Commentary

SAN DIEGO – Should pharmacologic treatment of type 2 diabetes start with combination therapy or metformin monotherapy, adding other agents over time?

This question was debated by two well-known clinician-researchers in the diabetes world at the recent annual scientific sessions of the American Diabetes Association.

Ralph A. DeFronzo, MD, argued for combination therapy at the time of diagnosis, and David M. Nathan, MD, countered that sequential therapy is a better way to go.
 

‘The ominous octet’: Addressing multiple underlying defects

Of course, Dr. DeFronzo said, the right agents must be selected. “The drugs we’re going to use as combination at a minimum have to correct the underlying insulin resistance and beta-cell failure, or we are not going to be successful.”

In addition, he said, these drugs should also provide protection against cardiovascular, kidney, and fatty liver disease, because “[managing] diabetes is more than just controlling the glucose.”

Recent U.S. data suggest that half of people with diabetes have a hemoglobin A1c above 7%, and a quarter remain above 8%. “We’re not really doing a very good job in terms of glycemic control,” said Dr. DeFronzo, chief of the diabetes division at University of Texas, San Antonio.

One reason for this failure, he said, is the complex pathophysiology of type 2 diabetes represented by eight major defects, what he called the “ominous octet”: decreased pancreatic insulin secretion, gut incretin effects, glucose uptake in the muscle, increased lipolysis, glucose reabsorption in the kidney, hepatic glucose production, increased glucagon secretion, and neurotransmitter dysfunction.

“There are eight problems, so you’re going to need multiple drugs in combination ... not ones that just lower the A1c.”

And, Dr. DeFronzo said, these drugs “must be started early in the natural history of type 2 diabetes if progressive beta-cell failure is to be prevented.”

He pointed to the United Kingdom Prospective Diabetes Study (UKPDS), in which the sulfonylurea glyburide was used first, followed by metformin. With each drug, the A1c decreased initially but then rose within 3 years. By 15 years, 65% of participants were taking insulin.

More recently, the GRADE study examined the effects of adding four different glucose-lowering agents (glimepiride, sitagliptin, liraglutide, or insulin glargine) in people who hadn’t achieved target A1c with metformin.

“So, by definition, drug number one failed,” he observed.

During the study, all participants showed an initial A1c drop, followed by progressive failure, “again ... showing that stepwise therapy doesn’t work.”

All patients with type 2 diabetes at his center are treated using the “DeFronzo algorithm” consisting of three drug classes: a glucagon-like peptide-1 (GLP-1) agonist, a sodium-glucose cotransporter-2 (SGLT2) inhibitor, and pioglitazone, as each of them targets more than one of the “ominous octet” defects.

“The drugs that clearly do not work on a long-term basis are metformin and sulfonylureas,” he emphasized.

Several studies demonstrate the efficacy of combination therapy, he said. In one, DURATION 8, the combination of exenatide and dapagliflozin was superior to either agent individually in lowering A1c, cardiovascular events, and all-cause mortality over 2 years.

And in the 5-year VERIFY study, early combination therapy with vildagliptin plus metformin proved superior in A1c-lowering to starting patients on metformin and adding vildagliptin later.

Dr. DeFronzo’s own “knock-out punch” study, EDICT, in people with new-onset type 2 diabetes, compared the initial combination of metformin, pioglitazone, and exenatide with conventional sequential add-on therapy with metformin, glipizide, and insulin glargine.

The primary endpoint – the difference in the proportion of patients with A1c less than 6.5% – was 70% versus 29% with combination compared with sequential therapy, a difference “as robust as you can be going against the stepwise approach” at P < .00001, he said.

The combination therapy virtually normalized both insulin sensitivity and beta-cell function, whereas the conventional therapy did neither.

Also from Dr. DeFronzo’s group, in the Qatar study, which compared exenatide plus pioglitazone with basal-bolus insulin in people with about 10 years’ duration of type 2 diabetes and A1c above 7.5% taking sulfonylurea plus metformin, the combination therapy produced an A1c of 6.2% versus 7.1% with insulin.

Dr. DeFronzo pointed to new language added to the ADA Standards of Medical Care in Diabetes in 2022.

While still endorsing stepwise therapy, the document also says that “there are data to support initial combination therapy for more rapid attainment of glycemic targets and longer durability of glycemic effect.” The two references cited are EDICT and VERIFY.

“Finally, the American Diabetes Association has gotten the message,” he concluded.
 

Sequential therapy: Far more data, lower cost

Dr. Nathan began by pointing out that the ADA Standards of Care continue to advise use of metformin as first-line therapy for type 2 diabetes “because of its high efficacy in lowering A1c, minimal hypoglycemia risk when used as monotherapy, weight neutrality with the potential for modest weight loss, good safety profile, and low cost.”

He emphasized that he was not arguing “against the use of early or even initial combination therapy when there are co-existent morbidities [such as cardiovascular or chronic kidney disease] that merit use of demonstrably effective medications.” But Dr. Nathan pointed out, those patients are not the majority with type 2 diabetes.

He laid out four main arguments for choosing traditional sequential therapy over initial combination therapy. For one, it “enables determination of efficacy of adding individual medications, while initial combination precludes determining benefits of individual drugs.”

Second, traditional sequential therapy allows for assessment of side effects from individual drugs.

“With Dr. DeFronzo’s algorithm you throw everything at them, and if they get nausea, vomiting, or diarrhea, you won’t know which drug it is ... If they get an allergic reaction, you won’t know which medication it is,” observed Dr. Nathan, who is director of the clinical research center and the diabetes center at Massachusetts General Hospital, Boston.

Moreover, he said, traditional sequential therapy “promotes individualization, with selection of drugs, which is something we’re laboring to achieve. Initial combination obviously limits that.”

Further, sequential therapy is “parsimonious and cost-effective, whereas initial combination therapy is expensive, with modest advantages at most.”

And, there are “lots of data” supporting traditional sequential therapy and relatively little for initial combination therapy.

Dr. Nathan added that when he searched the literature for relevant randomized clinical trials, he found 16 investigating initial combination therapy versus monotherapy, but only three that examined combination versus sequential therapy.

“Very few of them, except for EDICT and VERIFY, actually include the sequential therapy that we would use in practice,” he said.

Moreover, he observed, except for the VERIFY study, most are less than half a year in duration. And in VERIFY, there was an initial 20% difference in the proportions of patients with A1c below 7.0%, but by 12 months, that difference had shrunk to just 5%-6%.

“So, looking over time is very important,” Dr. Nathan cautioned. “We really have to be careful ... Six months is barely enough time to see A1c equilibrate ... You really need to study a long-term, chronic, progressive disease like type 2 diabetes over a long enough period of time to be clinically meaningful.”

Dr. Nathan acknowledged to Dr. DeFronzo that the latter’s EDICT study was “well conducted” and “long enough,” and that the researchers did examine monotherapy versus sequential therapy. However, he pointed out that it was a small study with 249 patients and the dropout rate was high, with 58% of patients remaining in the study with triple therapy versus 68% for conventional treatment. “That’s a bit problematic,” Dr. Nathan noted.

At 2 years, the “trivial” difference in A1c was 6.5% with conventional therapy versus 6.0% with triple therapy. “This is all on the very flat complications curve with regard to A1c,” he observed.

Patients treated with sequential therapy with sulfonylurea and insulin had higher rates of hypoglycemia and weight gain, whereas the combination triple therapy group had more gastrointestinal side effects and edema.

However, the most dramatic difference was cost: the average wholesale price for sequential therapy totaled about $85 per month, compared with $1,310 for initial combination therapy. For the approximately 1.5 million patients with new-onset type 2 diabetes in the United States, that difference comes to an additional cost per year of about $22 billion, Dr. Nathan calculated.

“Although current sequential therapy leaves much to be desired ... initial combination therapy has generally only been tested for brief, clinically insufficient periods.

“And therefore, I think sequential therapy is still what is called for,” he concluded. “Well-powered, acceptable-duration studies need to be performed before we can adopt initial/early combination therapy as the standard of care.”

Dr. DeFronzo has reported receiving research support from Boehringer Ingelheim, AstraZeneca, and Merck; payment or honoraria for lectures, presentations, speakers bureaus, manuscript writing, or educational events from AstraZeneca; and participation on a data safety monitoring board or advisory board for AstraZeneca, Intarcia, Novo Nordisk, and Boehringer Ingelheim. Dr. Nathan has reported no relevant financial relationships.

A version of this article appeared on Medscape.com.

SAN DIEGO – Should pharmacologic treatment of type 2 diabetes start with combination therapy or metformin monotherapy, adding other agents over time?

This question was debated by two well-known clinician-researchers in the diabetes world at the recent annual scientific sessions of the American Diabetes Association.

Ralph A. DeFronzo, MD, argued for combination therapy at the time of diagnosis, and David M. Nathan, MD, countered that sequential therapy is a better way to go.
 

‘The ominous octet’: Addressing multiple underlying defects

Of course, Dr. DeFronzo said, the right agents must be selected. “The drugs we’re going to use as combination at a minimum have to correct the underlying insulin resistance and beta-cell failure, or we are not going to be successful.”

In addition, he said, these drugs should also provide protection against cardiovascular, kidney, and fatty liver disease, because “[managing] diabetes is more than just controlling the glucose.”

Recent U.S. data suggest that half of people with diabetes have a hemoglobin A1c above 7%, and a quarter remain above 8%. “We’re not really doing a very good job in terms of glycemic control,” said Dr. DeFronzo, chief of the diabetes division at University of Texas, San Antonio.

One reason for this failure, he said, is the complex pathophysiology of type 2 diabetes represented by eight major defects, what he called the “ominous octet”: decreased pancreatic insulin secretion, gut incretin effects, glucose uptake in the muscle, increased lipolysis, glucose reabsorption in the kidney, hepatic glucose production, increased glucagon secretion, and neurotransmitter dysfunction.

“There are eight problems, so you’re going to need multiple drugs in combination ... not ones that just lower the A1c.”

And, Dr. DeFronzo said, these drugs “must be started early in the natural history of type 2 diabetes if progressive beta-cell failure is to be prevented.”

He pointed to the United Kingdom Prospective Diabetes Study (UKPDS), in which the sulfonylurea glyburide was used first, followed by metformin. With each drug, the A1c decreased initially but then rose within 3 years. By 15 years, 65% of participants were taking insulin.

More recently, the GRADE study examined the effects of adding four different glucose-lowering agents (glimepiride, sitagliptin, liraglutide, or insulin glargine) in people who hadn’t achieved target A1c with metformin.

“So, by definition, drug number one failed,” he observed.

During the study, all participants showed an initial A1c drop, followed by progressive failure, “again ... showing that stepwise therapy doesn’t work.”

All patients with type 2 diabetes at his center are treated using the “DeFronzo algorithm” consisting of three drug classes: a glucagon-like peptide-1 (GLP-1) agonist, a sodium-glucose cotransporter-2 (SGLT2) inhibitor, and pioglitazone, as each of them targets more than one of the “ominous octet” defects.

“The drugs that clearly do not work on a long-term basis are metformin and sulfonylureas,” he emphasized.

