Diversity in Medicine

In 2021, Eugene Kim, MD, division director of pediatric surgery and vice chair in the department of surgery at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, Los Angeles, gave his presidential address to the Association for Academic Surgery.

“Presidents tend to give a message of hope or inspiration; I probably took it in a different way,” he said.

Dr. Kim told the story of one of his clinical partners, Eveline Shue, who, after five rounds of in vitro fertilization (IVF), became pregnant with twins. A high-achiever in her field, Ms. Shue continued working the grueling hours required by her job throughout pregnancy until she noticed concerning symptoms – musculoskeletal issues, extreme swelling, and more. She and her group decided that she should step back from work in her third trimester. A few days later, Ms. Shue suffered a stroke. She was rushed to the hospital where her babies were delivered by emergency C-section. Ms. Shue underwent brain surgery but later recovered and is still practicing in Southern California.

“I remember being at her bedside thinking, ‘How could we have let this happen? How could we have prevented this?’ ”

Dr. Kim’s speech kicked off a firestorm of awareness about pregnancy complications among physicians. “I got scores of emails from women around the country, surgeons in particular, who felt like their issues had been seen. The conversation was long overdue,” he said.

Family planning issues, pregnancy complications, infertility, and pregnancy loss are common, pervasive, and often silent issues in medicine. In July 2021, Dr. Kim and a group of other researchers published a study in JAMA Surgery. It revealed staggering truths: When compared to non-surgeons, female surgeons were more likely to delay pregnancy, use assisted reproductive technology such as IVF, have non-elective C-sections, and suffer pregnancy loss. In the study, 42% of surgeons had experienced pregnancy loss – more than double the rate of the general population. Almost half had serious pregnancy complications.

Research has found that female physicians in general have a significantly greater incidence of miscarriage, infertility, and pregnancy complications than the general population. According to a 2016 survey in the Journal of Women’s Health, the infertility rate for physicians is nearly 1 in 4, about double the rate of the general public.
 

The barriers to starting a family

Physicians face significant professional barriers that impact family planning. Demanding jobs with exhausting and often unpredictable hours contribute to a culture that, traditionally, has been far from family friendly. As a result, many physicians start families later. “For a pediatric surgeon, you finish training at age 35 – minimum,” says Dr. Kim. “Simply being a surgeon makes you a high-risk pregnancy candidate just because of the career.”

In 2020, Ariela L. Marshall, MD, an associate professor of clinical medicine at the University of Pennsylvania’s Perelman school of medicine, co-authored a commentary article in Academic Medicine titled “Physician Fertility: A Call to Action” which was based on her own experiences with infertility. Dr. Marshall was 34 when she and her husband decided to start a family, and she says her infertility diagnosis “came as a shock.”

“I never stopped to think about the consequences of a career path where I’m not going to be established until my 30s,” Dr. Marshall says. “I never thought about how long hours, overnight shifts, or working all the time could impact my fertility.”

It would take four cycles of IVF egg retrieval to create embryos and one failed implantation before Dr. Marshall became pregnant with her son.

When it comes to the timing of pregnancy, medical culture also plays a role. “There’s a lot of messaging around when it’s appropriate to carry a baby – and it’s not until after training is done,” says Arghavan Salles, MD, PhD, a clinical associate professor and special advisor for DEI programs at Stanford (Calif.) University’s department of medicine.

There are always exceptions. Some institutions are more flexible than others about pregnancy during residency. But Dr. Salles notes that this attitude is “not universal,” partly because of the lack of a comprehensive approach to pregnancy or parenthood in the United States. “There’s no federal paid parental leave in this country,” reminds Dr. Salles. “That signals that we don’t value parenting.”

The trickle-down effect of this in medicine is more like a waterfall. Some physicians complain when other physicians are out on leave. There’s an additional burden of work when people take time away, and there are often no support structures in place for backup or fill-in care. Dr. Salles said doctors often tell her that they were responsible for finding coverage for any time off during pregnancy or after becoming a parent. A paper of hers published in JAMA Surgery found that, for physicians, a fear of burdening others was a major barrier to getting pregnant during residency in the first place.
 

The physical consequences

Although research supports the benefits of physical activity throughout pregnancy, a job such as surgery that requires being on your feet for long periods of time “is not the same as exercise,” explains Erika Lu Rangel, MD, a gastrointestinal surgeon at Brigham and Women’s Hospital, Boston, and Dr. Kim’s lead author on the JAMA Surgery article.

Surgeons operating for more than 12 hours a week are at higher risk for pregnancy complications, the study found. Dr. Rangel also cites data suggesting that night shifts or swing shifts (the hours between day and night) put women at higher risk for pregnancy complications.

Equally alarming: Medical trainees appear to have “almost as high a rate of pregnancy complications as surgeons who have already completed their training,” said Dr. Rangel. It is a concerning finding since, as a younger cohort, they should have lower complication rates based on their age. But doctors in training may be on their feet even more than surgeons during long shifts.

Like Dr. Salles, Dr. Rangel sees these issues as part of a pervasive culture of “presenteeism” in medicine, and she points out that many surgeons don’t even take time off to grieve pregnancy loss or physically recover from it. “We work even when we’re sick and even when it’s not good for our health,” she said. “I think that’s an unhealthy behavior that we cultivate from the time that we’re trainees, and we carry it on through when we’re in practice.”

Penn Medicine’s Dr. Marshall remembers that her own maternity leave was “not an easy process to navigate.” From her hospital room on a magnesium drip for preeclampsia, she still attended Zoom meetings with her colleagues. “Nobody says, ‘Oh, you have to do this,’ ” Dr. Marshall explains, “but you wind up feeling guilty if you’re not there at all moments for everyone. That’s also something that needs to change.” 

Dr. Rangel was pregnant with her oldest son as a fourth-year surgery resident. The day she gave birth to him she remembers waking up with a flu-like illness and a fever. She went to work anyway, because “you don’t call in sick as a resident.” She was barely able to complete her rounds and then had to lie down between cases. A co-resident found her and took her to labor and delivery. She had gone into premature labor at 37 weeks, and her son went into the NICU with complications.

“I remember feeling this enormous guilt,” says Dr. Rangel. “I’d been a mom for just a few minutes, and I felt like I had already failed him because I had prioritized what the residency thought of me above what I knew was necessary for his health.”
 

Hope for the future

Disturbed by the status quo, many physicians are pushing for change. “I think there’s a really important and positive conversation going on in the medical community right now about ways that we need to support new parent physicians,” said Dr. Rangel.

Parental leave is a key part of that support. Last year, The American Board of Medical Specialties enacted a mandate that all specialty boards 2 years or more in duration must provide at least 6 weeks of parental and caregiver leave. In 2023, the Accreditation Council for Graduate Medical Education (ACGME) required that all training programs match that policy. “This sends a message to policymakers and leaders in American medicine that this is a priority,” said Dr. Rangel.

In January 2022, a group from the University of Michigan also published an article in the Annals of Surgery called “Safe and Supported Pregnancy: A Call to Action for Surgery Chairs and Program Directors”. The essay urged leading groups such as the ACGME and the American Board of Surgery to “directly address the health and safety of pregnant trainees” and specifically, to “allow for further flexibility during training for pregnancy and peripartum periods,” calling these “fundamental necessities for cultural progress.”

Others have recommended allowing pregnant trainees more flexibility in their schedules or front-loading certain parts of the training that may be more difficult as a pregnancy progresses. Insurance coverage for fertility preservation and reproductive endocrinology services, and support for reentry (including lactation and childcare) are also issues that must be addressed, says Dr. Salles.

A new paper of Dr. Rangel’s, published in JAMA Surgery, suggests that things like mentorship for residents from faculty can also be important pieces of the puzzle.

Education about reproductive health must start earlier, too – as early as medical school. Research suggests only 8% of physicians receive education on the risks of delaying pregnancy. Those who do are significantly less likely to experience pregnancy loss or seek infertility treatment.

Dr. Salles recalls sitting in a classroom learning about advanced maternal age at a time when age 35 seemed unimaginably distant. “It was never taught – at least to my recollection – in a way that was like, ‘this could be your future,’ ” Dr. Salles says.” It was more like this abstract patient who might have advanced maternal age and what the consequences would be. Maybe some of my colleagues put two and two together, but I definitely didn’t.”

Dr. Marshall is the curriculum chair for the IGNITEMed Initiative, which aims to educate medical students about issues not discussed in traditional medical school curricula. Dr. Marshall and her colleague Julia Files, MD, talk with IGNITEMed students about reproductive life planning.

“Raising awareness is a very big thing. That’s not just true for medical students but for professionals at every level of medicine,” Dr. Marshall said. “Residency and fellowship training program directors, department chairs, and hospital CEOs all need to understand that these issues are very common in the people they oversee – and that they are medical issues, like any other medical issue, where people need time off and support.”

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

In 2021, Eugene Kim, MD, division director of pediatric surgery and vice chair in the department of surgery at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, Los Angeles, gave his presidential address to the Association for Academic Surgery.

“Presidents tend to give a message of hope or inspiration; I probably took it in a different way,” he said.

Dr. Kim told the story of one of his clinical partners, Eveline Shue, who, after five rounds of in vitro fertilization (IVF), became pregnant with twins. A high-achiever in her field, Ms. Shue continued working the grueling hours required by her job throughout pregnancy until she noticed concerning symptoms – musculoskeletal issues, extreme swelling, and more. She and her group decided that she should step back from work in her third trimester. A few days later, Ms. Shue suffered a stroke. She was rushed to the hospital where her babies were delivered by emergency C-section. Ms. Shue underwent brain surgery but later recovered and is still practicing in Southern California.

“I remember being at her bedside thinking, ‘How could we have let this happen? How could we have prevented this?’ ”

Dr. Kim’s speech kicked off a firestorm of awareness about pregnancy complications among physicians. “I got scores of emails from women around the country, surgeons in particular, who felt like their issues had been seen. The conversation was long overdue,” he said.

Family planning issues, pregnancy complications, infertility, and pregnancy loss are common, pervasive, and often silent issues in medicine. In July 2021, Dr. Kim and a group of other researchers published a study in JAMA Surgery. It revealed staggering truths: When compared to non-surgeons, female surgeons were more likely to delay pregnancy, use assisted reproductive technology such as IVF, have non-elective C-sections, and suffer pregnancy loss. In the study, 42% of surgeons had experienced pregnancy loss – more than double the rate of the general population. Almost half had serious pregnancy complications.

Research has found that female physicians in general have a significantly greater incidence of miscarriage, infertility, and pregnancy complications than the general population. According to a 2016 survey in the Journal of Women’s Health, the infertility rate for physicians is nearly 1 in 4, about double the rate of the general public.
 

The barriers to starting a family

Physicians face significant professional barriers that impact family planning. Demanding jobs with exhausting and often unpredictable hours contribute to a culture that, traditionally, has been far from family friendly. As a result, many physicians start families later. “For a pediatric surgeon, you finish training at age 35 – minimum,” says Dr. Kim. “Simply being a surgeon makes you a high-risk pregnancy candidate just because of the career.”

In 2020, Ariela L. Marshall, MD, an associate professor of clinical medicine at the University of Pennsylvania’s Perelman school of medicine, co-authored a commentary article in Academic Medicine titled “Physician Fertility: A Call to Action” which was based on her own experiences with infertility. Dr. Marshall was 34 when she and her husband decided to start a family, and she says her infertility diagnosis “came as a shock.”

“I never stopped to think about the consequences of a career path where I’m not going to be established until my 30s,” Dr. Marshall says. “I never thought about how long hours, overnight shifts, or working all the time could impact my fertility.”

It would take four cycles of IVF egg retrieval to create embryos and one failed implantation before Dr. Marshall became pregnant with her son.

When it comes to the timing of pregnancy, medical culture also plays a role. “There’s a lot of messaging around when it’s appropriate to carry a baby – and it’s not until after training is done,” says Arghavan Salles, MD, PhD, a clinical associate professor and special advisor for DEI programs at Stanford (Calif.) University’s department of medicine.

There are always exceptions. Some institutions are more flexible than others about pregnancy during residency. But Dr. Salles notes that this attitude is “not universal,” partly because of the lack of a comprehensive approach to pregnancy or parenthood in the United States. “There’s no federal paid parental leave in this country,” reminds Dr. Salles. “That signals that we don’t value parenting.”

The trickle-down effect of this in medicine is more like a waterfall. Some physicians complain when other physicians are out on leave. There’s an additional burden of work when people take time away, and there are often no support structures in place for backup or fill-in care. Dr. Salles said doctors often tell her that they were responsible for finding coverage for any time off during pregnancy or after becoming a parent. A paper of hers published in JAMA Surgery found that, for physicians, a fear of burdening others was a major barrier to getting pregnant during residency in the first place.
 

The physical consequences

Although research supports the benefits of physical activity throughout pregnancy, a job such as surgery that requires being on your feet for long periods of time “is not the same as exercise,” explains Erika Lu Rangel, MD, a gastrointestinal surgeon at Brigham and Women’s Hospital, Boston, and Dr. Kim’s lead author on the JAMA Surgery article.

Surgeons operating for more than 12 hours a week are at higher risk for pregnancy complications, the study found. Dr. Rangel also cites data suggesting that night shifts or swing shifts (the hours between day and night) put women at higher risk for pregnancy complications.

Equally alarming: Medical trainees appear to have “almost as high a rate of pregnancy complications as surgeons who have already completed their training,” said Dr. Rangel. It is a concerning finding since, as a younger cohort, they should have lower complication rates based on their age. But doctors in training may be on their feet even more than surgeons during long shifts.

Like Dr. Salles, Dr. Rangel sees these issues as part of a pervasive culture of “presenteeism” in medicine, and she points out that many surgeons don’t even take time off to grieve pregnancy loss or physically recover from it. “We work even when we’re sick and even when it’s not good for our health,” she said. “I think that’s an unhealthy behavior that we cultivate from the time that we’re trainees, and we carry it on through when we’re in practice.”

Penn Medicine’s Dr. Marshall remembers that her own maternity leave was “not an easy process to navigate.” From her hospital room on a magnesium drip for preeclampsia, she still attended Zoom meetings with her colleagues. “Nobody says, ‘Oh, you have to do this,’ ” Dr. Marshall explains, “but you wind up feeling guilty if you’re not there at all moments for everyone. That’s also something that needs to change.” 

Dr. Rangel was pregnant with her oldest son as a fourth-year surgery resident. The day she gave birth to him she remembers waking up with a flu-like illness and a fever. She went to work anyway, because “you don’t call in sick as a resident.” She was barely able to complete her rounds and then had to lie down between cases. A co-resident found her and took her to labor and delivery. She had gone into premature labor at 37 weeks, and her son went into the NICU with complications.

“I remember feeling this enormous guilt,” says Dr. Rangel. “I’d been a mom for just a few minutes, and I felt like I had already failed him because I had prioritized what the residency thought of me above what I knew was necessary for his health.”
 

Hope for the future

Disturbed by the status quo, many physicians are pushing for change. “I think there’s a really important and positive conversation going on in the medical community right now about ways that we need to support new parent physicians,” said Dr. Rangel.

Parental leave is a key part of that support. Last year, The American Board of Medical Specialties enacted a mandate that all specialty boards 2 years or more in duration must provide at least 6 weeks of parental and caregiver leave. In 2023, the Accreditation Council for Graduate Medical Education (ACGME) required that all training programs match that policy. “This sends a message to policymakers and leaders in American medicine that this is a priority,” said Dr. Rangel.

In January 2022, a group from the University of Michigan also published an article in the Annals of Surgery called “Safe and Supported Pregnancy: A Call to Action for Surgery Chairs and Program Directors”. The essay urged leading groups such as the ACGME and the American Board of Surgery to “directly address the health and safety of pregnant trainees” and specifically, to “allow for further flexibility during training for pregnancy and peripartum periods,” calling these “fundamental necessities for cultural progress.”

Others have recommended allowing pregnant trainees more flexibility in their schedules or front-loading certain parts of the training that may be more difficult as a pregnancy progresses. Insurance coverage for fertility preservation and reproductive endocrinology services, and support for reentry (including lactation and childcare) are also issues that must be addressed, says Dr. Salles.

A new paper of Dr. Rangel’s, published in JAMA Surgery, suggests that things like mentorship for residents from faculty can also be important pieces of the puzzle.

Education about reproductive health must start earlier, too – as early as medical school. Research suggests only 8% of physicians receive education on the risks of delaying pregnancy. Those who do are significantly less likely to experience pregnancy loss or seek infertility treatment.

Dr. Salles recalls sitting in a classroom learning about advanced maternal age at a time when age 35 seemed unimaginably distant. “It was never taught – at least to my recollection – in a way that was like, ‘this could be your future,’ ” Dr. Salles says.” It was more like this abstract patient who might have advanced maternal age and what the consequences would be. Maybe some of my colleagues put two and two together, but I definitely didn’t.”

Dr. Marshall is the curriculum chair for the IGNITEMed Initiative, which aims to educate medical students about issues not discussed in traditional medical school curricula. Dr. Marshall and her colleague Julia Files, MD, talk with IGNITEMed students about reproductive life planning.

“Raising awareness is a very big thing. That’s not just true for medical students but for professionals at every level of medicine,” Dr. Marshall said. “Residency and fellowship training program directors, department chairs, and hospital CEOs all need to understand that these issues are very common in the people they oversee – and that they are medical issues, like any other medical issue, where people need time off and support.”

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

In 2021, Eugene Kim, MD, division director of pediatric surgery and vice chair in the department of surgery at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, Los Angeles, gave his presidential address to the Association for Academic Surgery.

“Presidents tend to give a message of hope or inspiration; I probably took it in a different way,” he said.

