William G. Wilkoff, MD

As I watched my grandson and his team warm up for their Saturday morning lacrosse game, a long parade of mostly purple-shirted adults and children of all ages began to weave its way around the periphery of the athletic field complex. A quick reading of the hand-lettered and machine-printed shirts made it clear that I was watching a charity walk for cystic fibrosis. There must have been several hundred walkers strolling by, laughing and chatting with one another. It lent a festive atmosphere to the park. I suspect that for most of the participants this was not their first fundraising event for cystic fibrosis.

Salima Senyavskaya/iStock Unreleased

The motley mix of marchers probably included several handfuls of parents of children with cystic fibrosis. I wonder how many of those parents realized how fortunate they were. Cystic fibrosis isn’t a great diagnosis. But at least it is a diagnosis, and with the diagnosis comes a community.

Reading a front-page article on DNA testing in a recent Wall Street Journal issue had primed me to reconsider how even an unfortunate diagnosis can be extremely valuable for a family (“The Unfulfilled Promise of DNA Testing,” by Amy Dockser Marcus, May 18, 2019).The focus of the article was on the confusion and disappointment that are the predictable consequences of our current inability to accurately correlate genetic code “mistakes” with phenotypic abnormalities. Of course there have been a few successes, but we aren’t even close to the promise that many have predicted in the wake of sequencing the human genome. The family featured in the article has a ridden roller coaster ride through two failed attributions of genetic syndromes that appeared to provide their now 8-year-old daughter with a diagnosis for her epilepsy and developmental delay.

In each case, the mother had searched out other families with children who shared the same genetic code errors. She formed support groups and created foundations to promote research for these rare disorders only to learn that her daughter didn’t really fit into the phenotype exhibited by the other children. As the article indicates this mother had “found a genetic home, only to feel that she no longer belonged.” She had made “intense friendships” and for “2 years, the community was her main emotional support.” Since the second diagnosis has evaporated, she has struggled with whether to remain with that community, having already left one behind. She has been encouraged to stay involved by another mother whose son does have the diagnosis. Understandably, she is still seeking the correct diagnosis, and I suspect will form or join a new community when she finds it.

We all want to belong to a community. Having a diagnosis, even if there is no reasonable hope for cure in the near future, is the ticket into that community. And with that ticket comes the opportunity to share the frustrations and difficulties unique to children with that diagnosis, and the comfort that there are other people who look, behave, and feel the way we do. We hear repeatedly about the value of diversity and how wonderful it is to be all inclusive. And certainly we should continue to be as accepting as we can of people who are different. But the truth is that we will always fall short because we seem to be hardwired to notice what is different. And the power of the longing to belong is often stronger than our will to be inclusive.

The revolution that resulted in the disappearance of the label “mental retardation” and the widespread adoption of the diagnosis of autism are examples of how a community can form around a diagnosis. But not every child who is labeled as autistic will actually fit the diagnosis. Yet even a less-than-perfect attribution can provide a place where a family and a patient can feel that they belong.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

As I watched my grandson and his team warm up for their Saturday morning lacrosse game, a long parade of mostly purple-shirted adults and children of all ages began to weave its way around the periphery of the athletic field complex. A quick reading of the hand-lettered and machine-printed shirts made it clear that I was watching a charity walk for cystic fibrosis. There must have been several hundred walkers strolling by, laughing and chatting with one another. It lent a festive atmosphere to the park. I suspect that for most of the participants this was not their first fundraising event for cystic fibrosis.

Salima Senyavskaya/iStock Unreleased

The motley mix of marchers probably included several handfuls of parents of children with cystic fibrosis. I wonder how many of those parents realized how fortunate they were. Cystic fibrosis isn’t a great diagnosis. But at least it is a diagnosis, and with the diagnosis comes a community.

Reading a front-page article on DNA testing in a recent Wall Street Journal issue had primed me to reconsider how even an unfortunate diagnosis can be extremely valuable for a family (“The Unfulfilled Promise of DNA Testing,” by Amy Dockser Marcus, May 18, 2019).The focus of the article was on the confusion and disappointment that are the predictable consequences of our current inability to accurately correlate genetic code “mistakes” with phenotypic abnormalities. Of course there have been a few successes, but we aren’t even close to the promise that many have predicted in the wake of sequencing the human genome. The family featured in the article has a ridden roller coaster ride through two failed attributions of genetic syndromes that appeared to provide their now 8-year-old daughter with a diagnosis for her epilepsy and developmental delay.

In each case, the mother had searched out other families with children who shared the same genetic code errors. She formed support groups and created foundations to promote research for these rare disorders only to learn that her daughter didn’t really fit into the phenotype exhibited by the other children. As the article indicates this mother had “found a genetic home, only to feel that she no longer belonged.” She had made “intense friendships” and for “2 years, the community was her main emotional support.” Since the second diagnosis has evaporated, she has struggled with whether to remain with that community, having already left one behind. She has been encouraged to stay involved by another mother whose son does have the diagnosis. Understandably, she is still seeking the correct diagnosis, and I suspect will form or join a new community when she finds it.

We all want to belong to a community. Having a diagnosis, even if there is no reasonable hope for cure in the near future, is the ticket into that community. And with that ticket comes the opportunity to share the frustrations and difficulties unique to children with that diagnosis, and the comfort that there are other people who look, behave, and feel the way we do. We hear repeatedly about the value of diversity and how wonderful it is to be all inclusive. And certainly we should continue to be as accepting as we can of people who are different. But the truth is that we will always fall short because we seem to be hardwired to notice what is different. And the power of the longing to belong is often stronger than our will to be inclusive.

The revolution that resulted in the disappearance of the label “mental retardation” and the widespread adoption of the diagnosis of autism are examples of how a community can form around a diagnosis. But not every child who is labeled as autistic will actually fit the diagnosis. Yet even a less-than-perfect attribution can provide a place where a family and a patient can feel that they belong.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

As I watched my grandson and his team warm up for their Saturday morning lacrosse game, a long parade of mostly purple-shirted adults and children of all ages began to weave its way around the periphery of the athletic field complex. A quick reading of the hand-lettered and machine-printed shirts made it clear that I was watching a charity walk for cystic fibrosis. There must have been several hundred walkers strolling by, laughing and chatting with one another. It lent a festive atmosphere to the park. I suspect that for most of the participants this was not their first fundraising event for cystic fibrosis.

Salima Senyavskaya/iStock Unreleased

The motley mix of marchers probably included several handfuls of parents of children with cystic fibrosis. I wonder how many of those parents realized how fortunate they were. Cystic fibrosis isn’t a great diagnosis. But at least it is a diagnosis, and with the diagnosis comes a community.

Reading a front-page article on DNA testing in a recent Wall Street Journal issue had primed me to reconsider how even an unfortunate diagnosis can be extremely valuable for a family (“The Unfulfilled Promise of DNA Testing,” by Amy Dockser Marcus, May 18, 2019).The focus of the article was on the confusion and disappointment that are the predictable consequences of our current inability to accurately correlate genetic code “mistakes” with phenotypic abnormalities. Of course there have been a few successes, but we aren’t even close to the promise that many have predicted in the wake of sequencing the human genome. The family featured in the article has a ridden roller coaster ride through two failed attributions of genetic syndromes that appeared to provide their now 8-year-old daughter with a diagnosis for her epilepsy and developmental delay.

In each case, the mother had searched out other families with children who shared the same genetic code errors. She formed support groups and created foundations to promote research for these rare disorders only to learn that her daughter didn’t really fit into the phenotype exhibited by the other children. As the article indicates this mother had “found a genetic home, only to feel that she no longer belonged.” She had made “intense friendships” and for “2 years, the community was her main emotional support.” Since the second diagnosis has evaporated, she has struggled with whether to remain with that community, having already left one behind. She has been encouraged to stay involved by another mother whose son does have the diagnosis. Understandably, she is still seeking the correct diagnosis, and I suspect will form or join a new community when she finds it.

We all want to belong to a community. Having a diagnosis, even if there is no reasonable hope for cure in the near future, is the ticket into that community. And with that ticket comes the opportunity to share the frustrations and difficulties unique to children with that diagnosis, and the comfort that there are other people who look, behave, and feel the way we do. We hear repeatedly about the value of diversity and how wonderful it is to be all inclusive. And certainly we should continue to be as accepting as we can of people who are different. But the truth is that we will always fall short because we seem to be hardwired to notice what is different. And the power of the longing to belong is often stronger than our will to be inclusive.

The revolution that resulted in the disappearance of the label “mental retardation” and the widespread adoption of the diagnosis of autism are examples of how a community can form around a diagnosis. But not every child who is labeled as autistic will actually fit the diagnosis. Yet even a less-than-perfect attribution can provide a place where a family and a patient can feel that they belong.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

I previously shared my concerns about the compromises some physicians are making when they consent to practicing in a telemedicine arrangement in which the system’s technical limitations prevents them from obtaining information critical to making an accurate diagnosis. In the scenarios that I described, a physician would have great difficulty being a good steward of antibiotic usage if he were willing to make a diagnosis of otitis media or strep throat without access to tympanic membrane visualization or the results of a rapid strep test.

AJ_Watt/E+

In response to my observation, I received an email from Dr. Kenneth McConnochie, a name out of my deep past from when we were teammates in college. Now a professor of pediatrics at University of Rochester (N.Y.) Medical Center, Dr. McConnochie has studied telemedicine in primary care extensively. He has thought a lot about telemedicine and more specifically about how it relates to quality. As he pointed out to me, before we can start discussing quality, we must clear up the confusion engendered by the term “telemedicine.”

I suspect that like me, whenever you look at an article or study that has “telemedicine” in its title or headline, you are never sure what you’re going to be reading about. Is it going to be a discussion of telephone triaging in a suburban primary practice or will the article describe how a pediatric cardiologist in Anchorage can follow his little patients in the Aleutians via an audio/video hookup that provides him with the ability to auscultate and review electrocardiograms and radiographic images? Dr. McConnochie suggests that by using the broader term “connected care” for care that is delivered at a distance, and by clearly specifying different types or levels, we will be one big step closer to a more meaningful way to understand the usefulness of that care.

