Monday, May 30, 2016

Meditation and Medical Ethics


Medical ethics and mindfulness have a lot in common. I reached that conclusion after a recent conversation with my long-time friend Charlie Halpern about his effort to introduce mindfulness into legal education.

Charlie has been doing this at the UC Berkeley School of Law for the past several years through classes and elective retreats. He's an enthusiast and a believer. He feels, and many legal educators and law schools agree with him, that mindfulness practice increases empathy, compassion, and the ability to really hear what clients and others involved in negotiation and litigation are saying. He described how a professor at Berkely has taken to starting his classes with three minutes of silence. The professor reports that "sacrificing" three minutes of class time leads to a richer, more thoughtful class experience.

I've taught meditation to patients in a medical setting and have recommended meditation to many of my patients over the years. And I've written in this blog about how mindfulness practice can be woven into busy practitioners' lives. (See here and here.) But until the conversation I had with Charlie, I hadn't recognized the obvious connection between mindfulness and the way I've taught medical ethics.

In the semester-long course medical ethics course that I taught at Harvard Medical School, in addition to the topics that formed the intellectual content of the course, I encouraged the students to hone their skill at (a) observing their cognitive and emotional reactions to clinical situations that raise ethical issues, (b) treating these reactions as "data," not "truths," and then (c) reflecting on the "data" presented by their experience as one piece of ethical analysis before (d) reaching a conclusion. Over time, as demonstrated by clinicians who we regard as models of ethical action, this set of actions can become reflexive, done automatically and recurrently.

What I realized is that steps (a) and (b) are close cousins to what meditation teachers encourage their students to do. The setting is different - deliberate quiet and inwardness in meditation versus to what I'm inclined to call "meditation in action" in learning to be an ethically sensitive clinician. But the outcomes the teacher hopes for in the student - empathic connection with others, compassion, and seeing the truths that underlie complexity - are the same.

Recognizing the kinship between mindfulness and medical ethics is a valuable insight for ethics educators. An increasing number of students know something about meditation and respect the practice. Recognizing that skill at meditation can enhance their grasp of medical ethics, and, that skill at medical ethics fosters some of the key skills for meditation, enhances both domains.



Friday, May 27, 2016

An Ethical Perspective on Shared Medical Appointments

Stories about shared medical appointments keep popping up in the news, most recently in this New York Times article. The format involves bringing together a group of patients - as many as 15, but typically 8 - 12 - with a doctor or nurse practitioner, for a 90 minute discussion of shared medical problems, such as diabetes. Although group visits are not for everyone, the response of patients who participate and clinicians who lead the sessions are generally quite positive.

Group visits arose to promote efficiency. Although current discussions describe the format as an innovation developed in response to the parlous state of contemporary medicine, in 1905 Dr. Joseph Hersey Pratt, a Boston physician, began to lead "classes" for patients with tuberculosis. Pratt documented results that were as good as the best sanataria, but his method fell into oblivion.

In 1975 I had the privilege of starting a group visit program for patients with chronic psychiatric ailments at the Harvard Community Health Plan HMO . I conducted the group in collaboration with an excellent psychiatric nurse. I spoke with patients individually and to the group as a whole. If I wanted to recommend a medication to patient A, I often asked patient B, who was taking the medication, to talk with A about it. It was set up as a "drop in" group. Patients could come every week or just intermittently.

Physicians who lead shared medical appointments experience a different relationship with patients than in the 1:1 format. The group is more informal, and the physician often acts as a facilitator of patient-to-patient exchange, rather than as an authority. The framework tends to bring out the humanity of clinicians and patients. It's difficult for the leaders to be cold, detached or pompous.

I don't know how well the aspiration for efficiency holds up, but I do know - from my own experience and from the literature - that group visits encourage a holistic, humane way of relating between doctors and patients. The rationale for the format tends to be presented in an apologetic manner: the health system is in a mess/physicians are too harried to pay enough attention/you'll get to spend more time with your doctor in a group. These statements are true. But apology undersells the value of shared medical appointments. For patients with chronic conditions that must be managed over time, the group format can bring out a patient's own strengths and initiative and allow physicians to tap into their capacity to care in a down-to-earth human manner in new ways.

That's an ethical achievement, not just a matter of efficiency!

[To learn more about shared medical appointments, a Massachusetts General Hospital guide to conducting group visits is here,  a description of the group visit program at the Cleveland Clinic is here, and a VA guide to setting  up a group visit program for patients with diabetes is here. If you would like pdf versions of my articles about Pratt and about the HMO group program, send me your email address via the comment function.]