Dr. Kim told the story of one of his clinical partners, Eveline Shue, who, after five rounds of in vitro fertilization (IVF), became pregnant with twins. A high-achiever in her field, Ms. Shue continued working the grueling hours required by her job throughout pregnancy until she noticed concerning symptoms – musculoskeletal issues, extreme swelling, and more. She and her group decided that she should step back from work in her third trimester. A few days later, Ms. Shue suffered a stroke. She was rushed to the hospital where her babies were delivered by emergency C-section. Ms. Shue underwent brain surgery but later recovered and is still practicing in Southern California.

“I remember being at her bedside thinking, ‘How could we have let this happen? How could we have prevented this?’ ”

Dr. Kim’s speech kicked off a firestorm of awareness about pregnancy complications among physicians. “I got scores of emails from women around the country, surgeons in particular, who felt like their issues had been seen. The conversation was long overdue,” he said.

Family planning issues, pregnancy complications, infertility, and pregnancy loss are common, pervasive, and often silent issues in medicine. In July 2021, Dr. Kim and a group of other researchers published a study in JAMA Surgery. It revealed staggering truths: When compared to non-surgeons, female surgeons were more likely to delay pregnancy, use assisted reproductive technology such as IVF, have non-elective C-sections, and suffer pregnancy loss. In the study, 42% of surgeons had experienced pregnancy loss – more than double the rate of the general population. Almost half had serious pregnancy complications.

Research has found that female physicians in general have a significantly greater incidence of miscarriage, infertility, and pregnancy complications than the general population. According to a 2016 survey in the Journal of Women’s Health, the infertility rate for physicians is nearly 1 in 4, about double the rate of the general public.
 

The barriers to starting a family

Physicians face significant professional barriers that impact family planning. Demanding jobs with exhausting and often unpredictable hours contribute to a culture that, traditionally, has been far from family friendly. As a result, many physicians start families later. “For a pediatric surgeon, you finish training at age 35 – minimum,” says Dr. Kim. “Simply being a surgeon makes you a high-risk pregnancy candidate just because of the career.”

In 2020, Ariela L. Marshall, MD, an associate professor of clinical medicine at the University of Pennsylvania’s Perelman school of medicine, co-authored a commentary article in Academic Medicine titled “Physician Fertility: A Call to Action” which was based on her own experiences with infertility. Dr. Marshall was 34 when she and her husband decided to start a family, and she says her infertility diagnosis “came as a shock.”

“I never stopped to think about the consequences of a career path where I’m not going to be established until my 30s,” Dr. Marshall says. “I never thought about how long hours, overnight shifts, or working all the time could impact my fertility.”

It would take four cycles of IVF egg retrieval to create embryos and one failed implantation before Dr. Marshall became pregnant with her son.

When it comes to the timing of pregnancy, medical culture also plays a role. “There’s a lot of messaging around when it’s appropriate to carry a baby – and it’s not until after training is done,” says Arghavan Salles, MD, PhD, a clinical associate professor and special advisor for DEI programs at Stanford (Calif.) University’s department of medicine.

There are always exceptions. Some institutions are more flexible than others about pregnancy during residency. But Dr. Salles notes that this attitude is “not universal,” partly because of the lack of a comprehensive approach to pregnancy or parenthood in the United States. “There’s no federal paid parental leave in this country,” reminds Dr. Salles. “That signals that we don’t value parenting.”

The trickle-down effect of this in medicine is more like a waterfall. Some physicians complain when other physicians are out on leave. There’s an additional burden of work when people take time away, and there are often no support structures in place for backup or fill-in care. Dr. Salles said doctors often tell her that they were responsible for finding coverage for any time off during pregnancy or after becoming a parent. A paper of hers published in JAMA Surgery found that, for physicians, a fear of burdening others was a major barrier to getting pregnant during residency in the first place.
 

The physical consequences

Although research supports the benefits of physical activity throughout pregnancy, a job such as surgery that requires being on your feet for long periods of time “is not the same as exercise,” explains Erika Lu Rangel, MD, a gastrointestinal surgeon at Brigham and Women’s Hospital, Boston, and Dr. Kim’s lead author on the JAMA Surgery article.

Surgeons operating for more than 12 hours a week are at higher risk for pregnancy complications, the study found. Dr. Rangel also cites data suggesting that night shifts or swing shifts (the hours between day and night) put women at higher risk for pregnancy complications.

Equally alarming: Medical trainees appear to have “almost as high a rate of pregnancy complications as surgeons who have already completed their training,” said Dr. Rangel. It is a concerning finding since, as a younger cohort, they should have lower complication rates based on their age. But doctors in training may be on their feet even more than surgeons during long shifts.

Like Dr. Salles, Dr. Rangel sees these issues as part of a pervasive culture of “presenteeism” in medicine, and she points out that many surgeons don’t even take time off to grieve pregnancy loss or physically recover from it. “We work even when we’re sick and even when it’s not good for our health,” she said. “I think that’s an unhealthy behavior that we cultivate from the time that we’re trainees, and we carry it on through when we’re in practice.”

Penn Medicine’s Dr. Marshall remembers that her own maternity leave was “not an easy process to navigate.” From her hospital room on a magnesium drip for preeclampsia, she still attended Zoom meetings with her colleagues. “Nobody says, ‘Oh, you have to do this,’ ” Dr. Marshall explains, “but you wind up feeling guilty if you’re not there at all moments for everyone. That’s also something that needs to change.” 

Dr. Rangel was pregnant with her oldest son as a fourth-year surgery resident. The day she gave birth to him she remembers waking up with a flu-like illness and a fever. She went to work anyway, because “you don’t call in sick as a resident.” She was barely able to complete her rounds and then had to lie down between cases. A co-resident found her and took her to labor and delivery. She had gone into premature labor at 37 weeks, and her son went into the NICU with complications.

“I remember feeling this enormous guilt,” says Dr. Rangel. “I’d been a mom for just a few minutes, and I felt like I had already failed him because I had prioritized what the residency thought of me above what I knew was necessary for his health.”
 

Hope for the future

Disturbed by the status quo, many physicians are pushing for change. “I think there’s a really important and positive conversation going on in the medical community right now about ways that we need to support new parent physicians,” said Dr. Rangel.

Parental leave is a key part of that support. Last year, The American Board of Medical Specialties enacted a mandate that all specialty boards 2 years or more in duration must provide at least 6 weeks of parental and caregiver leave. In 2023, the Accreditation Council for Graduate Medical Education (ACGME) required that all training programs match that policy. “This sends a message to policymakers and leaders in American medicine that this is a priority,” said Dr. Rangel.

In January 2022, a group from the University of Michigan also published an article in the Annals of Surgery called “Safe and Supported Pregnancy: A Call to Action for Surgery Chairs and Program Directors”. The essay urged leading groups such as the ACGME and the American Board of Surgery to “directly address the health and safety of pregnant trainees” and specifically, to “allow for further flexibility during training for pregnancy and peripartum periods,” calling these “fundamental necessities for cultural progress.”

Others have recommended allowing pregnant trainees more flexibility in their schedules or front-loading certain parts of the training that may be more difficult as a pregnancy progresses. Insurance coverage for fertility preservation and reproductive endocrinology services, and support for reentry (including lactation and childcare) are also issues that must be addressed, says Dr. Salles.

A new paper of Dr. Rangel’s, published in JAMA Surgery, suggests that things like mentorship for residents from faculty can also be important pieces of the puzzle.

Education about reproductive health must start earlier, too – as early as medical school. Research suggests only 8% of physicians receive education on the risks of delaying pregnancy. Those who do are significantly less likely to experience pregnancy loss or seek infertility treatment.

Dr. Salles recalls sitting in a classroom learning about advanced maternal age at a time when age 35 seemed unimaginably distant. “It was never taught – at least to my recollection – in a way that was like, ‘this could be your future,’ ” Dr. Salles says.” It was more like this abstract patient who might have advanced maternal age and what the consequences would be. Maybe some of my colleagues put two and two together, but I definitely didn’t.”

Dr. Marshall is the curriculum chair for the IGNITEMed Initiative, which aims to educate medical students about issues not discussed in traditional medical school curricula. Dr. Marshall and her colleague Julia Files, MD, talk with IGNITEMed students about reproductive life planning.

“Raising awareness is a very big thing. That’s not just true for medical students but for professionals at every level of medicine,” Dr. Marshall said. “Residency and fellowship training program directors, department chairs, and hospital CEOs all need to understand that these issues are very common in the people they oversee – and that they are medical issues, like any other medical issue, where people need time off and support.”

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

ORLANDO – When he was applying for residency, Omar N. Qutub, MD, eagerly arrived at his first interview of the day. But he was quickly thrown off his game.

The interviewer, he said, spent a surprising amount of time asking about his ethnicity and his last name. “I think I spent about 3-5 minutes in the first interview talking about my last name,” said Dr. Qutub, who practices in Portland, Ore., during a session titled “unconscious bias and microaggressions in dermatology” at the ODAC Dermatology, Aesthetic and Surgical Conference. “I really would have rather talked about my research interests.” The interaction threw him off for the rest of the interview process, he said.

The experience is an example of how the field has a ways to go in acquiring cultural competence and in overcoming unconscious biases, said Dr. Qutub. In 2020, a review in Clinics in Dermatology referred to a report that dermatology was the second-least diverse medical specialty, only behind orthopedic surgery, because of its low numbers of residents and faculty from groups underrepresented in medicine.

“We really need to put cultural competency at the forefront in order to do better for our patients,” he said.

Adam Friedman, MD, professor and chair of dermatology and director of the residency program at George Washington University, Washington, who also spoke during the session, said that the process of diversifying the field has to go deeper than the resident interviewing process. “If we just focus on trying to increase the diversity of our applicant pool for residents, it’s too late.”

Nada Elbuluk, MD, associate professor of dermatology at the University of Southern California, Los Angeles, pointed to USC’s Derm RISES initiative, a service program that aims to reach inner-city students through education in the sciences, starting from kindergarten to 12th grade. The program also includes premed undergraduate and medical students, “with the goal of increasing exposure to the sciences, medicine, and dermatology,” according to the USC website. “It’s crucial to begin the process early to get a high yield of students who reach medical school and eventually dermatology, she said, because of the inevitable attrition at each level of the education process.

“It’s incredibly rewarding,” added Dr. Elbuluk, who is also director of the dermatology diversity and inclusion program at USC. “And we get these thank-you letters back from students who [say], ‘I didn’t know I could be a doctor.’ ”

In another presentation, Kavita Mariwalla, MD, who practices in West Islip, N.Y., provided tips on boosting cultural competence during aesthetic consults.

One was to “know your fillers,” she said, noting that fillers have different effects on different skin tones, because of differences in fibroblast content, and fat cells will interact with fillers in different ways across skin tones.

Another is to “understand the shortfall of facial canons,” the idea that you can divide a face into sections that can be viewed and enhanced discretely. This concept was based on a White European model and has to be expanded when considering other ethnicities, Dr. Mariwalla said.

Overgeneralizing categories is another pitfall, she said. “Asian” is a term that covers countries from India to Japan, but within that category are a multitude of notions and nuances about aesthetics, and dermatologists have to be sensitive to all of them.

When meeting with a patient, Dr. Mariwalla said, asking the typical “Where are you from?” is not a helpful question. Instead, she suggested asking: “What is your cultural background? Can you tell me more about what your expectations are?”

“I ask for pictures,” she said. “I want to know what they looked like as a kid. I want to know what their family looks like. And I always hand patients a mirror. Patients will say to me: ‘I want to do what you think.’ It’s not about what I think, because what I see, and what you see in your magnifying mirror, are totally different things.”

After the session ended, a member of the audience, Sharon Stokes, MD, a dermatologist in the Orlando area, provided her view of the presentations, noting that it was an important discussion.

“I think it’s past time in medicine for cultural diversity training and awareness for physicians to understand their patients better and getting to know them – and how to even approach the patient and not to offensively and microaggressively approach the patient,” she said.

Dr. Elbuluk reported relevant relationships with Avita, Incyte, Beiersdorf, and other companies. Dr. Friedman reported financial relationships with Sanova, Pfizer, Novartis and other companies. Dr. Mariwalla reported relevant financial relationships with Abbvie, Sanofi, Regeneron and other companies. Dr. Qutub reported no relevant financial relationships. Dr. Qutub is the ODAC director of equity, diversity, and inclusion.

ORLANDO – When he was applying for residency, Omar N. Qutub, MD, eagerly arrived at his first interview of the day. But he was quickly thrown off his game.

The interviewer, he said, spent a surprising amount of time asking about his ethnicity and his last name. “I think I spent about 3-5 minutes in the first interview talking about my last name,” said Dr. Qutub, who practices in Portland, Ore., during a session titled “unconscious bias and microaggressions in dermatology” at the ODAC Dermatology, Aesthetic and Surgical Conference. “I really would have rather talked about my research interests.” The interaction threw him off for the rest of the interview process, he said.

The experience is an example of how the field has a ways to go in acquiring cultural competence and in overcoming unconscious biases, said Dr. Qutub. In 2020, a review in Clinics in Dermatology referred to a report that dermatology was the second-least diverse medical specialty, only behind orthopedic surgery, because of its low numbers of residents and faculty from groups underrepresented in medicine.

“We really need to put cultural competency at the forefront in order to do better for our patients,” he said.

Adam Friedman, MD, professor and chair of dermatology and director of the residency program at George Washington University, Washington, who also spoke during the session, said that the process of diversifying the field has to go deeper than the resident interviewing process. “If we just focus on trying to increase the diversity of our applicant pool for residents, it’s too late.”

Nada Elbuluk, MD, associate professor of dermatology at the University of Southern California, Los Angeles, pointed to USC’s Derm RISES initiative, a service program that aims to reach inner-city students through education in the sciences, starting from kindergarten to 12th grade. The program also includes premed undergraduate and medical students, “with the goal of increasing exposure to the sciences, medicine, and dermatology,” according to the USC website. “It’s crucial to begin the process early to get a high yield of students who reach medical school and eventually dermatology, she said, because of the inevitable attrition at each level of the education process.

“It’s incredibly rewarding,” added Dr. Elbuluk, who is also director of the dermatology diversity and inclusion program at USC. “And we get these thank-you letters back from students who [say], ‘I didn’t know I could be a doctor.’ ”

In another presentation, Kavita Mariwalla, MD, who practices in West Islip, N.Y., provided tips on boosting cultural competence during aesthetic consults.

One was to “know your fillers,” she said, noting that fillers have different effects on different skin tones, because of differences in fibroblast content, and fat cells will interact with fillers in different ways across skin tones.

Another is to “understand the shortfall of facial canons,” the idea that you can divide a face into sections that can be viewed and enhanced discretely. This concept was based on a White European model and has to be expanded when considering other ethnicities, Dr. Mariwalla said.

Overgeneralizing categories is another pitfall, she said. “Asian” is a term that covers countries from India to Japan, but within that category are a multitude of notions and nuances about aesthetics, and dermatologists have to be sensitive to all of them.

When meeting with a patient, Dr. Mariwalla said, asking the typical “Where are you from?” is not a helpful question. Instead, she suggested asking: “What is your cultural background? Can you tell me more about what your expectations are?”

“I ask for pictures,” she said. “I want to know what they looked like as a kid. I want to know what their family looks like. And I always hand patients a mirror. Patients will say to me: ‘I want to do what you think.’ It’s not about what I think, because what I see, and what you see in your magnifying mirror, are totally different things.”

After the session ended, a member of the audience, Sharon Stokes, MD, a dermatologist in the Orlando area, provided her view of the presentations, noting that it was an important discussion.

“I think it’s past time in medicine for cultural diversity training and awareness for physicians to understand their patients better and getting to know them – and how to even approach the patient and not to offensively and microaggressively approach the patient,” she said.

Dr. Elbuluk reported relevant relationships with Avita, Incyte, Beiersdorf, and other companies. Dr. Friedman reported financial relationships with Sanova, Pfizer, Novartis and other companies. Dr. Mariwalla reported relevant financial relationships with Abbvie, Sanofi, Regeneron and other companies. Dr. Qutub reported no relevant financial relationships. Dr. Qutub is the ODAC director of equity, diversity, and inclusion.

ORLANDO – When he was applying for residency, Omar N. Qutub, MD, eagerly arrived at his first interview of the day. But he was quickly thrown off his game.

The interviewer, he said, spent a surprising amount of time asking about his ethnicity and his last name. “I think I spent about 3-5 minutes in the first interview talking about my last name,” said Dr. Qutub, who practices in Portland, Ore., during a session titled “unconscious bias and microaggressions in dermatology” at the ODAC Dermatology, Aesthetic and Surgical Conference. “I really would have rather talked about my research interests.” The interaction threw him off for the rest of the interview process, he said.

The experience is an example of how the field has a ways to go in acquiring cultural competence and in overcoming unconscious biases, said Dr. Qutub. In 2020, a review in Clinics in Dermatology referred to a report that dermatology was the second-least diverse medical specialty, only behind orthopedic surgery, because of its low numbers of residents and faculty from groups underrepresented in medicine.

“We really need to put cultural competency at the forefront in order to do better for our patients,” he said.

Adam Friedman, MD, professor and chair of dermatology and director of the residency program at George Washington University, Washington, who also spoke during the session, said that the process of diversifying the field has to go deeper than the resident interviewing process. “If we just focus on trying to increase the diversity of our applicant pool for residents, it’s too late.”

Nada Elbuluk, MD, associate professor of dermatology at the University of Southern California, Los Angeles, pointed to USC’s Derm RISES initiative, a service program that aims to reach inner-city students through education in the sciences, starting from kindergarten to 12th grade. The program also includes premed undergraduate and medical students, “with the goal of increasing exposure to the sciences, medicine, and dermatology,” according to the USC website. “It’s crucial to begin the process early to get a high yield of students who reach medical school and eventually dermatology, she said, because of the inevitable attrition at each level of the education process.

