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Wednesday, May 21, 2014


Do Not Resuscitate: What Young Doctors Would Choose

The researcher was presenting her findings to a room full of geriatricians, at the American Geriatrics Society annual scientific meeting last week in Orlando, Fla. So a slide revealing one particular statistic didn’t cause an audible gasp or murmur. Talking to geriatricians about end-of-life treatment practically defines preaching to the choir, as a member of the audience told me later.
Among other kinds of doctors, or the public, this number might be more surprising. Dr. V.J. Periyakoil, a geriatrics and palliative care specialist at Stanford University, was talking about her survey of nearly 1,100 physicians who were completing clinical training at two university-affiliated medical centers.
She and her colleagues wanted to learn more about the attitudes of young doctors towards advance directives. So the researchers asked what choices they would make for themselves if they were terminally ill.
Their reply: 88.3 percent would choose a do-not-resuscitate or “no code” status. An allow-me-to-die status, in other words.

“Doctors see a lot,” Dr. Periyakoil told me later that day. Resuscitation attempts are so aggressive — likely to break an older patient’s ribs but unlikely to restore them to their previous state of health or function —that after witnessing several, “you know too much and you’re much more wary,” she said.

Perhaps readers here remember a much-circulated web essay by Dr. Ken Murray, a retired family practitioner, called “How Doctors Die.” He claimed that his fellow physicians largely reject the sort of high-tech care they routinely dispense to their patients.

Dr. Murray wrote persuasively about the attitudes of people he knew, but he had no data demonstrating that these opinions were widely held. Only later did a reader point him to a survey of older doctors, all Johns Hopkins graduates who had reached their late 60s or 70s, who felt similarly.
But here is evidence, from the Stanford study, that even at the beginnings of their careers, doctors in many medical specialties resist the common “do everything” end-of-life attitude.

In some ways, this group doesn’t precisely mirror American physicians in training as a whole. It included more women, for instance: 51.4 percent, compared to 46.1 percent of doctors in training nationally. This sample was more ethnically diverse, too: Only about half Caucasian (compared to 65 percent nationally) and more heavily Asian, with fewer African-Americans and Latinos.
And the doctors’ thinking did vary by ethnicity and gender, the study showed. Over all, they had favorable attitudes toward advance directives, but women were significantly more favorable than men. Doctors who were white or African-American were more in support of advance directives than were Asians or Hispanics.
Medical specialties mattered, too. Emergency physicians, pediatricians, obstetrician-gynecologists and those in physical medicine and rehab had more favorable attitudes toward advance directives. Radiologists, surgeons, orthopedists and radiation oncologists were less favorably inclined.
Yet for their own future care, they achieved striking near unanimity with that a 88.3 percent preference for avoiding resuscitation and associated heroics if they had an illness that would soon kill them.

Dr. Periyakoil, who called her presentation “Do Unto Others,” concluded with a slide that read: “Why do doctors continue to provide high-intensity care for terminal patients but may personally forgo such care themselves at the end of life?”
It’s a really good question.

Paula Span is the author of “When the Time Comes: Families With Aging Parents Share Their Struggles and Solutions.”

Palliative and Supportive Care


Family caregivers voice their needs: A Photovoice study

Jennifer Angeloa1 c1 and Richard Egana2

a1 Otago Community Hospice, Dunedin, New Zealand, and School of Physiotherapy, Division of Health Sciences, University of Otago, Otago, New Zealand
a2 Cancer Society Social and Behavioural Research Unit, Te Hunga Rangahau Ārai Mate Pukupuku, Department of Preventive and Social Medicine, University of Otago Medical School, Dunedin, New Zealand


Abstract
Objective: Caregivers often are unprepared for their role yet serve as the frontline in the provision of palliative care services. The aim of our study was to explore family caregivers' experiences from their perspective as they cared for dying relatives.
Method: Using the Photovoice methodology, ten unpaid family caregivers took photographs depicting issues they experienced as informal caregivers of an ill family member who had less than a year to live. Each participant met with the first author individually four to six times and explained their role as caregiver through photographs and stories.

