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The Virtual Clinic Is Open And Ready For Business

July 9, 2011

Being an expert clinician requires mastery of an immense body of knowledge, aptitude in physical examination and differential diagnosis, and an ability to assimilate all information about a patient in order to institute the most appropriate and effective treatment.

Unfortunately, in many practice settings these days, such expertise is not highly valued.  In fact, these age-old skills are being shoved to the side in favor of more expedient, “checklist”-type medicine, often done by non-skilled providers or in a hurried fashion.  If the “ideal” doctor’s visit is a four-course meal at a highly rated restaurant, today’s medical appointments are more like dining at the Olive Garden, if not McDonald’s or Burger King.

At the rate we’re going, it’s only a matter of time before medical care becomes available for take-out or delivery.  Instead of a comprehensive evaluation, your visit may be an online questionnaire followed by the shipment of your medications directly to your door.

Well, that time is now.  Enter “Virtuwell.”

The Virtuwell web site describes itself as “the simplest and most convenient way to solve the most common medical conditions that can get in the way of your busy life.”  It is, quite simply, an online site where (for the low cost of $40) you can answer a few questions about your symptoms and get a “customized Treatment Plan” reviewed and written by a nurse practitioner.  If necessary, you’ll also get a prescription written to your pharmacy.  No appointments, no waiting, no insurance hassles.  And no embarrassing hospital gowns.

As you might expect, some doctors are upset at what they perceive as a travesty of our profession.  (For example, some comments posted on an online discussion group for MDs: “the public will have to learn the hard way that you get what you pay for”; “they have no idea what they don’t know—order a bunch of tests and antibiotics and call it ‘treated'”; and “I think this is horrible and totally undermines our profession.”)  But then again, isn’t this what we have been doing for quite a while already?  Isn’t this what a lot of medicine has become, with retail clinics, “doc-in-a-box” offices in major shopping centers, urgent-care walk-in sites, 15-minute office visits, and managed care?

When I worked in community mental health, I know that some of my fellow MDs saw 30-40 patients per day, and their interviews may just as well have been done over the telephone or online.  It wasn’t ideal, but most patients did just fine, and few complained about it.  (Well, if they did, their complaints carried very little weight, sadly.)  Maybe it’s true that much of what we do does not require 8+ years of specialty education and the immense knowledge that most physicians possess, and many conditions are fairly easy to treat.  Virtuwell is simply capitalizing on that reality.

With the advent of social media, the internet, and services like Virtuwell, the role of the doctor will further be called into question, and new ways of delivering medical care will develop.  For example, this week also saw the introduction of the “Skin Scan,” an iPhone app which allows you to follow the growth of your moles and uses a “proprietary algorithm” to determine whether they’re malignant.  Good idea?  If it saves you from a diagnosis of melanoma, I think the answer is yes.

In psychiatry—a specialty in which treatment decisions are largely based on what the patient says, rather than a physical exam finding—the implications of web-based “office visits” are particularly significant.  It’s not too much of a stretch to envision an HMO providing online evaluations for patients with straightforward complaints of depression or anxiety or ADHD-like symptoms, or even a pharmaceutical company selling its drugs directly to patients based on an online “mood questionnaire.”  Sure, there might be some issues with state Medical Boards or the DEA, but nothing that a little political pressure couldn’t fix.  Would this represent a decline in patient care, or would it simply be business as usual?  Perhaps it would backfire, and prove that a face-to-face visit with a psychiatrist is a vital ingredient in the mental well-being of our patients.  Or it might demonstrate that we simply get in the way.

These are questions we must consider for the future of this field, as in all of medicine.  One might argue that psychiatry is particularly well positioned to adapt to these changes in health care delivery systems, since so many of the conditions we treat are influenced and defined (for better or for worse) by the very cultural and societal trends that lead our patients to seek help in these new ways.

The bottom line is, we can’t just stubbornly stand by outdated notions of psychiatric care (or, for that matter, by our notions of “disease” and “treatment”), because cultural influences are already changing what it means to be healthy or sick, and the ways in which our patients get better.  To stay relevant, we need to embrace sites like Virtuwell, and use these new technologies when we can.  When we cannot, we must demonstrate why, and prove how we can do better.