In the conceptual framework he proposes, level 1 is text-only care because it offers the physician the least capacity for the acquisition of (1) diagnostically relevant information and (2) interpersonal connection. Phone care can provide more and videoconferencing still more. Level 4 would be what Dr. McConnochie labels “information rich” care providing the most abundant capacity. Here, think of an arrangement in which someone at the patient’s end of the connection has been trained to use an electronic otoscope that can capture an image of the child’s tympanic membrane, an electronic stethoscope that can record heart and breath sounds, and a high resolution camera to capture images of the patient’s skin, throat, and eyes, then transmit them to the child’s electronic health record (EHR) in real time. Someone in the school or day care center where the child spends his day has been taught how to obtain and process a rapid strep test. The physician who has instant access to the child’s EHR can communicate “face to face” via teleconferencing with the day care providers and with the parent who is at work to discuss the diagnosis, treatment plan, and follow-up. If any of the parties feels the exchange of information is insufficiently robust, a traditional office visit can be arranged.

The challenge of assigning value to each level care still remains. Is the level 4 scenario I just described as valuable as a face to face traditional office visit? In some situations, it is likely to be more valuable than a visit with a physician in an urgent care clinic or emergency department who has never seen the patient and/or lacks access to the EHR because her computer doesn’t interface with the primary care physician’s EHR. It certainly may be more convenient for the family.

But who is going to assign value? A connected visit may be more efficient for the patient and the parent, but will it be more costly? And who is going to pay? Dr. McConnochie’s observations should be taken seriously by those folks who assign value and pay.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

I previously shared my concerns about the compromises some physicians are making when they consent to practicing in a telemedicine arrangement in which the system’s technical limitations prevents them from obtaining information critical to making an accurate diagnosis. In the scenarios that I described, a physician would have great difficulty being a good steward of antibiotic usage if he were willing to make a diagnosis of otitis media or strep throat without access to tympanic membrane visualization or the results of a rapid strep test.

AJ_Watt/E+

In response to my observation, I received an email from Dr. Kenneth McConnochie, a name out of my deep past from when we were teammates in college. Now a professor of pediatrics at University of Rochester (N.Y.) Medical Center, Dr. McConnochie has studied telemedicine in primary care extensively. He has thought a lot about telemedicine and more specifically about how it relates to quality. As he pointed out to me, before we can start discussing quality, we must clear up the confusion engendered by the term “telemedicine.”

I suspect that like me, whenever you look at an article or study that has “telemedicine” in its title or headline, you are never sure what you’re going to be reading about. Is it going to be a discussion of telephone triaging in a suburban primary practice or will the article describe how a pediatric cardiologist in Anchorage can follow his little patients in the Aleutians via an audio/video hookup that provides him with the ability to auscultate and review electrocardiograms and radiographic images? Dr. McConnochie suggests that by using the broader term “connected care” for care that is delivered at a distance, and by clearly specifying different types or levels, we will be one big step closer to a more meaningful way to understand the usefulness of that care.

In the conceptual framework he proposes, level 1 is text-only care because it offers the physician the least capacity for the acquisition of (1) diagnostically relevant information and (2) interpersonal connection. Phone care can provide more and videoconferencing still more. Level 4 would be what Dr. McConnochie labels “information rich” care providing the most abundant capacity. Here, think of an arrangement in which someone at the patient’s end of the connection has been trained to use an electronic otoscope that can capture an image of the child’s tympanic membrane, an electronic stethoscope that can record heart and breath sounds, and a high resolution camera to capture images of the patient’s skin, throat, and eyes, then transmit them to the child’s electronic health record (EHR) in real time. Someone in the school or day care center where the child spends his day has been taught how to obtain and process a rapid strep test. The physician who has instant access to the child’s EHR can communicate “face to face” via teleconferencing with the day care providers and with the parent who is at work to discuss the diagnosis, treatment plan, and follow-up. If any of the parties feels the exchange of information is insufficiently robust, a traditional office visit can be arranged.

The challenge of assigning value to each level care still remains. Is the level 4 scenario I just described as valuable as a face to face traditional office visit? In some situations, it is likely to be more valuable than a visit with a physician in an urgent care clinic or emergency department who has never seen the patient and/or lacks access to the EHR because her computer doesn’t interface with the primary care physician’s EHR. It certainly may be more convenient for the family.

But who is going to assign value? A connected visit may be more efficient for the patient and the parent, but will it be more costly? And who is going to pay? Dr. McConnochie’s observations should be taken seriously by those folks who assign value and pay.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

I previously shared my concerns about the compromises some physicians are making when they consent to practicing in a telemedicine arrangement in which the system’s technical limitations prevents them from obtaining information critical to making an accurate diagnosis. In the scenarios that I described, a physician would have great difficulty being a good steward of antibiotic usage if he were willing to make a diagnosis of otitis media or strep throat without access to tympanic membrane visualization or the results of a rapid strep test.

AJ_Watt/E+

In response to my observation, I received an email from Dr. Kenneth McConnochie, a name out of my deep past from when we were teammates in college. Now a professor of pediatrics at University of Rochester (N.Y.) Medical Center, Dr. McConnochie has studied telemedicine in primary care extensively. He has thought a lot about telemedicine and more specifically about how it relates to quality. As he pointed out to me, before we can start discussing quality, we must clear up the confusion engendered by the term “telemedicine.”

I suspect that like me, whenever you look at an article or study that has “telemedicine” in its title or headline, you are never sure what you’re going to be reading about. Is it going to be a discussion of telephone triaging in a suburban primary practice or will the article describe how a pediatric cardiologist in Anchorage can follow his little patients in the Aleutians via an audio/video hookup that provides him with the ability to auscultate and review electrocardiograms and radiographic images? Dr. McConnochie suggests that by using the broader term “connected care” for care that is delivered at a distance, and by clearly specifying different types or levels, we will be one big step closer to a more meaningful way to understand the usefulness of that care.

In the conceptual framework he proposes, level 1 is text-only care because it offers the physician the least capacity for the acquisition of (1) diagnostically relevant information and (2) interpersonal connection. Phone care can provide more and videoconferencing still more. Level 4 would be what Dr. McConnochie labels “information rich” care providing the most abundant capacity. Here, think of an arrangement in which someone at the patient’s end of the connection has been trained to use an electronic otoscope that can capture an image of the child’s tympanic membrane, an electronic stethoscope that can record heart and breath sounds, and a high resolution camera to capture images of the patient’s skin, throat, and eyes, then transmit them to the child’s electronic health record (EHR) in real time. Someone in the school or day care center where the child spends his day has been taught how to obtain and process a rapid strep test. The physician who has instant access to the child’s EHR can communicate “face to face” via teleconferencing with the day care providers and with the parent who is at work to discuss the diagnosis, treatment plan, and follow-up. If any of the parties feels the exchange of information is insufficiently robust, a traditional office visit can be arranged.

The challenge of assigning value to each level care still remains. Is the level 4 scenario I just described as valuable as a face to face traditional office visit? In some situations, it is likely to be more valuable than a visit with a physician in an urgent care clinic or emergency department who has never seen the patient and/or lacks access to the EHR because her computer doesn’t interface with the primary care physician’s EHR. It certainly may be more convenient for the family.

But who is going to assign value? A connected visit may be more efficient for the patient and the parent, but will it be more costly? And who is going to pay? Dr. McConnochie’s observations should be taken seriously by those folks who assign value and pay.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

I’m sometimes asked what was different about practicing pediatrics when I was at the apex of my clinical career. Colored by the recent memory of several painful adjustments to unworkable and time-gobbling electronic medical record systems, I usually answer, “It was more fun before the damn computer landed in my exam room.” However, an op-ed piece in the New York Times has prompted me to reconsider how the practice of medicine has changed over the last 50 years (“An Era Defined by Fear,” by David Brooks, April 29, 2019).

Drazen Zigic/Getty Images

Mr. Brooks claims that the era in which we are living is defined by fear. He argues that beginning with the terrorist attacks of 9/11, fear has crept into every corner or our lives, influencing how we relate to one another and govern ourselves. Fueled by a media that feeds us “breaking news” at every hour of the day, we have become a country of people who see everything through the “dark filter” of fear.

I can recall monthly air raid drills during which my third-grade classmates and I scurried under our desks for what seemed hours. And I know my parents were concerned as polio swept through my hometown and the surrounding communities. But I don’t recall feeling the same omnipresent fear that I began to see over the last decade and a half of my practice.

Bombs never landed in Pleasantville, New York, and we knew our school was safe. Third graders today have been told that other third graders have been shot and killed in schools they thought were safe. I knew that there was a risk I might get my “bell rung” playing football. But neither my parents nor I worried that repeated concussions might hasten dementia. My parents and I knew that the weather was unpredictable, but we weren’t bombarded with warnings that the ocean might engulf our home or that the planet was dying.

I suspect my parents worried how I would find my way in the world, but not with the level of anxiety that I feel in parents today who are obsessed with their own fear of failure. And as David Brooks observes, “fear generates fear.” A fearful parent is likely to raise a fearful child. It’s not surprising that today’s pediatricians feel that their appointment lists are filled to the bursting point with patients who have mental health complaints, with anxiety and depression high on the list of diagnoses.

While fear is driving who and what we see in our offices, it also is coloring how we practice. Foremost among our fears is the threat of malpractice litigation. We are coached in risk management strategies, and although we may not admit it, many of us are practicing defensive medicine, a scourge that appeared only infrequently in my first 2 decades of practice. While rumors always could tarnish a physician’s reputation in a small town, the damage done by Internet trolls wielding the power of social media can be several orders of magnitude more devastating.

Not surprisingly, physicians like to practice in comfortable surroundings, which of course draw other physicians, and in short order physicians can find themselves facing the fear of competition. Before insurance companies controlled the landscape, physicians didn’t have to worry about maintaining a stable panel of patients. Now a physician must worry that he or she may be delisted on the whim of a committee of number crunchers. Although I always was concerned on keeping current, my accreditation was grandfathered, and I didn’t have to worry about maintenance of certification (MOC) exams and deadlines. And of course I completed my education with what I considered at the time a whopping $3,200 of debt, but at an interest rate so low that we could make more money in CDs (certificates of deposit).