Several studies demonstrate the efficacy of combination therapy, he said. In one, DURATION 8, the combination of exenatide and dapagliflozin was superior to either agent individually in lowering A1c, cardiovascular events, and all-cause mortality over 2 years.

And in the 5-year VERIFY study, early combination therapy with vildagliptin plus metformin proved superior in A1c-lowering to starting patients on metformin and adding vildagliptin later.

Dr. DeFronzo’s own “knock-out punch” study, EDICT, in people with new-onset type 2 diabetes, compared the initial combination of metformin, pioglitazone, and exenatide with conventional sequential add-on therapy with metformin, glipizide, and insulin glargine.

The primary endpoint – the difference in the proportion of patients with A1c less than 6.5% – was 70% versus 29% with combination compared with sequential therapy, a difference “as robust as you can be going against the stepwise approach” at P < .00001, he said.

The combination therapy virtually normalized both insulin sensitivity and beta-cell function, whereas the conventional therapy did neither.

Also from Dr. DeFronzo’s group, in the Qatar study, which compared exenatide plus pioglitazone with basal-bolus insulin in people with about 10 years’ duration of type 2 diabetes and A1c above 7.5% taking sulfonylurea plus metformin, the combination therapy produced an A1c of 6.2% versus 7.1% with insulin.

Dr. DeFronzo pointed to new language added to the ADA Standards of Medical Care in Diabetes in 2022.

While still endorsing stepwise therapy, the document also says that “there are data to support initial combination therapy for more rapid attainment of glycemic targets and longer durability of glycemic effect.” The two references cited are EDICT and VERIFY.

“Finally, the American Diabetes Association has gotten the message,” he concluded.
 

Sequential therapy: Far more data, lower cost

Dr. Nathan began by pointing out that the ADA Standards of Care continue to advise use of metformin as first-line therapy for type 2 diabetes “because of its high efficacy in lowering A1c, minimal hypoglycemia risk when used as monotherapy, weight neutrality with the potential for modest weight loss, good safety profile, and low cost.”

He emphasized that he was not arguing “against the use of early or even initial combination therapy when there are co-existent morbidities [such as cardiovascular or chronic kidney disease] that merit use of demonstrably effective medications.” But Dr. Nathan pointed out, those patients are not the majority with type 2 diabetes.

He laid out four main arguments for choosing traditional sequential therapy over initial combination therapy. For one, it “enables determination of efficacy of adding individual medications, while initial combination precludes determining benefits of individual drugs.”

Second, traditional sequential therapy allows for assessment of side effects from individual drugs.

“With Dr. DeFronzo’s algorithm you throw everything at them, and if they get nausea, vomiting, or diarrhea, you won’t know which drug it is ... If they get an allergic reaction, you won’t know which medication it is,” observed Dr. Nathan, who is director of the clinical research center and the diabetes center at Massachusetts General Hospital, Boston.

Moreover, he said, traditional sequential therapy “promotes individualization, with selection of drugs, which is something we’re laboring to achieve. Initial combination obviously limits that.”

Further, sequential therapy is “parsimonious and cost-effective, whereas initial combination therapy is expensive, with modest advantages at most.”

And, there are “lots of data” supporting traditional sequential therapy and relatively little for initial combination therapy.

Dr. Nathan added that when he searched the literature for relevant randomized clinical trials, he found 16 investigating initial combination therapy versus monotherapy, but only three that examined combination versus sequential therapy.

“Very few of them, except for EDICT and VERIFY, actually include the sequential therapy that we would use in practice,” he said.

Moreover, he observed, except for the VERIFY study, most are less than half a year in duration. And in VERIFY, there was an initial 20% difference in the proportions of patients with A1c below 7.0%, but by 12 months, that difference had shrunk to just 5%-6%.

“So, looking over time is very important,” Dr. Nathan cautioned. “We really have to be careful ... Six months is barely enough time to see A1c equilibrate ... You really need to study a long-term, chronic, progressive disease like type 2 diabetes over a long enough period of time to be clinically meaningful.”

Dr. Nathan acknowledged to Dr. DeFronzo that the latter’s EDICT study was “well conducted” and “long enough,” and that the researchers did examine monotherapy versus sequential therapy. However, he pointed out that it was a small study with 249 patients and the dropout rate was high, with 58% of patients remaining in the study with triple therapy versus 68% for conventional treatment. “That’s a bit problematic,” Dr. Nathan noted.

At 2 years, the “trivial” difference in A1c was 6.5% with conventional therapy versus 6.0% with triple therapy. “This is all on the very flat complications curve with regard to A1c,” he observed.

Patients treated with sequential therapy with sulfonylurea and insulin had higher rates of hypoglycemia and weight gain, whereas the combination triple therapy group had more gastrointestinal side effects and edema.

However, the most dramatic difference was cost: the average wholesale price for sequential therapy totaled about $85 per month, compared with $1,310 for initial combination therapy. For the approximately 1.5 million patients with new-onset type 2 diabetes in the United States, that difference comes to an additional cost per year of about $22 billion, Dr. Nathan calculated.

“Although current sequential therapy leaves much to be desired ... initial combination therapy has generally only been tested for brief, clinically insufficient periods.

“And therefore, I think sequential therapy is still what is called for,” he concluded. “Well-powered, acceptable-duration studies need to be performed before we can adopt initial/early combination therapy as the standard of care.”

Dr. DeFronzo has reported receiving research support from Boehringer Ingelheim, AstraZeneca, and Merck; payment or honoraria for lectures, presentations, speakers bureaus, manuscript writing, or educational events from AstraZeneca; and participation on a data safety monitoring board or advisory board for AstraZeneca, Intarcia, Novo Nordisk, and Boehringer Ingelheim. Dr. Nathan has reported no relevant financial relationships.

A version of this article appeared on Medscape.com.

SAN DIEGO – Should pharmacologic treatment of type 2 diabetes start with combination therapy or metformin monotherapy, adding other agents over time?

This question was debated by two well-known clinician-researchers in the diabetes world at the recent annual scientific sessions of the American Diabetes Association.

Ralph A. DeFronzo, MD, argued for combination therapy at the time of diagnosis, and David M. Nathan, MD, countered that sequential therapy is a better way to go.
 

‘The ominous octet’: Addressing multiple underlying defects

Of course, Dr. DeFronzo said, the right agents must be selected. “The drugs we’re going to use as combination at a minimum have to correct the underlying insulin resistance and beta-cell failure, or we are not going to be successful.”

In addition, he said, these drugs should also provide protection against cardiovascular, kidney, and fatty liver disease, because “[managing] diabetes is more than just controlling the glucose.”

Recent U.S. data suggest that half of people with diabetes have a hemoglobin A1c above 7%, and a quarter remain above 8%. “We’re not really doing a very good job in terms of glycemic control,” said Dr. DeFronzo, chief of the diabetes division at University of Texas, San Antonio.

One reason for this failure, he said, is the complex pathophysiology of type 2 diabetes represented by eight major defects, what he called the “ominous octet”: decreased pancreatic insulin secretion, gut incretin effects, glucose uptake in the muscle, increased lipolysis, glucose reabsorption in the kidney, hepatic glucose production, increased glucagon secretion, and neurotransmitter dysfunction.

“There are eight problems, so you’re going to need multiple drugs in combination ... not ones that just lower the A1c.”

And, Dr. DeFronzo said, these drugs “must be started early in the natural history of type 2 diabetes if progressive beta-cell failure is to be prevented.”

He pointed to the United Kingdom Prospective Diabetes Study (UKPDS), in which the sulfonylurea glyburide was used first, followed by metformin. With each drug, the A1c decreased initially but then rose within 3 years. By 15 years, 65% of participants were taking insulin.

More recently, the GRADE study examined the effects of adding four different glucose-lowering agents (glimepiride, sitagliptin, liraglutide, or insulin glargine) in people who hadn’t achieved target A1c with metformin.

“So, by definition, drug number one failed,” he observed.

During the study, all participants showed an initial A1c drop, followed by progressive failure, “again ... showing that stepwise therapy doesn’t work.”

All patients with type 2 diabetes at his center are treated using the “DeFronzo algorithm” consisting of three drug classes: a glucagon-like peptide-1 (GLP-1) agonist, a sodium-glucose cotransporter-2 (SGLT2) inhibitor, and pioglitazone, as each of them targets more than one of the “ominous octet” defects.

“The drugs that clearly do not work on a long-term basis are metformin and sulfonylureas,” he emphasized.

Several studies demonstrate the efficacy of combination therapy, he said. In one, DURATION 8, the combination of exenatide and dapagliflozin was superior to either agent individually in lowering A1c, cardiovascular events, and all-cause mortality over 2 years.

And in the 5-year VERIFY study, early combination therapy with vildagliptin plus metformin proved superior in A1c-lowering to starting patients on metformin and adding vildagliptin later.

Dr. DeFronzo’s own “knock-out punch” study, EDICT, in people with new-onset type 2 diabetes, compared the initial combination of metformin, pioglitazone, and exenatide with conventional sequential add-on therapy with metformin, glipizide, and insulin glargine.

The primary endpoint – the difference in the proportion of patients with A1c less than 6.5% – was 70% versus 29% with combination compared with sequential therapy, a difference “as robust as you can be going against the stepwise approach” at P < .00001, he said.

The combination therapy virtually normalized both insulin sensitivity and beta-cell function, whereas the conventional therapy did neither.

Also from Dr. DeFronzo’s group, in the Qatar study, which compared exenatide plus pioglitazone with basal-bolus insulin in people with about 10 years’ duration of type 2 diabetes and A1c above 7.5% taking sulfonylurea plus metformin, the combination therapy produced an A1c of 6.2% versus 7.1% with insulin.

Dr. DeFronzo pointed to new language added to the ADA Standards of Medical Care in Diabetes in 2022.

While still endorsing stepwise therapy, the document also says that “there are data to support initial combination therapy for more rapid attainment of glycemic targets and longer durability of glycemic effect.” The two references cited are EDICT and VERIFY.

“Finally, the American Diabetes Association has gotten the message,” he concluded.
 

Sequential therapy: Far more data, lower cost

Dr. Nathan began by pointing out that the ADA Standards of Care continue to advise use of metformin as first-line therapy for type 2 diabetes “because of its high efficacy in lowering A1c, minimal hypoglycemia risk when used as monotherapy, weight neutrality with the potential for modest weight loss, good safety profile, and low cost.”

He emphasized that he was not arguing “against the use of early or even initial combination therapy when there are co-existent morbidities [such as cardiovascular or chronic kidney disease] that merit use of demonstrably effective medications.” But Dr. Nathan pointed out, those patients are not the majority with type 2 diabetes.

He laid out four main arguments for choosing traditional sequential therapy over initial combination therapy. For one, it “enables determination of efficacy of adding individual medications, while initial combination precludes determining benefits of individual drugs.”

Second, traditional sequential therapy allows for assessment of side effects from individual drugs.

“With Dr. DeFronzo’s algorithm you throw everything at them, and if they get nausea, vomiting, or diarrhea, you won’t know which drug it is ... If they get an allergic reaction, you won’t know which medication it is,” observed Dr. Nathan, who is director of the clinical research center and the diabetes center at Massachusetts General Hospital, Boston.