[Credit goes to Neuroskeptic for the computer-screen psychiatrist.  Classic!]

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Biomarker Envy IV: The Exmobaby

June 12, 2011

To what lengths would you go to keep your child healthy?  Organic, non-GMO baby food?  Hypoallergenic baby lotions and shampoos?  Bisphenol-free baby bottles?  How about a battery-powered biosensor garment that transmits ECG, skin temperature, and other biometric data about your baby wirelessly to your computer or via SMS message to your smartphone in real time?

Never fear, the Exmobaby is here.  Introduced late last year (and shown in the picture above—by the way, I don’t think that’s Jeff Daniels as a paid spokesman), the Exmobaby is a sleep garment designed for babies aged 0-12 months, which contains “embedded, non-contact sensors, a battery-powered Zigbee transmitter pod, a USB Zigbee receiver dongle that plugs into a Windows PC,” and all the necessary software.  Their slogan is “We Know How Your Baby Feels.”

It sounds like science fiction, but in reality it’s just a souped-up, high-tech version of a baby monitor.  But is it an improvement upon the audio- or video baby monitors currently available?  Exmovere certainly thinks so.  And, luckily for them, there’s no shortage of worried parents who are willing to pay for peace of mind (the device starts at $1000 and goes up to $2500, plus monthly data charges). [Note: please see addendum below.]

But while this might be an example of “a fool and his money being soon parted,” Exmovere makes some claims about the product that are highly questionable.  I first learned about the Exmobaby in a post on the KevinMD website, in which Exmovere’s CEO, David Bychkov, commented that “using Exmobaby to observe and record physiological data symptomatic of emotional changes can be useful… if you are a parent of a child with autism.”

In other words, this isn’t just a fancy monitoring device, this is a high-tech way of understanding your child’s thoughts and emotions—an “emotional umbilical cord between mother and child”—and, quite possibly, a way to diagnose a psychiatric, neurodevelopmental disorder in your newborn, all in the comfort of your own home.

I surfed over to the Exmobaby web site, whose home page shows a smiling, happy infant wearing these newfangled jammies.  Cute!  And the device (?) looks harmless enough.  But the FAQ page is where it gets interesting (or scary, depending on your position).  One question asks, “how is it possible to detect emotional states using Exmobaby?”  The response sounds like pure 21st century biobehavioral mumbo jumbo:

Detection of emotion involves software that compares heart rate, delta temperature and movement data (arousal) to heart rate variability and skin temperature (valence). These data, if tracked over time, enable a system to “guess” from a series of words that could be used to describe an emotional state: anger, fatigue, depression, joy, etc….In the case of babies, Exmovere is asking its users to try something new: name states. Exmobaby software will monitor trends in vital states. Parents will be asked to name states, such as “giggly” or “grumpy,” and the system can and will alert them when the underlying readings that match those states are detected. The idea is … to create a deeper level of communication between babies and their parents at the beginning of such a critical relationship.

In plain English: they’re asking parents to correlate data from the Exmobaby software (rather than their direct observations of the baby, which is how parents used to interact with their kids) with what they consider to be the baby’s emotional state.  Thus:  “My baby’s happy because the software says he is” rather than using old-fashioned signs—you know, like smiles and giggles.

The Exmovere website also includes an article, clearly written for parents, on “Exmobaby and Autism.”  Now, autism and “autism-spectrum disorders” (ASDs) are hot topics receiving a great deal of attention these days.  ASDs currently have an estimated prevalence of 1 in 110 (and rising rapidly), with an average age of diagnosis of approximately 4 years.  Nonetheless, parents of children with ASDs begin to identify concerns by the age of 12 to 18 months, and finding a “biomarker” to enable earlier diagnosis would allay the fears and insecurities of new parents.