I wish I could end with something of more substance than Franklin Roosevelt’s advice that the only thing to fear is fear itself. But I’m afraid I can’t.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

I’m sometimes asked what was different about practicing pediatrics when I was at the apex of my clinical career. Colored by the recent memory of several painful adjustments to unworkable and time-gobbling electronic medical record systems, I usually answer, “It was more fun before the damn computer landed in my exam room.” However, an op-ed piece in the New York Times has prompted me to reconsider how the practice of medicine has changed over the last 50 years (“An Era Defined by Fear,” by David Brooks, April 29, 2019).

Drazen Zigic/Getty Images

Mr. Brooks claims that the era in which we are living is defined by fear. He argues that beginning with the terrorist attacks of 9/11, fear has crept into every corner or our lives, influencing how we relate to one another and govern ourselves. Fueled by a media that feeds us “breaking news” at every hour of the day, we have become a country of people who see everything through the “dark filter” of fear.

I can recall monthly air raid drills during which my third-grade classmates and I scurried under our desks for what seemed hours. And I know my parents were concerned as polio swept through my hometown and the surrounding communities. But I don’t recall feeling the same omnipresent fear that I began to see over the last decade and a half of my practice.

Bombs never landed in Pleasantville, New York, and we knew our school was safe. Third graders today have been told that other third graders have been shot and killed in schools they thought were safe. I knew that there was a risk I might get my “bell rung” playing football. But neither my parents nor I worried that repeated concussions might hasten dementia. My parents and I knew that the weather was unpredictable, but we weren’t bombarded with warnings that the ocean might engulf our home or that the planet was dying.

I suspect my parents worried how I would find my way in the world, but not with the level of anxiety that I feel in parents today who are obsessed with their own fear of failure. And as David Brooks observes, “fear generates fear.” A fearful parent is likely to raise a fearful child. It’s not surprising that today’s pediatricians feel that their appointment lists are filled to the bursting point with patients who have mental health complaints, with anxiety and depression high on the list of diagnoses.

While fear is driving who and what we see in our offices, it also is coloring how we practice. Foremost among our fears is the threat of malpractice litigation. We are coached in risk management strategies, and although we may not admit it, many of us are practicing defensive medicine, a scourge that appeared only infrequently in my first 2 decades of practice. While rumors always could tarnish a physician’s reputation in a small town, the damage done by Internet trolls wielding the power of social media can be several orders of magnitude more devastating.

Not surprisingly, physicians like to practice in comfortable surroundings, which of course draw other physicians, and in short order physicians can find themselves facing the fear of competition. Before insurance companies controlled the landscape, physicians didn’t have to worry about maintaining a stable panel of patients. Now a physician must worry that he or she may be delisted on the whim of a committee of number crunchers. Although I always was concerned on keeping current, my accreditation was grandfathered, and I didn’t have to worry about maintenance of certification (MOC) exams and deadlines. And of course I completed my education with what I considered at the time a whopping $3,200 of debt, but at an interest rate so low that we could make more money in CDs (certificates of deposit).

I wish I could end with something of more substance than Franklin Roosevelt’s advice that the only thing to fear is fear itself. But I’m afraid I can’t.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

I’m sometimes asked what was different about practicing pediatrics when I was at the apex of my clinical career. Colored by the recent memory of several painful adjustments to unworkable and time-gobbling electronic medical record systems, I usually answer, “It was more fun before the damn computer landed in my exam room.” However, an op-ed piece in the New York Times has prompted me to reconsider how the practice of medicine has changed over the last 50 years (“An Era Defined by Fear,” by David Brooks, April 29, 2019).

Drazen Zigic/Getty Images

Mr. Brooks claims that the era in which we are living is defined by fear. He argues that beginning with the terrorist attacks of 9/11, fear has crept into every corner or our lives, influencing how we relate to one another and govern ourselves. Fueled by a media that feeds us “breaking news” at every hour of the day, we have become a country of people who see everything through the “dark filter” of fear.

I can recall monthly air raid drills during which my third-grade classmates and I scurried under our desks for what seemed hours. And I know my parents were concerned as polio swept through my hometown and the surrounding communities. But I don’t recall feeling the same omnipresent fear that I began to see over the last decade and a half of my practice.

Bombs never landed in Pleasantville, New York, and we knew our school was safe. Third graders today have been told that other third graders have been shot and killed in schools they thought were safe. I knew that there was a risk I might get my “bell rung” playing football. But neither my parents nor I worried that repeated concussions might hasten dementia. My parents and I knew that the weather was unpredictable, but we weren’t bombarded with warnings that the ocean might engulf our home or that the planet was dying.

I suspect my parents worried how I would find my way in the world, but not with the level of anxiety that I feel in parents today who are obsessed with their own fear of failure. And as David Brooks observes, “fear generates fear.” A fearful parent is likely to raise a fearful child. It’s not surprising that today’s pediatricians feel that their appointment lists are filled to the bursting point with patients who have mental health complaints, with anxiety and depression high on the list of diagnoses.

While fear is driving who and what we see in our offices, it also is coloring how we practice. Foremost among our fears is the threat of malpractice litigation. We are coached in risk management strategies, and although we may not admit it, many of us are practicing defensive medicine, a scourge that appeared only infrequently in my first 2 decades of practice. While rumors always could tarnish a physician’s reputation in a small town, the damage done by Internet trolls wielding the power of social media can be several orders of magnitude more devastating.

Not surprisingly, physicians like to practice in comfortable surroundings, which of course draw other physicians, and in short order physicians can find themselves facing the fear of competition. Before insurance companies controlled the landscape, physicians didn’t have to worry about maintaining a stable panel of patients. Now a physician must worry that he or she may be delisted on the whim of a committee of number crunchers. Although I always was concerned on keeping current, my accreditation was grandfathered, and I didn’t have to worry about maintenance of certification (MOC) exams and deadlines. And of course I completed my education with what I considered at the time a whopping $3,200 of debt, but at an interest rate so low that we could make more money in CDs (certificates of deposit).

I wish I could end with something of more substance than Franklin Roosevelt’s advice that the only thing to fear is fear itself. But I’m afraid I can’t.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

How many minutes do you spend each day trying to coax new parents off the guilt train? They have delayed their childbearing until they felt comfortable economically and emotionally ready to raise a child. Convinced that up to this point they have done enough correctly to be considered successful, they see no reason that they won’t be able to tackle parenthood just as easily. Their black lab is a model of obedience. Housebreaking him was a breeze. They are skilled at using the Internet and social media to gather the information they will need for raising a child.

Jaimie Duplass/Fotolia.com

However, at some point in the first 72 hours after the birth of their child, most parents are going to hit the wall of reality. It may be that breastfeeding doesn’t work as well their cousin told them it would or simply that babies cry, often for no discernible reason. Desperately wanting to do what’s right for their child, guilt creeps in as the little failures and fatigue begin to accumulate.

In their search for answers, new parents naturally come to us as pediatricians and family practitioners for the facts, but they also will search the Internet, talk to lactation consultants, and be bombarded by unsolicited advice from family members and neighbors. Every source they turn to, including physicians, will be filtered through its own bias.

I recently came across the most sensible advice for new parents I have read in a long time, and it came not from a pediatrician but from an economics professor at Brown University. Emily Oster, PhD, writing in the New York Times, examines the available data on the topics of breastfeeding, sleep training, and parents working out of the home with the objectivity of an economist and the sensitivity of a mother who has been there and done that (“The Data All Guilt-Ridden Parents Need,” New York Times, April 19, 2019).

For example, she observes that many of the benefits of breastfeeding are supported by some evidence, “just not always especially good evidence. And even when the evidence is good, the benefits are smaller than many people realize.” She points out that “most studies of breastfeeding are biased by the fact that women who breastfeed are typically different from those who do not.” I will leave it to you to read her full discussion that includes a comparison of random trials versus observational studies. But she concludes that, if one relies on only good evidence, the only demonstrable benefit of breastfeeding is for mothers who nurse longer than 12 months who may have a 20%-30% decrease in breast cancer risk.

Using the same kind of careful analysis, Dr. Oster finds that sleep training may have a short-term benefit for parents who will have improved sleep and less maternal depression, but in the long run children who were sleep trained were no different than those that weren’t.

She also finds that, when it comes to the “optimal configuration of adult work hours” for a household, there is “no compelling evidence that proves that having a stay-at-home parent affects child outcomes, positively or negatively.” It is up to each household what works best for all it members, not just the child.

I urge you to read Dr. Oster’s article of advice on breastfeeding, sleep training or not, and working outside the home, and recommend it to struggling parents. I found it particularly helpful as a practitioner who has often felt shackled, or at least disadvantaged, by the American Academy of Pediatrics’ overly simplistic and sometimes biased recommendations on issues that send my patients’ parents on unfortunate and avoidable guilt trips.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

How many minutes do you spend each day trying to coax new parents off the guilt train? They have delayed their childbearing until they felt comfortable economically and emotionally ready to raise a child. Convinced that up to this point they have done enough correctly to be considered successful, they see no reason that they won’t be able to tackle parenthood just as easily. Their black lab is a model of obedience. Housebreaking him was a breeze. They are skilled at using the Internet and social media to gather the information they will need for raising a child.

Jaimie Duplass/Fotolia.com

However, at some point in the first 72 hours after the birth of their child, most parents are going to hit the wall of reality. It may be that breastfeeding doesn’t work as well their cousin told them it would or simply that babies cry, often for no discernible reason. Desperately wanting to do what’s right for their child, guilt creeps in as the little failures and fatigue begin to accumulate.

In their search for answers, new parents naturally come to us as pediatricians and family practitioners for the facts, but they also will search the Internet, talk to lactation consultants, and be bombarded by unsolicited advice from family members and neighbors. Every source they turn to, including physicians, will be filtered through its own bias.

I recently came across the most sensible advice for new parents I have read in a long time, and it came not from a pediatrician but from an economics professor at Brown University. Emily Oster, PhD, writing in the New York Times, examines the available data on the topics of breastfeeding, sleep training, and parents working out of the home with the objectivity of an economist and the sensitivity of a mother who has been there and done that (“The Data All Guilt-Ridden Parents Need,” New York Times, April 19, 2019).

For example, she observes that many of the benefits of breastfeeding are supported by some evidence, “just not always especially good evidence. And even when the evidence is good, the benefits are smaller than many people realize.” She points out that “most studies of breastfeeding are biased by the fact that women who breastfeed are typically different from those who do not.” I will leave it to you to read her full discussion that includes a comparison of random trials versus observational studies. But she concludes that, if one relies on only good evidence, the only demonstrable benefit of breastfeeding is for mothers who nurse longer than 12 months who may have a 20%-30% decrease in breast cancer risk.