Moreover, he said, traditional sequential therapy “promotes individualization, with selection of drugs, which is something we’re laboring to achieve. Initial combination obviously limits that.”

Further, sequential therapy is “parsimonious and cost-effective, whereas initial combination therapy is expensive, with modest advantages at most.”

And, there are “lots of data” supporting traditional sequential therapy and relatively little for initial combination therapy.

Dr. Nathan added that when he searched the literature for relevant randomized clinical trials, he found 16 investigating initial combination therapy versus monotherapy, but only three that examined combination versus sequential therapy.

“Very few of them, except for EDICT and VERIFY, actually include the sequential therapy that we would use in practice,” he said.

Moreover, he observed, except for the VERIFY study, most are less than half a year in duration. And in VERIFY, there was an initial 20% difference in the proportions of patients with A1c below 7.0%, but by 12 months, that difference had shrunk to just 5%-6%.

“So, looking over time is very important,” Dr. Nathan cautioned. “We really have to be careful ... Six months is barely enough time to see A1c equilibrate ... You really need to study a long-term, chronic, progressive disease like type 2 diabetes over a long enough period of time to be clinically meaningful.”

Dr. Nathan acknowledged to Dr. DeFronzo that the latter’s EDICT study was “well conducted” and “long enough,” and that the researchers did examine monotherapy versus sequential therapy. However, he pointed out that it was a small study with 249 patients and the dropout rate was high, with 58% of patients remaining in the study with triple therapy versus 68% for conventional treatment. “That’s a bit problematic,” Dr. Nathan noted.

At 2 years, the “trivial” difference in A1c was 6.5% with conventional therapy versus 6.0% with triple therapy. “This is all on the very flat complications curve with regard to A1c,” he observed.

Patients treated with sequential therapy with sulfonylurea and insulin had higher rates of hypoglycemia and weight gain, whereas the combination triple therapy group had more gastrointestinal side effects and edema.

However, the most dramatic difference was cost: the average wholesale price for sequential therapy totaled about $85 per month, compared with $1,310 for initial combination therapy. For the approximately 1.5 million patients with new-onset type 2 diabetes in the United States, that difference comes to an additional cost per year of about $22 billion, Dr. Nathan calculated.

“Although current sequential therapy leaves much to be desired ... initial combination therapy has generally only been tested for brief, clinically insufficient periods.

“And therefore, I think sequential therapy is still what is called for,” he concluded. “Well-powered, acceptable-duration studies need to be performed before we can adopt initial/early combination therapy as the standard of care.”

Dr. DeFronzo has reported receiving research support from Boehringer Ingelheim, AstraZeneca, and Merck; payment or honoraria for lectures, presentations, speakers bureaus, manuscript writing, or educational events from AstraZeneca; and participation on a data safety monitoring board or advisory board for AstraZeneca, Intarcia, Novo Nordisk, and Boehringer Ingelheim. Dr. Nathan has reported no relevant financial relationships.

A version of this article appeared on Medscape.com.

Stop me if you’ve heard this before. There’s a controversy over blood pressure targets. Some argue for 140/90 mm Hg, others for 130/80 mm Hg, and some super ambitious folks think that we should aim for 120/80 mm Hg. If this sounds familiar, it should. We did it in 2017. It’s unclear what, if anything, we learned from the experience. On the upside, it’s not as bad as it was 100 years ago.

When high blood pressure was a ‘good’ thing

Back then, many believed that you needed higher blood pressure as you got older to push the blood through your progressively stiffened and hardened arteries. Hence the name “essential” hypertension. The concern was that lowering blood pressure would hypoperfuse your organs and be dangerous. In the 1930s, John Hay told an audience at a British Medical Association lecture: “The greatest danger to a man with high blood pressure lies in its discovery, because then some fool is certain to try and reduce it.”

The 1900s were a simpler time when people had fatal strokes in their 50s, and their families were consoled by the knowledge that they had lived a good life.

If our thinking around blood pressure had evolved slightly faster, perhaps President Roosevelt wouldn’t have died of a stroke during World War II as his doctors watched his systolic blood pressure climb above 200 mm Hg and suggested massages and barbiturates to take the edge off.
 

The current controversy

Not that long ago, 180 mm Hg was considered mild hypertension. Now, we are arguing about a systolic blood pressure of 140 versus 130 mm Hg.

The American Academy of Family Physicians takes the view that 140/90 mm Hg is good enough for most people. Their most recent clinical practice guideline, based primarily on two 2020 Cochrane Reviews of blood pressure targets in patients with and without cardiovascular disease, did not find any mortality benefit for a lower blood pressure threshold.

This puts the AAFP guideline in conflict with the 2017 guideline issued jointly by the American College of Cardiology, American Heart Association, and nine other groups, which recommended a target of 130/80 mm Hg for pretty much everyone. Though they say greater than 140/90 mm Hg should be the threshold for low-risk patients or for starting therapy post stroke, we often forget those nuances. The main point of contention is that the AAFP guideline was looking for a mortality benefit, whereas the ACC/AHA/everyone else guideline was looking at preventing cardiovascular events. The latter guideline was driven mainly by the results of the SPRINT trial. ACC/AHA argue for more aggressive targets to prevent the things that cardiologists care about, namely heart attacks.

The AAFP guideline conceded that more aggressive control will result in fewer myocardial infarctions but warn that it comes with more adverse events. Treating 1,000 patients to this lower target would theoretically prevent four MIs, possibly prevent three strokes, but result in 30 adverse events.

In the end, what we are seeing here is not so much a debate over the evidence as a debate over priorities. The AAFP’s main focus is all-cause mortality; the ACC/AHA’s is cardiovascular events. Interventions that don’t improve mortality can be questioned in terms of their cost effectiveness. But you probably don’t want to have a heart attack (even a nonfatal one). And you certainly don’t want to have a stroke. However, lower blood pressure targets inevitably require more medications. Notwithstanding the economic costs, the dangers of polypharmacy, medication interactions, side effects, and syncope leading to falls cannot be ignored. Falls are not benign adverse events, especially in older adults.

The counter argument is that physicians are human and often let things slide. Set the target at 140/90 mm Hg, and many physicians won’t jump on a systolic blood pressure of 144 mm Hg. Set the target at 130 mm Hg, and maybe they’ll be more likely to react. There’s a fine line between permissiveness and complacency.

If you zoom out and look at the multitude of blood pressure guidelines, you start to notice an important fact. There is not much daylight between them. There are subtle differences in what constitutes high risk and different definitions of older (older should be defined as 10 years older than the reader’s current age). But otherwise, the blood pressure targets are not that different.

Does that final 10 mm Hg really matter when barriers to care mean that tens of millions in the United States are unaware they have hypertension? Even among those diagnosed, many are either untreated or inadequately treated.

With this context, perhaps the most insightful thing that can be said about the blood pressure guideline controversy is that it’s not all that controversial. We can likely all agree that we need to be better at treating hypertension and that creative solutions to reach underserved communities are necessary.

Arguing about 140/90 mm Hg or 130/80 mm Hg is less important than acknowledging that we should be aggressive in screening for and treating hypertension. We should acknowledge that beyond a certain point any cardiovascular benefit comes at the cost of hypotension and side effects. That tipping point will be different for different groups, and probably at a higher set point in older patients.

Individualizing care isn’t difficult. We do it all the time. We just shouldn’t be letting people walk around with untreated hypertension. It’s not the 1900s anymore.

Dr. Labos is a cardiologist at Hôpital Notre-Dame, Montreal. He reported no conflicts of interest.

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

Stop me if you’ve heard this before. There’s a controversy over blood pressure targets. Some argue for 140/90 mm Hg, others for 130/80 mm Hg, and some super ambitious folks think that we should aim for 120/80 mm Hg. If this sounds familiar, it should. We did it in 2017. It’s unclear what, if anything, we learned from the experience. On the upside, it’s not as bad as it was 100 years ago.

When high blood pressure was a ‘good’ thing

Back then, many believed that you needed higher blood pressure as you got older to push the blood through your progressively stiffened and hardened arteries. Hence the name “essential” hypertension. The concern was that lowering blood pressure would hypoperfuse your organs and be dangerous. In the 1930s, John Hay told an audience at a British Medical Association lecture: “The greatest danger to a man with high blood pressure lies in its discovery, because then some fool is certain to try and reduce it.”

The 1900s were a simpler time when people had fatal strokes in their 50s, and their families were consoled by the knowledge that they had lived a good life.

If our thinking around blood pressure had evolved slightly faster, perhaps President Roosevelt wouldn’t have died of a stroke during World War II as his doctors watched his systolic blood pressure climb above 200 mm Hg and suggested massages and barbiturates to take the edge off.
 

The current controversy

Not that long ago, 180 mm Hg was considered mild hypertension. Now, we are arguing about a systolic blood pressure of 140 versus 130 mm Hg.

The American Academy of Family Physicians takes the view that 140/90 mm Hg is good enough for most people. Their most recent clinical practice guideline, based primarily on two 2020 Cochrane Reviews of blood pressure targets in patients with and without cardiovascular disease, did not find any mortality benefit for a lower blood pressure threshold.

This puts the AAFP guideline in conflict with the 2017 guideline issued jointly by the American College of Cardiology, American Heart Association, and nine other groups, which recommended a target of 130/80 mm Hg for pretty much everyone. Though they say greater than 140/90 mm Hg should be the threshold for low-risk patients or for starting therapy post stroke, we often forget those nuances. The main point of contention is that the AAFP guideline was looking for a mortality benefit, whereas the ACC/AHA/everyone else guideline was looking at preventing cardiovascular events. The latter guideline was driven mainly by the results of the SPRINT trial. ACC/AHA argue for more aggressive targets to prevent the things that cardiologists care about, namely heart attacks.

The AAFP guideline conceded that more aggressive control will result in fewer myocardial infarctions but warn that it comes with more adverse events. Treating 1,000 patients to this lower target would theoretically prevent four MIs, possibly prevent three strokes, but result in 30 adverse events.

In the end, what we are seeing here is not so much a debate over the evidence as a debate over priorities. The AAFP’s main focus is all-cause mortality; the ACC/AHA’s is cardiovascular events. Interventions that don’t improve mortality can be questioned in terms of their cost effectiveness. But you probably don’t want to have a heart attack (even a nonfatal one). And you certainly don’t want to have a stroke. However, lower blood pressure targets inevitably require more medications. Notwithstanding the economic costs, the dangers of polypharmacy, medication interactions, side effects, and syncope leading to falls cannot be ignored. Falls are not benign adverse events, especially in older adults.

The counter argument is that physicians are human and often let things slide. Set the target at 140/90 mm Hg, and many physicians won’t jump on a systolic blood pressure of 144 mm Hg. Set the target at 130 mm Hg, and maybe they’ll be more likely to react. There’s a fine line between permissiveness and complacency.

If you zoom out and look at the multitude of blood pressure guidelines, you start to notice an important fact. There is not much daylight between them. There are subtle differences in what constitutes high risk and different definitions of older (older should be defined as 10 years older than the reader’s current age). But otherwise, the blood pressure targets are not that different.

Does that final 10 mm Hg really matter when barriers to care mean that tens of millions in the United States are unaware they have hypertension? Even among those diagnosed, many are either untreated or inadequately treated.