But is Exmovere preying on precisely these fears and insecurities?  Well, let’s first ask: is it even reasonable to think about diagnosing ASDs before the age of 12 months (when the Exmobaby garment would be worn?).  A recent study showed that ASDs could be diagnosed as early as 14 months of age, based on social and communication development (but no biometric measures).  The American Association of Pediatrics recommends ASD screening (an interview with the parents and structured observation of the child) at ages 18 and 24 months, no earlier.  And a recent article in Pediatrics remarked that there are few measures sensitive and specific enough to detect ASD before 2 years of age (and, again, no “biological” measures to speak of).

The Exmobaby handout (which I’ve uploaded here), on the other hand, is a perfect example of a drug/device manufacturer capitalizing on the fears of parents by conflating statistics, commentary, and recommendations in a way that makes their device sound like a vital necessity for healthy infant development.  It’s deceptive marketing, pure and simple.

For example, it states “One of the ‘red flags’ in early diagnosis of ASDs is a lack of response from baby to the use of their name. Parents can potentially use Exmobaby to record times when baby’s name was said so that the reports will correlate any movement or vital sign response.”  Also, “specific tests can be designed in consultation with pediatricians to use Exmobaby to assist with diagnoses of ASDs and related developmental disorders.”  Never mind that there’s nothing in the literature correlating movement or vital-sign responses with diagnosing ASDs in this age group.

Conveniently, Exmovere also included its marketing strategy on its website (available here). It’s clear they’re planning to market Exmobaby as a garment (“a $5 billion per year worldwide market”) and not as a medical device.  That’s probably a good idea.  Or is it?  Bypassing medical professionals and tapping into a wide market of “worried well” might be good for business, but what about the “downstream” impact on our health care system?

So many questions.  But I’ll have to address them some other time, because I need to go make a sandwich.  I just got a text message telling me I’m hungry.

Addendum:  After posting this article, I received an email from Exmovere’s Investor Relations Advisor who pointed out that the $1000-$2500 prices I quoted above are for Evaluation Kits, specifically for distributors, researchers, and hospitals.  Exmobaby is not available for retail purchase at this time.  They anticipate a lower cost when the device/garment is sold directly to end users.


Biomarker Envy II: Ethanolamine Phosphate

May 27, 2011

In my inbox yesterday was a story describing a new biological test for a psychiatric disorder.  Hallelujah!  Is this the holy grail we’ve all been waiting for?

Specifically, scientists at Human Metabolome Technologies (HMT) and Japan’s Keio University presented data earlier this week at a scientific conference in Tokyo, showing that they could diagnose depression by measuring levels of a chemical—ethanolamine phosphate—in patients’ blood.

Let me repeat that once again, for emphasis:  Japanese scientists now have a blood test to diagnose depression!

Never mind all that messy “talk-to-the-patient” stuff.  And you can throw away your tired old DSM-IV, because this is the new world: biological diagnosis!!  The press release describing the research even suggests that the test “could improve early detection rates of depression if performed during regular medical checkups.”  That’s right:  next time you see your primary doc, he or she might order—along with your routine CBC and lipid panel—an ethanolamine phosphate test.  If it comes back positive, congratulations!  You’re depressed!

If you can detect the skepticism in my voice, good.  Because even if this “biomarker” for depression turns out to be 100% accurate (which it is not—see below), its use runs entirely against how we should be practicing person-centered (not to be confused with “personalized”) medicine.  As a doctor, I want to hear your experiences and feelings, and help you with those symptoms, not run a blood test and order a drug.

[Incidentally, the Asahi press release made me chuckle when it stated: “About 90 percent of doctors base their diagnosis of depression on experience and varying factors.”  What about the other 10%?  Magic?]

As it turns out, I think there’s a lot to suggest that this particular blood test may not yet be ready for prime time.  For one, the work has not yet been published (and deciphering scientific results from a press release is always a risky proposition).  Secondly, the test was not 100% accurate; it failed to identify depression in 18% of cases, and falsely labeled healthy people as “depressed” 5% of the time.  (That’s a sensitivity of 82% and a specificity of 95%, for those of you playing along at home.)