“It’s incredibly rewarding,” added Dr. Elbuluk, who is also director of the dermatology diversity and inclusion program at USC. “And we get these thank-you letters back from students who [say], ‘I didn’t know I could be a doctor.’ ”

In another presentation, Kavita Mariwalla, MD, who practices in West Islip, N.Y., provided tips on boosting cultural competence during aesthetic consults.

One was to “know your fillers,” she said, noting that fillers have different effects on different skin tones, because of differences in fibroblast content, and fat cells will interact with fillers in different ways across skin tones.

Another is to “understand the shortfall of facial canons,” the idea that you can divide a face into sections that can be viewed and enhanced discretely. This concept was based on a White European model and has to be expanded when considering other ethnicities, Dr. Mariwalla said.

Overgeneralizing categories is another pitfall, she said. “Asian” is a term that covers countries from India to Japan, but within that category are a multitude of notions and nuances about aesthetics, and dermatologists have to be sensitive to all of them.

When meeting with a patient, Dr. Mariwalla said, asking the typical “Where are you from?” is not a helpful question. Instead, she suggested asking: “What is your cultural background? Can you tell me more about what your expectations are?”

“I ask for pictures,” she said. “I want to know what they looked like as a kid. I want to know what their family looks like. And I always hand patients a mirror. Patients will say to me: ‘I want to do what you think.’ It’s not about what I think, because what I see, and what you see in your magnifying mirror, are totally different things.”

After the session ended, a member of the audience, Sharon Stokes, MD, a dermatologist in the Orlando area, provided her view of the presentations, noting that it was an important discussion.

“I think it’s past time in medicine for cultural diversity training and awareness for physicians to understand their patients better and getting to know them – and how to even approach the patient and not to offensively and microaggressively approach the patient,” she said.

Dr. Elbuluk reported relevant relationships with Avita, Incyte, Beiersdorf, and other companies. Dr. Friedman reported financial relationships with Sanova, Pfizer, Novartis and other companies. Dr. Mariwalla reported relevant financial relationships with Abbvie, Sanofi, Regeneron and other companies. Dr. Qutub reported no relevant financial relationships. Dr. Qutub is the ODAC director of equity, diversity, and inclusion.

People of color with epilepsy, including Black, Hispanic, and Native Hawaiian and other Pacific Islander patients, are significantly less likely to be prescribed the latest antiseizure medications (ASMs), compared with their White counterparts, new research shows.

Even after controlling for epilepsy severity, comorbid conditions, and other factors that might affect medication choice, researchers found that newer medication use was 29% less likely in Black patients, 23% less likely in Native Hawaiian and other Pacific Islander patients, and 7% less likely in Hispanic patients, compared with White individuals.

“I hope that clinicians will see from our findings that minoritized patients with epilepsy face a myriad of barriers in receiving the highest quality of care, including ASM use,” said lead investigator Wyatt P. Bensken, PhD, adjunct assistant professor of Population and Quantitative Health Sciences at Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland. “Considering your patients’ barriers, and how that influences their care – including ASM selection – will be critical to helping reduce these population-level inequities.”

A prompt for practice change

For the study, researchers used Medicaid claims for more than 78,000 people who had filled at least two prescriptions for an ASM between 2010 and 2014.

Most patients were White (53.4%); 22.6% were Black; 11.9% were Hispanic; 1.6% were Asian; 1.5% were Native Hawaiian or other Pacific Islander; 0.6% American Indian or Alaskan Native; and 8.3% were classified as “other.”

One-quarter of participants were taking an older ASM, such as carbamazepine, phenytoin, and valproate. About 65% were taking second-generation ASMs, including gabapentin, levetiracetam, and zonisamide. A little less than 10% were taking lacosamide, perampenel, or another third-generation ASM.

Compared with White patients, newer medication prescriptions were significantly less likely in Black individuals (adjusted odds ratio, 0.71; 95% confidence interval, 0.68-0.75), Native Hawaiian or other Pacific Islanders (aOR, 0.77; 95% CI, 0.67-0.88), and Hispanic patients (aOR, 0.93; 95% CI, 0.88-0.99).

Third-generation ASMs were used by 10.7% of White patients versus 6% of Black individuals and 5.1% of American Indian or Alaskan Native patients.

Researchers also found that taking a second-generation ASM was associated with better treatment adherence (aOR, 1.17; 95% CI, 1.11-1.23) and that patients on newer ASMs were more than three times as likely to be under the care of a neurologist (aOR, 3.26; 95% CI, 3.13-3.41).

The findings draw attention to racial inequities surrounding access to medication and specialists and subspecialists, Dr. Bensken said. Identifying specific barriers and developing solutions is the long-range goal, he added.

“In the interim, increasing the attention to these inequities will, we hope, prompt changes across practices,” Dr. Bensken said.
 

A ‘wake-up call’

Commenting on the findings, Joseph Sirven, MD, professor of neurology at the Mayo Clinic Florida, Jacksonville, said the results were “striking” because newer ASMs are generally the go-to for most physicians who treat epilepsy. 

“Use of first-generation ASMs is typically reserved [for] if one runs out of options,” Dr. Sirven said.

This study and others like it should serve as a “wake-up call” for clinicians, Dr. Sirven added.

“This study is important because it shows that whether we realize it or not, race and ethnicities are playing a role in ASM, and this is related to financial access to newer-generation drugs,” he said. “Similar findings are seen in impoverished countries where first-generation ASM drugs are routinely used because of drug pricing.”
 

More to explore

Also commenting on the study, Scott Mintzer, MD, a professor and director of the Epilepsy Monitoring Unit at Thomas Jefferson University, Philadelphia, said using first-generation ASMs as a proxy for quality of care is “a very innovative concept.”

“From that perspective, the finding that racial minority patients are more likely to be on a first-generation drug is not surprising. But after that it gets far more complicated to interpret,” he added.  

Neither adherence nor care by a neurologist was different in a consistent direction within the various minority populations, Dr. Mintzer noted. In addition, Black patients were as likely to see a neurologist as White patients but still more likely to be on a first-generation drug.

There are also a few caveats to the findings that should be considered, Dr. Mintzer added. First, the sample included only Medicaid recipients, nearly 35% of whom had a comorbid psychosis. Those and other characteristics of the study pool suggest participants aren’t representative of the United States population as a whole. Second, significant shifts in ASM use have occurred since the study data cutoff in 2014, none of which are reflected in these findings.

“So, I don’t think we can really say how to address this yet,” Dr. Mintzer said. “There’s a lot to explore about whether this is still occurring, how generalizable these findings are, and what they might be due to, as there are a host of potential explanations, which the authors themselves acknowledge.”

The study was funded by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the National Institute on Minority Health and Health Disparities. Dr. Bensken has received support for this work from NIMHD and serves on the Editorial Board of the journal Neurology. Dr. Sirven and Mintzer report no relevant financial relationships.

A version of this article originally appeared on Medscape.com.

People of color with epilepsy, including Black, Hispanic, and Native Hawaiian and other Pacific Islander patients, are significantly less likely to be prescribed the latest antiseizure medications (ASMs), compared with their White counterparts, new research shows.

Even after controlling for epilepsy severity, comorbid conditions, and other factors that might affect medication choice, researchers found that newer medication use was 29% less likely in Black patients, 23% less likely in Native Hawaiian and other Pacific Islander patients, and 7% less likely in Hispanic patients, compared with White individuals.

“I hope that clinicians will see from our findings that minoritized patients with epilepsy face a myriad of barriers in receiving the highest quality of care, including ASM use,” said lead investigator Wyatt P. Bensken, PhD, adjunct assistant professor of Population and Quantitative Health Sciences at Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland. “Considering your patients’ barriers, and how that influences their care – including ASM selection – will be critical to helping reduce these population-level inequities.”

A prompt for practice change

For the study, researchers used Medicaid claims for more than 78,000 people who had filled at least two prescriptions for an ASM between 2010 and 2014.

Most patients were White (53.4%); 22.6% were Black; 11.9% were Hispanic; 1.6% were Asian; 1.5% were Native Hawaiian or other Pacific Islander; 0.6% American Indian or Alaskan Native; and 8.3% were classified as “other.”

One-quarter of participants were taking an older ASM, such as carbamazepine, phenytoin, and valproate. About 65% were taking second-generation ASMs, including gabapentin, levetiracetam, and zonisamide. A little less than 10% were taking lacosamide, perampenel, or another third-generation ASM.

Compared with White patients, newer medication prescriptions were significantly less likely in Black individuals (adjusted odds ratio, 0.71; 95% confidence interval, 0.68-0.75), Native Hawaiian or other Pacific Islanders (aOR, 0.77; 95% CI, 0.67-0.88), and Hispanic patients (aOR, 0.93; 95% CI, 0.88-0.99).

Third-generation ASMs were used by 10.7% of White patients versus 6% of Black individuals and 5.1% of American Indian or Alaskan Native patients.

Researchers also found that taking a second-generation ASM was associated with better treatment adherence (aOR, 1.17; 95% CI, 1.11-1.23) and that patients on newer ASMs were more than three times as likely to be under the care of a neurologist (aOR, 3.26; 95% CI, 3.13-3.41).

The findings draw attention to racial inequities surrounding access to medication and specialists and subspecialists, Dr. Bensken said. Identifying specific barriers and developing solutions is the long-range goal, he added.

“In the interim, increasing the attention to these inequities will, we hope, prompt changes across practices,” Dr. Bensken said.
 

A ‘wake-up call’

Commenting on the findings, Joseph Sirven, MD, professor of neurology at the Mayo Clinic Florida, Jacksonville, said the results were “striking” because newer ASMs are generally the go-to for most physicians who treat epilepsy. 

“Use of first-generation ASMs is typically reserved [for] if one runs out of options,” Dr. Sirven said.

This study and others like it should serve as a “wake-up call” for clinicians, Dr. Sirven added.

“This study is important because it shows that whether we realize it or not, race and ethnicities are playing a role in ASM, and this is related to financial access to newer-generation drugs,” he said. “Similar findings are seen in impoverished countries where first-generation ASM drugs are routinely used because of drug pricing.”
 

More to explore

Also commenting on the study, Scott Mintzer, MD, a professor and director of the Epilepsy Monitoring Unit at Thomas Jefferson University, Philadelphia, said using first-generation ASMs as a proxy for quality of care is “a very innovative concept.”

“From that perspective, the finding that racial minority patients are more likely to be on a first-generation drug is not surprising. But after that it gets far more complicated to interpret,” he added.  

Neither adherence nor care by a neurologist was different in a consistent direction within the various minority populations, Dr. Mintzer noted. In addition, Black patients were as likely to see a neurologist as White patients but still more likely to be on a first-generation drug.

There are also a few caveats to the findings that should be considered, Dr. Mintzer added. First, the sample included only Medicaid recipients, nearly 35% of whom had a comorbid psychosis. Those and other characteristics of the study pool suggest participants aren’t representative of the United States population as a whole. Second, significant shifts in ASM use have occurred since the study data cutoff in 2014, none of which are reflected in these findings.

“So, I don’t think we can really say how to address this yet,” Dr. Mintzer said. “There’s a lot to explore about whether this is still occurring, how generalizable these findings are, and what they might be due to, as there are a host of potential explanations, which the authors themselves acknowledge.”

The study was funded by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the National Institute on Minority Health and Health Disparities. Dr. Bensken has received support for this work from NIMHD and serves on the Editorial Board of the journal Neurology. Dr. Sirven and Mintzer report no relevant financial relationships.

A version of this article originally appeared on Medscape.com.

People of color with epilepsy, including Black, Hispanic, and Native Hawaiian and other Pacific Islander patients, are significantly less likely to be prescribed the latest antiseizure medications (ASMs), compared with their White counterparts, new research shows.

Even after controlling for epilepsy severity, comorbid conditions, and other factors that might affect medication choice, researchers found that newer medication use was 29% less likely in Black patients, 23% less likely in Native Hawaiian and other Pacific Islander patients, and 7% less likely in Hispanic patients, compared with White individuals.

“I hope that clinicians will see from our findings that minoritized patients with epilepsy face a myriad of barriers in receiving the highest quality of care, including ASM use,” said lead investigator Wyatt P. Bensken, PhD, adjunct assistant professor of Population and Quantitative Health Sciences at Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland. “Considering your patients’ barriers, and how that influences their care – including ASM selection – will be critical to helping reduce these population-level inequities.”

A prompt for practice change

For the study, researchers used Medicaid claims for more than 78,000 people who had filled at least two prescriptions for an ASM between 2010 and 2014.

Most patients were White (53.4%); 22.6% were Black; 11.9% were Hispanic; 1.6% were Asian; 1.5% were Native Hawaiian or other Pacific Islander; 0.6% American Indian or Alaskan Native; and 8.3% were classified as “other.”

One-quarter of participants were taking an older ASM, such as carbamazepine, phenytoin, and valproate. About 65% were taking second-generation ASMs, including gabapentin, levetiracetam, and zonisamide. A little less than 10% were taking lacosamide, perampenel, or another third-generation ASM.

Compared with White patients, newer medication prescriptions were significantly less likely in Black individuals (adjusted odds ratio, 0.71; 95% confidence interval, 0.68-0.75), Native Hawaiian or other Pacific Islanders (aOR, 0.77; 95% CI, 0.67-0.88), and Hispanic patients (aOR, 0.93; 95% CI, 0.88-0.99).

Third-generation ASMs were used by 10.7% of White patients versus 6% of Black individuals and 5.1% of American Indian or Alaskan Native patients.

Researchers also found that taking a second-generation ASM was associated with better treatment adherence (aOR, 1.17; 95% CI, 1.11-1.23) and that patients on newer ASMs were more than three times as likely to be under the care of a neurologist (aOR, 3.26; 95% CI, 3.13-3.41).

The findings draw attention to racial inequities surrounding access to medication and specialists and subspecialists, Dr. Bensken said. Identifying specific barriers and developing solutions is the long-range goal, he added.

“In the interim, increasing the attention to these inequities will, we hope, prompt changes across practices,” Dr. Bensken said.
 

A ‘wake-up call’

Commenting on the findings, Joseph Sirven, MD, professor of neurology at the Mayo Clinic Florida, Jacksonville, said the results were “striking” because newer ASMs are generally the go-to for most physicians who treat epilepsy. 

“Use of first-generation ASMs is typically reserved [for] if one runs out of options,” Dr. Sirven said.

This study and others like it should serve as a “wake-up call” for clinicians, Dr. Sirven added.

“This study is important because it shows that whether we realize it or not, race and ethnicities are playing a role in ASM, and this is related to financial access to newer-generation drugs,” he said. “Similar findings are seen in impoverished countries where first-generation ASM drugs are routinely used because of drug pricing.”
 

More to explore

Also commenting on the study, Scott Mintzer, MD, a professor and director of the Epilepsy Monitoring Unit at Thomas Jefferson University, Philadelphia, said using first-generation ASMs as a proxy for quality of care is “a very innovative concept.”

“From that perspective, the finding that racial minority patients are more likely to be on a first-generation drug is not surprising. But after that it gets far more complicated to interpret,” he added.  

Neither adherence nor care by a neurologist was different in a consistent direction within the various minority populations, Dr. Mintzer noted. In addition, Black patients were as likely to see a neurologist as White patients but still more likely to be on a first-generation drug.

There are also a few caveats to the findings that should be considered, Dr. Mintzer added. First, the sample included only Medicaid recipients, nearly 35% of whom had a comorbid psychosis. Those and other characteristics of the study pool suggest participants aren’t representative of the United States population as a whole. Second, significant shifts in ASM use have occurred since the study data cutoff in 2014, none of which are reflected in these findings.

“So, I don’t think we can really say how to address this yet,” Dr. Mintzer said. “There’s a lot to explore about whether this is still occurring, how generalizable these findings are, and what they might be due to, as there are a host of potential explanations, which the authors themselves acknowledge.”

The study was funded by the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and the National Institute on Minority Health and Health Disparities. Dr. Bensken has received support for this work from NIMHD and serves on the Editorial Board of the journal Neurology. Dr. Sirven and Mintzer report no relevant financial relationships.

A version of this article originally appeared on Medscape.com.

THE COMPARISON

A Vitiligo in a young Hispanic female, which spared the area under a ring. The patient has spotty return of pigment on the hand after narrowband ultraviolet B (UVB) treatment.

B Vitiligo on the hand in a young Hispanic male.

Vitiligo is a chronic autoimmune disorder characterized by areas of depigmented white patches on the skin due to the loss of melanocytes in the epidermis. Various theories on the pathogenesis of vitiligo exist; however, autoimmune destruction of melanocytes remains the leading hypothesis, followed by intrinsic defects in melanocytes.¹

Vitiligo is associated with various autoimmune diseases but is most frequently reported in conjunction with thyroid disorders.²

Epidemiology

Vitiligo affects approximately 1% of the US population and up to 8% worldwide.² There is no difference in prevalence between races or genders. Females typically acquire the disease earlier than males. Onset may occur at any age, although about half of patients will have vitiligo by 20 years of age.¹

Key clinical features in people with darker skin tones

Bright white patches are characteristic of vitiligo. The patches typically are asymptomatic and often affect the hands (FIGURES A and B), perioral skin, feet, and scalp, as well as areas more vulnerable to friction and trauma, such as the elbows and knees.² Trichrome lesions—consisting of varying zones of white (depigmented), lighter brown (hypopigmented), and normal skin—are most commonly seen in individuals with darker skin. Trichrome vitiligo is considered an actively progressing variant of vitiligo.²

An important distinction when making the diagnosis is evaluating for segmental vs nonsegmental vitiligo. Although nonsegmental vitiligo—the more common subtype—is characterized by symmetric distribution and a less predictable course, segmental vitiligo manifests in a localized and unilateral distribution, often avoiding extension past the midline. Segmental vitiligo typically manifests at a younger age and follows a more rapidly stabilizing course.³

Worth noting

Given that stark contrasts between pigmented and depigmented lesions are more prominent in darker skin tones, vitiligo can be more socially stigmatizing and psychologically devastating in these patients.^4,5

Continue to: Treatment of vitiligo...