With this context, perhaps the most insightful thing that can be said about the blood pressure guideline controversy is that it’s not all that controversial. We can likely all agree that we need to be better at treating hypertension and that creative solutions to reach underserved communities are necessary.

Arguing about 140/90 mm Hg or 130/80 mm Hg is less important than acknowledging that we should be aggressive in screening for and treating hypertension. We should acknowledge that beyond a certain point any cardiovascular benefit comes at the cost of hypotension and side effects. That tipping point will be different for different groups, and probably at a higher set point in older patients.

Individualizing care isn’t difficult. We do it all the time. We just shouldn’t be letting people walk around with untreated hypertension. It’s not the 1900s anymore.

Dr. Labos is a cardiologist at Hôpital Notre-Dame, Montreal. He reported no conflicts of interest.

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

Stop me if you’ve heard this before. There’s a controversy over blood pressure targets. Some argue for 140/90 mm Hg, others for 130/80 mm Hg, and some super ambitious folks think that we should aim for 120/80 mm Hg. If this sounds familiar, it should. We did it in 2017. It’s unclear what, if anything, we learned from the experience. On the upside, it’s not as bad as it was 100 years ago.

When high blood pressure was a ‘good’ thing

Back then, many believed that you needed higher blood pressure as you got older to push the blood through your progressively stiffened and hardened arteries. Hence the name “essential” hypertension. The concern was that lowering blood pressure would hypoperfuse your organs and be dangerous. In the 1930s, John Hay told an audience at a British Medical Association lecture: “The greatest danger to a man with high blood pressure lies in its discovery, because then some fool is certain to try and reduce it.”

The 1900s were a simpler time when people had fatal strokes in their 50s, and their families were consoled by the knowledge that they had lived a good life.

If our thinking around blood pressure had evolved slightly faster, perhaps President Roosevelt wouldn’t have died of a stroke during World War II as his doctors watched his systolic blood pressure climb above 200 mm Hg and suggested massages and barbiturates to take the edge off.
 

The current controversy

Not that long ago, 180 mm Hg was considered mild hypertension. Now, we are arguing about a systolic blood pressure of 140 versus 130 mm Hg.

The American Academy of Family Physicians takes the view that 140/90 mm Hg is good enough for most people. Their most recent clinical practice guideline, based primarily on two 2020 Cochrane Reviews of blood pressure targets in patients with and without cardiovascular disease, did not find any mortality benefit for a lower blood pressure threshold.

This puts the AAFP guideline in conflict with the 2017 guideline issued jointly by the American College of Cardiology, American Heart Association, and nine other groups, which recommended a target of 130/80 mm Hg for pretty much everyone. Though they say greater than 140/90 mm Hg should be the threshold for low-risk patients or for starting therapy post stroke, we often forget those nuances. The main point of contention is that the AAFP guideline was looking for a mortality benefit, whereas the ACC/AHA/everyone else guideline was looking at preventing cardiovascular events. The latter guideline was driven mainly by the results of the SPRINT trial. ACC/AHA argue for more aggressive targets to prevent the things that cardiologists care about, namely heart attacks.

The AAFP guideline conceded that more aggressive control will result in fewer myocardial infarctions but warn that it comes with more adverse events. Treating 1,000 patients to this lower target would theoretically prevent four MIs, possibly prevent three strokes, but result in 30 adverse events.

In the end, what we are seeing here is not so much a debate over the evidence as a debate over priorities. The AAFP’s main focus is all-cause mortality; the ACC/AHA’s is cardiovascular events. Interventions that don’t improve mortality can be questioned in terms of their cost effectiveness. But you probably don’t want to have a heart attack (even a nonfatal one). And you certainly don’t want to have a stroke. However, lower blood pressure targets inevitably require more medications. Notwithstanding the economic costs, the dangers of polypharmacy, medication interactions, side effects, and syncope leading to falls cannot be ignored. Falls are not benign adverse events, especially in older adults.

The counter argument is that physicians are human and often let things slide. Set the target at 140/90 mm Hg, and many physicians won’t jump on a systolic blood pressure of 144 mm Hg. Set the target at 130 mm Hg, and maybe they’ll be more likely to react. There’s a fine line between permissiveness and complacency.

If you zoom out and look at the multitude of blood pressure guidelines, you start to notice an important fact. There is not much daylight between them. There are subtle differences in what constitutes high risk and different definitions of older (older should be defined as 10 years older than the reader’s current age). But otherwise, the blood pressure targets are not that different.

Does that final 10 mm Hg really matter when barriers to care mean that tens of millions in the United States are unaware they have hypertension? Even among those diagnosed, many are either untreated or inadequately treated.

With this context, perhaps the most insightful thing that can be said about the blood pressure guideline controversy is that it’s not all that controversial. We can likely all agree that we need to be better at treating hypertension and that creative solutions to reach underserved communities are necessary.

Arguing about 140/90 mm Hg or 130/80 mm Hg is less important than acknowledging that we should be aggressive in screening for and treating hypertension. We should acknowledge that beyond a certain point any cardiovascular benefit comes at the cost of hypotension and side effects. That tipping point will be different for different groups, and probably at a higher set point in older patients.

Individualizing care isn’t difficult. We do it all the time. We just shouldn’t be letting people walk around with untreated hypertension. It’s not the 1900s anymore.

Dr. Labos is a cardiologist at Hôpital Notre-Dame, Montreal. He reported no conflicts of interest.

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

This transcript has been edited for clarity.

At ENDO 2023, I presented our systematic review and meta-analysis related to body image concerns in women and individuals with polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS). PCOS is the most common endocrine condition affecting women worldwide. It’s as common as 10%-15%.

Previously thought to be a benign condition affecting a small proportion of women of reproductive age, it’s changed now. It affects women of all ages, all ethnicities, and throughout the world. Body image concern is an area where one feels uncomfortable with how they look and how they feel. Someone might wonder, why worry about body image concerns? When people have body image concerns, it leads to low self-esteem.

Low self-esteem can lead to depression and anxiety, eventually making you a not-so-productive member of society. Several studies have also shown that body image concerns can lead to eating disorders such as anorexia and bulimia, which can be life threatening. Several studies in the past have shown there is a link between PCOS and body image concerns, but what exactly is the link? We don’t know. How big is the problem? We didn’t know until now.

To answer this, we looked at everything published about PCOS and body image concerns together, be it a randomized study, a cluster study, or any kind of study. We put them all into one place and studied them for evidence. The second objective of our work was that we wanted to share any evidence with the international PCOS guidelines group, who are currently reviewing and revising the guidelines for 2023.

We looked at all the major scientific databases, such as PubMed, PubMed Central, and Medline, for any study that’s been published for polycystic ovary syndrome and body image concerns where they specifically used a validated questionnaire – that’s important, and I’ll come back to that later.

We found 6,221 articles on an initial search. After meticulously looking through all of them, we narrowed it down to 9 articles that were relevant to our work. That’s going from 6,221 articles to 9, which were reviewed by 2 independent researchers. If there was any conflict between them, a third independent researcher resolved the conflict.

We found some studies had used the same questionnaires and some had their own questionnaire. We combined the studies where they used the same questionnaire and we did what we call a meta-analysis. We used their data and combined them to find an additional analysis, which is a combination of the two.

The two most commonly used questionnaires were the Multidimensional Body-Self Relations Questionnaire (MBSRQ) survey and the Body-Esteem Scale for Adolescents and Adults (BESAA). I’m not going into detail, but in simplest terms, the MBSRQ has 69 questions, which breaks down into 5 subscales, and BESAA has 3 subscales, which has 23 questions.

When we combined the results in the MBSRQ questionnaire, women with PCOS fared worse in all the subscales, showing there is a concern about body image in women with PCOS when compared with their colleagues who are healthy and do not have PCOS.

With BESAA, we found a little bit of a mixed picture. There was still a significant difference about weight perception, but how they felt and how they attributed, there was no significant difference. Probably the main reason was that only two studies used it and there was a smaller number of people involved in the study.

Why is this important? This is the first systematic search on body image concerns in PCOS. We feel that by identifying or diagnosing body image concerns, we will be addressing patient concerns. That is important because we clinicians have our own thoughts of what we need to do to help women with PCOS to prevent long-term risk, but it’s also important to talk to the person sitting in front of you right now. What is their concern?

There’s also been a generational shift where women with PCOS used say, “Oh, I’m worried that I can’t have a kid,” to now say, “I’m worried that I don’t feel well about myself.” We need to address that.

When we shared these findings with the international PCOS guidelines, they said we should probably approach this on an individual case-by-case basis because it will mean that the length of consultation might increase if we spend time with body image concerns.

This is where questionnaires come into play. With a validated questionnaire, a person can complete that before they come into the consultation, thereby minimizing the amount of time spent. If they’re not scoring high on the questionnaire, we don’t need to address that. If they are scoring high, then it can be picked up as a topic to discuss.

As I mentioned, there are a couple of limitations, one being the fewer studies and lower numbers of people in the studies. We need to address this in the future.

Long story short, at the moment, there is evidence to say that body image concerns are quite significantly high in women and individuals with PCOS. This is something we need to address as soon as possible.

We are planning future work to understand how social media comes into play, how society influences body image, and how health care professionals across the world are addressing PCOS and body image concerns. Hopefully, we will be able to share these findings in the near future. Thank you.

Dr. Kempegowda is assistant professor in endocrinology, diabetes, and general medicine at the Institute of Applied Health Research, University of Birmingham, and a consultant in endocrinology, diabetes and acute medicine, Queen Elizabeth Hospital, Birmingham, England, and disclosed no relevant conflicts of interest.

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

This transcript has been edited for clarity.

At ENDO 2023, I presented our systematic review and meta-analysis related to body image concerns in women and individuals with polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS). PCOS is the most common endocrine condition affecting women worldwide. It’s as common as 10%-15%.

Previously thought to be a benign condition affecting a small proportion of women of reproductive age, it’s changed now. It affects women of all ages, all ethnicities, and throughout the world. Body image concern is an area where one feels uncomfortable with how they look and how they feel. Someone might wonder, why worry about body image concerns? When people have body image concerns, it leads to low self-esteem.

Low self-esteem can lead to depression and anxiety, eventually making you a not-so-productive member of society. Several studies have also shown that body image concerns can lead to eating disorders such as anorexia and bulimia, which can be life threatening. Several studies in the past have shown there is a link between PCOS and body image concerns, but what exactly is the link? We don’t know. How big is the problem? We didn’t know until now.

To answer this, we looked at everything published about PCOS and body image concerns together, be it a randomized study, a cluster study, or any kind of study. We put them all into one place and studied them for evidence. The second objective of our work was that we wanted to share any evidence with the international PCOS guidelines group, who are currently reviewing and revising the guidelines for 2023.

We looked at all the major scientific databases, such as PubMed, PubMed Central, and Medline, for any study that’s been published for polycystic ovary syndrome and body image concerns where they specifically used a validated questionnaire – that’s important, and I’ll come back to that later.

We found 6,221 articles on an initial search. After meticulously looking through all of them, we narrowed it down to 9 articles that were relevant to our work. That’s going from 6,221 articles to 9, which were reviewed by 2 independent researchers. If there was any conflict between them, a third independent researcher resolved the conflict.