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Atheism, Humanism and Secular Ethics at the University of Miami

Between September 10, 2007 and today, I've written 82 posts about religion and spirituality. I've been especially interested in the moral underpinnings of the health professions. I've thought of health care as a calling throughout my career. But where does the call come from?

Historically, the call has been seen as coming from god and god's servants - saints, bodhisattvas and other benevolent beings who urge us to care for others. But what about health care workers who do not derive their calling from a theology?

I hope this question will be high on the list of research topics when the newly endowed chair of "atheism, humanism and secular ethics" at the University of Miami is filled. I learned from the New York Times article about the chair that it was endowed by Louis J. Appignanian 83 year-old retired businessman who supports non-theist causes. The University was uncomfortable defining the chair as one of "atheism" studies, but Mr. Appignani insisted that the "atheism" be part of the title, and accepted the addition of "humanism and secular ethics."

In an increasingly secular population it's crucial to deepen public understanding of morality that is not based on religious theologies. Over the centuries, religious communities have been powerful advocates for good causes (e.g., abolition of slavery) but also for evil causes (e.g., "holy" war). For atheists and secular humanists to make a full contribution to the moral arc of the future, we need a deeper understanding of how the non-theological domain functions. Let's hope that the University of Miami chair contributes to this process.

When the chair is filled, there will be a great deal to learn from studying those who are called to the vocation of health care!



Monday, May 2, 2016

Borderline Personality Disorder and Public Health Ethics

An article in the May issue of the American Journal of Psychiatry - "The Emergence of a Generalist Model to Meet Public Health Needs for Patients with Borderline Personality Disorder" - shows how experts can move from a specialty niche to public health relevance. This isn't just a clinical act. It's also ethics in action!

Borderline Personality Disorder is a relatively common condition, said to affect 1%-2% of the population and to represent 15%-20% of psychiatric hospital admissions and 6% of primary care visits. People with the condition evince symptoms like: vulnerability to feeling abandoned; unstable relationships that oscillate between idealization and disenchantment; destructive impulsiveness; self-harm; difficulties controlling anger; transient psychotic episodes; and more. The condition takes a high toll on individuals, those involved with them, and the health professionals who try to help them.

In the past 25-30 years, three evidence-based forms of treatment have emerged:

  • Dialectical behavior therapy. DBT involves a combination of weekly individual and group therapy that emphasizes understanding one's vulnerabilities and reaction patterns, combined with learning new self-management skills. 
  • Mentalization-based treatment. This treatment is a variant of psychodynamic psychotherapy that focuses on better understanding of mental states in oneself and others, based on the hypothesis that patients with borderline personality disorder interpret and react to others in terms of their own fantasies, and that more realistic understanding will decrease their desperate emotional over-reactivity. Like DBT, mentalization-based therapy typically involves weekly individual and group sessions.
  • Transference-focused psychotherapy. For this approach, twice weekly individual sessions are recommended. The treatment makes maximum use of the patient's reactions to the therapist as an avenue into modifying the internal structures that lead to the chaotic life pattern.
All three approaches can legitimately claim to have been validated. But all three require training and skill beyond the level of most mental health clinicians. Nine years ago Glen Gabbard, perhaps the leading educator in psychiatry, asked "Do all roads lead to Rome?" and suggested that the three techniques may reflect different ways of delivering common healing processes. In the just-published article that I cited above, John Gunderson, a leading researcher on BPD, builds on Gabbard's suggestion and offers a common-sense generalist model that emphasizes educating the patient about the condition, focusing on life outside of the office more than on the interaction between patient and therapist, integrating medication management, and selectively involving family and significant others.

I'm writing about this clinical issue in a venue devoted to health system ethics because the move from a specialist orientation to generalism embodies admirable public health ethics. Our U.S. health system tilts towards a specialist for every organ and condition. At its best, this approach cultivates deep clinical skills. But it also disarticulates the care of individuals into unrelated segments and mirrors the inequity of our wider society by providing a lot for the few and much less for the many.

When I did my residency in the 1960s, psychoanalytic training was regarded as the pinnacle of professional development. I valued the deep intellectual rigor of psychoanalysis, but couldn't see limiting my practice to a relatively small number of patients who would be seen 3-5 times per week, and who, by practical necessity, would have to be relatively affluent. 

Gunderson's article points in the direction I'd mapped out for myself at the start of my career. U.S. health care needs to strengthen its generalist orientation at the level of primary care and within specialties. Moving towards health insurance for all is the first step in correcting the moral failings of our health system. But the ultimate challenge is improving our commitment and capacity to provide excellent cost-effective care for the entire population. Gunderson's work illustrates what every segment of medicine needs to do.