Treatment of vitiligo includes narrowband UVB (NB-UVB) light phototherapy, excimer laser, topical corticosteroids, topical calcineurin inhibitors such as tacrolimus and pimecrolimus, and surgical melanocyte transplantation.¹ In July 2022, ruxolitinib cream 1.5% was approved by the US Food and Drug Administration (FDA) for nonsegmental vitiligo in patients ages 12 years and older.^6,7 It is the only FDA-approved therapy for vitiligo. It is thought to work by inhibiting the Janus kinase–signal transducers and activators of the transcription pathway.⁶ However, topical ruxolitinib is expensive, costing more than $2000 for 60 g.⁸

Health disparity highlight

A 2021 study reviewing the coverage policies of 15 commercial health care insurance companies, 50 BlueCross BlueShield plans, Medicaid, Medicare, and Veterans Affairs plans found inequities in the insurance coverage patterns for therapies used to treat vitiligo. There were 2 commonly cited reasons for denying coverage for therapies: vitiligo was considered cosmetic and therapies were not FDA approved.⁷ In comparison, NB-UVB light phototherapy for psoriasis is not considered cosmetic and has a much higher insurance coverage rate.^9,10 The out-of-pocket cost for a patient to purchase their own NB-UVB light phototherapy is more than $5000.¹¹ Not all patients of color are economically disadvantaged, but in the United States, Black and Hispanic populations experience disproportionately higher rates of poverty (19% and 17%, respectively) compared to their White counterparts (8%).¹²

Final thoughts

FDA approval of new drugs or new treatment indications comes after years of research discovery and large-scale trials. This pursuit of new discovery, however, is uneven. Vitiligo has historically been understudied and underfunded for research; this is common among several conditions adversely affecting people of color in the United States.¹³

THE COMPARISON

A Vitiligo in a young Hispanic female, which spared the area under a ring. The patient has spotty return of pigment on the hand after narrowband ultraviolet B (UVB) treatment.

B Vitiligo on the hand in a young Hispanic male.

Vitiligo is a chronic autoimmune disorder characterized by areas of depigmented white patches on the skin due to the loss of melanocytes in the epidermis. Various theories on the pathogenesis of vitiligo exist; however, autoimmune destruction of melanocytes remains the leading hypothesis, followed by intrinsic defects in melanocytes.¹

Vitiligo is associated with various autoimmune diseases but is most frequently reported in conjunction with thyroid disorders.²

Epidemiology

Vitiligo affects approximately 1% of the US population and up to 8% worldwide.² There is no difference in prevalence between races or genders. Females typically acquire the disease earlier than males. Onset may occur at any age, although about half of patients will have vitiligo by 20 years of age.¹

Key clinical features in people with darker skin tones

Bright white patches are characteristic of vitiligo. The patches typically are asymptomatic and often affect the hands (FIGURES A and B), perioral skin, feet, and scalp, as well as areas more vulnerable to friction and trauma, such as the elbows and knees.² Trichrome lesions—consisting of varying zones of white (depigmented), lighter brown (hypopigmented), and normal skin—are most commonly seen in individuals with darker skin. Trichrome vitiligo is considered an actively progressing variant of vitiligo.²

An important distinction when making the diagnosis is evaluating for segmental vs nonsegmental vitiligo. Although nonsegmental vitiligo—the more common subtype—is characterized by symmetric distribution and a less predictable course, segmental vitiligo manifests in a localized and unilateral distribution, often avoiding extension past the midline. Segmental vitiligo typically manifests at a younger age and follows a more rapidly stabilizing course.³

Worth noting

Given that stark contrasts between pigmented and depigmented lesions are more prominent in darker skin tones, vitiligo can be more socially stigmatizing and psychologically devastating in these patients.^4,5

Continue to: Treatment of vitiligo...

Treatment of vitiligo includes narrowband UVB (NB-UVB) light phototherapy, excimer laser, topical corticosteroids, topical calcineurin inhibitors such as tacrolimus and pimecrolimus, and surgical melanocyte transplantation.¹ In July 2022, ruxolitinib cream 1.5% was approved by the US Food and Drug Administration (FDA) for nonsegmental vitiligo in patients ages 12 years and older.^6,7 It is the only FDA-approved therapy for vitiligo. It is thought to work by inhibiting the Janus kinase–signal transducers and activators of the transcription pathway.⁶ However, topical ruxolitinib is expensive, costing more than $2000 for 60 g.⁸

Health disparity highlight

A 2021 study reviewing the coverage policies of 15 commercial health care insurance companies, 50 BlueCross BlueShield plans, Medicaid, Medicare, and Veterans Affairs plans found inequities in the insurance coverage patterns for therapies used to treat vitiligo. There were 2 commonly cited reasons for denying coverage for therapies: vitiligo was considered cosmetic and therapies were not FDA approved.⁷ In comparison, NB-UVB light phototherapy for psoriasis is not considered cosmetic and has a much higher insurance coverage rate.^9,10 The out-of-pocket cost for a patient to purchase their own NB-UVB light phototherapy is more than $5000.¹¹ Not all patients of color are economically disadvantaged, but in the United States, Black and Hispanic populations experience disproportionately higher rates of poverty (19% and 17%, respectively) compared to their White counterparts (8%).¹²

Final thoughts

FDA approval of new drugs or new treatment indications comes after years of research discovery and large-scale trials. This pursuit of new discovery, however, is uneven. Vitiligo has historically been understudied and underfunded for research; this is common among several conditions adversely affecting people of color in the United States.¹³

THE COMPARISON

A Vitiligo in a young Hispanic female, which spared the area under a ring. The patient has spotty return of pigment on the hand after narrowband ultraviolet B (UVB) treatment.

B Vitiligo on the hand in a young Hispanic male.

Vitiligo is a chronic autoimmune disorder characterized by areas of depigmented white patches on the skin due to the loss of melanocytes in the epidermis. Various theories on the pathogenesis of vitiligo exist; however, autoimmune destruction of melanocytes remains the leading hypothesis, followed by intrinsic defects in melanocytes.¹

Vitiligo is associated with various autoimmune diseases but is most frequently reported in conjunction with thyroid disorders.²

Epidemiology

Vitiligo affects approximately 1% of the US population and up to 8% worldwide.² There is no difference in prevalence between races or genders. Females typically acquire the disease earlier than males. Onset may occur at any age, although about half of patients will have vitiligo by 20 years of age.¹

Key clinical features in people with darker skin tones

Bright white patches are characteristic of vitiligo. The patches typically are asymptomatic and often affect the hands (FIGURES A and B), perioral skin, feet, and scalp, as well as areas more vulnerable to friction and trauma, such as the elbows and knees.² Trichrome lesions—consisting of varying zones of white (depigmented), lighter brown (hypopigmented), and normal skin—are most commonly seen in individuals with darker skin. Trichrome vitiligo is considered an actively progressing variant of vitiligo.²

An important distinction when making the diagnosis is evaluating for segmental vs nonsegmental vitiligo. Although nonsegmental vitiligo—the more common subtype—is characterized by symmetric distribution and a less predictable course, segmental vitiligo manifests in a localized and unilateral distribution, often avoiding extension past the midline. Segmental vitiligo typically manifests at a younger age and follows a more rapidly stabilizing course.³

Worth noting

Given that stark contrasts between pigmented and depigmented lesions are more prominent in darker skin tones, vitiligo can be more socially stigmatizing and psychologically devastating in these patients.^4,5

Continue to: Treatment of vitiligo...

Treatment of vitiligo includes narrowband UVB (NB-UVB) light phototherapy, excimer laser, topical corticosteroids, topical calcineurin inhibitors such as tacrolimus and pimecrolimus, and surgical melanocyte transplantation.¹ In July 2022, ruxolitinib cream 1.5% was approved by the US Food and Drug Administration (FDA) for nonsegmental vitiligo in patients ages 12 years and older.^6,7 It is the only FDA-approved therapy for vitiligo. It is thought to work by inhibiting the Janus kinase–signal transducers and activators of the transcription pathway.⁶ However, topical ruxolitinib is expensive, costing more than $2000 for 60 g.⁸

Health disparity highlight

A 2021 study reviewing the coverage policies of 15 commercial health care insurance companies, 50 BlueCross BlueShield plans, Medicaid, Medicare, and Veterans Affairs plans found inequities in the insurance coverage patterns for therapies used to treat vitiligo. There were 2 commonly cited reasons for denying coverage for therapies: vitiligo was considered cosmetic and therapies were not FDA approved.⁷ In comparison, NB-UVB light phototherapy for psoriasis is not considered cosmetic and has a much higher insurance coverage rate.^9,10 The out-of-pocket cost for a patient to purchase their own NB-UVB light phototherapy is more than $5000.¹¹ Not all patients of color are economically disadvantaged, but in the United States, Black and Hispanic populations experience disproportionately higher rates of poverty (19% and 17%, respectively) compared to their White counterparts (8%).¹²

Final thoughts

FDA approval of new drugs or new treatment indications comes after years of research discovery and large-scale trials. This pursuit of new discovery, however, is uneven. Vitiligo has historically been understudied and underfunded for research; this is common among several conditions adversely affecting people of color in the United States.¹³

For Tammy Rainey, finding a health care provider who knows about gender-affirming care has been a challenge in the rural northern Mississippi town where she lives.

As a transgender woman, Ms. Rainey needs the hormone estrogen, which allows her to physically transition by developing more feminine features. But when she asked her doctor for an estrogen prescription, he said he couldn’t provide that type of care.

“He’s generally a good guy and doesn’t act prejudiced. He gets my name and pronouns right,” said Ms. Rainey. “But when I asked him about hormones, he said, ‘I just don’t feel like I know enough about that. I don’t want to get involved in that.’ ”

So Ms. Rainey drives around 170 miles round trip every 6 months to get a supply of estrogen from a clinic in Memphis, Tenn., to take home with her.

The obstacles Ms. Rainey overcomes to access care illustrate a type of medical inequity that transgender people who live in the rural United States often face: A general lack of education about trans-related care among small-town health professionals who might also be reluctant to learn.

“Medical communities across the country are seeing clearly that there is a knowledge gap in the provision of gender-affirming care,” said Morissa Ladinsky, MD, a pediatrician who co-leads the Youth Multidisciplinary Gender Team at the University of Alabama–Birmingham (UAB).

Accurately counting the number of transgender people in rural America is hindered by a lack of U.S. census data and uniform state data. However, the Movement Advancement Project, a nonprofit organization that advocates for LGBTQ+ issues, used 2014-17 Centers for Disease Control and Prevention data from selected ZIP codes in 35 states to estimate that roughly one in six transgender adults in the United States live in a rural area. When that report was released in 2019, there were an estimated 1.4 million transgender people 13 and older nationwide. That number is now at least 1.6 million, according to the Williams Institute, a nonprofit think tank at the UCLA School of Law.

One in three trans people in rural areas experienced discrimination by a health care provider in the year leading up to the 2015 U.S. Transgender Survey Report, according to an analysis by MAP. A third of all trans individuals report having to teach their doctors about their health care needs to receive appropriate care, and 62% worry about being negatively judged by a health care provider because of their sexual orientation or gender identity, according to data collected by the Williams Institute and other organizations.

A lack of local rural providers knowledgeable in trans care can mean long drives to gender-affirming clinics in metropolitan areas. Rural trans people are three times as likely as are all transgender adults to travel 25-49 miles for routine care.

In Colorado, for example, many trans people outside Denver struggle to find proper care. Those who do have a trans-inclusive provider are more likely to receive wellness exams, less likely to delay care due to discrimination, and less likely to attempt suicide, according to results from the Colorado Transgender Health Survey published in 2018.

Much of the lack of care experienced by trans people is linked to insufficient education on LGBTQ+ health in medical schools across the country. In 2014, the Association of American Medical Colleges, which represents 170 accredited medical schools in the United States and Canada, released its first curriculum guidelines on caring for LGBTQ+ patients. As of 2018, 76% of medical schools included LGBTQ health themes in their curriculum, with half providing three or fewer classes on this topic.

Perhaps because of this, almost 77% of students from 10 medical schools in New England felt “not competent” or “somewhat not competent” in treating gender minority patients, according to a 2018 pilot study. Another paper, published last year, found that even clinicians who work in trans-friendly clinics lack knowledge about hormones, gender-affirming surgical options, and how to use appropriate pronouns and trans-inclusive language.

Throughout medical school, trans care was only briefly mentioned in endocrinology class, said Justin Bailey, MD, who received his medical degree from UAB in 2021 and is now a resident there. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing or use the wrong pronouns, so I was hesitant and a little bit tepid in my approach to interviewing and treating this population of patients,” he said.

On top of insufficient medical school education, some practicing doctors don’t take the time to teach themselves about trans people, said Kathie Moehlig, founder of TransFamily Support Services, a nonprofit organization that offers a range of services to transgender people and their families. They are very well intentioned yet uneducated when it comes to transgender care, she said.

Some medical schools, like the one at UAB, have pushed for change. Since 2017, Dr. Ladinsky and her colleagues have worked to include trans people in their standardized patient program, which gives medical students hands-on experience and feedback by interacting with “patients” in simulated clinical environments.

For example, a trans individual acting as a patient will simulate acid reflux by pretending to have pain in their stomach and chest. Then, over the course of the examination, they will reveal that they are transgender.

In the early years of this program, some students’ bedside manner would change once the patient’s gender identity was revealed, said Elaine Stephens, a trans woman who participates in UAB’s standardized patient program. “Sometimes they would immediately start asking about sexual activity,” Stephens said.

Since UAB launched its program, students’ reactions have improved significantly, she said.

This progress is being replicated by other medical schools, said Ms. Moehlig. “But it’s a slow start, and these are large institutions that take a long time to move forward.”

Advocates also are working outside medical schools to improve care in rural areas. In Colorado, the nonprofit Extension for Community Health Outcomes, or ECHO Colorado, has been offering monthly virtual classes on gender-affirming care to rural providers since 2020. The classes became so popular that the organization created a 4-week boot camp in 2021 for providers to learn about hormone therapy management, proper terminologies, surgical options, and supporting patients’ mental health.

For many years, doctors failed to recognize the need to learn about gender-affirming care, said Caroline Kirsch, DO, director of osteopathic education at the University of Wyoming Family Medicine Residency Program–Casper. In Casper, this led to “a number of patients traveling to Colorado to access care, which is a large burden for them financially,” said Dr. Kirsch, who has participated in the ECHO Colorado program.

“Things that haven’t been as well taught historically in medical school are things that I think many physicians feel anxious about initially,” she said. “The earlier you learn about this type of care in your career, the more likely you are to see its potential and be less anxious about it.”

Educating more providers about trans-related care has become increasingly vital in recent years as gender-affirming clinics nationwide experience a rise in harassment and threats. For instance, Vanderbilt University Medical Center’s Clinic for Transgender Health became the target of far-right hate on social media last year. After growing pressure from Tennessee’s Republican lawmakers, the clinic paused gender-affirmation surgeries on patients younger than 18, potentially leaving many trans individuals without necessary care.

Stephens hopes to see more medical schools include coursework on trans health care. She also wishes for doctors to treat trans people as they would any other patient.

“Just provide quality health care,” she tells the medical students at UAB. “We need health care like everyone else does.”
 

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

For Tammy Rainey, finding a health care provider who knows about gender-affirming care has been a challenge in the rural northern Mississippi town where she lives.

As a transgender woman, Ms. Rainey needs the hormone estrogen, which allows her to physically transition by developing more feminine features. But when she asked her doctor for an estrogen prescription, he said he couldn’t provide that type of care.

“He’s generally a good guy and doesn’t act prejudiced. He gets my name and pronouns right,” said Ms. Rainey. “But when I asked him about hormones, he said, ‘I just don’t feel like I know enough about that. I don’t want to get involved in that.’ ”

So Ms. Rainey drives around 170 miles round trip every 6 months to get a supply of estrogen from a clinic in Memphis, Tenn., to take home with her.

The obstacles Ms. Rainey overcomes to access care illustrate a type of medical inequity that transgender people who live in the rural United States often face: A general lack of education about trans-related care among small-town health professionals who might also be reluctant to learn.

“Medical communities across the country are seeing clearly that there is a knowledge gap in the provision of gender-affirming care,” said Morissa Ladinsky, MD, a pediatrician who co-leads the Youth Multidisciplinary Gender Team at the University of Alabama–Birmingham (UAB).

Accurately counting the number of transgender people in rural America is hindered by a lack of U.S. census data and uniform state data. However, the Movement Advancement Project, a nonprofit organization that advocates for LGBTQ+ issues, used 2014-17 Centers for Disease Control and Prevention data from selected ZIP codes in 35 states to estimate that roughly one in six transgender adults in the United States live in a rural area. When that report was released in 2019, there were an estimated 1.4 million transgender people 13 and older nationwide. That number is now at least 1.6 million, according to the Williams Institute, a nonprofit think tank at the UCLA School of Law.