We found some studies had used the same questionnaires and some had their own questionnaire. We combined the studies where they used the same questionnaire and we did what we call a meta-analysis. We used their data and combined them to find an additional analysis, which is a combination of the two.

The two most commonly used questionnaires were the Multidimensional Body-Self Relations Questionnaire (MBSRQ) survey and the Body-Esteem Scale for Adolescents and Adults (BESAA). I’m not going into detail, but in simplest terms, the MBSRQ has 69 questions, which breaks down into 5 subscales, and BESAA has 3 subscales, which has 23 questions.

When we combined the results in the MBSRQ questionnaire, women with PCOS fared worse in all the subscales, showing there is a concern about body image in women with PCOS when compared with their colleagues who are healthy and do not have PCOS.

With BESAA, we found a little bit of a mixed picture. There was still a significant difference about weight perception, but how they felt and how they attributed, there was no significant difference. Probably the main reason was that only two studies used it and there was a smaller number of people involved in the study.

Why is this important? This is the first systematic search on body image concerns in PCOS. We feel that by identifying or diagnosing body image concerns, we will be addressing patient concerns. That is important because we clinicians have our own thoughts of what we need to do to help women with PCOS to prevent long-term risk, but it’s also important to talk to the person sitting in front of you right now. What is their concern?

There’s also been a generational shift where women with PCOS used say, “Oh, I’m worried that I can’t have a kid,” to now say, “I’m worried that I don’t feel well about myself.” We need to address that.

When we shared these findings with the international PCOS guidelines, they said we should probably approach this on an individual case-by-case basis because it will mean that the length of consultation might increase if we spend time with body image concerns.

This is where questionnaires come into play. With a validated questionnaire, a person can complete that before they come into the consultation, thereby minimizing the amount of time spent. If they’re not scoring high on the questionnaire, we don’t need to address that. If they are scoring high, then it can be picked up as a topic to discuss.

As I mentioned, there are a couple of limitations, one being the fewer studies and lower numbers of people in the studies. We need to address this in the future.

Long story short, at the moment, there is evidence to say that body image concerns are quite significantly high in women and individuals with PCOS. This is something we need to address as soon as possible.

We are planning future work to understand how social media comes into play, how society influences body image, and how health care professionals across the world are addressing PCOS and body image concerns. Hopefully, we will be able to share these findings in the near future. Thank you.

Dr. Kempegowda is assistant professor in endocrinology, diabetes, and general medicine at the Institute of Applied Health Research, University of Birmingham, and a consultant in endocrinology, diabetes and acute medicine, Queen Elizabeth Hospital, Birmingham, England, and disclosed no relevant conflicts of interest.

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

This transcript has been edited for clarity.

At ENDO 2023, I presented our systematic review and meta-analysis related to body image concerns in women and individuals with polycystic ovary syndrome (PCOS). PCOS is the most common endocrine condition affecting women worldwide. It’s as common as 10%-15%.

Previously thought to be a benign condition affecting a small proportion of women of reproductive age, it’s changed now. It affects women of all ages, all ethnicities, and throughout the world. Body image concern is an area where one feels uncomfortable with how they look and how they feel. Someone might wonder, why worry about body image concerns? When people have body image concerns, it leads to low self-esteem.

Low self-esteem can lead to depression and anxiety, eventually making you a not-so-productive member of society. Several studies have also shown that body image concerns can lead to eating disorders such as anorexia and bulimia, which can be life threatening. Several studies in the past have shown there is a link between PCOS and body image concerns, but what exactly is the link? We don’t know. How big is the problem? We didn’t know until now.

To answer this, we looked at everything published about PCOS and body image concerns together, be it a randomized study, a cluster study, or any kind of study. We put them all into one place and studied them for evidence. The second objective of our work was that we wanted to share any evidence with the international PCOS guidelines group, who are currently reviewing and revising the guidelines for 2023.

We looked at all the major scientific databases, such as PubMed, PubMed Central, and Medline, for any study that’s been published for polycystic ovary syndrome and body image concerns where they specifically used a validated questionnaire – that’s important, and I’ll come back to that later.

We found 6,221 articles on an initial search. After meticulously looking through all of them, we narrowed it down to 9 articles that were relevant to our work. That’s going from 6,221 articles to 9, which were reviewed by 2 independent researchers. If there was any conflict between them, a third independent researcher resolved the conflict.

We found some studies had used the same questionnaires and some had their own questionnaire. We combined the studies where they used the same questionnaire and we did what we call a meta-analysis. We used their data and combined them to find an additional analysis, which is a combination of the two.

The two most commonly used questionnaires were the Multidimensional Body-Self Relations Questionnaire (MBSRQ) survey and the Body-Esteem Scale for Adolescents and Adults (BESAA). I’m not going into detail, but in simplest terms, the MBSRQ has 69 questions, which breaks down into 5 subscales, and BESAA has 3 subscales, which has 23 questions.

When we combined the results in the MBSRQ questionnaire, women with PCOS fared worse in all the subscales, showing there is a concern about body image in women with PCOS when compared with their colleagues who are healthy and do not have PCOS.

With BESAA, we found a little bit of a mixed picture. There was still a significant difference about weight perception, but how they felt and how they attributed, there was no significant difference. Probably the main reason was that only two studies used it and there was a smaller number of people involved in the study.

Why is this important? This is the first systematic search on body image concerns in PCOS. We feel that by identifying or diagnosing body image concerns, we will be addressing patient concerns. That is important because we clinicians have our own thoughts of what we need to do to help women with PCOS to prevent long-term risk, but it’s also important to talk to the person sitting in front of you right now. What is their concern?

There’s also been a generational shift where women with PCOS used say, “Oh, I’m worried that I can’t have a kid,” to now say, “I’m worried that I don’t feel well about myself.” We need to address that.

When we shared these findings with the international PCOS guidelines, they said we should probably approach this on an individual case-by-case basis because it will mean that the length of consultation might increase if we spend time with body image concerns.

This is where questionnaires come into play. With a validated questionnaire, a person can complete that before they come into the consultation, thereby minimizing the amount of time spent. If they’re not scoring high on the questionnaire, we don’t need to address that. If they are scoring high, then it can be picked up as a topic to discuss.

As I mentioned, there are a couple of limitations, one being the fewer studies and lower numbers of people in the studies. We need to address this in the future.

Long story short, at the moment, there is evidence to say that body image concerns are quite significantly high in women and individuals with PCOS. This is something we need to address as soon as possible.

We are planning future work to understand how social media comes into play, how society influences body image, and how health care professionals across the world are addressing PCOS and body image concerns. Hopefully, we will be able to share these findings in the near future. Thank you.

Dr. Kempegowda is assistant professor in endocrinology, diabetes, and general medicine at the Institute of Applied Health Research, University of Birmingham, and a consultant in endocrinology, diabetes and acute medicine, Queen Elizabeth Hospital, Birmingham, England, and disclosed no relevant conflicts of interest.

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

This transcript has been edited for clarity.

Hi. I’m Art Caplan, PhD. I’m director of the division of medical ethics at the New York University Grossman School of Medicine.

Every once in a while at my school, I get referrals about interesting or difficult clinical cases where doctors would like some input or advice that they can consider in managing a patient. Sometimes those requests come from other hospitals to me. I’ve been doing that kind of ethics consulting, both as a member of various ethics committees and sometimes individually, when, for various reasons, doctors don’t want to go to the Ethics Committee as a first stop.

There was a very interesting case recently involving a young woman I’m going to call Tinslee. She was 17 years old and she suffered, sadly, from recurrent metastatic osteogenic sarcoma. She had bone cancer. It had first been diagnosed at the age of 9. She had received chemotherapy and been under that treatment for a while.

If osteosarcoma is treated before it spreads outside the area where it began, the 5-year survival rate for people like her is about 75%. If the cancer spreads outside of the bones and gets into surrounding tissues, organs, or – worse – into the lymph nodes and starts traveling around, the 5-year survival rate drops to about 60%. The two approaches are chemotherapy and amputation. That’s what we have to offer patients like Tinslee.

Initially, her chemotherapy worked. She went to school and enjoyed sports. She was a real fan of softball and tried to manage the team and be involved. At the time I learned about her, she was planning to go to college. Her love of softball remained, but given the recurrence of the cancer, she had no chance to pursue her athletic interests, not only as a player, but also as a manager or even as a coach for younger players. That was all off the table.

She’d been very compliant up until this time with her chemotherapy. When the recommendation came in that she undergo nonstandard chemotherapy because of the reoccurrence, with experimental drugs using an experimental protocol, she said to her family and the doctors that she didn’t want to do it. She would rather die. She couldn’t take any more chemotherapy and she certainly didn’t want to do it if it was experimental, with the outcomes of this intervention being uncertain.

Her dad said, “She can’t decide. She’s a minor. She’s only 17. I want you to do it – administer this novel form of chemotherapy and try to save her.” Her mother said, “Her input matters. I want to listen to her.” Her mom wasn’t as adamant about doing it or not, but she really felt that Tinslee should be heard loudly because she felt she was mature enough or old enough, even though a minor, to really have a position about what it is to undergo chemotherapy.

Time matters in trying to control the spread, and the doctors were pushing for experimental intervention. I should add, by the way, that although it didn’t really drive the decision about whether to do it or not do it, experimental care like this is not covered by most insurance, and it wasn’t covered by their insurance, so they were facing a big bill if the experimental intervention was administered.

There was some money in a grant to cover some of it, but they were going to face some big financial costs. It never came up in my discussions with the doctors about what to do. I’m not sure whether it ever came up with the family’s discussion with the doctors about what to do, or even whether Tinslee was worrying and didn’t want her family to face a financial burden.

I suggested that we bring the family in. We did some counseling. We had a social worker and we brought in a pastor because these people were fairly religious. We talked about all scenarios, including accepting death, knowing that this disease was not likely to go into remission with the experimental effort; maybe it would, but the doctors were not optimistic.

We tried to talk about how much we should listen to what this young woman wanted. We knew there was the possibility of going to court and having a judge decide this, but in my experience, I do not like going to judges and courts because I know what they’re going to say. They almost always say “administer the intervention.” They don’t want to be in a position of saying don’t do something. They’re a little less willing to do that if something is experimental, but generally speaking, if you’re headed to court, it’s because you’ve decided that you want this to happen.

I felt, in all honesty, that this young woman should have some real respect of her position because the treatment was experimental. She is approaching the age of competency and consent, and she’s been through many interventions. She knows what’s involved. I think you really have to listen hard to what she’s saying.

By the way, after this case, I looked and there have been some surveys of residents in pediatrics. A large number of them said that they hadn’t received any training about what to do when mature minors refuse experimental treatments. The study I saw said that 30% had not undergone any training about this, so we certainly want to introduce that into the appropriate areas of medicine and talk about this with residents and fellows.

Long story short, we had the family meeting, we had another meeting with dad and mom and Tinslee, and the dad began to come around and he began to listen hard. Tinslee said what she wanted was to go to her prom. She wanted to get to her sister’s junior high school softball championship game. If you will, setting some smaller goals that seemed to make her very, very happy began to satisfy mom and dad and they could accept her refusal.