Further, what the heck is ethanolamine phosphate, and why would it be low in depressed people?  Is it a chemical secreted by the “happiness centers” of the brain?  Does it predict the onset or worsening of a depressive episode?  Is it somehow affected by antidepressant treatment?  As far as I can tell from a quick literature search, there has been no report—or even a suggestion—of ethanolamine (or any of its metabolites) being involved in the pathogenesis of mood disorders.  Then again, maybe I didn’t get the Japanese translation just right.

Anyway, where this “marker” came from is anybody’s guess.  It’s entirely possible (although I can’t be sure, because the Japanese group has not yet published their findings) that the researchers measured the blood levels of dozens of molecules and found the “best” results with this one.  We sometimes call this a “fishing expedition.”  Obviously, the finding has to be replicated, and if it was, in fact, just a lucky result, further research will bear that out.

But Dr Yoshiaki Ohashi, board director and chief security officer at HMT (“chief security officer”? does he wear a badge and sit at the front desk during the overnight shift, too?) maintains that the findings “will make it easier for an objective, biological diagnosis of depressive patients.”

Wow.  In 2011.  (And just in time for DSM-5.)

What if he’s right?  How would you feel if you went to a routine doctor’s visit next week, got an order for blood work, and a secretary called you a few days later to tell you that you have depression?  Even if you don’t feel depressed?

Were there other motives for developing such a test?  Probably.  One of the press releases quotes the Japanese Ministry of Health as saying that “only one quarter of the people who need treatment” actually get it.  So maybe this blood test is simply a way to offer treatment to more people expand the market for antidepressants—even to those who don’t want treatment.  And then, of course, HMT probably wants a piece of the pie.  HMT is already developing a commercial test to measure ethanolamine phosphate levels; obviously, widespread adoption of this test would translate into big bucks for HMT, indeed.

So while many other questions remain to be answered, I must say I’m not holding my breath. Biological screening tests for psychiatric disorders have no face validity (in other words, if a test is positive but a person shows no signs or symptoms, then what?) and a positive result may expose patients to “preventive” treatments that are costly and cause unwanted side effects.

In my opinion, the best way (if any) to use a biomarker is in a “confirmatory” or “rule-out” function.  Is that demoralized, ruminative, potentially suicidal patient in your office simply going through a rough period in her life?  Or is she clinically depressed?  Will she respond to medications, or is this something that will simply “pass”?  In cases like this, measuring ethanolamine phosphate (or another similar marker) might be helpful.

But I don’t think we’ll ever be able to screen for psychiatric illness the same way a primary care doc might screen for, say, breast cancer or diabetes.  To do so would redefine the entire concept of “mental” illness (perhaps making it “neurological” illness instead?).  It also takes the person out of the picture.  At the end of the day, it’s always the patient’s thoughts, words, and experiences that count.  Ignoring those—and focusing instead on a chemical in the bloodstream—would be an unfortunate path to tread.


Biomarker Envy I: Cortical Thickness

May 13, 2011

In the latest attempt to look for biological correlates or predictors of mental illness, a paper in this month’s Archives of General Psychiatry shows that children with major depressive disorder (MDD) have thinner cortical layers than “healthy” children, or children with obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD).  Specifically, researchers performed brain MRI scans on 78 children with or without a diagnosis, and investigated seven specific areas of the cerebral cortex.  Results showed four areas which were thinner in children with MDD than in healthy children, two which were thicker, and one that did not vary.

These results add another small nugget of data to our (admittedly scant) understanding of mental illness—particularly in children, before the effects of years of continuous medication treatment.  They also represent the bias towards imaging studies in psychiatry, whose findings—even if statistically significant—are not always that reliable or meaningful.  (But I digress…)

An accompanying press release, however, was unrealistically enthusiastic.  It suggested that this study “offers an exciting new way to identify more objective markers of psychiatric illness in children.”  Indeed, the title of the paper itself (“Distinguishing between MDD and OCD in children by measuring regional cortical thickness”) might suggest a way to use this information in clinical practice right away.  But it’s best not to jump to these conclusions just yet.

For one, there was tremendous variability in the data, as shown in the figure at left (click for larger view).  While on average the children with MDD had a thinner right superior parietal gyrus (one of the cortical regions studied) than healthy children or children with OCD, no individual measurement was predictive of anything.