One in three trans people in rural areas experienced discrimination by a health care provider in the year leading up to the 2015 U.S. Transgender Survey Report, according to an analysis by MAP. A third of all trans individuals report having to teach their doctors about their health care needs to receive appropriate care, and 62% worry about being negatively judged by a health care provider because of their sexual orientation or gender identity, according to data collected by the Williams Institute and other organizations.

A lack of local rural providers knowledgeable in trans care can mean long drives to gender-affirming clinics in metropolitan areas. Rural trans people are three times as likely as are all transgender adults to travel 25-49 miles for routine care.

In Colorado, for example, many trans people outside Denver struggle to find proper care. Those who do have a trans-inclusive provider are more likely to receive wellness exams, less likely to delay care due to discrimination, and less likely to attempt suicide, according to results from the Colorado Transgender Health Survey published in 2018.

Much of the lack of care experienced by trans people is linked to insufficient education on LGBTQ+ health in medical schools across the country. In 2014, the Association of American Medical Colleges, which represents 170 accredited medical schools in the United States and Canada, released its first curriculum guidelines on caring for LGBTQ+ patients. As of 2018, 76% of medical schools included LGBTQ health themes in their curriculum, with half providing three or fewer classes on this topic.

Perhaps because of this, almost 77% of students from 10 medical schools in New England felt “not competent” or “somewhat not competent” in treating gender minority patients, according to a 2018 pilot study. Another paper, published last year, found that even clinicians who work in trans-friendly clinics lack knowledge about hormones, gender-affirming surgical options, and how to use appropriate pronouns and trans-inclusive language.

Throughout medical school, trans care was only briefly mentioned in endocrinology class, said Justin Bailey, MD, who received his medical degree from UAB in 2021 and is now a resident there. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing or use the wrong pronouns, so I was hesitant and a little bit tepid in my approach to interviewing and treating this population of patients,” he said.

On top of insufficient medical school education, some practicing doctors don’t take the time to teach themselves about trans people, said Kathie Moehlig, founder of TransFamily Support Services, a nonprofit organization that offers a range of services to transgender people and their families. They are very well intentioned yet uneducated when it comes to transgender care, she said.

Some medical schools, like the one at UAB, have pushed for change. Since 2017, Dr. Ladinsky and her colleagues have worked to include trans people in their standardized patient program, which gives medical students hands-on experience and feedback by interacting with “patients” in simulated clinical environments.

For example, a trans individual acting as a patient will simulate acid reflux by pretending to have pain in their stomach and chest. Then, over the course of the examination, they will reveal that they are transgender.

In the early years of this program, some students’ bedside manner would change once the patient’s gender identity was revealed, said Elaine Stephens, a trans woman who participates in UAB’s standardized patient program. “Sometimes they would immediately start asking about sexual activity,” Stephens said.

Since UAB launched its program, students’ reactions have improved significantly, she said.

This progress is being replicated by other medical schools, said Ms. Moehlig. “But it’s a slow start, and these are large institutions that take a long time to move forward.”

Advocates also are working outside medical schools to improve care in rural areas. In Colorado, the nonprofit Extension for Community Health Outcomes, or ECHO Colorado, has been offering monthly virtual classes on gender-affirming care to rural providers since 2020. The classes became so popular that the organization created a 4-week boot camp in 2021 for providers to learn about hormone therapy management, proper terminologies, surgical options, and supporting patients’ mental health.

For many years, doctors failed to recognize the need to learn about gender-affirming care, said Caroline Kirsch, DO, director of osteopathic education at the University of Wyoming Family Medicine Residency Program–Casper. In Casper, this led to “a number of patients traveling to Colorado to access care, which is a large burden for them financially,” said Dr. Kirsch, who has participated in the ECHO Colorado program.

“Things that haven’t been as well taught historically in medical school are things that I think many physicians feel anxious about initially,” she said. “The earlier you learn about this type of care in your career, the more likely you are to see its potential and be less anxious about it.”

Educating more providers about trans-related care has become increasingly vital in recent years as gender-affirming clinics nationwide experience a rise in harassment and threats. For instance, Vanderbilt University Medical Center’s Clinic for Transgender Health became the target of far-right hate on social media last year. After growing pressure from Tennessee’s Republican lawmakers, the clinic paused gender-affirmation surgeries on patients younger than 18, potentially leaving many trans individuals without necessary care.

Stephens hopes to see more medical schools include coursework on trans health care. She also wishes for doctors to treat trans people as they would any other patient.

“Just provide quality health care,” she tells the medical students at UAB. “We need health care like everyone else does.”
 

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

For Tammy Rainey, finding a health care provider who knows about gender-affirming care has been a challenge in the rural northern Mississippi town where she lives.

As a transgender woman, Ms. Rainey needs the hormone estrogen, which allows her to physically transition by developing more feminine features. But when she asked her doctor for an estrogen prescription, he said he couldn’t provide that type of care.

“He’s generally a good guy and doesn’t act prejudiced. He gets my name and pronouns right,” said Ms. Rainey. “But when I asked him about hormones, he said, ‘I just don’t feel like I know enough about that. I don’t want to get involved in that.’ ”

So Ms. Rainey drives around 170 miles round trip every 6 months to get a supply of estrogen from a clinic in Memphis, Tenn., to take home with her.

The obstacles Ms. Rainey overcomes to access care illustrate a type of medical inequity that transgender people who live in the rural United States often face: A general lack of education about trans-related care among small-town health professionals who might also be reluctant to learn.

“Medical communities across the country are seeing clearly that there is a knowledge gap in the provision of gender-affirming care,” said Morissa Ladinsky, MD, a pediatrician who co-leads the Youth Multidisciplinary Gender Team at the University of Alabama–Birmingham (UAB).

Accurately counting the number of transgender people in rural America is hindered by a lack of U.S. census data and uniform state data. However, the Movement Advancement Project, a nonprofit organization that advocates for LGBTQ+ issues, used 2014-17 Centers for Disease Control and Prevention data from selected ZIP codes in 35 states to estimate that roughly one in six transgender adults in the United States live in a rural area. When that report was released in 2019, there were an estimated 1.4 million transgender people 13 and older nationwide. That number is now at least 1.6 million, according to the Williams Institute, a nonprofit think tank at the UCLA School of Law.

One in three trans people in rural areas experienced discrimination by a health care provider in the year leading up to the 2015 U.S. Transgender Survey Report, according to an analysis by MAP. A third of all trans individuals report having to teach their doctors about their health care needs to receive appropriate care, and 62% worry about being negatively judged by a health care provider because of their sexual orientation or gender identity, according to data collected by the Williams Institute and other organizations.

A lack of local rural providers knowledgeable in trans care can mean long drives to gender-affirming clinics in metropolitan areas. Rural trans people are three times as likely as are all transgender adults to travel 25-49 miles for routine care.

In Colorado, for example, many trans people outside Denver struggle to find proper care. Those who do have a trans-inclusive provider are more likely to receive wellness exams, less likely to delay care due to discrimination, and less likely to attempt suicide, according to results from the Colorado Transgender Health Survey published in 2018.

Much of the lack of care experienced by trans people is linked to insufficient education on LGBTQ+ health in medical schools across the country. In 2014, the Association of American Medical Colleges, which represents 170 accredited medical schools in the United States and Canada, released its first curriculum guidelines on caring for LGBTQ+ patients. As of 2018, 76% of medical schools included LGBTQ health themes in their curriculum, with half providing three or fewer classes on this topic.

Perhaps because of this, almost 77% of students from 10 medical schools in New England felt “not competent” or “somewhat not competent” in treating gender minority patients, according to a 2018 pilot study. Another paper, published last year, found that even clinicians who work in trans-friendly clinics lack knowledge about hormones, gender-affirming surgical options, and how to use appropriate pronouns and trans-inclusive language.

Throughout medical school, trans care was only briefly mentioned in endocrinology class, said Justin Bailey, MD, who received his medical degree from UAB in 2021 and is now a resident there. “I don’t want to say the wrong thing or use the wrong pronouns, so I was hesitant and a little bit tepid in my approach to interviewing and treating this population of patients,” he said.

On top of insufficient medical school education, some practicing doctors don’t take the time to teach themselves about trans people, said Kathie Moehlig, founder of TransFamily Support Services, a nonprofit organization that offers a range of services to transgender people and their families. They are very well intentioned yet uneducated when it comes to transgender care, she said.

Some medical schools, like the one at UAB, have pushed for change. Since 2017, Dr. Ladinsky and her colleagues have worked to include trans people in their standardized patient program, which gives medical students hands-on experience and feedback by interacting with “patients” in simulated clinical environments.

For example, a trans individual acting as a patient will simulate acid reflux by pretending to have pain in their stomach and chest. Then, over the course of the examination, they will reveal that they are transgender.

In the early years of this program, some students’ bedside manner would change once the patient’s gender identity was revealed, said Elaine Stephens, a trans woman who participates in UAB’s standardized patient program. “Sometimes they would immediately start asking about sexual activity,” Stephens said.

Since UAB launched its program, students’ reactions have improved significantly, she said.

This progress is being replicated by other medical schools, said Ms. Moehlig. “But it’s a slow start, and these are large institutions that take a long time to move forward.”

Advocates also are working outside medical schools to improve care in rural areas. In Colorado, the nonprofit Extension for Community Health Outcomes, or ECHO Colorado, has been offering monthly virtual classes on gender-affirming care to rural providers since 2020. The classes became so popular that the organization created a 4-week boot camp in 2021 for providers to learn about hormone therapy management, proper terminologies, surgical options, and supporting patients’ mental health.

For many years, doctors failed to recognize the need to learn about gender-affirming care, said Caroline Kirsch, DO, director of osteopathic education at the University of Wyoming Family Medicine Residency Program–Casper. In Casper, this led to “a number of patients traveling to Colorado to access care, which is a large burden for them financially,” said Dr. Kirsch, who has participated in the ECHO Colorado program.

“Things that haven’t been as well taught historically in medical school are things that I think many physicians feel anxious about initially,” she said. “The earlier you learn about this type of care in your career, the more likely you are to see its potential and be less anxious about it.”

Educating more providers about trans-related care has become increasingly vital in recent years as gender-affirming clinics nationwide experience a rise in harassment and threats. For instance, Vanderbilt University Medical Center’s Clinic for Transgender Health became the target of far-right hate on social media last year. After growing pressure from Tennessee’s Republican lawmakers, the clinic paused gender-affirmation surgeries on patients younger than 18, potentially leaving many trans individuals without necessary care.

Stephens hopes to see more medical schools include coursework on trans health care. She also wishes for doctors to treat trans people as they would any other patient.

“Just provide quality health care,” she tells the medical students at UAB. “We need health care like everyone else does.”
 

KHN (Kaiser Health News) is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues. Together with Policy Analysis and Polling, KHN is one of the three major operating programs at KFF (Kaiser Family Foundation). KFF is an endowed nonprofit organization providing information on health issues to the nation.

What does a doctor look like? Throughout history, this concept has shifted due to societal norms and increased access to medical education. Today, the idea of a physician has expanded to incorporate a myriad of people; however, stigma still exists in medicine regarding mental illness and disability. I would like to share my personal journey through high school, college, medical school, and now residency, and how my identity and struggles have shaped me into the physician I am today. There are few conversations around disability—especially disability and mental health—in medicine, and through my own advocacy, I have met many students with disability who feel that medical school is unattainable. Additionally, I have met many medical students, residents, and pre-health advisors who are happy for the experience to learn more about a marginalized group in medicine. My hope in sharing my story is to offer a space for conversation about intersectionality within medical communities and how physicians and physicians in training can facilitate that change, regardless of their position or specialty. Additionally, I hope to shed light on the unique mental health needs of patients with disabilities and how mental health clinicians can address those needs.

Perceived weaknesses turned into strengths

“Why do you walk like that?” “What is that brace on your leg?” The early years of my childhood were marked by these questions and others like them. I was the kid with the limp, the kid with a brace on his leg, and the kid who disappeared multiple times a week for doctor’s appointments or physical therapy. I learned to deflect these questions or give nebulous answers about an accident or injury. The reality is that I was born with cerebral palsy (CP). My CP manifested as hemiparesis on the left side of my body. I was in aggressive physical therapy throughout childhood, received Botox injections for muscle spasticity, and underwent corrective surgery on my left leg to straighten my foot. In childhood, the diagnosis meant nothing more than 2 words that sounded like they belonged to superheroes in comic books. Even with supportive parents and family, I kept my disability a secret, much like the powers and abilities of my favorite superheroes.

However, like all great origin stories, what I once thought were weaknesses turned out to be strengths that pushed me through college, medical school, and now psychiatry residency. Living with a disability has shaped how I see the world and relate to my patients. My experience has helped me connect to my patients in ways others might not. These properties are important in any physician but vital in psychiatry, where many patients feel neglected or stigmatized; this is another reason there should be more doctors with disabilities in medicine. Unfortunately, systemic barriers are still in place that disincentivize those with a disability from pursuing careers in medicine. Stories like mine are important to inspire a reexamination of what a physician should be and how medicine, patients, and communities benefit from this change.

My experience through medical school

My path to psychiatry and residency was shaped by my early experience with the medical field and treatment. From the early days of my diagnosis at age 4, I was told that my brain was “wired differently” and that, because of this disruption in circuitry, I would have difficulty with physical activity. I grew to appreciate the intricacies of the brain and pathology to understand my body. With greater understanding came the existential realization that I would live with a disability for the rest of my life. Rather than dream of a future where I would be “normal,” I focused on adapting my life to my normal. An unfortunate reality of this normal was that no doctor would be able to relate to me, and my health care would focus on limitations rather than possibilities.

I focused on school as a distraction and slowly warmed to the idea of pursuing medicine as a career. The seed was planted years prior by the numerous doctors’ visits and procedures, and was cultivated by a desire to understand pathologies and offer treatment to patients from the perspective of a patient. When I applied to medical school, I did not know how to address my CP. Living as a person with CP was a core reason for my decision to pursue medicine, but I was afraid that a disclosure of disability would preclude any admission to medical school. Research into programs offered little guidance because most institutions only listed vague “physical expectations” of each student. There were times I doubted if I would be accepted anywhere. Many programs I reached out to about my situation seemed unenthusiastic about the prospect of a student with CP, and when I brought up my CP in interviews, the reaction was often of surprise and an admission that they had forgotten about “that part” of my application. Fortunately, I was accepted to medical school, but still struggled with the fear that one day I would be found out and not allowed to continue. No one in my class or school was like me, and a meeting with an Americans with Disabilities Act coordinator who asked me to reexamine the physical competencies of the school before advancing to clinical clerkships only further reinforced this fear. I decided to fly under the radar and not say anything about my disability to my attendings. I slowly worked my way through clerkships by making do with adapted ways to perform procedures and exams with additional practice and maneuvering at home. I found myself drawn to psychiatry because of the similarities I saw in the patients and myself. I empathized with how the patients struggled with chronic conditions that left them feeling separated from society and how they felt that their diagnosis was something they needed to hide. When medical school ended and I decided to pursue psychiatry, I wanted to share my story to inspire others with a disability to consider medicine as a career given their unique experiences. My experience thus far has been uplifting as my journey has echoed so many others.

A need for greater representation

Disability representation in medicine is needed more than ever. According to the CDC, >60 million adults in the United States (1 in 4) live with a disability.¹ Although the physical health disparities are often discussed, there is less conversation surrounding mental health for individuals with disabilities. A 2018 study by Cree et al² found that approximately 17.4 million adults with disabilities experienced frequent mental distress, defined as reporting ≥14 mentally unhealthy days in the past 30 days. Furthermore, compared to individuals without a disability, those with a disability are statistically more likely to have suicidal ideation, suicidal planning, and suicide attempts.³ One way to address this disparity is to recruit medical students with disabilities to become physicians with disabilities. Evidence suggests that physicians who are members of groups that are underrepresented in medicine are more likely to deliver care to underrepresented patients.⁴ However, medical schools and institutions have been slow to address the disparity. A 2019 survey found an estimated 4.6% of medical students responded “yes” when asked if they had a disability, with most students reporting a psychological or attention/hyperactive disorder.⁵ Existing barriers include restrictive language surrounding technical standards influenced by long-standing vestiges of what a physician should be.⁶

An opportunity to connect with patients

I now do not see myself as having a secret identity to hide. Although my CP does not give me any superpowers, it has given me the opportunity to connect with my patients and serve as an example of why medical school recruitment and admissions should expand. Psychiatrists have been on the forefront of change in medicine and can shift the perception of a physician. In doing so, we not only enrich our field but also the lives of our patients who may need it most.

What does a doctor look like? Throughout history, this concept has shifted due to societal norms and increased access to medical education. Today, the idea of a physician has expanded to incorporate a myriad of people; however, stigma still exists in medicine regarding mental illness and disability. I would like to share my personal journey through high school, college, medical school, and now residency, and how my identity and struggles have shaped me into the physician I am today. There are few conversations around disability—especially disability and mental health—in medicine, and through my own advocacy, I have met many students with disability who feel that medical school is unattainable. Additionally, I have met many medical students, residents, and pre-health advisors who are happy for the experience to learn more about a marginalized group in medicine. My hope in sharing my story is to offer a space for conversation about intersectionality within medical communities and how physicians and physicians in training can facilitate that change, regardless of their position or specialty. Additionally, I hope to shed light on the unique mental health needs of patients with disabilities and how mental health clinicians can address those needs.

Perceived weaknesses turned into strengths

“Why do you walk like that?” “What is that brace on your leg?” The early years of my childhood were marked by these questions and others like them. I was the kid with the limp, the kid with a brace on his leg, and the kid who disappeared multiple times a week for doctor’s appointments or physical therapy. I learned to deflect these questions or give nebulous answers about an accident or injury. The reality is that I was born with cerebral palsy (CP). My CP manifested as hemiparesis on the left side of my body. I was in aggressive physical therapy throughout childhood, received Botox injections for muscle spasticity, and underwent corrective surgery on my left leg to straighten my foot. In childhood, the diagnosis meant nothing more than 2 words that sounded like they belonged to superheroes in comic books. Even with supportive parents and family, I kept my disability a secret, much like the powers and abilities of my favorite superheroes.