Ultimately, an agreement was reached that she would not undergo the experimental intervention. We agreed on a course of palliative care, recommended that as what the doctors follow, and they decided to do so. Sadly, Tinslee died. She died at home. She did make it to her prom.

I think the outcome, while difficult, sad, tragic, and a close call, was correct. Mature minors who have been through a rough life of interventions and know the price to pay – and for those who have recurrent disease and now face only experimental options – if they say no, that’s something we really have to listen to very hard.



Dr. Kaplan is director, division of medical ethics, New York University Langone Medical Center, New York. He reported a conflict of interest with Johnson & Johnson’s Panel for Compassionate Drug Use.
 

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

This transcript has been edited for clarity.

Hi. I’m Art Caplan, PhD. I’m director of the division of medical ethics at the New York University Grossman School of Medicine.

Every once in a while at my school, I get referrals about interesting or difficult clinical cases where doctors would like some input or advice that they can consider in managing a patient. Sometimes those requests come from other hospitals to me. I’ve been doing that kind of ethics consulting, both as a member of various ethics committees and sometimes individually, when, for various reasons, doctors don’t want to go to the Ethics Committee as a first stop.

There was a very interesting case recently involving a young woman I’m going to call Tinslee. She was 17 years old and she suffered, sadly, from recurrent metastatic osteogenic sarcoma. She had bone cancer. It had first been diagnosed at the age of 9. She had received chemotherapy and been under that treatment for a while.

If osteosarcoma is treated before it spreads outside the area where it began, the 5-year survival rate for people like her is about 75%. If the cancer spreads outside of the bones and gets into surrounding tissues, organs, or – worse – into the lymph nodes and starts traveling around, the 5-year survival rate drops to about 60%. The two approaches are chemotherapy and amputation. That’s what we have to offer patients like Tinslee.

Initially, her chemotherapy worked. She went to school and enjoyed sports. She was a real fan of softball and tried to manage the team and be involved. At the time I learned about her, she was planning to go to college. Her love of softball remained, but given the recurrence of the cancer, she had no chance to pursue her athletic interests, not only as a player, but also as a manager or even as a coach for younger players. That was all off the table.

She’d been very compliant up until this time with her chemotherapy. When the recommendation came in that she undergo nonstandard chemotherapy because of the reoccurrence, with experimental drugs using an experimental protocol, she said to her family and the doctors that she didn’t want to do it. She would rather die. She couldn’t take any more chemotherapy and she certainly didn’t want to do it if it was experimental, with the outcomes of this intervention being uncertain.

Her dad said, “She can’t decide. She’s a minor. She’s only 17. I want you to do it – administer this novel form of chemotherapy and try to save her.” Her mother said, “Her input matters. I want to listen to her.” Her mom wasn’t as adamant about doing it or not, but she really felt that Tinslee should be heard loudly because she felt she was mature enough or old enough, even though a minor, to really have a position about what it is to undergo chemotherapy.

Time matters in trying to control the spread, and the doctors were pushing for experimental intervention. I should add, by the way, that although it didn’t really drive the decision about whether to do it or not do it, experimental care like this is not covered by most insurance, and it wasn’t covered by their insurance, so they were facing a big bill if the experimental intervention was administered.

There was some money in a grant to cover some of it, but they were going to face some big financial costs. It never came up in my discussions with the doctors about what to do. I’m not sure whether it ever came up with the family’s discussion with the doctors about what to do, or even whether Tinslee was worrying and didn’t want her family to face a financial burden.

I suggested that we bring the family in. We did some counseling. We had a social worker and we brought in a pastor because these people were fairly religious. We talked about all scenarios, including accepting death, knowing that this disease was not likely to go into remission with the experimental effort; maybe it would, but the doctors were not optimistic.

We tried to talk about how much we should listen to what this young woman wanted. We knew there was the possibility of going to court and having a judge decide this, but in my experience, I do not like going to judges and courts because I know what they’re going to say. They almost always say “administer the intervention.” They don’t want to be in a position of saying don’t do something. They’re a little less willing to do that if something is experimental, but generally speaking, if you’re headed to court, it’s because you’ve decided that you want this to happen.

I felt, in all honesty, that this young woman should have some real respect of her position because the treatment was experimental. She is approaching the age of competency and consent, and she’s been through many interventions. She knows what’s involved. I think you really have to listen hard to what she’s saying.

By the way, after this case, I looked and there have been some surveys of residents in pediatrics. A large number of them said that they hadn’t received any training about what to do when mature minors refuse experimental treatments. The study I saw said that 30% had not undergone any training about this, so we certainly want to introduce that into the appropriate areas of medicine and talk about this with residents and fellows.

Long story short, we had the family meeting, we had another meeting with dad and mom and Tinslee, and the dad began to come around and he began to listen hard. Tinslee said what she wanted was to go to her prom. She wanted to get to her sister’s junior high school softball championship game. If you will, setting some smaller goals that seemed to make her very, very happy began to satisfy mom and dad and they could accept her refusal.

Ultimately, an agreement was reached that she would not undergo the experimental intervention. We agreed on a course of palliative care, recommended that as what the doctors follow, and they decided to do so. Sadly, Tinslee died. She died at home. She did make it to her prom.

I think the outcome, while difficult, sad, tragic, and a close call, was correct. Mature minors who have been through a rough life of interventions and know the price to pay – and for those who have recurrent disease and now face only experimental options – if they say no, that’s something we really have to listen to very hard.



Dr. Kaplan is director, division of medical ethics, New York University Langone Medical Center, New York. He reported a conflict of interest with Johnson & Johnson’s Panel for Compassionate Drug Use.
 

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

This transcript has been edited for clarity.

Hi. I’m Art Caplan, PhD. I’m director of the division of medical ethics at the New York University Grossman School of Medicine.

Every once in a while at my school, I get referrals about interesting or difficult clinical cases where doctors would like some input or advice that they can consider in managing a patient. Sometimes those requests come from other hospitals to me. I’ve been doing that kind of ethics consulting, both as a member of various ethics committees and sometimes individually, when, for various reasons, doctors don’t want to go to the Ethics Committee as a first stop.

There was a very interesting case recently involving a young woman I’m going to call Tinslee. She was 17 years old and she suffered, sadly, from recurrent metastatic osteogenic sarcoma. She had bone cancer. It had first been diagnosed at the age of 9. She had received chemotherapy and been under that treatment for a while.

If osteosarcoma is treated before it spreads outside the area where it began, the 5-year survival rate for people like her is about 75%. If the cancer spreads outside of the bones and gets into surrounding tissues, organs, or – worse – into the lymph nodes and starts traveling around, the 5-year survival rate drops to about 60%. The two approaches are chemotherapy and amputation. That’s what we have to offer patients like Tinslee.

Initially, her chemotherapy worked. She went to school and enjoyed sports. She was a real fan of softball and tried to manage the team and be involved. At the time I learned about her, she was planning to go to college. Her love of softball remained, but given the recurrence of the cancer, she had no chance to pursue her athletic interests, not only as a player, but also as a manager or even as a coach for younger players. That was all off the table.

She’d been very compliant up until this time with her chemotherapy. When the recommendation came in that she undergo nonstandard chemotherapy because of the reoccurrence, with experimental drugs using an experimental protocol, she said to her family and the doctors that she didn’t want to do it. She would rather die. She couldn’t take any more chemotherapy and she certainly didn’t want to do it if it was experimental, with the outcomes of this intervention being uncertain.

Her dad said, “She can’t decide. She’s a minor. She’s only 17. I want you to do it – administer this novel form of chemotherapy and try to save her.” Her mother said, “Her input matters. I want to listen to her.” Her mom wasn’t as adamant about doing it or not, but she really felt that Tinslee should be heard loudly because she felt she was mature enough or old enough, even though a minor, to really have a position about what it is to undergo chemotherapy.

Time matters in trying to control the spread, and the doctors were pushing for experimental intervention. I should add, by the way, that although it didn’t really drive the decision about whether to do it or not do it, experimental care like this is not covered by most insurance, and it wasn’t covered by their insurance, so they were facing a big bill if the experimental intervention was administered.

There was some money in a grant to cover some of it, but they were going to face some big financial costs. It never came up in my discussions with the doctors about what to do. I’m not sure whether it ever came up with the family’s discussion with the doctors about what to do, or even whether Tinslee was worrying and didn’t want her family to face a financial burden.

I suggested that we bring the family in. We did some counseling. We had a social worker and we brought in a pastor because these people were fairly religious. We talked about all scenarios, including accepting death, knowing that this disease was not likely to go into remission with the experimental effort; maybe it would, but the doctors were not optimistic.

We tried to talk about how much we should listen to what this young woman wanted. We knew there was the possibility of going to court and having a judge decide this, but in my experience, I do not like going to judges and courts because I know what they’re going to say. They almost always say “administer the intervention.” They don’t want to be in a position of saying don’t do something. They’re a little less willing to do that if something is experimental, but generally speaking, if you’re headed to court, it’s because you’ve decided that you want this to happen.

I felt, in all honesty, that this young woman should have some real respect of her position because the treatment was experimental. She is approaching the age of competency and consent, and she’s been through many interventions. She knows what’s involved. I think you really have to listen hard to what she’s saying.

By the way, after this case, I looked and there have been some surveys of residents in pediatrics. A large number of them said that they hadn’t received any training about what to do when mature minors refuse experimental treatments. The study I saw said that 30% had not undergone any training about this, so we certainly want to introduce that into the appropriate areas of medicine and talk about this with residents and fellows.

Long story short, we had the family meeting, we had another meeting with dad and mom and Tinslee, and the dad began to come around and he began to listen hard. Tinslee said what she wanted was to go to her prom. She wanted to get to her sister’s junior high school softball championship game. If you will, setting some smaller goals that seemed to make her very, very happy began to satisfy mom and dad and they could accept her refusal.

Ultimately, an agreement was reached that she would not undergo the experimental intervention. We agreed on a course of palliative care, recommended that as what the doctors follow, and they decided to do so. Sadly, Tinslee died. She died at home. She did make it to her prom.

I think the outcome, while difficult, sad, tragic, and a close call, was correct. Mature minors who have been through a rough life of interventions and know the price to pay – and for those who have recurrent disease and now face only experimental options – if they say no, that’s something we really have to listen to very hard.



Dr. Kaplan is director, division of medical ethics, New York University Langone Medical Center, New York. He reported a conflict of interest with Johnson & Johnson’s Panel for Compassionate Drug Use.
 

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

This transcript has been edited for clarity.

Welcome to Impact Factor, your weekly dose of commentary on a new medical study.

Basically, all cancers are caused by a mix of genetic and environmental factors, with some cancers driven more strongly by one or the other. When it comes to ovarian cancer, which kills more than 13,000 women per year in the United States, genetic factors like the BRCA gene mutations are well described.

Other risk factors, like early menarche and nulliparity, are difficult to modify. The only slam-dunk environmental toxin to be linked to ovarian cancer is asbestos. Still, the vast majority of women who develop ovarian cancer do not have a known high-risk gene or asbestos exposure, so other triggers may be out there. How do we find them? The answer may just be good old-fashioned epidemiology.

When you’re looking for a new culprit agent that causes a relatively rare disease, the case-control study design is your best friend.