Second, the statement that we can “distinguish between depression and OCD” based on a brain scan reflects precisely the type of biological determinism and certainty (and hype?) that psychiatry has been striving for, but may never achieve (just look at the figure again).  Lay readers—and, unfortunately, many clinicians—might read the headline and believe that “if we just order an MRI for Junior, we’ll be able to get the true diagnosis.”  The positive predictive value of any test must be high enough to warrant its use in a larger population, and so far, the predictive value of most tests in psychiatry is poor.

Third, there is no a priori reason why there should be a difference between the brains (or anything else, for that matter) of patients with depression and patients with OCD, when you consider the overlap between these—and other—psychiatric conditions.  There are many shades of grey between “depression” and “OCD”:  some depressed children will certainly have OCD-like traits, and vice versa.  Treating the individual (and not necessarily the individual’s brain scan) is the best way to care for a person.

To be fair, the authors of the study, Erin Fallucca and David Rosenberg from Wayne State University in Detroit, do not state anywhere in their paper that this approach represents a “novel new diagnostic method” or make any other such sweeping claims about their findings.  In fact, they write that the differences they observed “merit further investigation” and highlight the need to look “beyond the frontal-limbic circuit.”  In other words, our current hypotheses about depression are not entirely supported by their findings (true), so we need to investigate further (also true).  And this, admittedly, is how science should proceed.

However, the history of psychiatry is dotted with tantalizing neurobiological theories or findings which find their way into clinical practice before they’ve been fully proven, or even shown any great clinical relevance.  Pertinent examples are the use of SPECT scans to diagnose ADHD, championed by Daniel Amen; quantitiative EEG to predict response to psychotropics; genotyping for metabolic enzymes; and the use of SSRIs to treat depression.  (Wait, did I say that???)

The quest to identify “biomarkers” of psychiatric illness may similarly lead us to believe we know more about a disease than we do.  A biomarker is a biological feature (an endocrine or inflammatory measure, a genotype, a biochemical response to a particular intervention) that distinguishes a person with a condition from one without.  They’re used throughout medicine for diagnosis, risk stratification and monitoring treatment response.   A true biomarker for mental illness would represent a significant leap ahead in personalized treatment.  Or would it?  What if a person’s clinical presentation differs from what the marker predicts?  “I’m sorry Mrs. Jones, but even though Katie compulsively washes her hands and counts to twelve hundreds of times a day, her right superior parietal gyrus is too thin for a diagnosis of OCD.”

Other fields of medicine don’t experience this dilemma.  If you have an elevated hsCRP and high LDL, even though you “feel fine,” you are still at elevated risk for cardiovascular disease and really ought to take preventive measures (exercise, diet, etc).  (However, see this recent editorial in the BMJ about “who should define disease.”)  But if your brain scan shows cortical thinning and you have no symptoms of depression, do you need to be treated?  Are you even at risk?

Some day (hopefully) these questions will be answered, as we gain a greater understanding of the biology of mental illness.  But until then, let’s keep research and clinical practice separate until we know what we’re doing.  Psychiatry doesn’t have to be like other fields of medicine.  Patients suffer and come to us for help; let’s open our eyes and ears before sending them off to the scanner or the lab.  In doing so, we might learn something important.


Obesity-Related Anxiety: A Me-Too Disease?

April 15, 2011

Psychiatry seems to have a strange fascination with labels.  (I would say it has an obsession with labels, but then it would be labeled OCD.)  We’re so concerned with what we call something that we sometimes ignore the real phenomena staring us in the face every day.

Consider social anxiety disorder (SAD).  Some have argued that this is simply a technical, high-falutin’ label for general shyness, which even “normal” people experience in varying degrees.  There are indeed cases in which someone’s shyness can be horribly incapacitating—and these cases usually benefit from specialized treatment—but there also exists a broad gradient of social anxiety that we all experience.  If I spend too much time worrying about whether the shy patient in my office meets specific criteria for SAD, I might lose sight of why he came to my office in the first place.