Results: The results were clustered into seven themes: physical demands, emotional/spiritual stress, preparing for the future, securing help, medication management, navigating the agencies, and relationships.

Significance of results: Caregivers perform a variety of tasks, often under stress. 
This study highlights the main areas where problems lie and the areas that palliative care health professionals need to be aware of so they can assist and educate caregivers, with the goal of finding solutions to the burdens of care. 
The themes were found to be intertwined, showing the complexity of the caregiving role.

(Received March 14 2014)
(Accepted April 22 2014)
Keywords
  • Caregivers;
  • Family support;
  • Palliative care;
  • Photovoice
Correspondence
c1 Address correspondence and reprint requests to: Jennifer Angelo, Otago Community Hospice, 293 North Road, North East Valley, Dunedin 9010, New Zealand. E-mail: jangelo@jangelo.com

New Opioids

  1. Vittorio Gebbia
+ Author Affiliations
  1. Sebastiano Mercadante and Vittorio Gebbia, La Maddalena Cancer Center, Palermo; and Giampiero Porzio, University of L’Aquila, L’Aquila, Italy.
  1. Corresponding author: Sebastiano Mercadante, MD, Anesthesia and Intensive Care Unit, Pain Relief and Palliative Care Unit, La Maddalena Cancer Center, Via S. Lorenzo 312, 90146, Palermo, Italy; e-mail: terapiadeldolore@lamaddalenanet.it.

Abstract

Despite the skilled use of opioid analgesics, which is crucial to the relief of cancer pain, there is a lack of evidence to support many aspects of current clinical practice. 

 Therefore, there is a significant need for more effective treatment options. 
 New opioids have been marketed in the past years, including hydrocodone and oxymorphone. 
Moreover, mixed opioids with combined mechanisms of action have been developed; one such agent, tapentadol, is a centrally acting oral analgesic that possesses a combined mechanism of action: μ -opioid receptor activation with norepinephrine reuptake inhibition. 

Drug development strategies involving naloxone have been initiated to reduce peripheral opioid-related adverse effects. The rationale is based on the local antagonist activity of naloxone in intestinal opioid receptors and the negligible oral bioavailability of naloxone, particularly in a prolonged-release formulation.
 New delivery systems have been developed to provide rapid analgesia with potent opioid drugs such as fentanyl. Despite the upcoming availability of these new drugs and technologies that will add to existing types of opioid medication, their benefits and liabilities will ultimately need to be determined by the individual physician and individual patient experiencing pain.

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Acquisition of Compassion Among Physicians: Why Is This Rite Different From All Other Rites?

  1. Benjamin W. Corn
+ Author Affiliations
  1. From the Tel Aviv Sourasky Medical Center, Tel Aviv, Israel.
  1. Corresponding author: Benjamin W. Corn, MD, Tel Aviv Medical Center, Institute of Radiotherapy, 6 Weizman St, Tel Aviv, Israel; e-mail: bencorn@tasmc.health.gov.il.
In the process of forming professional identities, physicians undergo several important rites of passage.1,2 In addition to memorable milestones such as scrubbing into surgery for the first time or cutting into a cadaver, apprentices in medicine must acquire a broad fund of knowledge, develop diagnostic acumen, hone procedural dexterity and communication skills, and learn the “culture” of medicine, such as how to interact with consultants, colleagues, and allied health care workers. But novice physicians also have a core need to retain an essential trait that they often have in abundance at the outset of training: empathy.3

In the midst of reminiscing at the last Seder, I realized that my most formative experience with physician communication had been accidental. For me, one physician's apparent lack of compassion profoundly affected the course of my life—as did an empathetic intervention by someone dear to me.