That’s just what researchers, led by Anita Koushik at the University of Montreal, did in a new study appearing in the journal Occupational and Environmental Medicine.

They identified 497 women in Montreal who had recently been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. They then matched those women to 897 women without ovarian cancer, based on age and address. (This approach would not work well in the United States, as diagnosis of ovarian cancer might depend on access to medical care, which is not universal here. In Canada, however, it’s safer to assume that anyone who could have gotten ovarian cancer in Montreal would have been detected.)

Cases and controls identified, the researchers took a detailed occupational history for each participant: every job they ever worked, and when, and for how long. Each occupation was mapped to a standardized set of industries and, interestingly, to a set of environmental exposures ranging from cosmetic talc to cooking fumes to cotton dust, in what is known as a job-exposure matrix. Of course, they also collected data on other ovarian cancer risk factors.

Dr. F. Perry Wilson

Dr. F. Perry Wilson

F. Perry Wilson, MD, MSCE, is an associate professor of medicine and director of Yale University’s Clinical and Translational Research Accelerator in New Haven, Conn. He reported no conflicts of interest.

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

This transcript has been edited for clarity.

Welcome to Impact Factor, your weekly dose of commentary on a new medical study.

Basically, all cancers are caused by a mix of genetic and environmental factors, with some cancers driven more strongly by one or the other. When it comes to ovarian cancer, which kills more than 13,000 women per year in the United States, genetic factors like the BRCA gene mutations are well described.

Other risk factors, like early menarche and nulliparity, are difficult to modify. The only slam-dunk environmental toxin to be linked to ovarian cancer is asbestos. Still, the vast majority of women who develop ovarian cancer do not have a known high-risk gene or asbestos exposure, so other triggers may be out there. How do we find them? The answer may just be good old-fashioned epidemiology.

When you’re looking for a new culprit agent that causes a relatively rare disease, the case-control study design is your best friend.

That’s just what researchers, led by Anita Koushik at the University of Montreal, did in a new study appearing in the journal Occupational and Environmental Medicine.

They identified 497 women in Montreal who had recently been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. They then matched those women to 897 women without ovarian cancer, based on age and address. (This approach would not work well in the United States, as diagnosis of ovarian cancer might depend on access to medical care, which is not universal here. In Canada, however, it’s safer to assume that anyone who could have gotten ovarian cancer in Montreal would have been detected.)

Cases and controls identified, the researchers took a detailed occupational history for each participant: every job they ever worked, and when, and for how long. Each occupation was mapped to a standardized set of industries and, interestingly, to a set of environmental exposures ranging from cosmetic talc to cooking fumes to cotton dust, in what is known as a job-exposure matrix. Of course, they also collected data on other ovarian cancer risk factors.

Dr. F. Perry Wilson

Dr. F. Perry Wilson

F. Perry Wilson, MD, MSCE, is an associate professor of medicine and director of Yale University’s Clinical and Translational Research Accelerator in New Haven, Conn. He reported no conflicts of interest.

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

This transcript has been edited for clarity.

Welcome to Impact Factor, your weekly dose of commentary on a new medical study.

Basically, all cancers are caused by a mix of genetic and environmental factors, with some cancers driven more strongly by one or the other. When it comes to ovarian cancer, which kills more than 13,000 women per year in the United States, genetic factors like the BRCA gene mutations are well described.

Other risk factors, like early menarche and nulliparity, are difficult to modify. The only slam-dunk environmental toxin to be linked to ovarian cancer is asbestos. Still, the vast majority of women who develop ovarian cancer do not have a known high-risk gene or asbestos exposure, so other triggers may be out there. How do we find them? The answer may just be good old-fashioned epidemiology.

When you’re looking for a new culprit agent that causes a relatively rare disease, the case-control study design is your best friend.

That’s just what researchers, led by Anita Koushik at the University of Montreal, did in a new study appearing in the journal Occupational and Environmental Medicine.

They identified 497 women in Montreal who had recently been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. They then matched those women to 897 women without ovarian cancer, based on age and address. (This approach would not work well in the United States, as diagnosis of ovarian cancer might depend on access to medical care, which is not universal here. In Canada, however, it’s safer to assume that anyone who could have gotten ovarian cancer in Montreal would have been detected.)

Cases and controls identified, the researchers took a detailed occupational history for each participant: every job they ever worked, and when, and for how long. Each occupation was mapped to a standardized set of industries and, interestingly, to a set of environmental exposures ranging from cosmetic talc to cooking fumes to cotton dust, in what is known as a job-exposure matrix. Of course, they also collected data on other ovarian cancer risk factors.

Dr. F. Perry Wilson

Dr. F. Perry Wilson

F. Perry Wilson, MD, MSCE, is an associate professor of medicine and director of Yale University’s Clinical and Translational Research Accelerator in New Haven, Conn. He reported no conflicts of interest.

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

Legislators in New York City recently approved a bill specifically prohibiting weight- and height-based discrimination, on par with existing protections for gender, race, sexual orientation, and other personal identities. Other U.S. cities, as well as New York state, are considering similar moves.

Weight-based discrimination in the United States has increased by an estimated 66% over the past decade, putting it on par with the prevalence of racial discrimination. More than 40% of adult Americans and 18% of children report experiencing weight discrimination in employment, school, and/or health care settings – as well as within interpersonal relationships – demonstrating a clear need to have legal protections in place.

For obesity advocates in Canada, the news from New York triggered a moment of reflection to consider how our own advocacy efforts have fared over the years, or not. Just like in the United States, body size and obesity (and appearance in general) are not specifically protected grounds under human rights legislation in Canada (for example, the Canadian Human Rights Act), unlike race, gender, sexual orientation, and religion.

Case law is uneven across the Canadian provinces when it comes to determining whether obesity is even a disease and/or a disability. And despite broad support for anti–weight discrimination policies in Canada (Front Public Health. 2023 Apr 17;11:1060794; Milbank Q. 2015 Dec;93[4]:691-731), years of advocacy at the national and provincial levels have not led to any legislative changes (Ramos Salas Obes Rev. 2017 Nov;18[11]:1323-35; Can J Diabetes. 2015 Apr. doi: 10.1016/j.jcjd.2015.01.009). A 2017 private members bill seeking to add protection for body size to Manitoba’s human rights code was defeated, with many members of the legislature citing enforcement difficulties as the reason for voting down the proposition.

Some obesity advocates have argued that people living with obesity can be protected under the grounds of disability in the Canadian Human Rights Act. To be protected, however, individuals must demonstrate that there is actual or perceived disability relating to their weight or size; yet, many people living with obesity and those who have a higher weight don’t perceive themselves as having a disability.

In our view, the disparate viewpoints on the worthiness of considering body size a human rights issue could be resolved, at least partially, by wider understanding and adoption of the relatively new clinical definition of obesity. This definition holds that obesity is not about size; an obesity diagnosis can be made only when objective clinical investigations identify that excess or abnormal adiposity (fat tissue) impairs health.

While obesity advocates use the clinical definition of obesity, weight and body size proponents disagree that obesity is a chronic disease, and in fact believe that treating it as such can be stigmatizing. In a sense, this can sometimes be true, as not all people with larger bodies have obesity per the new definition but risk being identified as “unhealthy” in the clinical world. Bias, it turns out, can be a two-way street.

Regardless of the advocacy strategy used, it’s clear that specific anti–weight discrimination laws are needed in Canada. One in four Canadian adults report experiencing discrimination in their day-to-day life, with race, gender, age, and weight being the most commonly reported forms. To refuse to protect them against some, but not all, forms of discrimination is itself unjust, and is surely rooted in the age-old misinformed concept that excess weight is the result of laziness, poor food choices, and lack of physical activity, among other moral failings.

Including body size in human rights codes may provide a mechanism to seek legal remedy from discriminatory acts, but it will do little to address rampant weight bias, in the same way that race-based legal protections don’t eradicate racism. And it’s not just the legal community that fails to understand that weight is, by and large, a product of our environment and our genes. Weight bias and stigma are well documented in media, workplaces, the home, and in health care systems.

The solution, in our minds, is meaningful education across all these domains, reinforcing that weight is not a behavior, just as health is not a size. If we truly understand and embrace these concepts, then as a society we may someday recognize that body size is not a choice, just like race, sexual orientation, gender identity, and other individual characteristics. And if it’s not a choice, if it’s not a behavior, then it deserves the same protections.

At the same time, people with obesity deserve to seek evidence-based treatment, just as those at higher weights who experience no weight or adiposity-related health issues deserve not to be identified as having a disease simply because of their size.

If we all follow the science, we might yet turn a common understanding into more equitable outcomes for all.

Dr. Ramos Salas and Mr. Hussey are research consultants for Replica Communications, Hamilton, Ont. She disclosed ties with the Canadian Institutes of Health Research, European Association for the Study of Obesity, Novo Nordisk, Obesity Canada, The Obesity Society, World Obesity, and the World Health Organization. Mr. Hussey disclosed ties with the European Association for the Study of Obesity, Novo Nordisk, Obesity Canada, and the World Health Organization (Nutrition and Food Safety).

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

Legislators in New York City recently approved a bill specifically prohibiting weight- and height-based discrimination, on par with existing protections for gender, race, sexual orientation, and other personal identities. Other U.S. cities, as well as New York state, are considering similar moves.

Weight-based discrimination in the United States has increased by an estimated 66% over the past decade, putting it on par with the prevalence of racial discrimination. More than 40% of adult Americans and 18% of children report experiencing weight discrimination in employment, school, and/or health care settings – as well as within interpersonal relationships – demonstrating a clear need to have legal protections in place.

For obesity advocates in Canada, the news from New York triggered a moment of reflection to consider how our own advocacy efforts have fared over the years, or not. Just like in the United States, body size and obesity (and appearance in general) are not specifically protected grounds under human rights legislation in Canada (for example, the Canadian Human Rights Act), unlike race, gender, sexual orientation, and religion.

Case law is uneven across the Canadian provinces when it comes to determining whether obesity is even a disease and/or a disability. And despite broad support for anti–weight discrimination policies in Canada (Front Public Health. 2023 Apr 17;11:1060794; Milbank Q. 2015 Dec;93[4]:691-731), years of advocacy at the national and provincial levels have not led to any legislative changes (Ramos Salas Obes Rev. 2017 Nov;18[11]:1323-35; Can J Diabetes. 2015 Apr. doi: 10.1016/j.jcjd.2015.01.009). A 2017 private members bill seeking to add protection for body size to Manitoba’s human rights code was defeated, with many members of the legislature citing enforcement difficulties as the reason for voting down the proposition.

Some obesity advocates have argued that people living with obesity can be protected under the grounds of disability in the Canadian Human Rights Act. To be protected, however, individuals must demonstrate that there is actual or perceived disability relating to their weight or size; yet, many people living with obesity and those who have a higher weight don’t perceive themselves as having a disability.

In our view, the disparate viewpoints on the worthiness of considering body size a human rights issue could be resolved, at least partially, by wider understanding and adoption of the relatively new clinical definition of obesity. This definition holds that obesity is not about size; an obesity diagnosis can be made only when objective clinical investigations identify that excess or abnormal adiposity (fat tissue) impairs health.