Using the same kind of careful analysis, Dr. Oster finds that sleep training may have a short-term benefit for parents who will have improved sleep and less maternal depression, but in the long run children who were sleep trained were no different than those that weren’t.

She also finds that, when it comes to the “optimal configuration of adult work hours” for a household, there is “no compelling evidence that proves that having a stay-at-home parent affects child outcomes, positively or negatively.” It is up to each household what works best for all it members, not just the child.

I urge you to read Dr. Oster’s article of advice on breastfeeding, sleep training or not, and working outside the home, and recommend it to struggling parents. I found it particularly helpful as a practitioner who has often felt shackled, or at least disadvantaged, by the American Academy of Pediatrics’ overly simplistic and sometimes biased recommendations on issues that send my patients’ parents on unfortunate and avoidable guilt trips.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

How many minutes do you spend each day trying to coax new parents off the guilt train? They have delayed their childbearing until they felt comfortable economically and emotionally ready to raise a child. Convinced that up to this point they have done enough correctly to be considered successful, they see no reason that they won’t be able to tackle parenthood just as easily. Their black lab is a model of obedience. Housebreaking him was a breeze. They are skilled at using the Internet and social media to gather the information they will need for raising a child.

Jaimie Duplass/Fotolia.com

However, at some point in the first 72 hours after the birth of their child, most parents are going to hit the wall of reality. It may be that breastfeeding doesn’t work as well their cousin told them it would or simply that babies cry, often for no discernible reason. Desperately wanting to do what’s right for their child, guilt creeps in as the little failures and fatigue begin to accumulate.

In their search for answers, new parents naturally come to us as pediatricians and family practitioners for the facts, but they also will search the Internet, talk to lactation consultants, and be bombarded by unsolicited advice from family members and neighbors. Every source they turn to, including physicians, will be filtered through its own bias.

I recently came across the most sensible advice for new parents I have read in a long time, and it came not from a pediatrician but from an economics professor at Brown University. Emily Oster, PhD, writing in the New York Times, examines the available data on the topics of breastfeeding, sleep training, and parents working out of the home with the objectivity of an economist and the sensitivity of a mother who has been there and done that (“The Data All Guilt-Ridden Parents Need,” New York Times, April 19, 2019).

For example, she observes that many of the benefits of breastfeeding are supported by some evidence, “just not always especially good evidence. And even when the evidence is good, the benefits are smaller than many people realize.” She points out that “most studies of breastfeeding are biased by the fact that women who breastfeed are typically different from those who do not.” I will leave it to you to read her full discussion that includes a comparison of random trials versus observational studies. But she concludes that, if one relies on only good evidence, the only demonstrable benefit of breastfeeding is for mothers who nurse longer than 12 months who may have a 20%-30% decrease in breast cancer risk.

Using the same kind of careful analysis, Dr. Oster finds that sleep training may have a short-term benefit for parents who will have improved sleep and less maternal depression, but in the long run children who were sleep trained were no different than those that weren’t.

She also finds that, when it comes to the “optimal configuration of adult work hours” for a household, there is “no compelling evidence that proves that having a stay-at-home parent affects child outcomes, positively or negatively.” It is up to each household what works best for all it members, not just the child.

I urge you to read Dr. Oster’s article of advice on breastfeeding, sleep training or not, and working outside the home, and recommend it to struggling parents. I found it particularly helpful as a practitioner who has often felt shackled, or at least disadvantaged, by the American Academy of Pediatrics’ overly simplistic and sometimes biased recommendations on issues that send my patients’ parents on unfortunate and avoidable guilt trips.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

It’s late on a Thursday afternoon. Even through the six walls that separate you from the waiting room you can feel the impatient throng of families as you struggle to see the tympanic membrane of a feverish and uncooperative 3-year-old. You already have scraped his auditory canal once with your curette. Your gut tells you that he must have an otitis but deeper in your soul there are other voices reminding you that to make the diagnosis you must visualize his ear drum. Your skill and the technology on hand has failed you.

Getty Images

It’s a Sunday morning, weekend hours, and you are seeing a 12-year-old with a sore throat and fever. Her physical exam suggests that she has strep pharyngitis but the team member in charge of restocking supplies has forgotten to reorder rapid strep kits and you used the last one yesterday afternoon.

Do you ignore your training and treat these sick children with antibiotics?

If you are someone who perceives the world in black and white, your response to these scenarios is simple because you NEVER prescribe antibiotics without seeing a tympanic membrane or confirming your suspicion with a rapid strep test. There are unrealistic solutions that could include requesting an immediate ear/nose/throat consult or sending the patient on an hour-long odyssey to the hospital lab. But for the rest of us who see in shades of gray, we may have to compromise our principles and temporarily become poor antibiotic stewards. The question is, how often do you compromise? Once a week, once a month, twice a year, or twice a day?

A study published in Pediatrics looks at the issue of antibiotic stewardship as it relates to telemedicine (“Antibiotic Prescribing During Pediatrics Direct-to-Consumer Telemedicine Visits,” Pediatrics. 2019 May. doi: 10.1542/peds.2018-2491).

The investigators found that children with acute respiratory infections were more likely to receive antibiotics and less likely to receive guideline concordant management at direct-to-consumer (DTC) telemedicine visits than when they were seen by their primary care physician or at an urgent care center.

In their discussion, the researchers note several possible explanations for the discrepancies they observed. DTC telemedicine visits are limited by the devices used by the families and physicians and generally lack availability of otoscopy and strep testing. The authors also wonder whether “there may be differential expectations for antibiotics among children and parents who use DTC telemedicine versus in person care.” Does this mean that families who utilize DTC telemedicine undervalue in-person care and/or are willing to compromise by accepting what they may suspect is substandard care for the convenience of DTC telemedicine?

Which brings me to my point. A physician who accepts the challenge of seeing pediatric patients with acute respiratory illnesses knowing that he or she will not be able to visualize tympanic membranes or perform strep testing also has accepted the fact that he or she will be compromising the principles of antibiotic stewardship he or she must have – or maybe should have – learned in medical school or residency.

We all occasionally compromise our principles when technology fails us or when the situations are extraordinary. But I am troubled that there some physicians who are willing to practice in an environment in which they are aware that they will be compromising their antibiotic stewardship on a daily or even hourly basis.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

It’s late on a Thursday afternoon. Even through the six walls that separate you from the waiting room you can feel the impatient throng of families as you struggle to see the tympanic membrane of a feverish and uncooperative 3-year-old. You already have scraped his auditory canal once with your curette. Your gut tells you that he must have an otitis but deeper in your soul there are other voices reminding you that to make the diagnosis you must visualize his ear drum. Your skill and the technology on hand has failed you.

Getty Images

It’s a Sunday morning, weekend hours, and you are seeing a 12-year-old with a sore throat and fever. Her physical exam suggests that she has strep pharyngitis but the team member in charge of restocking supplies has forgotten to reorder rapid strep kits and you used the last one yesterday afternoon.

Do you ignore your training and treat these sick children with antibiotics?

If you are someone who perceives the world in black and white, your response to these scenarios is simple because you NEVER prescribe antibiotics without seeing a tympanic membrane or confirming your suspicion with a rapid strep test. There are unrealistic solutions that could include requesting an immediate ear/nose/throat consult or sending the patient on an hour-long odyssey to the hospital lab. But for the rest of us who see in shades of gray, we may have to compromise our principles and temporarily become poor antibiotic stewards. The question is, how often do you compromise? Once a week, once a month, twice a year, or twice a day?

A study published in Pediatrics looks at the issue of antibiotic stewardship as it relates to telemedicine (“Antibiotic Prescribing During Pediatrics Direct-to-Consumer Telemedicine Visits,” Pediatrics. 2019 May. doi: 10.1542/peds.2018-2491).

The investigators found that children with acute respiratory infections were more likely to receive antibiotics and less likely to receive guideline concordant management at direct-to-consumer (DTC) telemedicine visits than when they were seen by their primary care physician or at an urgent care center.

In their discussion, the researchers note several possible explanations for the discrepancies they observed. DTC telemedicine visits are limited by the devices used by the families and physicians and generally lack availability of otoscopy and strep testing. The authors also wonder whether “there may be differential expectations for antibiotics among children and parents who use DTC telemedicine versus in person care.” Does this mean that families who utilize DTC telemedicine undervalue in-person care and/or are willing to compromise by accepting what they may suspect is substandard care for the convenience of DTC telemedicine?

Which brings me to my point. A physician who accepts the challenge of seeing pediatric patients with acute respiratory illnesses knowing that he or she will not be able to visualize tympanic membranes or perform strep testing also has accepted the fact that he or she will be compromising the principles of antibiotic stewardship he or she must have – or maybe should have – learned in medical school or residency.

We all occasionally compromise our principles when technology fails us or when the situations are extraordinary. But I am troubled that there some physicians who are willing to practice in an environment in which they are aware that they will be compromising their antibiotic stewardship on a daily or even hourly basis.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

It’s late on a Thursday afternoon. Even through the six walls that separate you from the waiting room you can feel the impatient throng of families as you struggle to see the tympanic membrane of a feverish and uncooperative 3-year-old. You already have scraped his auditory canal once with your curette. Your gut tells you that he must have an otitis but deeper in your soul there are other voices reminding you that to make the diagnosis you must visualize his ear drum. Your skill and the technology on hand has failed you.

Getty Images

It’s a Sunday morning, weekend hours, and you are seeing a 12-year-old with a sore throat and fever. Her physical exam suggests that she has strep pharyngitis but the team member in charge of restocking supplies has forgotten to reorder rapid strep kits and you used the last one yesterday afternoon.

Do you ignore your training and treat these sick children with antibiotics?

If you are someone who perceives the world in black and white, your response to these scenarios is simple because you NEVER prescribe antibiotics without seeing a tympanic membrane or confirming your suspicion with a rapid strep test. There are unrealistic solutions that could include requesting an immediate ear/nose/throat consult or sending the patient on an hour-long odyssey to the hospital lab. But for the rest of us who see in shades of gray, we may have to compromise our principles and temporarily become poor antibiotic stewards. The question is, how often do you compromise? Once a week, once a month, twice a year, or twice a day?