I remember April 2, 1972—the fifth day of Passover—as the day when I was told, “Daddy is very sick.” On that day, along with my mother, older brother, and younger sister, I boarded a subway train en route to one of the finest cancer centers in Manhattan, if not the world. We didn't realize it then, but as we were ushered into a gloomy room to witness the skeletal shadow of a man who had loyally served in the US Air Force before excelling in track for the City College of New York, we were saying good-bye for the last time.

My childhood recollection is that my father was buff, and that the most prominent attribute of his physique was his lower-extremity strength. His muscular legs had the diameter of tree trunks—oaks. A few months before that difficult April day, business trips (spelled “hospital admissions”) began to preoccupy him, or so we were told. I'm still not certain how my parents managed to pull off the ruse (with our subconscious compliance, no doubt), but before that most memorable of all Passovers, my siblings and I had not understood Dad's absences. In the hospital, seeing only thin wooden sticks remaining to support the man who had once anchored the 4 × 100 meter relay team for City College, we began to get the picture. Looking back, I realize also that, during our visit, my father was overmedicated with pain-relieving drugs. He was, as cancer specialists say, “gorked out.” 

As we approached his bed, he could barely lift a laminated card from the nearby tray and thrust it into my palm. It was a menu, covered with fingerprints and smelling of institutional food. I had no idea why my father gave it to me. I was uncomfortable and immature, and I began to giggle.

Suddenly, I felt a sharp elbow in my ribcage. Some of those pain medicines would have helped right about then, but instead of pharmacologic assistance, I got a quick lesson in life from my older brother. Without words, Joe was explaining that Daddy was inviting us to lunch—that the gesture was our father's sickbed attempt to continue to be our provider. I hardly spoke to my brother then, and I don't speak to him enough today, but I always know when he's right. Joe pointed to the tuna salad, and I recovered quickly enough to gesture straight toward the dessert section. I think I remember Dad cracking a smile. At least, that's what I want to remember.
On the way home to Brooklyn after the visit, our family did not process what had happened. Two days later, an hour after my mother lit the holiday candles, our phone rang. Somehow, each of us recognized this ring as foreboding. Although the act was an overt violation of the Orthodox laws of Judaism that were observed in our household, we picked up the telephone receiver. On the other end of the line, a physician communicated the news, “Mrs Corn, your husband expired 30 minutes ago. May we perform an autopsy?”
Silence.
Mom had the look of someone who was shocked but not surprised. I am sure she had known that a call like this was imminent; still, her stunned reaction was exacerbated, no doubt, by the abrupt way in which the bad news was transmitted. Holding the Princess phone, her hand quivered. We helped her hang up the receiver.
I have no ill feelings toward the doctor. He was probably an overworked intern or resident still learning his craft, asked by his superiors to perform a duty for which he had no training. Rather, I distinctly remember being overcome by two other emotions.
First, I was genuinely glad that we had broken the laws of the Passover holiday by answering the phone. God, it seemed, deserved some sort of a beat-down for the devastation that He had inflicted on our family. Even now, as a religious adult, I continue to construe that childhood response as occupying the sophisticated as opposed to the primitive terminus of the theological spectrum.
Second, I envisioned myself as malnourished and enduring torment in some dank workhouse as a Dickensian orphan. I feared for my survival. I did not know then that Dad (ever the provider) had set aside enough tangible assets to get us started, or that Mom would emerge as a heroic single parent. I found myself, instead, wallowing in worry. “What are we gonna do?” I cried out to anyone within earshot. Immediately, I felt my brother's arm—the same arm that had wounded me just 48 hours earlier—drawing me in toward the undeveloped, concave bosom of his young chest. “It'll be OK, Benjie. It'll be OK.”
I realize, in retrospect, that I have never felt more comforted in my life than I did at that moment, shepherded by my brother.
And as for that doctor—well, he could not possibly envision how poignantly his shortcomings were elucidating the complexities of bedside manner, or how enduring would be the lesson he taught me.
Intricate strategies have been proposed for inculcating empathy. For instance, recent empiric work has suggested that formal instruction in compassion can alter neural responses to suffering.4,5 Yet it remains unclear just how a person who lacks compassion (or is in danger of losing it as a result of overwork and cynicism) can acquire and cultivate this mysterious and critical quality. Will these new approaches yield compassion that is organic as well as generous, like my brother's, rather than merely mechanical? And can even the most motivated physicians invest the time to develop such a skill? I don't think anyone yet knows for sure.
I suggest, instead, that a reasonable first step for physicians who are engaged in the pursuit of empathy might be to recall actively their initial exposure to kindheartedness—or possibly, their first collision with callousness—and then begin to do the emotional work that is required to determine how those encounters left their mark.6 For many of us, thoughts and behaviors are shaped, to a great degree, by experiences and memories.