However, like all great origin stories, what I once thought were weaknesses turned out to be strengths that pushed me through college, medical school, and now psychiatry residency. Living with a disability has shaped how I see the world and relate to my patients. My experience has helped me connect to my patients in ways others might not. These properties are important in any physician but vital in psychiatry, where many patients feel neglected or stigmatized; this is another reason there should be more doctors with disabilities in medicine. Unfortunately, systemic barriers are still in place that disincentivize those with a disability from pursuing careers in medicine. Stories like mine are important to inspire a reexamination of what a physician should be and how medicine, patients, and communities benefit from this change.

My experience through medical school

My path to psychiatry and residency was shaped by my early experience with the medical field and treatment. From the early days of my diagnosis at age 4, I was told that my brain was “wired differently” and that, because of this disruption in circuitry, I would have difficulty with physical activity. I grew to appreciate the intricacies of the brain and pathology to understand my body. With greater understanding came the existential realization that I would live with a disability for the rest of my life. Rather than dream of a future where I would be “normal,” I focused on adapting my life to my normal. An unfortunate reality of this normal was that no doctor would be able to relate to me, and my health care would focus on limitations rather than possibilities.

I focused on school as a distraction and slowly warmed to the idea of pursuing medicine as a career. The seed was planted years prior by the numerous doctors’ visits and procedures, and was cultivated by a desire to understand pathologies and offer treatment to patients from the perspective of a patient. When I applied to medical school, I did not know how to address my CP. Living as a person with CP was a core reason for my decision to pursue medicine, but I was afraid that a disclosure of disability would preclude any admission to medical school. Research into programs offered little guidance because most institutions only listed vague “physical expectations” of each student. There were times I doubted if I would be accepted anywhere. Many programs I reached out to about my situation seemed unenthusiastic about the prospect of a student with CP, and when I brought up my CP in interviews, the reaction was often of surprise and an admission that they had forgotten about “that part” of my application. Fortunately, I was accepted to medical school, but still struggled with the fear that one day I would be found out and not allowed to continue. No one in my class or school was like me, and a meeting with an Americans with Disabilities Act coordinator who asked me to reexamine the physical competencies of the school before advancing to clinical clerkships only further reinforced this fear. I decided to fly under the radar and not say anything about my disability to my attendings. I slowly worked my way through clerkships by making do with adapted ways to perform procedures and exams with additional practice and maneuvering at home. I found myself drawn to psychiatry because of the similarities I saw in the patients and myself. I empathized with how the patients struggled with chronic conditions that left them feeling separated from society and how they felt that their diagnosis was something they needed to hide. When medical school ended and I decided to pursue psychiatry, I wanted to share my story to inspire others with a disability to consider medicine as a career given their unique experiences. My experience thus far has been uplifting as my journey has echoed so many others.

A need for greater representation

Disability representation in medicine is needed more than ever. According to the CDC, >60 million adults in the United States (1 in 4) live with a disability.¹ Although the physical health disparities are often discussed, there is less conversation surrounding mental health for individuals with disabilities. A 2018 study by Cree et al² found that approximately 17.4 million adults with disabilities experienced frequent mental distress, defined as reporting ≥14 mentally unhealthy days in the past 30 days. Furthermore, compared to individuals without a disability, those with a disability are statistically more likely to have suicidal ideation, suicidal planning, and suicide attempts.³ One way to address this disparity is to recruit medical students with disabilities to become physicians with disabilities. Evidence suggests that physicians who are members of groups that are underrepresented in medicine are more likely to deliver care to underrepresented patients.⁴ However, medical schools and institutions have been slow to address the disparity. A 2019 survey found an estimated 4.6% of medical students responded “yes” when asked if they had a disability, with most students reporting a psychological or attention/hyperactive disorder.⁵ Existing barriers include restrictive language surrounding technical standards influenced by long-standing vestiges of what a physician should be.⁶

An opportunity to connect with patients

I now do not see myself as having a secret identity to hide. Although my CP does not give me any superpowers, it has given me the opportunity to connect with my patients and serve as an example of why medical school recruitment and admissions should expand. Psychiatrists have been on the forefront of change in medicine and can shift the perception of a physician. In doing so, we not only enrich our field but also the lives of our patients who may need it most.

What does a doctor look like? Throughout history, this concept has shifted due to societal norms and increased access to medical education. Today, the idea of a physician has expanded to incorporate a myriad of people; however, stigma still exists in medicine regarding mental illness and disability. I would like to share my personal journey through high school, college, medical school, and now residency, and how my identity and struggles have shaped me into the physician I am today. There are few conversations around disability—especially disability and mental health—in medicine, and through my own advocacy, I have met many students with disability who feel that medical school is unattainable. Additionally, I have met many medical students, residents, and pre-health advisors who are happy for the experience to learn more about a marginalized group in medicine. My hope in sharing my story is to offer a space for conversation about intersectionality within medical communities and how physicians and physicians in training can facilitate that change, regardless of their position or specialty. Additionally, I hope to shed light on the unique mental health needs of patients with disabilities and how mental health clinicians can address those needs.

Perceived weaknesses turned into strengths

“Why do you walk like that?” “What is that brace on your leg?” The early years of my childhood were marked by these questions and others like them. I was the kid with the limp, the kid with a brace on his leg, and the kid who disappeared multiple times a week for doctor’s appointments or physical therapy. I learned to deflect these questions or give nebulous answers about an accident or injury. The reality is that I was born with cerebral palsy (CP). My CP manifested as hemiparesis on the left side of my body. I was in aggressive physical therapy throughout childhood, received Botox injections for muscle spasticity, and underwent corrective surgery on my left leg to straighten my foot. In childhood, the diagnosis meant nothing more than 2 words that sounded like they belonged to superheroes in comic books. Even with supportive parents and family, I kept my disability a secret, much like the powers and abilities of my favorite superheroes.

However, like all great origin stories, what I once thought were weaknesses turned out to be strengths that pushed me through college, medical school, and now psychiatry residency. Living with a disability has shaped how I see the world and relate to my patients. My experience has helped me connect to my patients in ways others might not. These properties are important in any physician but vital in psychiatry, where many patients feel neglected or stigmatized; this is another reason there should be more doctors with disabilities in medicine. Unfortunately, systemic barriers are still in place that disincentivize those with a disability from pursuing careers in medicine. Stories like mine are important to inspire a reexamination of what a physician should be and how medicine, patients, and communities benefit from this change.

My experience through medical school

My path to psychiatry and residency was shaped by my early experience with the medical field and treatment. From the early days of my diagnosis at age 4, I was told that my brain was “wired differently” and that, because of this disruption in circuitry, I would have difficulty with physical activity. I grew to appreciate the intricacies of the brain and pathology to understand my body. With greater understanding came the existential realization that I would live with a disability for the rest of my life. Rather than dream of a future where I would be “normal,” I focused on adapting my life to my normal. An unfortunate reality of this normal was that no doctor would be able to relate to me, and my health care would focus on limitations rather than possibilities.

I focused on school as a distraction and slowly warmed to the idea of pursuing medicine as a career. The seed was planted years prior by the numerous doctors’ visits and procedures, and was cultivated by a desire to understand pathologies and offer treatment to patients from the perspective of a patient. When I applied to medical school, I did not know how to address my CP. Living as a person with CP was a core reason for my decision to pursue medicine, but I was afraid that a disclosure of disability would preclude any admission to medical school. Research into programs offered little guidance because most institutions only listed vague “physical expectations” of each student. There were times I doubted if I would be accepted anywhere. Many programs I reached out to about my situation seemed unenthusiastic about the prospect of a student with CP, and when I brought up my CP in interviews, the reaction was often of surprise and an admission that they had forgotten about “that part” of my application. Fortunately, I was accepted to medical school, but still struggled with the fear that one day I would be found out and not allowed to continue. No one in my class or school was like me, and a meeting with an Americans with Disabilities Act coordinator who asked me to reexamine the physical competencies of the school before advancing to clinical clerkships only further reinforced this fear. I decided to fly under the radar and not say anything about my disability to my attendings. I slowly worked my way through clerkships by making do with adapted ways to perform procedures and exams with additional practice and maneuvering at home. I found myself drawn to psychiatry because of the similarities I saw in the patients and myself. I empathized with how the patients struggled with chronic conditions that left them feeling separated from society and how they felt that their diagnosis was something they needed to hide. When medical school ended and I decided to pursue psychiatry, I wanted to share my story to inspire others with a disability to consider medicine as a career given their unique experiences. My experience thus far has been uplifting as my journey has echoed so many others.

A need for greater representation

Disability representation in medicine is needed more than ever. According to the CDC, >60 million adults in the United States (1 in 4) live with a disability.¹ Although the physical health disparities are often discussed, there is less conversation surrounding mental health for individuals with disabilities. A 2018 study by Cree et al² found that approximately 17.4 million adults with disabilities experienced frequent mental distress, defined as reporting ≥14 mentally unhealthy days in the past 30 days. Furthermore, compared to individuals without a disability, those with a disability are statistically more likely to have suicidal ideation, suicidal planning, and suicide attempts.³ One way to address this disparity is to recruit medical students with disabilities to become physicians with disabilities. Evidence suggests that physicians who are members of groups that are underrepresented in medicine are more likely to deliver care to underrepresented patients.⁴ However, medical schools and institutions have been slow to address the disparity. A 2019 survey found an estimated 4.6% of medical students responded “yes” when asked if they had a disability, with most students reporting a psychological or attention/hyperactive disorder.⁵ Existing barriers include restrictive language surrounding technical standards influenced by long-standing vestiges of what a physician should be.⁶

An opportunity to connect with patients

I now do not see myself as having a secret identity to hide. Although my CP does not give me any superpowers, it has given me the opportunity to connect with my patients and serve as an example of why medical school recruitment and admissions should expand. Psychiatrists have been on the forefront of change in medicine and can shift the perception of a physician. In doing so, we not only enrich our field but also the lives of our patients who may need it most.

If Willarda Edwards, MD, MBA, had won her 2022 campaign for president-elect of the American Medical Association (AMA), she would have been the second Black woman to head the group.

The AMA, however, accused her of vote trading. Now, the Baltimore internist and AMA trustee has sued the organization for defamation and conspiracy.

The lawsuit sheds light on the power dynamics of a politically potent organization that has more than 271,000 members and holds assets of $1.2 billion. The AMA president is one of the most visible figures in American medicine.

“The AMA impugned Dr. Edwards with these false charges, which destroyed her candidacy and irreparably damaged her reputation,” according to the complaint, which was filed Nov. 9, 2022, in Baltimore County Circuit Court. The case was later moved to federal court.

The AMA “previously rejected our attempt to resolve this matter without litigation,” Dr. Edwards’ attorney, Timothy Maloney, told this news organization. An AMA spokesman said the organization had no comment on Dr. Edwards’ suit.

Dr. Edwards is a past president of the National Medical Association, MedChi, the Baltimore City Medical Society, the Monumental City Medical Society, and the Sickle Cell Disease Association of America. She joined the AMA in 1994 and has served as a trustee since 2016.

As chair of the AMA Task Force on Health Equity, “she helped lead the way in consensus building and driving action that in 2019 resulted in the AMA House of Delegates establishing the AMA Center on Health Equity,” according to her AMA bio page.
 

‘Quid pro quo’ alleged

In June 2022, Dr. Edwards was one of three individuals running to be AMA president-elect.

According to Dr. Edwards’ complaint, she was “incorrectly advised by colleagues” that Virginia urologist William Reha, MD, had decided not to seek the AMA vice-speakership in 2023. This was important because both Dr. Edwards and Dr. Reha were in the Southeastern delegation. It could be in Dr. Edwards’ favor if Dr. Reha was not running, as it would mean one less leadership candidate from the same region.

Dr. Edwards called Dr. Reha on June 6 to discuss the matter. When they talked, Dr. Reha allegedly recorded the call without Dr. Edwards’ knowledge or permission – a felony in Maryland – and also steered her toward discussions about how his decision could benefit her campaign, according to the complaint.

The suit alleges that Dr. Reha’s questions were “clearly calculated to draw some statements by Dr. Edwards that he could use later to thwart her candidacy and to benefit her opponent.”

On June 10, at the AMA’s House of Delegates meeting in Chicago, Dr. Edwards was taken aside and questioned by members of the AMA’s Election Campaign Committee, according to the complaint. They accused her of “vote trading” but did not provide any evidence or a copy of a complaint they said had been filed against her, the suit said.

Dr. Edwards was given no opportunity to produce her own evidence or rebut the accusations, the suit alleges.

Just before the delegates started formal business on June 13, House Speaker Bruce Scott, MD, read a statement to the assembly saying that a complaint of a possible campaign violation had been filed against Dr. Edwards.

Dr. Scott told the delegates that “committee members interviewed the complainant and multiple other individuals said to have knowledge of the circumstances. In addition to conducting multiple interviews, the committee reviewed evidence that was deemed credible and corroborated that a campaign violation did in fact occur,” according to the complaint.

The supposed violation: A “quid pro quo” in which an unnamed delegation would support Dr. Edwards’ current candidacy, and the Southeastern delegation would support a future candidate from that other unnamed delegation.

Dr. Edwards was given a short opportunity to speak, in which she denied any violations.

According to a news report, Dr. Edwards said, “I’ve been in the House of Delegates for 30 years, and you know me as a process person – a person who truly believes in the process and trying to follow the complexities of our election campaign.”

The lawsuit alleges that “this defamatory conduct was repeated the next day to more than 600 delegates just minutes prior to the casting of votes, when Dr Scott repeated these allegations.”

Dr. Edwards lost the election.
 

AMA: Nothing more to add

The suit alleges that neither the Election Campaign Committee nor the AMA itself has made any accusers or complaints available to Dr. Edwards and that it has not provided any audio or written evidence of her alleged violation.

In July, the AMA’s Southeastern delegation told its membership, “We continue to maintain that Willarda was ‘set up’ ... The whole affair lacked any reasonable semblance of due process.”

The delegation has filed a counter claim against the AMA seeking “to address this lack of due process as well as the reputational harm” to the delegation.

The AMA said that it has nothing it can produce. “The Speaker of the House presented a verbal report to the attending delegates,” said a spokesman. “The Speaker’s report remains the only remarks from an AMA officer, and no additional remarks can be expected at this time.”

He added that there “is no official transcript of the Speaker’s report.”

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

If Willarda Edwards, MD, MBA, had won her 2022 campaign for president-elect of the American Medical Association (AMA), she would have been the second Black woman to head the group.

The AMA, however, accused her of vote trading. Now, the Baltimore internist and AMA trustee has sued the organization for defamation and conspiracy.

The lawsuit sheds light on the power dynamics of a politically potent organization that has more than 271,000 members and holds assets of $1.2 billion. The AMA president is one of the most visible figures in American medicine.

“The AMA impugned Dr. Edwards with these false charges, which destroyed her candidacy and irreparably damaged her reputation,” according to the complaint, which was filed Nov. 9, 2022, in Baltimore County Circuit Court. The case was later moved to federal court.

The AMA “previously rejected our attempt to resolve this matter without litigation,” Dr. Edwards’ attorney, Timothy Maloney, told this news organization. An AMA spokesman said the organization had no comment on Dr. Edwards’ suit.

Dr. Edwards is a past president of the National Medical Association, MedChi, the Baltimore City Medical Society, the Monumental City Medical Society, and the Sickle Cell Disease Association of America. She joined the AMA in 1994 and has served as a trustee since 2016.

As chair of the AMA Task Force on Health Equity, “she helped lead the way in consensus building and driving action that in 2019 resulted in the AMA House of Delegates establishing the AMA Center on Health Equity,” according to her AMA bio page.
 

‘Quid pro quo’ alleged

In June 2022, Dr. Edwards was one of three individuals running to be AMA president-elect.

According to Dr. Edwards’ complaint, she was “incorrectly advised by colleagues” that Virginia urologist William Reha, MD, had decided not to seek the AMA vice-speakership in 2023. This was important because both Dr. Edwards and Dr. Reha were in the Southeastern delegation. It could be in Dr. Edwards’ favor if Dr. Reha was not running, as it would mean one less leadership candidate from the same region.

Dr. Edwards called Dr. Reha on June 6 to discuss the matter. When they talked, Dr. Reha allegedly recorded the call without Dr. Edwards’ knowledge or permission – a felony in Maryland – and also steered her toward discussions about how his decision could benefit her campaign, according to the complaint.

The suit alleges that Dr. Reha’s questions were “clearly calculated to draw some statements by Dr. Edwards that he could use later to thwart her candidacy and to benefit her opponent.”

On June 10, at the AMA’s House of Delegates meeting in Chicago, Dr. Edwards was taken aside and questioned by members of the AMA’s Election Campaign Committee, according to the complaint. They accused her of “vote trading” but did not provide any evidence or a copy of a complaint they said had been filed against her, the suit said.

Dr. Edwards was given no opportunity to produce her own evidence or rebut the accusations, the suit alleges.

Just before the delegates started formal business on June 13, House Speaker Bruce Scott, MD, read a statement to the assembly saying that a complaint of a possible campaign violation had been filed against Dr. Edwards.

Dr. Scott told the delegates that “committee members interviewed the complainant and multiple other individuals said to have knowledge of the circumstances. In addition to conducting multiple interviews, the committee reviewed evidence that was deemed credible and corroborated that a campaign violation did in fact occur,” according to the complaint.