So a news story this week caught my eye, with the headline “Obese People Can Suffer From Social Anxiety Due to Weight Alone.”  To a non-psychiatrist, this statement probably seems self-evident: people who are overweight or obese (just like people with any other aspect of their physical appearance that makes them appear “different from normal”) might be anxious or uncomfortable in social settings, simply because of their weight.

This discomfort doesn’t meet criteria for a DSM-IV diagnosis, though.  (At this point, you might ask, but who cares?  Good question—I’ll get to that below.)  The DSM-IV specifies that the symptoms of social anxiety must be unrelated to any medical condition (of which obesity could be considered one).  So if you’re overly self-conscious in social situations due to your weight, or due to an unsightly mole on your face, or due to a psoriasis flare-up, or because you’re a dwarf, sorry, you don’t “qualify” as SAD.

Apparently some researchers want to change this.  In a study to be published this month in the journal Depression and Anxiety, researchers at Brown University and Rhode Island Hospital investigated a large number of obese individuals and found that some of them have social anxiety due to their weight and nothing else, resulting in “greater impairment in social life and greater distress about their social anxiety” than those obese patients who had been diagnosed with (non-obesity-related) SAD earlier in life.  They argue that we should expand the diagnostic criteria in the upcoming DSM-5 to include these folks.  (Indeed, the subtitle of the article in question is “Implications for a Proposed Change in DSM-5.”)

An investigation of their methods, though, reveals that their key finding may have been a foregone conclusion from the start.  Here’s what they did: They interviewed 1,800 people who were being evaluated for weight loss surgery.  (A pre-op comprehensive psychiatric evaluation is often a requirement for bariatric surgery.)  616 people had no psychiatric history whatsoever, while 135 of them had been diagnosed with SAD at some point in their lives.  But then they found 40 additional people whom they labeled as having something they called “modified SAD,” or “clinically significant social anxiety … only related to weight concerns.”  The paper demonstrates that this “modified SAD” group had psychosocial characteristics (like work/social impairment, past/current social functioning, etc) which were strikingly similar to patients with SAD.

But wait a minute… they admit they “labeled” a subset of patients with something that resembled SAD.  So in other words, they pre-selected people with SAD-like symptoms, and then did the analysis to show that, sure enough, they looked like they have SAD!  It’s sort of like taking all the green M&Ms out of a bowl and then performing a series of chemical and physical tests to prove that they are green.  OK, maybe I shouldn’t have used a food analogy, but you get my point…

I don’t mean to be weigh too heavily (no pun intended) on study’s authors (for one thing, the lead author shared a draft of the article with me prior to publication).  I know why articles like this are written; I’m aware that the medical exclusion has made it impossible for us to diagnose SAD in many people who actually have debilitating anxiety due to some obvious cause, like obesity or stuttering.  And this is relevant because we have to give a DSM code in order to be paid for the services we provide.  As with much in life, it’s often all about the money.

But if that’s the only reason we’re squabbling over whether obesity-related anxiety deserves the DSM seal of approval, then I’m sorry, but it’s another example of psychiatrists and psychologists missing the point.  Whether we call something SAD—or depression, or panic disorder, or ADHD, or bipolar disorder, or whatever—means less to the patient than what he or she actually experiences.  Admittedly, we do have to give a “diagnosis” at some point, but we need to ensure our diagnoses don’t become so homogenized that we end up looking at all of our patients through the same lens.

The 40 obese Rhode Islanders who are socially distressed due to their weight probably don’t care whether they’re labeled “SAD,” “modified SAD,” or anythingelse, they just want help.  They want to feel better, and we owe it to them to get our heads out of our DSMs and back into the therapeutic setting where they belong.


Here’s A Disease. Do You Have It?

March 29, 2011

I serve as a consultant to a student organization at a nearby university.  These enterprising students produce patient-education materials (brochures, posters, handouts, etc) for several chronic diseases, and their mission—a noble one—is to distribute these materials to free clinics in underserved communities, with a goal to raise awareness of these conditions and educate patients on their proper management.