A study published in Pediatrics looks at the issue of antibiotic stewardship as it relates to telemedicine (“Antibiotic Prescribing During Pediatrics Direct-to-Consumer Telemedicine Visits,” Pediatrics. 2019 May. doi: 10.1542/peds.2018-2491).

The investigators found that children with acute respiratory infections were more likely to receive antibiotics and less likely to receive guideline concordant management at direct-to-consumer (DTC) telemedicine visits than when they were seen by their primary care physician or at an urgent care center.

In their discussion, the researchers note several possible explanations for the discrepancies they observed. DTC telemedicine visits are limited by the devices used by the families and physicians and generally lack availability of otoscopy and strep testing. The authors also wonder whether “there may be differential expectations for antibiotics among children and parents who use DTC telemedicine versus in person care.” Does this mean that families who utilize DTC telemedicine undervalue in-person care and/or are willing to compromise by accepting what they may suspect is substandard care for the convenience of DTC telemedicine?

Which brings me to my point. A physician who accepts the challenge of seeing pediatric patients with acute respiratory illnesses knowing that he or she will not be able to visualize tympanic membranes or perform strep testing also has accepted the fact that he or she will be compromising the principles of antibiotic stewardship he or she must have – or maybe should have – learned in medical school or residency.

We all occasionally compromise our principles when technology fails us or when the situations are extraordinary. But I am troubled that there some physicians who are willing to practice in an environment in which they are aware that they will be compromising their antibiotic stewardship on a daily or even hourly basis.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

Is America coming apart at the seams? According to the press, there are more things that divide us than bind us together. It’s red state versus blue state, it’s the privileged versus the disadvantaged, people of color versus the white majority. Could the great melting pot have cooled and its contents settled out into a dozen stratified layers?

Sean Locke/iStockphoto

Despite the image of a divided America that we see portrayed in the newspapers and on television, I continue to believe that there is more that we share in common than separate us, but it’s a struggle. The media operate on the assumption that conflict draws more readers than good news about cooperation and compromise. The situation is compounded by the apparent absence of a leader from either party who wants to unite us.

However, when one scratches the surface, there is surprising amount of agreement among Americans. For example, according to John Gramlich (“7 facts about guns in the U.S.,” Pew Research Center, Dec. 27, 2018), 89% of both Republicans and Democrats feel that people with mental illness should not be allowed to purchase a gun. And 79% of Republicans and 91% of Democrats favor background checks at gun shows and for private sales for purchase of a gun. As of 2018, 58% of Americans feel that abortion should be legal in all or most cases, and only 37% feel it should be illegal in all or most cases. (“Public Opinion on Abortion,” Pew Research Center, Oct. 15, 2018).

At the core of many of our struggles to unite is a question that has bedeviled democracies for millennia: How does one balance a citizen’s freedom of choice with the health and safety of the society in which that person lives? While resolutions on gun control and abortion seem unlikely in the foreseeable future, the current outbreaks of measles offer America a rare opportunity to unite on an issue that pits personal freedom against societal safety.

According to Virginia Villa (“5 facts about vaccines in the U.S.,” Pew Research Center, Mar. 19, 2019), 82% of adults in the United States believe that the MMR vaccine should be required for public school attendance, while only 17% believe that parents should be allowed to leave their child unvaccinated even if their decision creates a health risk for other children and adults.

Why should we expect the government to respond to protect the population from the risk posed by the unvaccinated minority when it has done very little to further gun control? Obviously a key difference is that the antivaccination minority lacks the financial resources and political muscle of a large organization such as the National Rifle Association. While we must never underestimate the power of social media, the publicity surfacing from the mainstream media as the measles outbreaks in the United States have continued has prompted several states to rethink their policies regarding vaccination requirements and school attendance. Here in Maine, there has been strong support among the legislature for eliminating exemptions for philosophic or religious exemptions.

It is probably unrealistic to expect the federal government to act on the health threat caused by the antivaccine movement. However, it is encouraging that, at least at the local level, there is hope for closing one of the wounds that divide us. As providers who care for children, we should seize this opportunity created by the measles outbreaks to promote legislation and policies that strike a sensible balance between the right of the individual and the safety of the society at large.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

Is America coming apart at the seams? According to the press, there are more things that divide us than bind us together. It’s red state versus blue state, it’s the privileged versus the disadvantaged, people of color versus the white majority. Could the great melting pot have cooled and its contents settled out into a dozen stratified layers?

Sean Locke/iStockphoto

Despite the image of a divided America that we see portrayed in the newspapers and on television, I continue to believe that there is more that we share in common than separate us, but it’s a struggle. The media operate on the assumption that conflict draws more readers than good news about cooperation and compromise. The situation is compounded by the apparent absence of a leader from either party who wants to unite us.

However, when one scratches the surface, there is surprising amount of agreement among Americans. For example, according to John Gramlich (“7 facts about guns in the U.S.,” Pew Research Center, Dec. 27, 2018), 89% of both Republicans and Democrats feel that people with mental illness should not be allowed to purchase a gun. And 79% of Republicans and 91% of Democrats favor background checks at gun shows and for private sales for purchase of a gun. As of 2018, 58% of Americans feel that abortion should be legal in all or most cases, and only 37% feel it should be illegal in all or most cases. (“Public Opinion on Abortion,” Pew Research Center, Oct. 15, 2018).

At the core of many of our struggles to unite is a question that has bedeviled democracies for millennia: How does one balance a citizen’s freedom of choice with the health and safety of the society in which that person lives? While resolutions on gun control and abortion seem unlikely in the foreseeable future, the current outbreaks of measles offer America a rare opportunity to unite on an issue that pits personal freedom against societal safety.

According to Virginia Villa (“5 facts about vaccines in the U.S.,” Pew Research Center, Mar. 19, 2019), 82% of adults in the United States believe that the MMR vaccine should be required for public school attendance, while only 17% believe that parents should be allowed to leave their child unvaccinated even if their decision creates a health risk for other children and adults.

Why should we expect the government to respond to protect the population from the risk posed by the unvaccinated minority when it has done very little to further gun control? Obviously a key difference is that the antivaccination minority lacks the financial resources and political muscle of a large organization such as the National Rifle Association. While we must never underestimate the power of social media, the publicity surfacing from the mainstream media as the measles outbreaks in the United States have continued has prompted several states to rethink their policies regarding vaccination requirements and school attendance. Here in Maine, there has been strong support among the legislature for eliminating exemptions for philosophic or religious exemptions.

It is probably unrealistic to expect the federal government to act on the health threat caused by the antivaccine movement. However, it is encouraging that, at least at the local level, there is hope for closing one of the wounds that divide us. As providers who care for children, we should seize this opportunity created by the measles outbreaks to promote legislation and policies that strike a sensible balance between the right of the individual and the safety of the society at large.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

Is America coming apart at the seams? According to the press, there are more things that divide us than bind us together. It’s red state versus blue state, it’s the privileged versus the disadvantaged, people of color versus the white majority. Could the great melting pot have cooled and its contents settled out into a dozen stratified layers?

Sean Locke/iStockphoto

Despite the image of a divided America that we see portrayed in the newspapers and on television, I continue to believe that there is more that we share in common than separate us, but it’s a struggle. The media operate on the assumption that conflict draws more readers than good news about cooperation and compromise. The situation is compounded by the apparent absence of a leader from either party who wants to unite us.

However, when one scratches the surface, there is surprising amount of agreement among Americans. For example, according to John Gramlich (“7 facts about guns in the U.S.,” Pew Research Center, Dec. 27, 2018), 89% of both Republicans and Democrats feel that people with mental illness should not be allowed to purchase a gun. And 79% of Republicans and 91% of Democrats favor background checks at gun shows and for private sales for purchase of a gun. As of 2018, 58% of Americans feel that abortion should be legal in all or most cases, and only 37% feel it should be illegal in all or most cases. (“Public Opinion on Abortion,” Pew Research Center, Oct. 15, 2018).

At the core of many of our struggles to unite is a question that has bedeviled democracies for millennia: How does one balance a citizen’s freedom of choice with the health and safety of the society in which that person lives? While resolutions on gun control and abortion seem unlikely in the foreseeable future, the current outbreaks of measles offer America a rare opportunity to unite on an issue that pits personal freedom against societal safety.

According to Virginia Villa (“5 facts about vaccines in the U.S.,” Pew Research Center, Mar. 19, 2019), 82% of adults in the United States believe that the MMR vaccine should be required for public school attendance, while only 17% believe that parents should be allowed to leave their child unvaccinated even if their decision creates a health risk for other children and adults.

Why should we expect the government to respond to protect the population from the risk posed by the unvaccinated minority when it has done very little to further gun control? Obviously a key difference is that the antivaccination minority lacks the financial resources and political muscle of a large organization such as the National Rifle Association. While we must never underestimate the power of social media, the publicity surfacing from the mainstream media as the measles outbreaks in the United States have continued has prompted several states to rethink their policies regarding vaccination requirements and school attendance. Here in Maine, there has been strong support among the legislature for eliminating exemptions for philosophic or religious exemptions.

It is probably unrealistic to expect the federal government to act on the health threat caused by the antivaccine movement. However, it is encouraging that, at least at the local level, there is hope for closing one of the wounds that divide us. As providers who care for children, we should seize this opportunity created by the measles outbreaks to promote legislation and policies that strike a sensible balance between the right of the individual and the safety of the society at large.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

Are you happy with your current situation? Do you enjoy your job and look forward to getting home at the end of the day? Or, do you find your work unrewarding? Do you consider your home simply a place to wait impatiently until you can hop on a plane for your next getaway vacation?

wellesenterprises/Getty Images

Maybe you should consider relocating to Montana. According to the headline in an article by Richard Franki in Pediatric News (“Montana named ‘best state to practice medicine’ in 2019,” Mar. 28, 2019) the Treasure State is currently the best state to practice medicine. Big Sky Country earned this distinction by outdistancing 49 states and Washington, D.C., in a ranking by WalletHub. The personal finance website used 18 metrics ranging from average annual wage adjusted for cost of living to malpractice award payment per capita. One category of metrics grouped data related to “competition and opportunity” and the other “medical environment.”