The supposed violation: A “quid pro quo” in which an unnamed delegation would support Dr. Edwards’ current candidacy, and the Southeastern delegation would support a future candidate from that other unnamed delegation.

Dr. Edwards was given a short opportunity to speak, in which she denied any violations.

According to a news report, Dr. Edwards said, “I’ve been in the House of Delegates for 30 years, and you know me as a process person – a person who truly believes in the process and trying to follow the complexities of our election campaign.”

The lawsuit alleges that “this defamatory conduct was repeated the next day to more than 600 delegates just minutes prior to the casting of votes, when Dr Scott repeated these allegations.”

Dr. Edwards lost the election.
 

AMA: Nothing more to add

The suit alleges that neither the Election Campaign Committee nor the AMA itself has made any accusers or complaints available to Dr. Edwards and that it has not provided any audio or written evidence of her alleged violation.

In July, the AMA’s Southeastern delegation told its membership, “We continue to maintain that Willarda was ‘set up’ ... The whole affair lacked any reasonable semblance of due process.”

The delegation has filed a counter claim against the AMA seeking “to address this lack of due process as well as the reputational harm” to the delegation.

The AMA said that it has nothing it can produce. “The Speaker of the House presented a verbal report to the attending delegates,” said a spokesman. “The Speaker’s report remains the only remarks from an AMA officer, and no additional remarks can be expected at this time.”

He added that there “is no official transcript of the Speaker’s report.”

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

If Willarda Edwards, MD, MBA, had won her 2022 campaign for president-elect of the American Medical Association (AMA), she would have been the second Black woman to head the group.

The AMA, however, accused her of vote trading. Now, the Baltimore internist and AMA trustee has sued the organization for defamation and conspiracy.

The lawsuit sheds light on the power dynamics of a politically potent organization that has more than 271,000 members and holds assets of $1.2 billion. The AMA president is one of the most visible figures in American medicine.

“The AMA impugned Dr. Edwards with these false charges, which destroyed her candidacy and irreparably damaged her reputation,” according to the complaint, which was filed Nov. 9, 2022, in Baltimore County Circuit Court. The case was later moved to federal court.

The AMA “previously rejected our attempt to resolve this matter without litigation,” Dr. Edwards’ attorney, Timothy Maloney, told this news organization. An AMA spokesman said the organization had no comment on Dr. Edwards’ suit.

Dr. Edwards is a past president of the National Medical Association, MedChi, the Baltimore City Medical Society, the Monumental City Medical Society, and the Sickle Cell Disease Association of America. She joined the AMA in 1994 and has served as a trustee since 2016.

As chair of the AMA Task Force on Health Equity, “she helped lead the way in consensus building and driving action that in 2019 resulted in the AMA House of Delegates establishing the AMA Center on Health Equity,” according to her AMA bio page.
 

‘Quid pro quo’ alleged

In June 2022, Dr. Edwards was one of three individuals running to be AMA president-elect.

According to Dr. Edwards’ complaint, she was “incorrectly advised by colleagues” that Virginia urologist William Reha, MD, had decided not to seek the AMA vice-speakership in 2023. This was important because both Dr. Edwards and Dr. Reha were in the Southeastern delegation. It could be in Dr. Edwards’ favor if Dr. Reha was not running, as it would mean one less leadership candidate from the same region.

Dr. Edwards called Dr. Reha on June 6 to discuss the matter. When they talked, Dr. Reha allegedly recorded the call without Dr. Edwards’ knowledge or permission – a felony in Maryland – and also steered her toward discussions about how his decision could benefit her campaign, according to the complaint.

The suit alleges that Dr. Reha’s questions were “clearly calculated to draw some statements by Dr. Edwards that he could use later to thwart her candidacy and to benefit her opponent.”

On June 10, at the AMA’s House of Delegates meeting in Chicago, Dr. Edwards was taken aside and questioned by members of the AMA’s Election Campaign Committee, according to the complaint. They accused her of “vote trading” but did not provide any evidence or a copy of a complaint they said had been filed against her, the suit said.

Dr. Edwards was given no opportunity to produce her own evidence or rebut the accusations, the suit alleges.

Just before the delegates started formal business on June 13, House Speaker Bruce Scott, MD, read a statement to the assembly saying that a complaint of a possible campaign violation had been filed against Dr. Edwards.

Dr. Scott told the delegates that “committee members interviewed the complainant and multiple other individuals said to have knowledge of the circumstances. In addition to conducting multiple interviews, the committee reviewed evidence that was deemed credible and corroborated that a campaign violation did in fact occur,” according to the complaint.

The supposed violation: A “quid pro quo” in which an unnamed delegation would support Dr. Edwards’ current candidacy, and the Southeastern delegation would support a future candidate from that other unnamed delegation.

Dr. Edwards was given a short opportunity to speak, in which she denied any violations.

According to a news report, Dr. Edwards said, “I’ve been in the House of Delegates for 30 years, and you know me as a process person – a person who truly believes in the process and trying to follow the complexities of our election campaign.”

The lawsuit alleges that “this defamatory conduct was repeated the next day to more than 600 delegates just minutes prior to the casting of votes, when Dr Scott repeated these allegations.”

Dr. Edwards lost the election.
 

AMA: Nothing more to add

The suit alleges that neither the Election Campaign Committee nor the AMA itself has made any accusers or complaints available to Dr. Edwards and that it has not provided any audio or written evidence of her alleged violation.

In July, the AMA’s Southeastern delegation told its membership, “We continue to maintain that Willarda was ‘set up’ ... The whole affair lacked any reasonable semblance of due process.”

The delegation has filed a counter claim against the AMA seeking “to address this lack of due process as well as the reputational harm” to the delegation.

The AMA said that it has nothing it can produce. “The Speaker of the House presented a verbal report to the attending delegates,” said a spokesman. “The Speaker’s report remains the only remarks from an AMA officer, and no additional remarks can be expected at this time.”

He added that there “is no official transcript of the Speaker’s report.”

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Mothers with intellectual or developmental disabilities are less likely to initiate breastfeeding and to receive in-hospital breastfeeding support than are those without a disability, new data suggest.

In a population-based cohort study of more than 600,000 mothers, patients with an intellectual or developmental disability were about 18% less likely to have a chance to initiate breastfeeding during their hospital stay.

“Overall, we did see lower rates of breastfeeding practices and supports in people with intellectual and developmental disabilities, as well as those with multiple disabilities, compared to people without disabilities,” study author Hilary K. Brown, PhD, assistant professor of health and society at University of Toronto Scarborough in Ontario, told this news organization.

The study was published in The Lancet Public Health.
 

Disparities in breastfeeding

“There hasn’t been a lot of research on breastfeeding outcomes in people with disabilities,” said Dr. Brown, who noted that the study outcomes were based on the WHO-UNICEF Baby Friendly Hospital Initiative guidelines. “There have been a number of qualitative studies that have suggested that they do experience barriers accessing care related to breastfeeding and different challenges related to breastfeeding. But as far as quantitative outcomes, there has only been a handful of studies.”

To examine these outcomes, the investigators analyzed health administrative data from Ontario. They included in their analysis all birthing parents aged 15-49 years who had a single live birth between April 1, 2012, and March 31, 2018. Patients with a physical disability, sensory disability, intellectual or developmental disability, or two or more disabilities were identified via diagnostic algorithms and were compared with individuals without disabilities with respect to the opportunity to initiate breastfeeding, to engage in in-hospital breastfeeding, to engage in exclusive breastfeeding at hospital discharge, to have skin-to-skin contact, and to be provided with breastfeeding assistance.

The investigators considered a physical disability to encompass conditions such as congenital anomalies, musculoskeletal disorders, neurologic disorders, or permanent injuries. They defined sensory disability as hearing loss or vision loss. Intellectual or developmental disability was defined as having autism spectrum disorder, chromosomal anomaly, fetal alcohol spectrum disorder, or other intellectual disability. Patients with multiple disabilities had two or more of these conditions.

The study population included 634,111 birthing parents, of whom 54,476 (8.6%) had a physical disability, 19,227 (3.0%) had a sensory disability, 1,048 (0.2%) had an intellectual or developmental disability, 4,050 (0.6%) had multiple disabilities, and 555,310 (87.6%) had no disability.

The investigators found that patients with intellectual or developmental disabilities were less likely than were those without a disability to have an opportunity to initiate breastfeeding (adjusted relative risk [aRR], 0.82), to engage in any in-hospital breastfeeding (aRR, 0.85), to be breastfeeding exclusively at hospital discharge (aRR, 0.73), to have skin-to-skin contact (aRR, 0.90), and to receive breastfeeding assistance (aRR, 0.85) compared with patients without a disability.

They also found that individuals with multiple disabilities were less likely to have an opportunity to initiate breastfeeding (aRR, 0.93), to engage in any in-hospital breastfeeding (aRR, 0.93), to be exclusively breastfeeding at hospital discharge (aRR, 0.90), to have skin-to-skin contact (aRR, 0.93), and to receive breastfeeding assistance (aRR, 0.95) compared with patients without a disability.
 

An understudied population

Commenting on the study, Lori Feldman-Winter, MD, MPH, professor of pediatrics at Rowan University in Camden, N.J., said that one of its strengths is that it included patients who may be excluded from studies of breastfeeding practices. The finding of few differences in breastfeeding practices and supports for people with physical and sensory disabilities, compared with those without disabilities, was positive, she added.

“This is an understudied population, and it is important to call out that there may be practices related to breastfeeding care that suffer, due to implicit bias regarding persons with intellectual and multiple disabilities,” said Dr. Feldman-Winter. “The good news is that other disabilities did not show the same disparities. This study also shows how important it is to measure potential gaps in care across multiple sociodemographic and other variables, such as disabilities, to ensure equitable and inclusive care.”

Health care professionals need to be aware of disparities in breastfeeding care, she added. They need to be open to exploring potential biases when it comes to providing equitable care.

R. Douglas Wilson, MD, president of the Society of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists of Canada and professor emeritus of obstetrics and gynecology at the University of Calgary in Alberta, noted that the size of the cohort represents a strength of the study and that the findings suggest the possible need for closer follow-up of a new mother who is breastfeeding and who has an intellectual disability or multiple disabilities.

“You might keep that patient in hospital for an extra day, and then the home care nurse may look in on them more frequently than they would for someone who does not need that extra oversight,” said Dr. Wilson. When their patients are pregnant, obstetricians and gynecologists can find out whether their patients intend to breastfeed and put them in touch with nurses or lactation consultants to assist them, he added.

The study was funded by the National Institutes of Health and the Canada Research Chairs Program. Dr. Brown, Dr. Feldman-Winter, and Dr. Wilson reported no relevant financial relationships.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Mothers with intellectual or developmental disabilities are less likely to initiate breastfeeding and to receive in-hospital breastfeeding support than are those without a disability, new data suggest.

In a population-based cohort study of more than 600,000 mothers, patients with an intellectual or developmental disability were about 18% less likely to have a chance to initiate breastfeeding during their hospital stay.

“Overall, we did see lower rates of breastfeeding practices and supports in people with intellectual and developmental disabilities, as well as those with multiple disabilities, compared to people without disabilities,” study author Hilary K. Brown, PhD, assistant professor of health and society at University of Toronto Scarborough in Ontario, told this news organization.

The study was published in The Lancet Public Health.
 

Disparities in breastfeeding

“There hasn’t been a lot of research on breastfeeding outcomes in people with disabilities,” said Dr. Brown, who noted that the study outcomes were based on the WHO-UNICEF Baby Friendly Hospital Initiative guidelines. “There have been a number of qualitative studies that have suggested that they do experience barriers accessing care related to breastfeeding and different challenges related to breastfeeding. But as far as quantitative outcomes, there has only been a handful of studies.”

To examine these outcomes, the investigators analyzed health administrative data from Ontario. They included in their analysis all birthing parents aged 15-49 years who had a single live birth between April 1, 2012, and March 31, 2018. Patients with a physical disability, sensory disability, intellectual or developmental disability, or two or more disabilities were identified via diagnostic algorithms and were compared with individuals without disabilities with respect to the opportunity to initiate breastfeeding, to engage in in-hospital breastfeeding, to engage in exclusive breastfeeding at hospital discharge, to have skin-to-skin contact, and to be provided with breastfeeding assistance.

The investigators considered a physical disability to encompass conditions such as congenital anomalies, musculoskeletal disorders, neurologic disorders, or permanent injuries. They defined sensory disability as hearing loss or vision loss. Intellectual or developmental disability was defined as having autism spectrum disorder, chromosomal anomaly, fetal alcohol spectrum disorder, or other intellectual disability. Patients with multiple disabilities had two or more of these conditions.

The study population included 634,111 birthing parents, of whom 54,476 (8.6%) had a physical disability, 19,227 (3.0%) had a sensory disability, 1,048 (0.2%) had an intellectual or developmental disability, 4,050 (0.6%) had multiple disabilities, and 555,310 (87.6%) had no disability.

The investigators found that patients with intellectual or developmental disabilities were less likely than were those without a disability to have an opportunity to initiate breastfeeding (adjusted relative risk [aRR], 0.82), to engage in any in-hospital breastfeeding (aRR, 0.85), to be breastfeeding exclusively at hospital discharge (aRR, 0.73), to have skin-to-skin contact (aRR, 0.90), and to receive breastfeeding assistance (aRR, 0.85) compared with patients without a disability.

They also found that individuals with multiple disabilities were less likely to have an opportunity to initiate breastfeeding (aRR, 0.93), to engage in any in-hospital breastfeeding (aRR, 0.93), to be exclusively breastfeeding at hospital discharge (aRR, 0.90), to have skin-to-skin contact (aRR, 0.93), and to receive breastfeeding assistance (aRR, 0.95) compared with patients without a disability.
 

An understudied population

Commenting on the study, Lori Feldman-Winter, MD, MPH, professor of pediatrics at Rowan University in Camden, N.J., said that one of its strengths is that it included patients who may be excluded from studies of breastfeeding practices. The finding of few differences in breastfeeding practices and supports for people with physical and sensory disabilities, compared with those without disabilities, was positive, she added.

“This is an understudied population, and it is important to call out that there may be practices related to breastfeeding care that suffer, due to implicit bias regarding persons with intellectual and multiple disabilities,” said Dr. Feldman-Winter. “The good news is that other disabilities did not show the same disparities. This study also shows how important it is to measure potential gaps in care across multiple sociodemographic and other variables, such as disabilities, to ensure equitable and inclusive care.”

Health care professionals need to be aware of disparities in breastfeeding care, she added. They need to be open to exploring potential biases when it comes to providing equitable care.

R. Douglas Wilson, MD, president of the Society of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists of Canada and professor emeritus of obstetrics and gynecology at the University of Calgary in Alberta, noted that the size of the cohort represents a strength of the study and that the findings suggest the possible need for closer follow-up of a new mother who is breastfeeding and who has an intellectual disability or multiple disabilities.

“You might keep that patient in hospital for an extra day, and then the home care nurse may look in on them more frequently than they would for someone who does not need that extra oversight,” said Dr. Wilson. When their patients are pregnant, obstetricians and gynecologists can find out whether their patients intend to breastfeed and put them in touch with nurses or lactation consultants to assist them, he added.

The study was funded by the National Institutes of Health and the Canada Research Chairs Program. Dr. Brown, Dr. Feldman-Winter, and Dr. Wilson reported no relevant financial relationships.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Mothers with intellectual or developmental disabilities are less likely to initiate breastfeeding and to receive in-hospital breastfeeding support than are those without a disability, new data suggest.

In a population-based cohort study of more than 600,000 mothers, patients with an intellectual or developmental disability were about 18% less likely to have a chance to initiate breastfeeding during their hospital stay.

“Overall, we did see lower rates of breastfeeding practices and supports in people with intellectual and developmental disabilities, as well as those with multiple disabilities, compared to people without disabilities,” study author Hilary K. Brown, PhD, assistant professor of health and society at University of Toronto Scarborough in Ontario, told this news organization.

The study was published in The Lancet Public Health.
 

Disparities in breastfeeding

“There hasn’t been a lot of research on breastfeeding outcomes in people with disabilities,” said Dr. Brown, who noted that the study outcomes were based on the WHO-UNICEF Baby Friendly Hospital Initiative guidelines. “There have been a number of qualitative studies that have suggested that they do experience barriers accessing care related to breastfeeding and different challenges related to breastfeeding. But as far as quantitative outcomes, there has only been a handful of studies.”

To examine these outcomes, the investigators analyzed health administrative data from Ontario. They included in their analysis all birthing parents aged 15-49 years who had a single live birth between April 1, 2012, and March 31, 2018. Patients with a physical disability, sensory disability, intellectual or developmental disability, or two or more disabilities were identified via diagnostic algorithms and were compared with individuals without disabilities with respect to the opportunity to initiate breastfeeding, to engage in in-hospital breastfeeding, to engage in exclusive breastfeeding at hospital discharge, to have skin-to-skin contact, and to be provided with breastfeeding assistance.

The investigators considered a physical disability to encompass conditions such as congenital anomalies, musculoskeletal disorders, neurologic disorders, or permanent injuries. They defined sensory disability as hearing loss or vision loss. Intellectual or developmental disability was defined as having autism spectrum disorder, chromosomal anomaly, fetal alcohol spectrum disorder, or other intellectual disability. Patients with multiple disabilities had two or more of these conditions.

The study population included 634,111 birthing parents, of whom 54,476 (8.6%) had a physical disability, 19,227 (3.0%) had a sensory disability, 1,048 (0.2%) had an intellectual or developmental disability, 4,050 (0.6%) had multiple disabilities, and 555,310 (87.6%) had no disability.