Because I work part-time in a community mental health clinic, I was, naturally, quite receptive to their offer to distribute some of their handiwork to my patients.  The group sent me several professional-looking flyers and brochures describing the key features of anxiety disorders, depression, PTSD, schizophrenia, and insomnia, and suggested that I distribute these materials to patients in my waiting room.

They do an excellent job at demystifying (and destigmatizing) mental illness, and describe, in layman’s terms, symptoms that may be suggestive of a significant psychiatric disorder (quoting from one, for example: “Certain neurotransmitters are out of balance when people are depressed.  They often feel sad, hopeless, helpless, lack energy, … If you think you may be depressed, talk to a doctor.”)  But just as I was about to print a stack of brochures and place them at the front door, I thought to myself, what exactly is our goal?

Experiencing symptoms of anxiety, depression, or insomnia doesn’t necessarily indicate mental illness or a need for medications or therapy; they might reflect a stressful period in one’s life or a difficult transition for which one might simply need some support or encouragement.  I feared that the questions posed in these materials may lead people to believe that there might be something “wrong” with them, when they are actually quite healthy.  (The target audience needs to be considered, too, but I’ll write more about that later.)

It led me to the question: when does “raising awareness” become “disease mongering”?

“Disease-mongering,” if you haven’t heard of it, is the (pejorative) term used to describe efforts to lead people to believe they have a disease when they most likely do not, or when the “disease” in question is so poorly defined as to be questionable in and of itself.  Accusations of disease-mongering have made in the area of bipolar disorder, fibromyalgia, restless legs syndrome, female sexual arousal disorder, “low testosterone,” and many others, and have mainly been directed toward pharmaceutical companies with a vested interest in getting people on their drugs.  (See this special issue of PLoS One for several articles on this topic.)

Psychiatric disorders are ripe for disease-mongering because they are essentially defined by subjective symptoms, rather than objective signs and tests.  In other words, if I simply recite the symptoms of depression to my doctor, he’ll probably prescribe me an antidepressant; but if I tell him I have an infection, he’ll check my temperature, my WBC count, maybe palpate some lymph nodes, and if all seems normal he probably won’t write me a script for an antibiotic.

It’s true that some patients might deliberately falsify or exaggerate symptoms in order to obtain a particular medication or diagnosis.  What’s far more likely, though, is that they are (unconsciously) led to believe they have some illness, simply on the basis of experiencing some symptoms that are, more or less, a slight deviation from “normal.”  This is problematic for a number of reasons.  Obviously, an improper diagnosis leads to the prescription of unnecessary medications (and to their undesirable side effects), driving up the cost of health care.  It may also harm the patient in other ways; it may prevent the patient from getting health insurance or a job, or—even more insidiously—lead them to believe they have less control over their thoughts or behaviors than they actually do.

When we educate the public about mental illness, and encourage people to seek help if they think they need it, we walk a fine line.  Some people who may truly benefit from professional help will ignore the message, saying they “feel fine,” while others with very minor symptoms which are simply part of everyday life may be drawn in.  (Here is another example, a flyer for childhood bipolar disorder, produced by the NIH; how many parents & kids might be “caught”?)  Mental health providers should never turn away someone who presents for an evaluation or assessment, but we also have an obligation to provide a fair and unbiased opinion of whether a person needs treatment or not.  After all, isn’t that our responsibility as professionals?  To provide our honest input as to whether someone is healthy or unhealthy?

I almost used the words “normal” and “abnormal” in the last sentence.  I try not to use these words (what’s “normal” anyway?), but keeping them in mind helps us to see things from the patient’s perspective.  When she hears constant messages touting “If you have symptom X then you might have disorder Y—talk to your doctor!” she goes to the doctor seeking guidance, not necessarily a diagnosis.

The democratization of medical and scientific knowledge is, in my opinion, a good thing.  Information about what we know (and what we don’t know) about mental illness should indeed be shared with the public.   But it should not be undertaken with the goal of prescribing more of a certain medication, bringing more patients into one’s practice, or doling out more diagnoses.  Prospective patients often can’t tell what the motives are behind the messages they see—magazine ads, internet sites, and waiting-room brochures may be produced by just about anyone —and this is where the responsibility and ethics of the professional are of utmost importance.

