be there at all.

We aren’t in the era when schoolchildren died or were crippled by it. Elementary school kids today don’t see classmates catch polio and never return to school, or see their grieving parents.

To take 1 year: More than 3,000 American children died of polio in 1952, and more than 21,000 were left with lifelong paralysis – many of them still among us.

When you think of an iron lung, you think of polio.

Those were the casualties in a war to save future generations from this, along with smallpox and other horrors.

But today, that war is mostly forgotten. And now scientific evidence is drowned out by whatever’s on Facebook and the hard-earned miracle of vaccination is ignored in favor of a nonmedical “social influencer” on YouTube.

So polio is back. The majority of the population likely has nothing to worry about. But there may be segments that are hit hard, and when they are they will never accept the obvious reasons why. It will be part of a cover-up, or a conspiracy, or whatever the guy on Parler told them it was.

As doctors, we’re in the middle. We have to give patients the best recommendations we can, based on learning, evidence, and experience, but at the same time have to recognize their autonomy. I’m not following someone around to make sure they get vaccinated, or take the medication I prescribed.

But we’re also the ones who can be held legally responsible for bad outcomes, regardless of the actual facts of the matter. On the flip side, you don’t hear about someone suing a Facebook “influencer” for doling out inaccurate, potentially fatal, medical advice.

So cracks appear in herd immunity, and leaks will happen.

A few generations of neurologists, including mine, have completed training without considering polio in a differential diagnosis. It would, of course, get bandied about in grand rounds or at the conference table, but none of us really took it seriously. To us residents it was more of historical note. “Gone with the Wind” and the “Wizard of Oz” both came out in 1939, and while we all knew of them, none of us were going to be watching them at the theaters.

Unlike them, though, polio is trying make it back to prime time. It’s a sequel nobody wanted.

But here it is.

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