The investigators found that patients with intellectual or developmental disabilities were less likely than were those without a disability to have an opportunity to initiate breastfeeding (adjusted relative risk [aRR], 0.82), to engage in any in-hospital breastfeeding (aRR, 0.85), to be breastfeeding exclusively at hospital discharge (aRR, 0.73), to have skin-to-skin contact (aRR, 0.90), and to receive breastfeeding assistance (aRR, 0.85) compared with patients without a disability.

They also found that individuals with multiple disabilities were less likely to have an opportunity to initiate breastfeeding (aRR, 0.93), to engage in any in-hospital breastfeeding (aRR, 0.93), to be exclusively breastfeeding at hospital discharge (aRR, 0.90), to have skin-to-skin contact (aRR, 0.93), and to receive breastfeeding assistance (aRR, 0.95) compared with patients without a disability.
 

An understudied population

Commenting on the study, Lori Feldman-Winter, MD, MPH, professor of pediatrics at Rowan University in Camden, N.J., said that one of its strengths is that it included patients who may be excluded from studies of breastfeeding practices. The finding of few differences in breastfeeding practices and supports for people with physical and sensory disabilities, compared with those without disabilities, was positive, she added.

“This is an understudied population, and it is important to call out that there may be practices related to breastfeeding care that suffer, due to implicit bias regarding persons with intellectual and multiple disabilities,” said Dr. Feldman-Winter. “The good news is that other disabilities did not show the same disparities. This study also shows how important it is to measure potential gaps in care across multiple sociodemographic and other variables, such as disabilities, to ensure equitable and inclusive care.”

Health care professionals need to be aware of disparities in breastfeeding care, she added. They need to be open to exploring potential biases when it comes to providing equitable care.

R. Douglas Wilson, MD, president of the Society of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists of Canada and professor emeritus of obstetrics and gynecology at the University of Calgary in Alberta, noted that the size of the cohort represents a strength of the study and that the findings suggest the possible need for closer follow-up of a new mother who is breastfeeding and who has an intellectual disability or multiple disabilities.

“You might keep that patient in hospital for an extra day, and then the home care nurse may look in on them more frequently than they would for someone who does not need that extra oversight,” said Dr. Wilson. When their patients are pregnant, obstetricians and gynecologists can find out whether their patients intend to breastfeed and put them in touch with nurses or lactation consultants to assist them, he added.

The study was funded by the National Institutes of Health and the Canada Research Chairs Program. Dr. Brown, Dr. Feldman-Winter, and Dr. Wilson reported no relevant financial relationships.

A version of this article first appeared on Medscape.com.

Black veterans are less likely to have their benefits claims processed and paid than are their White peers because of systemic problems within the US Department of Veterans Affairs, according to a lawsuit filed against the agency.

“A Black veteran who served honorably can walk into the VA, file a disability claim, and be at a significantly higher likelihood of having that claim denied,” said Adam Henderson, a student working with the Yale Law School Veterans Legal Services Clinic, one of several groups connected to the lawsuit.

“The VA has denied countless meritorious applications of Black veterans and thus deprived them and their families of the support that they are entitled to.”

The suit, filed in federal court by the clinic on behalf of Vietnam War veteran Conley Monk Jr., asks for “redress for the harms caused by the failure of VA staff and leaders to administer these benefits programs in a manner free from racial discrimination against Black veterans.”

In a press conference announcing the lawsuit, the effort received backing from Sen. Richard Blumenthal (D, Connecticut) who called it an “unacceptable” situation.

“Black veterans are denied benefits at a very significantly disproportionate rate,” he said. “We know the results. We want to know the reason why.”

The suit stems from an analysis of VA claims records released by the department following an earlier legal action. Between 2001 and 2020, the average denial rate for disability claims filed for Black veterans was 29.5%, significantly above the 24.2% for White veterans.

Attorneys allege the problems date back even further and that VA officials should have known about the racial disparities in the system from previous complaints.

“The negligence of VA leadership, and their failure to train, supervise, monitor and instruct agency officials to take steps to identify and correct racial disparities, led to systematic benefits obstruction for Black veterans,” the suit states.

Monk is a Black disabled Marine Corps veteran who previously sued the military to overturn his less-than-honorable military discharge due to complications from undiagnosed posttraumatic stress disorder.

He was subsequently granted access to a host of veterans benefits but not to retroactive payouts for claims he was denied in the 1970s.

“They didn’t fully compensate me or my family,” he said. “I wasn’t able to give my kids my educational benefits. We should have been receiving checks while they were growing up.”

Along with potential past benefits for Monk, individuals involved with the lawsuit said the move could force the VA to reassess thousands of other unfairly dismissed cases. “For decades [the US government] has allowed racially discriminatory practices to obstruct Black veterans from easily accessing veterans housing, education, and health care benefits with wide-reaching economic consequences for Black veterans and their families,” said Richard Brookshire, executive director of the Black Veterans Project.

“This lawsuit reckons with the shameful history of racism by the Department of Veteran Affairs and seeks to redress long-standing improprieties reverberating across generations of Black military service.”

In a statement, VA press secretary Terrence Hayes did not directly respond to the lawsuit but noted that “throughout history, there have been unacceptable disparities in both VA benefits decisions and military discharge status due to racism, which have wrongly left Black veterans without access to VA care and benefits.”

“We are actively working to right these wrongs, and we will stop at nothing to ensure that all Black veterans get the VA services they have earned and deserve,” he said. “We are currently studying racial disparities in benefits claims decisions, and we will publish the results of that study as soon as they are available.”

Hayes said the department has already begun targeted outreach to Black veterans to help them with claims and is “taking steps to ensure that our claims process combats institutional racism, rather than perpetuating it.”

Black veterans are less likely to have their benefits claims processed and paid than are their White peers because of systemic problems within the US Department of Veterans Affairs, according to a lawsuit filed against the agency.

“A Black veteran who served honorably can walk into the VA, file a disability claim, and be at a significantly higher likelihood of having that claim denied,” said Adam Henderson, a student working with the Yale Law School Veterans Legal Services Clinic, one of several groups connected to the lawsuit.

“The VA has denied countless meritorious applications of Black veterans and thus deprived them and their families of the support that they are entitled to.”

The suit, filed in federal court by the clinic on behalf of Vietnam War veteran Conley Monk Jr., asks for “redress for the harms caused by the failure of VA staff and leaders to administer these benefits programs in a manner free from racial discrimination against Black veterans.”

In a press conference announcing the lawsuit, the effort received backing from Sen. Richard Blumenthal (D, Connecticut) who called it an “unacceptable” situation.

“Black veterans are denied benefits at a very significantly disproportionate rate,” he said. “We know the results. We want to know the reason why.”

The suit stems from an analysis of VA claims records released by the department following an earlier legal action. Between 2001 and 2020, the average denial rate for disability claims filed for Black veterans was 29.5%, significantly above the 24.2% for White veterans.

Attorneys allege the problems date back even further and that VA officials should have known about the racial disparities in the system from previous complaints.

“The negligence of VA leadership, and their failure to train, supervise, monitor and instruct agency officials to take steps to identify and correct racial disparities, led to systematic benefits obstruction for Black veterans,” the suit states.

Monk is a Black disabled Marine Corps veteran who previously sued the military to overturn his less-than-honorable military discharge due to complications from undiagnosed posttraumatic stress disorder.

He was subsequently granted access to a host of veterans benefits but not to retroactive payouts for claims he was denied in the 1970s.

“They didn’t fully compensate me or my family,” he said. “I wasn’t able to give my kids my educational benefits. We should have been receiving checks while they were growing up.”

Along with potential past benefits for Monk, individuals involved with the lawsuit said the move could force the VA to reassess thousands of other unfairly dismissed cases. “For decades [the US government] has allowed racially discriminatory practices to obstruct Black veterans from easily accessing veterans housing, education, and health care benefits with wide-reaching economic consequences for Black veterans and their families,” said Richard Brookshire, executive director of the Black Veterans Project.

“This lawsuit reckons with the shameful history of racism by the Department of Veteran Affairs and seeks to redress long-standing improprieties reverberating across generations of Black military service.”

In a statement, VA press secretary Terrence Hayes did not directly respond to the lawsuit but noted that “throughout history, there have been unacceptable disparities in both VA benefits decisions and military discharge status due to racism, which have wrongly left Black veterans without access to VA care and benefits.”

“We are actively working to right these wrongs, and we will stop at nothing to ensure that all Black veterans get the VA services they have earned and deserve,” he said. “We are currently studying racial disparities in benefits claims decisions, and we will publish the results of that study as soon as they are available.”

Hayes said the department has already begun targeted outreach to Black veterans to help them with claims and is “taking steps to ensure that our claims process combats institutional racism, rather than perpetuating it.”

Black veterans are less likely to have their benefits claims processed and paid than are their White peers because of systemic problems within the US Department of Veterans Affairs, according to a lawsuit filed against the agency.

“A Black veteran who served honorably can walk into the VA, file a disability claim, and be at a significantly higher likelihood of having that claim denied,” said Adam Henderson, a student working with the Yale Law School Veterans Legal Services Clinic, one of several groups connected to the lawsuit.

“The VA has denied countless meritorious applications of Black veterans and thus deprived them and their families of the support that they are entitled to.”

The suit, filed in federal court by the clinic on behalf of Vietnam War veteran Conley Monk Jr., asks for “redress for the harms caused by the failure of VA staff and leaders to administer these benefits programs in a manner free from racial discrimination against Black veterans.”

In a press conference announcing the lawsuit, the effort received backing from Sen. Richard Blumenthal (D, Connecticut) who called it an “unacceptable” situation.

“Black veterans are denied benefits at a very significantly disproportionate rate,” he said. “We know the results. We want to know the reason why.”

The suit stems from an analysis of VA claims records released by the department following an earlier legal action. Between 2001 and 2020, the average denial rate for disability claims filed for Black veterans was 29.5%, significantly above the 24.2% for White veterans.

Attorneys allege the problems date back even further and that VA officials should have known about the racial disparities in the system from previous complaints.

“The negligence of VA leadership, and their failure to train, supervise, monitor and instruct agency officials to take steps to identify and correct racial disparities, led to systematic benefits obstruction for Black veterans,” the suit states.

Monk is a Black disabled Marine Corps veteran who previously sued the military to overturn his less-than-honorable military discharge due to complications from undiagnosed posttraumatic stress disorder.

He was subsequently granted access to a host of veterans benefits but not to retroactive payouts for claims he was denied in the 1970s.

“They didn’t fully compensate me or my family,” he said. “I wasn’t able to give my kids my educational benefits. We should have been receiving checks while they were growing up.”

Along with potential past benefits for Monk, individuals involved with the lawsuit said the move could force the VA to reassess thousands of other unfairly dismissed cases. “For decades [the US government] has allowed racially discriminatory practices to obstruct Black veterans from easily accessing veterans housing, education, and health care benefits with wide-reaching economic consequences for Black veterans and their families,” said Richard Brookshire, executive director of the Black Veterans Project.

“This lawsuit reckons with the shameful history of racism by the Department of Veteran Affairs and seeks to redress long-standing improprieties reverberating across generations of Black military service.”

In a statement, VA press secretary Terrence Hayes did not directly respond to the lawsuit but noted that “throughout history, there have been unacceptable disparities in both VA benefits decisions and military discharge status due to racism, which have wrongly left Black veterans without access to VA care and benefits.”

“We are actively working to right these wrongs, and we will stop at nothing to ensure that all Black veterans get the VA services they have earned and deserve,” he said. “We are currently studying racial disparities in benefits claims decisions, and we will publish the results of that study as soon as they are available.”

Hayes said the department has already begun targeted outreach to Black veterans to help them with claims and is “taking steps to ensure that our claims process combats institutional racism, rather than perpetuating it.”

Despite Mark Twain’s assertion that “there are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics,” we’re going to dive into 20 years’ worth of data and, hopefully, come up with a few statistics that shed some light on the specialty’s workforce since Cardiology News published its first issue in February 2003.

We start with a major issue over these last 20 years: The participation of women in the specialty.

Back in July of 2002, just a few months before the first issue of Cardiology News was published, W. Bruce Fye, MD, then-president of the American College of Cardiology, wrote, “We need to do more to attract female medical graduates to our specialty because they represent almost one-half of the new doctors trained in this country. Cardiology needs to take full advantage of this large talent pool”

Data from the American Medical Association confirm that assertion: Of the nearly 20,000 postgraduate cardiologists in practice that year, only 7.8% were women. And that was at a time when more than 42% of medical school graduates were women, Dr. Fye noted, while also pointing out that “only 10% of cardiology trainees are female, and just 6% of ACC fellows are women.”

The gap between men and women has closed somewhat in the last 20 years, but the specialty continues to lag behind the profession as a whole. Women represented 16.7% of cardiologists in 2022, versus 37% of physicians overall, AMA data show. In 2019, for the first time, the majority of U.S. medical school students (50.5%) were women, according to the Association of American Medical Colleges.

A look at residency numbers from the Accreditation Council for Graduate Medical Education shows that continued slow improvement in the number of women can be expected, as 25.5% of cardiovascular disease residents were women during the 2021-2022 academic year. Only 2 of the 19 other internal medicine subspecialties were lower, and they happened to be interventional cardiology (20.1%) and clinical cardiac electrophysiology (14.5%).

When men are added to the mix, cardiovascular disease had a total of 3,320 active residents training in 268 programs in 2021-2022, making it the largest of the IM subspecialties in both respects. The resident total is up 57% since 2003, when it came in at 2,117, while programs have increased 55% from the 173 that were operating 2 decades ago. During the year in the middle (2011-2012), there were 2,521 residents in 187 programs, so a larger share of the growth has occurred in the last 10 years, the ACGME data indicate.

Despite Mark Twain’s assertion that “there are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics,” we’re going to dive into 20 years’ worth of data and, hopefully, come up with a few statistics that shed some light on the specialty’s workforce since Cardiology News published its first issue in February 2003.

We start with a major issue over these last 20 years: The participation of women in the specialty.

Back in July of 2002, just a few months before the first issue of Cardiology News was published, W. Bruce Fye, MD, then-president of the American College of Cardiology, wrote, “We need to do more to attract female medical graduates to our specialty because they represent almost one-half of the new doctors trained in this country. Cardiology needs to take full advantage of this large talent pool”

Data from the American Medical Association confirm that assertion: Of the nearly 20,000 postgraduate cardiologists in practice that year, only 7.8% were women. And that was at a time when more than 42% of medical school graduates were women, Dr. Fye noted, while also pointing out that “only 10% of cardiology trainees are female, and just 6% of ACC fellows are women.”

The gap between men and women has closed somewhat in the last 20 years, but the specialty continues to lag behind the profession as a whole. Women represented 16.7% of cardiologists in 2022, versus 37% of physicians overall, AMA data show. In 2019, for the first time, the majority of U.S. medical school students (50.5%) were women, according to the Association of American Medical Colleges.

A look at residency numbers from the Accreditation Council for Graduate Medical Education shows that continued slow improvement in the number of women can be expected, as 25.5% of cardiovascular disease residents were women during the 2021-2022 academic year. Only 2 of the 19 other internal medicine subspecialties were lower, and they happened to be interventional cardiology (20.1%) and clinical cardiac electrophysiology (14.5%).

When men are added to the mix, cardiovascular disease had a total of 3,320 active residents training in 268 programs in 2021-2022, making it the largest of the IM subspecialties in both respects. The resident total is up 57% since 2003, when it came in at 2,117, while programs have increased 55% from the 173 that were operating 2 decades ago. During the year in the middle (2011-2012), there were 2,521 residents in 187 programs, so a larger share of the growth has occurred in the last 10 years, the ACGME data indicate.

Despite Mark Twain’s assertion that “there are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics,” we’re going to dive into 20 years’ worth of data and, hopefully, come up with a few statistics that shed some light on the specialty’s workforce since Cardiology News published its first issue in February 2003.

We start with a major issue over these last 20 years: The participation of women in the specialty.

Back in July of 2002, just a few months before the first issue of Cardiology News was published, W. Bruce Fye, MD, then-president of the American College of Cardiology, wrote, “We need to do more to attract female medical graduates to our specialty because they represent almost one-half of the new doctors trained in this country. Cardiology needs to take full advantage of this large talent pool”

Data from the American Medical Association confirm that assertion: Of the nearly 20,000 postgraduate cardiologists in practice that year, only 7.8% were women. And that was at a time when more than 42% of medical school graduates were women, Dr. Fye noted, while also pointing out that “only 10% of cardiology trainees are female, and just 6% of ACC fellows are women.”

The gap between men and women has closed somewhat in the last 20 years, but the specialty continues to lag behind the profession as a whole. Women represented 16.7% of cardiologists in 2022, versus 37% of physicians overall, AMA data show. In 2019, for the first time, the majority of U.S. medical school students (50.5%) were women, according to the Association of American Medical Colleges.

A look at residency numbers from the Accreditation Council for Graduate Medical Education shows that continued slow improvement in the number of women can be expected, as 25.5% of cardiovascular disease residents were women during the 2021-2022 academic year. Only 2 of the 19 other internal medicine subspecialties were lower, and they happened to be interventional cardiology (20.1%) and clinical cardiac electrophysiology (14.5%).

When men are added to the mix, cardiovascular disease had a total of 3,320 active residents training in 268 programs in 2021-2022, making it the largest of the IM subspecialties in both respects. The resident total is up 57% since 2003, when it came in at 2,117, while programs have increased 55% from the 173 that were operating 2 decades ago. During the year in the middle (2011-2012), there were 2,521 residents in 187 programs, so a larger share of the growth has occurred in the last 10 years, the ACGME data indicate.