Because if the patient can’t trust us to tell them they’re okay, then are we really protecting and ensuring the public good?

(Thanks to altmentalities for the childhood bipolar flyer.)


The Perils of Checklist Psychiatry

March 16, 2011

It’s no secret that doctors in all specialties spend less and less time with patients these days.  Last Sunday’s NY Times cover article (which I wrote about here and here) gave a fairly stark example of how reimbursement incentives have given modern psychiatry a sort of assembly-line mentality:  “Come in, state your problems, and here’s your script.  Next in line!!”  Unfortunately, all the trappings of modern medicine—shrinking reimbursements, electronic medical record systems which favor checklists over narratives, and patients who frequently want a “quick fix”—contribute directly to this sort of practice.

To be fair, there are many psychiatrists who don’t work this way.  But this usually comes with a higher price tag, which insurance companies often refuse to pay.  Why?  Well, to use the common yet frustrating phrase, it’s not “evidence-based medicine.”  As it turns out, the only available evidence is for the measurement of specific symptoms (measured by a checklist) and the prescription of pills over (short) periods of time.  Paradoxically, psychiatry—which should know better—no longer sees patients as people with interesting backgrounds and multiple ongoing social and psychological dynamics, but as collections of symptoms (anywhere in the world!) which respond to drugs.

The embodiment of this mentality, of course, is the DSM-IV, the “diagnostic manual” of psychiatry, which is basically a collection of symptom checklists designed to make a psychiatric diagnosis.  Now, I know that’s a gross oversimplification, and I’m also aware that sophisticated interviewing skills can help to determine the difference between a minor disturbance in a patient’s mood or behavior and a pathological condition (i.e., betwen a symptom and a syndrome).  But often the time, or those skills, simply aren’t available, and a diagnosis is made on the basis of what’s on the list.  As a result, psychiatric diagnoses have become “diagnoses of inclusion”:  you say you have a symptom, you’ll get a diagnosis.

To make matters worse, the checklist mentality, aided by the Internet, has spawned a small industry of “diagnostic tools,” freely available to clinicians and to patients, and published in books, magazines, and web sites.  (The bestselling book The Checklist Manifesto may have contributed, too.  In it, author-surgeon Atul Gawande explains how simple checklists are useful in complex situations in which lives are on the line.  He has received much praise, but the checklists he describes help to narrow our focus, when in psychiatry it should be broadened.  In other words, checklists are great for preparing an OR for surgery, or a jetliner for takeoff, but not in identifying the underlying causes of an individual’s suffering.)

Anyway, a quick Google search for any mental health condition (or even a personality trait like shyness, irritability, or anger) will reveal dozens of free questionnaires, surveys, and checklists designed to make a tentative diagnosis.  Most give the disclaimer “this is not meant to be a diagnostic tool—please consult your physician.”

But why?  If the patient has already answered all the questions that the doctor will ask anyway in the 10 to 15 minutes allotted for their appointment, why can’t the patient just email the questionnaire directly to a doc in another state (or another country) from the convenience of their own home, enter their credit card information, and wait for a prescription in the mail?  Heck, why not eliminate the middleman and submit the questionnaire directly to the drug company for a supply of pills?

I realize I’m exaggerating here.  Questionnaires and checklists can be extremely helpful—when used responsibly—as a way to obtain a “snapshot” of a patient’s progress or of his/her active symptoms, and to suggest topics for discussion in a more thorough interview.  Also, people also have an innate desire to know how they “score” on some measure—the exercise can even be entertaining—and their results can sometimes reveal things they didn’t know about themselves.

But what makes psychiatry and psychology fascinating is the discovery of alternate, more parsimonious (or potentially more serious) explanations for a patient’s traits and behaviors; or, conversely, informing a patient that his or her “high score” is actually nothing to be worried about.  That’s where the expert comes in.  Unfortunately, experts can behave like Internet surveys, too, and when we do, the “rush to judgment” can be shortsighted, unfair, and wrong.


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