AUTHOR'S DISCLOSURES OF POTENTIAL CONFLICTS OF INTEREST

The author(s) indicated no potential conflicts of interest.

Footnotes

  • Author's disclosures of potential conflicts of interest are found at the end of this article.

REFERENCES

  1. 1.
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  6. 6.

Providing High-Quality and Affordable Intensive Care to Patients With Cancer: The Forgotten Brick in the Steep Wall of Costs Throughout the Cancer Care Continuum

  1. Jorge I.F. Salluh
+ Author Affiliations
  1. Instituto Nacional de Câncer; D'Or Institute for Research and Education, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
  1. Corresponding author: Márcio Soares, MD, PhD, D'Or Institute for Research and Education, Rua Diniz Cordeiro, 30 -3 ° andar; Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, CEP 22281 -100; e-mail: marciosoaresms@gmail.com.

To the Editor:

The article by Shih et al1 summarized the activities of the workshop entitled “Delivering Affordable Cancer Care in the 21st Century” led by the National Cancer Policy Forum of the Institute of Medicine. We congratulate the authors for such work that, as remarked by themselves, describes the challenges posed by the increasing costs of cancer care as being exemplary of those facing the health care system as whole, driven significantly by an aging population. Many concerns regarding the implications of the overuse and/or inappropriate use of screening and therapeutic strategies (in particular, the new therapies and technologies) for the costs of cancer care were raised by the authors. 

In addition, there is urgent need for improvements in supportive care for these patients. In this sense, the growing demand for intensive care represents another critical and forgotten facet of a complex problem. Intensive care–related costs in the United States (estimated at $82 billion in 2005) account for 13% of hospital expenditures and approximately 1% of the gross domestic product.2 Although many targets to improve the provision of supportive care for patients with cancer were addressed, the discussion was restricted to palliative care. Nonetheless, intensive care units (ICUs) are essential for the supportive care of patients with cancer; up to one in five patients admitted to ICUs have cancer.3 It is well known that survival of critically ill patients with cancer has improved significantly in recent years, even in the case of respiratory failure or severe infection.3 In contrast, many patients with cancer are still inappropriately admitted to the ICU at the end of life.4 However, because triage procedures are inaccurate even in specialized centers,5 the broadening of ICU admission policies has been recommended by experts worldwide.3


For all these reasons, the provision of intensive care to an increasing number of patients with cancer deserves to be included in any future agenda of care planning for these patients. Along this lines, future investigations should address the roles of fast-track postoperative care, planned recovery tracks, dehospitalization programs, rehabilitation, and hospice-based care for patients with cancer who survive ICU stays. Meanwhile, close collaboration between oncologists and intensivists coupled with the need to document patient preferences for aggressive therapies and end-of-life issues at the time of ICU admission are essential to avoid either depriving patients who may benefit from life-sustaining treatments or, conversely, inappropriately prolonging the end of life. Integrating palliative and intensive care is paramount to achieving high-quality and affordable supportive care that will meet the needs of patients, family members, care providers, and society.

AUTHORS' DISCLOSURES OF POTENTIAL CONFLICTS OF INTEREST

The author(s) indicated no potential conflicts of interest.

REFERENCES

  1. 1.
  2. 2.
  3. 3.
  4. 4.
  5. 5.