Thursday, April 28, 2016

Robber Baron Capitalism victimizes Mother Theresa

Yesterday the Senate Special Committee on Aging held a feel-good hearing at which the Senators excoriated Michael Pearson, the soon-to-be ex-CEO of Valeant Pharmaceuticals, for rapacious drug pricing, and hedge fund manager William Ackman for making Valeant a darling of the Wall Street world.

It's a valuable truth about organizational life that every system is perfectly designed to achieve the results it actually produces. The two articles cited in the previous paragraph and a third about "The Complex Math Behind Spiraling Prescription Drug Prices" provide insight about how the current U.S. system inevitably produces stratospheric drug prices. Here's how it works:

  1. The first step involves rewarding CEOs lavishly for short-term profits. It's important not to look too deeply into how the profits are made, as long as the method is - or appears to be - legal. My my previous post  about Michael Pearson's compensation shows how this first step towards moral corruption can best be carried out.
  2. One variant of step two involves identifying a valuable old drug that is priced affordably. Make sure it has no competitors. Then, buy it and jack up the price by hundreds of percents. That's the route Michael Pearson at Valeant and Martin Shkreli at Turing Pharmaceuticals took.
  3. As an alternative, identify a serious medical condition for which there is no effective treatment. Develop a new, better approach. This is the path of discovery and developing genuine new value. Up to the the point of setting a price, this step is morally admirable.
  4. Recognizing that (a) we control a vital component for human health, and (b) health organizations are committed to human health, (c) set a stratospheric price, since (d) we have the health system over a barrel. 
  5. If whoever is purchasing our stratospherically-priced drug protests, accuse them of (a) rationing care, (b) stifling innovation, or best (c) both.
This is how the fine-tuned medical-industrial complex facilitates runaway drug costs. Historically, providers have been governed by Mother Theresa's ethics - do what is needed for human health no matter what it costs. The Michael Pearsons and Martin Shkrelis may be acting within the law, but they're not acting within the ethics of care. Unlike Pearson and Shkreli, who simply recycle established products at new prices, pharmaceutical companies that develop treatments that create new possibilities for human healing are participating in the health care calling. But when they charge astronomical prices, they're joining with the Pearsons and Shkrelis in robber baron conduct.

Hard bargaining helps, but it isn't likely to be enough to lead to fair pricing. My guess is that some form of regulation or other change in law is likely to be required. How to do it is beyond my pay grade. But happily, we in Massachusetts elected Elizabeth Warren as Senator, and consumer protection is her specialty. I'm going to send this post to her office with a simple message: PLEASE HELP!


Sunday, April 17, 2016

Bringing the Best of Religion into Medicine

Yesterday I went to the funeral of my older daughter-in-law's mother. She was a much-loved person who was very active in her church. The beautiful Episcopal ceremony evoked her spirit with love and humor. The minister conducted the service in a spirit of inclusiveness and solidarity. The words from John 14:2 - "In my Father's house are many mansions" - were interpreted as reflecting love of all humanity, not as a promise to believers alone.

For me the service brought out what is best in religion. Three years ago I wrote that all liberal (i.e., inclusive) religions are comparably true and good and all fundamentalist (i.e., exclusive) religions are comparably false and bad. I continue to hold that view.

Even though I'm thoroughly in the secular humanist fold, over the years of medical practice I often found that religious language felt truer to the aims of clinical care than purely secular modes of expression. Here are four examples:

"Omniscient being." In all areas of medicine we often bump up against uncertainty. At times that my patient and I wished we knew what to do or what to expect, I might say something like "if we had access to an omniscient being, we wouldn't have to wonder about XYZ..." The concept of a god evoked our wish for the assistance that a benevolent god would give us, and at the same time, acknowledged our limitations.

"Blessing." Historically, to be "blessed" meant having god's favor. Our perfunctory"God Bless You" when someone sneezes goes back to pre-antibiotic days when sneezing might presage pneumonia and pneumonia could mean a rapid death. Even though I don't believe in a god who might intervene, comments like "let's hope that you will be blessed with better health" felt like a stronger expression of hope and possibility than they would with purely secular phraseology.

"Prayer." Many years ago, a patient of mine who conducted himself courageously despite significant impairment from chronic schizophrenia, ended an appointment by asking me to remember him in my prayers. Without thought or hesitation, I said I would. I took my patient to be requesting that I care about him deeply and feel for him  what I've written about as "the right kind of love between doctors and patients." Since I did feel that way about him I felt I was speaking truth in committing myself to remembering him in my prayers.

