By Elaine Schattner, MD|September 7th, 2014
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(what follows here at ML will be old posts, rotated occasionally):
By Elaine Schattner, MD|January 31st, 2013
The first time I met an official patient advocate, it was the spring of 1991. I was a first-year fellow, learning by treating patients with blood disorders and all kinds of cancers.
A young gay man with low platelets came to see me in consultation. It was his first visit to the clinic. As I walked by the desk on the way to greet him, the receptionist mentioned that the patient was accompanied by an advocate. “He’s from an organization,” she whispered. “Just thought you’d want to know.”
“OK,” I agreed, not sure what to expect.
My patient was a frail, tired-appearing and polite young man in his 20s. He lived in the West Village and was no longer employed, suffering from AIDS. The man who accompanied him was also thin, perhaps 30 years old – like me, then – and what you might call assertive. The advocate explained that he’d stay with the patient during the evaluation and discussion of recommendations. He added that he’d seen a file on me at ACT UP, and that I was “all right.”
We walked into one of the small consultation rooms. I took detailed notes on the patient’s medical history – too long for his age, approximately 23 years. His body was frail and bruised. A bouquet of tiny red spots lined his palate. Similar marks, a bit darker, coated his legs over and above both ankles. We called those – a manifestation of low platelets – petechiae. I reviewed the patient’s prior blood tests, and drew a sample that I might examine his cells under the microscope. Later on, the patient, advocate and I spoke about his likely diagnosis and treatment options.
This encounter – my first with an advocate – happened approximately 22 years ago. I don’t know the long-term outcome of the patient’s story, but it’s likely he died of AIDS within a year or two of that encounter. He’d already had several serious infections, and his T cells were quite low as I recall. The advocate may have died, too, but I was not privy to his medical history. All I learned about the advocate – over the course of a few visits, and never by my asking him questions – was that he was involved with ACT-UP, that he was extremely familiar with AIDS manifestations, and that he cared that my patient have access to treatment by a considerate doctor.
So who’s a patient advocate, today?
I’ve been wondering about this, in part because I’d like to serve as a patient advocate on a committee and help decide on priorities, meeting agendas and funding for, say, breast cancer research. Some agencies consider that someone like me – a physician who’s had significant illness – can’t serve as a patient advocate at a table with limited chairs, because I have a medical degree. The problem is, I’m on “the other side,” or something along those lines.
It happens that some physicians, including your author at Medical Lessons, are among the fiercest proponents of patients’ rights I know. I support patients’ unrestricted access to information about medicine and new research, to reasonable treatments matching their preferences and values, and to respect from health care providers. At the same time, I’ve seen doctors who, it seems, promote or outright advertise themselves as “patient advocates” on blogs, websites, in books and elsewhere. Suspicious, yes, but not necessarily untrue –
So here’s the question for the crowd: Can a good doctor, or a nurse, or a physical therapist, or any other person employed by the health care system, serve as a patient advocate?
I’m sure I served an advocate for my patients, years ago, while I was practicing, just as I might now, for people with various illnesses. Tell me I’m wrong.
Comments please! How, exactly, might we define a patient advocate? And, while we’re at it – who’s a patient navigator, and what’s the difference?
By Elaine Schattner, MD|February 24th, 2011
There’s a new study out on mammography with important implications for breast cancer screening. The main result is that when radiologists review more mammograms per year, the rate of false positives declines.
The stated purpose of the research,* published in the journal Radiology, was to see how radiologists’ interpretive volume – essentially the number of mammograms read per year – affects their performance in breast cancer screening. The investigators collected data from six registries participating in the NCI’s Breast Cancer Surveillance Consortium, involving 120 radiologists who interpreted 783,965 screening mammograms from 2002 to 2006. So it was a big study, at least in terms of the number of images and outcomes assessed.
First – and before reaching any conclusions – the variance among seasoned radiologists’ everyday experience reading mammograms is striking. From the paper:
…We studied 120 radiologists with a median age of 54 years (range, 37–74 years); most worked full time (75%), had 20 or more years of experience (53%), and had no fellowship training in breast imaging (92%). Time spent in breast imaging varied, with 26% of radiologists working less than 20% and 33% working 80%–100% of their time in breast imaging. Most (61%) interpreted 1000–2999 mammograms annually, with 9% interpreting 5000 or more mammograms.
So they’re looking at a diverse bunch of radiologists reading mammograms, as young as 37 and as old as 74, most with no extra training in the subspecialty. The fraction of work effort spent on breast imaging –presumably mammography, sonos and MRIs – ranged from a quarter of the group (26%) who spend less than a fifth of their time on it and a third (33%) who spend almost all of their time on breast imaging studies.
The investigators summarize their findings in the abstract:
The mean false-positive rate was 9.1% (95% CI: 8.1%, 10.1%), with rates significantly higher for radiologists who had the lowest total (P = .008) and screening (P = .015) volumes. Radiologists with low diagnostic volume (P = .004 and P = .008) and a greater screening focus (P = .003 and P = .002) had significantly lower false-positive and cancer detection rates, respectively. Median invasive tumor size and proportion of cancers detected at early stages did not vary by volume.
This means is that radiologists who review more mammograms are better at reading them correctly. The main difference is that they are less likely to call a false positive. Their work is otherwise comparable, mainly in terms of cancers identified.**
Why this matters is because the costs of false positives – emotional (which I have argued shouldn’t matter so much), physical (surgery, complications of surgery, scars) and financial (costs of biopsies and surgery) are said to be the main problem with breast cancer screening by mammography. If we can reduce the false positive rate, BC screening becomes more efficient and safer.
Time provides the only major press coverage I found on this study, and suggests the findings may be counter-intuitive. I guess the notion is that radiologists might tire of reading so many films, or that a higher volume of work is inherently detrimental.
But I wasn’t at all surprised, nor do I find the results counter-intuitive: the more time a medical specialist spends doing the same sort of work – say examining blood cells under the microscope, as I used to do, routinely – the more likely that doctor will know the difference between a benign variant and a likely sign of malignancy.
Finally, the authors point to the potential problem of inaccessibility of specialized radiologists – an argument against greater requirements, in terms of the number of mammograms a radiologist needs to read per year to be deemed qualified by the FDA and MQSA. The point is that in some rural areas, women wouldn’t have access to mammography if there’s more stringency on radiologists’ volume. But I don’t see this accessibility problem as a valid issue. If the images were all digital, the doctor’s location shouldn’t matter at all.
*The work, put forth by the Group Health Research Institute and involving a broad range or investigators including biostatisticians, public health specialists, radiologists from institutions across the U.S., received significant funding from the ACS, the Longaberger Company’s Horizon of Hope Campaign, the Breast Cancer Stamp Fund, the Agency for Healthcare Research and Quality (AHRQ) and the NCI.
**I recommend a read of the full paper and in particular the discussion section, if you can access it through a library or elsewhere. It’s fairly long, and includes some nuanced findings I could not fully cover here.