I suspect that you are as skeptical as I am of surveys that claim to rank complex entities across broad geographic landscapes. I hope you are neither depressed or elated when your alma mater moves three positions on U.S. News and World Report’s ranking of colleges and universities. However, there are a few pearls hidden in this WalletHub attempt at choosing the most physician-friendly states.

New York was again ranked the worst state to practice medicine, a distinction it had “earned” in 2017 with a highest cost of malpractice insurance. This consistency suggests that there is a litigious atmosphere, at least in some parts of New York, that could make forging a trusting doctor-patient relationship difficult. Heading off to work each morning under the dark cloud of malpractice must take a lot of the fun out of practicing medicine.

The other interesting association buried in the ranking is that Montana is at the top of the list because it also was the state with the highest percentage of “medical residents retained.” This concurrence suggests that living and working in Big Sky Country provided a balance that young physicians found not just tolerable but so enjoyable they wanted to stay. I have been unable to find a complete listing of the raw data, but I suspect that Maine also could boast a high percentage of medical residents who choose to remain at the end of their training. It has been and continues to be a wonderful place to live and raise a family.

While there may be days when you feel as though the practice of medicine has consumed your every waking moment, the truth is that there is more to life than being a physician. Of course, one must be able to earn enough to support oneself and family, but this survey that purports to rank the best place to practice is too heavily weighted to the financial side of the equation and ignores the more difficult to quantify lifestyle qualities.

You may have found a position that pays well enough but requires a time-gobbling and stress-inducing commute to a place you feel comfortable living. Or, you may like your work, but find the community where you have settled lacks the suite of recreational and/or cultural opportunities you enjoy. Finding a place that offers the best mix of lifestyle and professional rewards that fits your wants and needs can be a matter of luck. Not everyone gets it right the first time. Sometimes it is a matter of making compromises and then continuing to reassess whether these compromises have been the best ones.

Regardless of its ranking on any survey, every state has multiple communities in which a physician can have a satisfying career and a lifestyle he or she enjoys. However, achieving this balanced mix may require the physician to invest something of him or herself into making that community one that feels like home.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

Are you happy with your current situation? Do you enjoy your job and look forward to getting home at the end of the day? Or, do you find your work unrewarding? Do you consider your home simply a place to wait impatiently until you can hop on a plane for your next getaway vacation?

wellesenterprises/Getty Images

Maybe you should consider relocating to Montana. According to the headline in an article by Richard Franki in Pediatric News (“Montana named ‘best state to practice medicine’ in 2019,” Mar. 28, 2019) the Treasure State is currently the best state to practice medicine. Big Sky Country earned this distinction by outdistancing 49 states and Washington, D.C., in a ranking by WalletHub. The personal finance website used 18 metrics ranging from average annual wage adjusted for cost of living to malpractice award payment per capita. One category of metrics grouped data related to “competition and opportunity” and the other “medical environment.”

I suspect that you are as skeptical as I am of surveys that claim to rank complex entities across broad geographic landscapes. I hope you are neither depressed or elated when your alma mater moves three positions on U.S. News and World Report’s ranking of colleges and universities. However, there are a few pearls hidden in this WalletHub attempt at choosing the most physician-friendly states.

New York was again ranked the worst state to practice medicine, a distinction it had “earned” in 2017 with a highest cost of malpractice insurance. This consistency suggests that there is a litigious atmosphere, at least in some parts of New York, that could make forging a trusting doctor-patient relationship difficult. Heading off to work each morning under the dark cloud of malpractice must take a lot of the fun out of practicing medicine.

The other interesting association buried in the ranking is that Montana is at the top of the list because it also was the state with the highest percentage of “medical residents retained.” This concurrence suggests that living and working in Big Sky Country provided a balance that young physicians found not just tolerable but so enjoyable they wanted to stay. I have been unable to find a complete listing of the raw data, but I suspect that Maine also could boast a high percentage of medical residents who choose to remain at the end of their training. It has been and continues to be a wonderful place to live and raise a family.

While there may be days when you feel as though the practice of medicine has consumed your every waking moment, the truth is that there is more to life than being a physician. Of course, one must be able to earn enough to support oneself and family, but this survey that purports to rank the best place to practice is too heavily weighted to the financial side of the equation and ignores the more difficult to quantify lifestyle qualities.

You may have found a position that pays well enough but requires a time-gobbling and stress-inducing commute to a place you feel comfortable living. Or, you may like your work, but find the community where you have settled lacks the suite of recreational and/or cultural opportunities you enjoy. Finding a place that offers the best mix of lifestyle and professional rewards that fits your wants and needs can be a matter of luck. Not everyone gets it right the first time. Sometimes it is a matter of making compromises and then continuing to reassess whether these compromises have been the best ones.

Regardless of its ranking on any survey, every state has multiple communities in which a physician can have a satisfying career and a lifestyle he or she enjoys. However, achieving this balanced mix may require the physician to invest something of him or herself into making that community one that feels like home.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

Are you happy with your current situation? Do you enjoy your job and look forward to getting home at the end of the day? Or, do you find your work unrewarding? Do you consider your home simply a place to wait impatiently until you can hop on a plane for your next getaway vacation?

wellesenterprises/Getty Images

Maybe you should consider relocating to Montana. According to the headline in an article by Richard Franki in Pediatric News (“Montana named ‘best state to practice medicine’ in 2019,” Mar. 28, 2019) the Treasure State is currently the best state to practice medicine. Big Sky Country earned this distinction by outdistancing 49 states and Washington, D.C., in a ranking by WalletHub. The personal finance website used 18 metrics ranging from average annual wage adjusted for cost of living to malpractice award payment per capita. One category of metrics grouped data related to “competition and opportunity” and the other “medical environment.”

I suspect that you are as skeptical as I am of surveys that claim to rank complex entities across broad geographic landscapes. I hope you are neither depressed or elated when your alma mater moves three positions on U.S. News and World Report’s ranking of colleges and universities. However, there are a few pearls hidden in this WalletHub attempt at choosing the most physician-friendly states.

New York was again ranked the worst state to practice medicine, a distinction it had “earned” in 2017 with a highest cost of malpractice insurance. This consistency suggests that there is a litigious atmosphere, at least in some parts of New York, that could make forging a trusting doctor-patient relationship difficult. Heading off to work each morning under the dark cloud of malpractice must take a lot of the fun out of practicing medicine.

The other interesting association buried in the ranking is that Montana is at the top of the list because it also was the state with the highest percentage of “medical residents retained.” This concurrence suggests that living and working in Big Sky Country provided a balance that young physicians found not just tolerable but so enjoyable they wanted to stay. I have been unable to find a complete listing of the raw data, but I suspect that Maine also could boast a high percentage of medical residents who choose to remain at the end of their training. It has been and continues to be a wonderful place to live and raise a family.

While there may be days when you feel as though the practice of medicine has consumed your every waking moment, the truth is that there is more to life than being a physician. Of course, one must be able to earn enough to support oneself and family, but this survey that purports to rank the best place to practice is too heavily weighted to the financial side of the equation and ignores the more difficult to quantify lifestyle qualities.

You may have found a position that pays well enough but requires a time-gobbling and stress-inducing commute to a place you feel comfortable living. Or, you may like your work, but find the community where you have settled lacks the suite of recreational and/or cultural opportunities you enjoy. Finding a place that offers the best mix of lifestyle and professional rewards that fits your wants and needs can be a matter of luck. Not everyone gets it right the first time. Sometimes it is a matter of making compromises and then continuing to reassess whether these compromises have been the best ones.

Regardless of its ranking on any survey, every state has multiple communities in which a physician can have a satisfying career and a lifestyle he or she enjoys. However, achieving this balanced mix may require the physician to invest something of him or herself into making that community one that feels like home.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

In a previous Letter from Maine I wrote about a study performed in China in which more than half a million patients were diagnosed by an artificial intelligence (A.I.) system that was able to extract and analyze information from their electronic medical records. The system was at least as accurate as physicians who had access to the same data (“A.I. Shows Promise Assisting Physicians,” by Cade Metz, The New York Times, Feb. 11, 2019). I ended my column with the hopeful assumption that despite incredible advances in A.I., the practice of medicine always would include a human element. However, I left unexplained exactly how physicians would fit into the post-A.I. revolution. In the weeks since I submitted that column, I have been searching for roles that might remain for physicians after A.I. has snatched their bread and butter of diagnosis and management.

gpointstudio/Thinkstock

I discovered there always will be a need be someone in the health care delivery system to serve as a communicator and translator for the patient. I easily can envision a system in which the patient enters her chief complaint and current symptoms into her smartphone or tablet. Using its database of the patient’s past, family, and social history, the system generates a list of laboratory and imaging studies, some of which the patient may be able to submit directly from her handheld device. For example, the system may be able to use the patient’s phone to “examine” her. The A.I. system then generates a diagnosis.

If the diagnosed condition and management is simple and straightforward, such as a rash, the information could be communicated to the patient directly, with a short paragraph of explanation and list of persistent symptoms that would indicate that the condition was not improving as expected. A contact dermatitis comes to mind here.

However, suppose the A.I. system determines that the patient has a 90% chance of having stage IV pancreatic cancer, with a life expectancy of 6 months. Is this the kind of information you would like to learn about yourself by clicking “Your Diagnosis” box on your phone while you were having lunch with a friend? Obviously, a diagnosis of this severity should be communicated human to human, even though it was generated by a highly accurate computer system. And this communication would best be done in the form of a dialogue with someone who knows the patient and has some understanding of how she might understand and cope with the information. In the absence of a prior relationship, the dialogue should occur in real time and face to face at a minimum. I guess we have to acknowledge that FaceTime or Skype might be acceptable here.