"Calling." In its original meaning, a "calling" came from god in the literal form of god's voice. The clinicians I respect most among physicians, nurses, social workers, and other health professionals ("profession" is another term that comes from a religious context) all think of health care as a "calling." Many religious clinicians understand the calling to health care as a call from god - literally, to do "god's work." But when I've used the concept of "calling" with first year medical students in the ethics class, it gets a mixed reception. For some it rings true. They feel "called" to a sacred profession, whether they're believers or not. But others have chided me for being too moralistic. For them, medicine is a "job." I don't try to talk them out of this view, but I do suggest that when they're with patients at the bedside, the "job" may be transformed into a "calling."

When my mother experienced the cerebral hemorrhage from which she died a few days later, the ambulance took her to a Catholic hospital. I was impressed and comforted by the spiritual wisdom of the care she and her small family (me and my father) received, especially from the nurses. And when I visited the Swami Vivekananda Hospital in Saragur, India, in 2009, I learned that twice a week they conducted a non-denominational prayer service for patients and staff. Religious language and "liberal" religious practice make superb partners for the enterprise of health care!


Friday, April 8, 2016

Euthanasia and the Slippery Slope

Some of the arguments for and against what is now being called "Physician Assisted Death" (PAD)  rest on core ethical beliefs and are intractable. But the "slippery slope" argument that legalizing PAD in limited and arguably ethically acceptable circumstances, as with the Oregon "Death with Dignity Act," will inevitably lead to ethically unacceptable actions, is testable.

PAD became legal in Oregon in 1997. In the intervening 19 years there has been no significant public pressure to legalize PAD for persons who are not terminally ill, and no evidence suggesting that PAD is victimizing vulnerable populations such as the poor, ethnic minorities, or frail elderly. PAD is a relatively infrequent event, accounting for 0.4% of deaths in 2015. Further, PAD has not undermined good end-of-life-care, another slippery slope fear. In actual fact, Oregon is among the national leaders in providing good palliative and hospice care.

But although Oregon proves that the slippery slope argument against laws modeled on the Death with Dignity Act is invalid, reports from Belgium and the Netherlands are worrisome. In those countries PAD and active euthanasia occur at 10 times the rate in Oregon. What I find most disturbing is the way Belgium and the Netherlands have extended the practice beyond the terminally ill to include people described as "tired of living" and to others suffering from otherwise non-terminal psychiatric ailments.

If you're interested in PAD and the potential validity of the slippery slope concern, please read Rachel Aviv's brilliant New Yorker article from last year - "The Death Treatment," in which she tells the story of Godelieva De Troyer:

Godelieva De Troyer

At 64, De Troyer had recently been abandoned by a boyfriend and was feeling distant from her son. She sought out Dr. Wim Distelmans, an oncologist and professor of palliative medicine (!). Distelmans, who is apparently revered in Belgium for his support for euthanasia, cuts a handsome and charismatic figure:

Wim Distelmans

De Troyer had lived a roller coaster life. Her emotional states ranged from ebullience when her relationships were fulfilling to painful despair when her important attachments were disrupted. But given the clear history of relatedness during her adult life, I would wager that virtually all experienced psychiatrists in the U.S. would have seen De Troyer's wish for death when she met with Distelmans as a transient symptom, not an autonomous choice.

Rachel Aviv was able to interview Distelmans. Here's a crucial paragraph from her article:
Distelmans told me that he had no doubts about the way he handled Godelieva’s case. He explained that she was “a very nice person, a very warm person,” and that she had “wanted to do one decent thing in her life, and that is to die in a decent way, because the rest of her life was such a horrible mess.” When I asked if he worried about transference—perhaps she had idolized him or depended too much on his opinion—he laughed and said, “I’ve never met a patient who is willing to die to please someone else.”
I'd make the further wager that most experienced therapists in the U.S. would share Aviv's speculation that a "transference" was at work. And Distelmans's statement that no one is willing to die to please someone else is sheer nonsense. If we needed more proof than "psychological autopsies" conducted after suicides provide, just think of the suicide bombers who blow themselves up with heroic martyrdom as one of their motives.

Washington (2009), Vermont (2009) and California (2016), the three additional states that have passed "Death with Dignity" laws, all follow Oregon by limiting the procedure to patients with terminal conditions from which they are expected to die within 6 months. The slippery slope argument holds no water against that approach. But advocates for similar laws in other states should recognize that there appear to be real slippery slopes across the Atlantic, and must explain clearly the difference between Belgium and the Netherlands and what Oregon, Washington, Vermont and California have done.

(I've never met Rachel Aviv, but I've written about her superb work here and here.)