Fortunately, stage IV cancers are rare, but there are a bazillion other conditions that, while not serious, require a nuanced explanation as part of a successful management plan that takes into account the patient’s level of anxiety and cognitive abilities. A boilerplate paragraph or two spit out by an A.I. system isn’t good health care. Although I know many physicians do rely on printed handouts for conditions they feel is a no-brainer.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

In a previous Letter from Maine I wrote about a study performed in China in which more than half a million patients were diagnosed by an artificial intelligence (A.I.) system that was able to extract and analyze information from their electronic medical records. The system was at least as accurate as physicians who had access to the same data (“A.I. Shows Promise Assisting Physicians,” by Cade Metz, The New York Times, Feb. 11, 2019). I ended my column with the hopeful assumption that despite incredible advances in A.I., the practice of medicine always would include a human element. However, I left unexplained exactly how physicians would fit into the post-A.I. revolution. In the weeks since I submitted that column, I have been searching for roles that might remain for physicians after A.I. has snatched their bread and butter of diagnosis and management.

gpointstudio/Thinkstock

I discovered there always will be a need be someone in the health care delivery system to serve as a communicator and translator for the patient. I easily can envision a system in which the patient enters her chief complaint and current symptoms into her smartphone or tablet. Using its database of the patient’s past, family, and social history, the system generates a list of laboratory and imaging studies, some of which the patient may be able to submit directly from her handheld device. For example, the system may be able to use the patient’s phone to “examine” her. The A.I. system then generates a diagnosis.

If the diagnosed condition and management is simple and straightforward, such as a rash, the information could be communicated to the patient directly, with a short paragraph of explanation and list of persistent symptoms that would indicate that the condition was not improving as expected. A contact dermatitis comes to mind here.

However, suppose the A.I. system determines that the patient has a 90% chance of having stage IV pancreatic cancer, with a life expectancy of 6 months. Is this the kind of information you would like to learn about yourself by clicking “Your Diagnosis” box on your phone while you were having lunch with a friend? Obviously, a diagnosis of this severity should be communicated human to human, even though it was generated by a highly accurate computer system. And this communication would best be done in the form of a dialogue with someone who knows the patient and has some understanding of how she might understand and cope with the information. In the absence of a prior relationship, the dialogue should occur in real time and face to face at a minimum. I guess we have to acknowledge that FaceTime or Skype might be acceptable here.

Fortunately, stage IV cancers are rare, but there are a bazillion other conditions that, while not serious, require a nuanced explanation as part of a successful management plan that takes into account the patient’s level of anxiety and cognitive abilities. A boilerplate paragraph or two spit out by an A.I. system isn’t good health care. Although I know many physicians do rely on printed handouts for conditions they feel is a no-brainer.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

In a previous Letter from Maine I wrote about a study performed in China in which more than half a million patients were diagnosed by an artificial intelligence (A.I.) system that was able to extract and analyze information from their electronic medical records. The system was at least as accurate as physicians who had access to the same data (“A.I. Shows Promise Assisting Physicians,” by Cade Metz, The New York Times, Feb. 11, 2019). I ended my column with the hopeful assumption that despite incredible advances in A.I., the practice of medicine always would include a human element. However, I left unexplained exactly how physicians would fit into the post-A.I. revolution. In the weeks since I submitted that column, I have been searching for roles that might remain for physicians after A.I. has snatched their bread and butter of diagnosis and management.

gpointstudio/Thinkstock

I discovered there always will be a need be someone in the health care delivery system to serve as a communicator and translator for the patient. I easily can envision a system in which the patient enters her chief complaint and current symptoms into her smartphone or tablet. Using its database of the patient’s past, family, and social history, the system generates a list of laboratory and imaging studies, some of which the patient may be able to submit directly from her handheld device. For example, the system may be able to use the patient’s phone to “examine” her. The A.I. system then generates a diagnosis.

If the diagnosed condition and management is simple and straightforward, such as a rash, the information could be communicated to the patient directly, with a short paragraph of explanation and list of persistent symptoms that would indicate that the condition was not improving as expected. A contact dermatitis comes to mind here.

However, suppose the A.I. system determines that the patient has a 90% chance of having stage IV pancreatic cancer, with a life expectancy of 6 months. Is this the kind of information you would like to learn about yourself by clicking “Your Diagnosis” box on your phone while you were having lunch with a friend? Obviously, a diagnosis of this severity should be communicated human to human, even though it was generated by a highly accurate computer system. And this communication would best be done in the form of a dialogue with someone who knows the patient and has some understanding of how she might understand and cope with the information. In the absence of a prior relationship, the dialogue should occur in real time and face to face at a minimum. I guess we have to acknowledge that FaceTime or Skype might be acceptable here.

Fortunately, stage IV cancers are rare, but there are a bazillion other conditions that, while not serious, require a nuanced explanation as part of a successful management plan that takes into account the patient’s level of anxiety and cognitive abilities. A boilerplate paragraph or two spit out by an A.I. system isn’t good health care. Although I know many physicians do rely on printed handouts for conditions they feel is a no-brainer.

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

Study results showing an association between active atopic dermatitis (AD) and poor sleep quality were published in JAMA Pediatrics by a group of dermatologists at the University of California, San Francisco (JAMA Pediatr. 2019 Mar 4. doi: 10.1001/jamapediatrics.2019.0025). The data on the sleep quality and quantity of nearly 14,000 children were collected over span of 11 years. Of these children, slightly fewer than 5,000 met the researchers’ definition of atopic dermatitis.

deyangeorgiev/thinkstockphotos.com

Although the sleep duration of children with and without AD was not statistically different, the reports of poor sleep quality and sleep disturbances by children with AD were dramatically more frequent – a nearly 50% higher chance of having more sleep-quality disturbances. In addition, children with more severe active disease were even more likely to report poor sleep quality – almost 80%.

I suspect that you’re not surprised by these findings. You have probably heard numerous tales of poor sleep from families who have children with AD. It just makes sense that a child whose skin is dry and itchy will have trouble sleeping. I’m sure you have struggled to help parents be more diligent about applying moisturizing creams and lotions, and have been aggressive with steroid creams during flare-ups. You may have added sleep onset-promoting antihistamines when topical treatments haven’t been as effective as you had hoped.

Has your working assumption always been that if you can get the child’s skin settled down, the itching will improve and the child will have an easier time falling asleep? But have you ever considered flipping the equation over and tried to be more aggressive in managing the child’s sleep problems? Maybe if the child had healthier sleep habits and ended his day with a smaller sleep debt, he could more successfully resist the urge to scratch.

Like many other folks with psoriasis, I have noticed that my itching is worse when I am tired, and particularly worse in that evil interval between crawling into bed and falling asleep. As the grandparent of a child with AD, I have observed a similar phenomenon. While I am not going to claim that sleep deprivation causes psoriasis or AD, I think that we need to consider the association between poor sleep quality and itching as a feedback loop that must be interrupted. This means that in addition to recommending topicals and moisturizing strategies, we must learn more about our patients’ sleep habits and suggest appropriate sleep hygiene practices.

Many parents aren’t aware of the cruel paradox that an overtired child is more likely to have trouble falling asleep. Has the child been allowed to give up his nap prematurely? Is bedtime at an appropriate hour, and does it consist of a limited number of sleep-promoting rituals? Is the bedroom dark enough, cool enough, and free of electronic distractions?

Providing effective counseling on sleep hygiene is time consuming and requires that you have first convinced the parents that the child’s itching is being aggravated by his sleep deprivation and not just the other way around. Successful management may require a close working relationship between the child’s pediatrician and his dermatologist, with both physicians reinforcing each other’s message that atopic dermatitis isn’t just skin deep.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “Is My Child Overtired?: The Sleep Solution for Raising Happier, Healthier Children.” Email him at [email protected].

Study results showing an association between active atopic dermatitis (AD) and poor sleep quality were published in JAMA Pediatrics by a group of dermatologists at the University of California, San Francisco (JAMA Pediatr. 2019 Mar 4. doi: 10.1001/jamapediatrics.2019.0025). The data on the sleep quality and quantity of nearly 14,000 children were collected over span of 11 years. Of these children, slightly fewer than 5,000 met the researchers’ definition of atopic dermatitis.

deyangeorgiev/thinkstockphotos.com

Although the sleep duration of children with and without AD was not statistically different, the reports of poor sleep quality and sleep disturbances by children with AD were dramatically more frequent – a nearly 50% higher chance of having more sleep-quality disturbances. In addition, children with more severe active disease were even more likely to report poor sleep quality – almost 80%.

I suspect that you’re not surprised by these findings. You have probably heard numerous tales of poor sleep from families who have children with AD. It just makes sense that a child whose skin is dry and itchy will have trouble sleeping. I’m sure you have struggled to help parents be more diligent about applying moisturizing creams and lotions, and have been aggressive with steroid creams during flare-ups. You may have added sleep onset-promoting antihistamines when topical treatments haven’t been as effective as you had hoped.

Has your working assumption always been that if you can get the child’s skin settled down, the itching will improve and the child will have an easier time falling asleep? But have you ever considered flipping the equation over and tried to be more aggressive in managing the child’s sleep problems? Maybe if the child had healthier sleep habits and ended his day with a smaller sleep debt, he could more successfully resist the urge to scratch.

Like many other folks with psoriasis, I have noticed that my itching is worse when I am tired, and particularly worse in that evil interval between crawling into bed and falling asleep. As the grandparent of a child with AD, I have observed a similar phenomenon. While I am not going to claim that sleep deprivation causes psoriasis or AD, I think that we need to consider the association between poor sleep quality and itching as a feedback loop that must be interrupted. This means that in addition to recommending topicals and moisturizing strategies, we must learn more about our patients’ sleep habits and suggest appropriate sleep hygiene practices.

Many parents aren’t aware of the cruel paradox that an overtired child is more likely to have trouble falling asleep. Has the child been allowed to give up his nap prematurely? Is bedtime at an appropriate hour, and does it consist of a limited number of sleep-promoting rituals? Is the bedroom dark enough, cool enough, and free of electronic distractions?

Providing effective counseling on sleep hygiene is time consuming and requires that you have first convinced the parents that the child’s itching is being aggravated by his sleep deprivation and not just the other way around. Successful management may require a close working relationship between the child’s pediatrician and his dermatologist, with both physicians reinforcing each other’s message that atopic dermatitis isn’t just skin deep.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “Is My Child Overtired?: The Sleep Solution for Raising Happier, Healthier Children.” Email him at [email protected].

Study results showing an association between active atopic dermatitis (AD) and poor sleep quality were published in JAMA Pediatrics by a group of dermatologists at the University of California, San Francisco (JAMA Pediatr. 2019 Mar 4. doi: 10.1001/jamapediatrics.2019.0025). The data on the sleep quality and quantity of nearly 14,000 children were collected over span of 11 years. Of these children, slightly fewer than 5,000 met the researchers’ definition of atopic dermatitis.

deyangeorgiev/thinkstockphotos.com

Although the sleep duration of children with and without AD was not statistically different, the reports of poor sleep quality and sleep disturbances by children with AD were dramatically more frequent – a nearly 50% higher chance of having more sleep-quality disturbances. In addition, children with more severe active disease were even more likely to report poor sleep quality – almost 80%.

I suspect that you’re not surprised by these findings. You have probably heard numerous tales of poor sleep from families who have children with AD. It just makes sense that a child whose skin is dry and itchy will have trouble sleeping. I’m sure you have struggled to help parents be more diligent about applying moisturizing creams and lotions, and have been aggressive with steroid creams during flare-ups. You may have added sleep onset-promoting antihistamines when topical treatments haven’t been as effective as you had hoped.

Has your working assumption always been that if you can get the child’s skin settled down, the itching will improve and the child will have an easier time falling asleep? But have you ever considered flipping the equation over and tried to be more aggressive in managing the child’s sleep problems? Maybe if the child had healthier sleep habits and ended his day with a smaller sleep debt, he could more successfully resist the urge to scratch.

Like many other folks with psoriasis, I have noticed that my itching is worse when I am tired, and particularly worse in that evil interval between crawling into bed and falling asleep. As the grandparent of a child with AD, I have observed a similar phenomenon. While I am not going to claim that sleep deprivation causes psoriasis or AD, I think that we need to consider the association between poor sleep quality and itching as a feedback loop that must be interrupted. This means that in addition to recommending topicals and moisturizing strategies, we must learn more about our patients’ sleep habits and suggest appropriate sleep hygiene practices.

Many parents aren’t aware of the cruel paradox that an overtired child is more likely to have trouble falling asleep. Has the child been allowed to give up his nap prematurely? Is bedtime at an appropriate hour, and does it consist of a limited number of sleep-promoting rituals? Is the bedroom dark enough, cool enough, and free of electronic distractions?

Providing effective counseling on sleep hygiene is time consuming and requires that you have first convinced the parents that the child’s itching is being aggravated by his sleep deprivation and not just the other way around. Successful management may require a close working relationship between the child’s pediatrician and his dermatologist, with both physicians reinforcing each other’s message that atopic dermatitis isn’t just skin deep.
 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine, for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “Is My Child Overtired?: The Sleep Solution for Raising Happier, Healthier Children.” Email him at [email protected].

There is a good chance that your car is equipped with a backup camera. It also may have sensors that alert you when there is another vehicle in one of your blind spots. These wonders of modern technology simply are vision enhancers much like an x-ray or an ultrasound. The sensors merely collect visual data, but the decision of what should be done with this additional information is up to you, just as you decide how to respond to your patient’s lab work and imaging studies.

Andrea Danti/Thinkstock

If you have more disposable income than I do, you may have a vehicle that not only gathers information but also makes decisions based on what it senses by slowing down, applying the brakes, or adjusting the steering. My friends who own these semi-autonomous cars generally have given these control systems positive grades once they have experienced a few events in which the vehicle took over in what it considered a dangerous situation. However, even my friends who are fans of their semi-autonomous cars are uncomfortable about the widespread introduction of fully autonomous vehicles.

The practice of medicine is riding the crest of this same wave of artificial intelligence that promises, or some might say threatens, to remove humans from the driver’s seat (“A.I. Shows Promise Assisting Physicians,” by Cade Metz, The New York Times, Feb. 11, 2019). As reported in the New York Times, a team of physicians has created a system capable of making diagnoses based on a “neural network” that uses complex computer algorithms to learn by analyzing extremely large amounts of data. Once this system had been “taught” to identify certain medical conditions in EMRs, the team tasked the system with analyzing the records of nearly 600,000 patients at a women and children’s hospital in southern China. The investigators claim that the system was able to diagnose asthma with more than 90% accuracy, while physicians can diagnose with an accuracy of 80%-94%, and the system diagnosed gastrointestinal disease with 87% accuracy, well within the physicians’ accuracy range of 82%-90%.

Does this apparent success for A.I. mean that not only will you be vacating your place behind the wheel of your car, but also taking down your shingle and hanging up your stethoscope? Before you rush out and sign up for a federally-funded retraining program, you should remember that this study was done in China, where the privacy laws are somewhat skimpy and the data more voluminous by several scales of magnitude than here. Replicating their results and scaling a similar A.I. neural network to the United States health care system will be difficult in the short term. However, this report should serve as wake-up call to those of you who believe that making diagnoses is at the core of what makes you a physician. If sorting through pages of data to arrive at an explanation for your patients’ complaints is the intellectual challenge that keeps the practice of medicine fresh and exciting, you may want to start looking for other sources of mental stimulation.

A.I. isn’t going to replace the primary care physician. There still will need to be someone available at the initial point of contact who can do a physical exam, take, or at least review, the patient’s history, and then order the lab work and imaging studies that the A.I. system will use to make the diagnosis. In other words, the physician will be primarily responsible for data collection. You may feel that you are almost there already. 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

There is a good chance that your car is equipped with a backup camera. It also may have sensors that alert you when there is another vehicle in one of your blind spots. These wonders of modern technology simply are vision enhancers much like an x-ray or an ultrasound. The sensors merely collect visual data, but the decision of what should be done with this additional information is up to you, just as you decide how to respond to your patient’s lab work and imaging studies.

Andrea Danti/Thinkstock

If you have more disposable income than I do, you may have a vehicle that not only gathers information but also makes decisions based on what it senses by slowing down, applying the brakes, or adjusting the steering. My friends who own these semi-autonomous cars generally have given these control systems positive grades once they have experienced a few events in which the vehicle took over in what it considered a dangerous situation. However, even my friends who are fans of their semi-autonomous cars are uncomfortable about the widespread introduction of fully autonomous vehicles.

The practice of medicine is riding the crest of this same wave of artificial intelligence that promises, or some might say threatens, to remove humans from the driver’s seat (“A.I. Shows Promise Assisting Physicians,” by Cade Metz, The New York Times, Feb. 11, 2019). As reported in the New York Times, a team of physicians has created a system capable of making diagnoses based on a “neural network” that uses complex computer algorithms to learn by analyzing extremely large amounts of data. Once this system had been “taught” to identify certain medical conditions in EMRs, the team tasked the system with analyzing the records of nearly 600,000 patients at a women and children’s hospital in southern China. The investigators claim that the system was able to diagnose asthma with more than 90% accuracy, while physicians can diagnose with an accuracy of 80%-94%, and the system diagnosed gastrointestinal disease with 87% accuracy, well within the physicians’ accuracy range of 82%-90%.

Does this apparent success for A.I. mean that not only will you be vacating your place behind the wheel of your car, but also taking down your shingle and hanging up your stethoscope? Before you rush out and sign up for a federally-funded retraining program, you should remember that this study was done in China, where the privacy laws are somewhat skimpy and the data more voluminous by several scales of magnitude than here. Replicating their results and scaling a similar A.I. neural network to the United States health care system will be difficult in the short term. However, this report should serve as wake-up call to those of you who believe that making diagnoses is at the core of what makes you a physician. If sorting through pages of data to arrive at an explanation for your patients’ complaints is the intellectual challenge that keeps the practice of medicine fresh and exciting, you may want to start looking for other sources of mental stimulation.

A.I. isn’t going to replace the primary care physician. There still will need to be someone available at the initial point of contact who can do a physical exam, take, or at least review, the patient’s history, and then order the lab work and imaging studies that the A.I. system will use to make the diagnosis. In other words, the physician will be primarily responsible for data collection. You may feel that you are almost there already. 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].

There is a good chance that your car is equipped with a backup camera. It also may have sensors that alert you when there is another vehicle in one of your blind spots. These wonders of modern technology simply are vision enhancers much like an x-ray or an ultrasound. The sensors merely collect visual data, but the decision of what should be done with this additional information is up to you, just as you decide how to respond to your patient’s lab work and imaging studies.

Andrea Danti/Thinkstock

If you have more disposable income than I do, you may have a vehicle that not only gathers information but also makes decisions based on what it senses by slowing down, applying the brakes, or adjusting the steering. My friends who own these semi-autonomous cars generally have given these control systems positive grades once they have experienced a few events in which the vehicle took over in what it considered a dangerous situation. However, even my friends who are fans of their semi-autonomous cars are uncomfortable about the widespread introduction of fully autonomous vehicles.

The practice of medicine is riding the crest of this same wave of artificial intelligence that promises, or some might say threatens, to remove humans from the driver’s seat (“A.I. Shows Promise Assisting Physicians,” by Cade Metz, The New York Times, Feb. 11, 2019). As reported in the New York Times, a team of physicians has created a system capable of making diagnoses based on a “neural network” that uses complex computer algorithms to learn by analyzing extremely large amounts of data. Once this system had been “taught” to identify certain medical conditions in EMRs, the team tasked the system with analyzing the records of nearly 600,000 patients at a women and children’s hospital in southern China. The investigators claim that the system was able to diagnose asthma with more than 90% accuracy, while physicians can diagnose with an accuracy of 80%-94%, and the system diagnosed gastrointestinal disease with 87% accuracy, well within the physicians’ accuracy range of 82%-90%.

Does this apparent success for A.I. mean that not only will you be vacating your place behind the wheel of your car, but also taking down your shingle and hanging up your stethoscope? Before you rush out and sign up for a federally-funded retraining program, you should remember that this study was done in China, where the privacy laws are somewhat skimpy and the data more voluminous by several scales of magnitude than here. Replicating their results and scaling a similar A.I. neural network to the United States health care system will be difficult in the short term. However, this report should serve as wake-up call to those of you who believe that making diagnoses is at the core of what makes you a physician. If sorting through pages of data to arrive at an explanation for your patients’ complaints is the intellectual challenge that keeps the practice of medicine fresh and exciting, you may want to start looking for other sources of mental stimulation.

A.I. isn’t going to replace the primary care physician. There still will need to be someone available at the initial point of contact who can do a physical exam, take, or at least review, the patient’s history, and then order the lab work and imaging studies that the A.I. system will use to make the diagnosis. In other words, the physician will be primarily responsible for data collection. You may feel that you are almost there already. 

Dr. Wilkoff practiced primary care pediatrics in Brunswick, Maine for nearly 40 years. He has authored several books on behavioral pediatrics, including “How to Say No to Your Toddler.” Email him at [email protected].