While obesity advocates use the clinical definition of obesity, weight and body size proponents disagree that obesity is a chronic disease, and in fact believe that treating it as such can be stigmatizing. In a sense, this can sometimes be true, as not all people with larger bodies have obesity per the new definition but risk being identified as “unhealthy” in the clinical world. Bias, it turns out, can be a two-way street.

Regardless of the advocacy strategy used, it’s clear that specific anti–weight discrimination laws are needed in Canada. One in four Canadian adults report experiencing discrimination in their day-to-day life, with race, gender, age, and weight being the most commonly reported forms. To refuse to protect them against some, but not all, forms of discrimination is itself unjust, and is surely rooted in the age-old misinformed concept that excess weight is the result of laziness, poor food choices, and lack of physical activity, among other moral failings.

Including body size in human rights codes may provide a mechanism to seek legal remedy from discriminatory acts, but it will do little to address rampant weight bias, in the same way that race-based legal protections don’t eradicate racism. And it’s not just the legal community that fails to understand that weight is, by and large, a product of our environment and our genes. Weight bias and stigma are well documented in media, workplaces, the home, and in health care systems.

The solution, in our minds, is meaningful education across all these domains, reinforcing that weight is not a behavior, just as health is not a size. If we truly understand and embrace these concepts, then as a society we may someday recognize that body size is not a choice, just like race, sexual orientation, gender identity, and other individual characteristics. And if it’s not a choice, if it’s not a behavior, then it deserves the same protections.

At the same time, people with obesity deserve to seek evidence-based treatment, just as those at higher weights who experience no weight or adiposity-related health issues deserve not to be identified as having a disease simply because of their size.

If we all follow the science, we might yet turn a common understanding into more equitable outcomes for all.

Dr. Ramos Salas and Mr. Hussey are research consultants for Replica Communications, Hamilton, Ont. She disclosed ties with the Canadian Institutes of Health Research, European Association for the Study of Obesity, Novo Nordisk, Obesity Canada, The Obesity Society, World Obesity, and the World Health Organization. Mr. Hussey disclosed ties with the European Association for the Study of Obesity, Novo Nordisk, Obesity Canada, and the World Health Organization (Nutrition and Food Safety).

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

Legislators in New York City recently approved a bill specifically prohibiting weight- and height-based discrimination, on par with existing protections for gender, race, sexual orientation, and other personal identities. Other U.S. cities, as well as New York state, are considering similar moves.

Weight-based discrimination in the United States has increased by an estimated 66% over the past decade, putting it on par with the prevalence of racial discrimination. More than 40% of adult Americans and 18% of children report experiencing weight discrimination in employment, school, and/or health care settings – as well as within interpersonal relationships – demonstrating a clear need to have legal protections in place.

For obesity advocates in Canada, the news from New York triggered a moment of reflection to consider how our own advocacy efforts have fared over the years, or not. Just like in the United States, body size and obesity (and appearance in general) are not specifically protected grounds under human rights legislation in Canada (for example, the Canadian Human Rights Act), unlike race, gender, sexual orientation, and religion.

Case law is uneven across the Canadian provinces when it comes to determining whether obesity is even a disease and/or a disability. And despite broad support for anti–weight discrimination policies in Canada (Front Public Health. 2023 Apr 17;11:1060794; Milbank Q. 2015 Dec;93[4]:691-731), years of advocacy at the national and provincial levels have not led to any legislative changes (Ramos Salas Obes Rev. 2017 Nov;18[11]:1323-35; Can J Diabetes. 2015 Apr. doi: 10.1016/j.jcjd.2015.01.009). A 2017 private members bill seeking to add protection for body size to Manitoba’s human rights code was defeated, with many members of the legislature citing enforcement difficulties as the reason for voting down the proposition.

Some obesity advocates have argued that people living with obesity can be protected under the grounds of disability in the Canadian Human Rights Act. To be protected, however, individuals must demonstrate that there is actual or perceived disability relating to their weight or size; yet, many people living with obesity and those who have a higher weight don’t perceive themselves as having a disability.

In our view, the disparate viewpoints on the worthiness of considering body size a human rights issue could be resolved, at least partially, by wider understanding and adoption of the relatively new clinical definition of obesity. This definition holds that obesity is not about size; an obesity diagnosis can be made only when objective clinical investigations identify that excess or abnormal adiposity (fat tissue) impairs health.

While obesity advocates use the clinical definition of obesity, weight and body size proponents disagree that obesity is a chronic disease, and in fact believe that treating it as such can be stigmatizing. In a sense, this can sometimes be true, as not all people with larger bodies have obesity per the new definition but risk being identified as “unhealthy” in the clinical world. Bias, it turns out, can be a two-way street.

Regardless of the advocacy strategy used, it’s clear that specific anti–weight discrimination laws are needed in Canada. One in four Canadian adults report experiencing discrimination in their day-to-day life, with race, gender, age, and weight being the most commonly reported forms. To refuse to protect them against some, but not all, forms of discrimination is itself unjust, and is surely rooted in the age-old misinformed concept that excess weight is the result of laziness, poor food choices, and lack of physical activity, among other moral failings.

Including body size in human rights codes may provide a mechanism to seek legal remedy from discriminatory acts, but it will do little to address rampant weight bias, in the same way that race-based legal protections don’t eradicate racism. And it’s not just the legal community that fails to understand that weight is, by and large, a product of our environment and our genes. Weight bias and stigma are well documented in media, workplaces, the home, and in health care systems.

The solution, in our minds, is meaningful education across all these domains, reinforcing that weight is not a behavior, just as health is not a size. If we truly understand and embrace these concepts, then as a society we may someday recognize that body size is not a choice, just like race, sexual orientation, gender identity, and other individual characteristics. And if it’s not a choice, if it’s not a behavior, then it deserves the same protections.

At the same time, people with obesity deserve to seek evidence-based treatment, just as those at higher weights who experience no weight or adiposity-related health issues deserve not to be identified as having a disease simply because of their size.

If we all follow the science, we might yet turn a common understanding into more equitable outcomes for all.

Dr. Ramos Salas and Mr. Hussey are research consultants for Replica Communications, Hamilton, Ont. She disclosed ties with the Canadian Institutes of Health Research, European Association for the Study of Obesity, Novo Nordisk, Obesity Canada, The Obesity Society, World Obesity, and the World Health Organization. Mr. Hussey disclosed ties with the European Association for the Study of Obesity, Novo Nordisk, Obesity Canada, and the World Health Organization (Nutrition and Food Safety).

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

I remember what it was like to be a medical student at a well-known cancer hospital where patients were dying of cancer. In life’s final stages, it was not uncommon for physicians to increase the dose of morphine; it alleviated pain, eased labored breathing, and yes, probably hastened the inevitable for patients who were in their final hours. In these scenarios, no one considered this euthanasia, and no one questioned whether it was the right thing to do.

Fast-forward to 2023 when the act of a physician hastening a patient’s death has become a controversial topic as criteria have expanded. Like all such topics in our polarized society, people aligned on sides, politics and religion rush to the head of the room, legislation is proposed, and words take on new meanings. If you’re in favor of legalization of clinician assistance in a patient’s death, the term is “medical assistance in dying”. If you’re opposed, the term is the more graphic physician-assisted suicide.

The scenario is entirely different from what I saw in my medical school rotations decades ago. It’s no longer an issue of easing the pain and discomfort of patients’ final hours; the question now is whether, faced with a potentially terminal or progressively debilitating physical illness, a patient has the right to determine when, and how, their life will end, and the medical profession is given a role in this.

In many places the bar has been further lowered to incorporate nonterminal conditions, and Belgium and the Netherlands now allow physician-facilitated suicide for psychiatric conditions, a practice that many find reprehensible. In these countries, patients may be provided with medications to ingest, but psychiatrists also administer lethal injections.

While Belgium and the Netherlands were the first countries to legalize physician-facilitated death, it could be argued that Canada has embraced it with the most gusto; physician-assisted suicide has been legal there since 2016.

Canada already has the largest number of physician-assisted deaths of any nation, with 10,064 in 2021 – an increase of 32% from 2020. The Canadian federal government is currently considering adding serious mental illness as an eligible category. If this law passes, the country will have the most liberal assisted-death policy in the world. The Canadian government planned to make serious mental illness an eligible category in March 2023, but in an eleventh-hour announcement, it deferred its decision until March 2024.

In a press release, the government said that the 1-year extension would “provide additional time to prepare for the safe and consistent assessment and provision of MAID in all cases, including where the person’s sole underlying medical condition is a mental illness. It will also allow time for the Government of Canada to fully consider the final report of the Special Joint Committee on MAID, tabled in Parliament on Feb. 15, 2023.”

As a psychiatrist who treats patients with treatment-refractory conditions, I have watched people undergo trial after trial of medications while having psychotherapy, and sometimes transcranial magnetic stimulation or electroconvulsive therapy (ECT). The thing that is sustaining for patients is the hope that they will get better and go on to find meaning and purpose in life, even if it is not in the form they once envisioned.

To offer the option of a death facilitated by the very person who is trying to get them better seems so counter to everything I have learned and contradicts our role as psychiatrists who work so hard to prevent suicide.

Where is the line, one wonders, when the patient has not responded to two medications or 12? Must they have ECT before we consider helping them end their lives? Do we try for 6 months or 6 years? What about new research pointing to better medications or psychedelics that are not yet available? According to Canada’s proposed legislation, the patient must be aware that treatment options exist, including facilitated suicide.

Physician-assisted suicide for psychiatric conditions creates a conundrum for psychiatrists. As mental health professionals, we work to prevent suicide and view it as an act that is frequently fueled by depression. Those who are determined to die by their own hand often do. Depression distorts cognition and leads many patients to believe that they would be better off dead and that their loved ones would be better off without them.

These cognitive distortions are part of their illness. So, how do we, as psychiatrists, move from a stance of preventing suicide – using measures such as involuntary treatment when necessary – to being the people who offer and facilitate death for our patients? I’ll leave this for my Canadian colleagues to contemplate, as I live in a state where assisted suicide for any condition remains illegal.

As Canada moves toward facilitating death for serious mental illness, we have to wonder whether racial or socioeconomic factors will play a role. Might those who are poor, who have less access to expensive treatment options and social support, be more likely to request facilitated death? And how do we determine whether patients with serious mental illness are competent to make such a decision or whether it is mental illness that is driving their perception of a future without hope?

As psychiatrists, we often struggle to help our patients overcome the stigma associated with treatments for mental illness. Still, patients often refuse potentially helpful treatments because they worry about the consequences of getting care. These include career repercussions and the disapproval of others. When this legislation is finally passed, will our Canadian colleagues offer it as an option when their patient refuses lithium or antipsychotics, inpatient care, or ECT?

Susan Kalish, MD, is a geriatric and palliative care physician in Boston who favors the availability of facilitated death. She practices in a state where this option is not available.

She told me that she is “in favor of expanding acceptance of, and access to, medical aid in dying for patients who choose to exercise autonomy over their dying process, for those who remain with irremediable suffering, despite provision of optimal palliative care.” However, she added, some countries have lowered the threshold “way too far.”

She noted, “It is complicated and harmful to the general issue of medical aid in dying.”

As psychiatrists, do we offer hope to our most vulnerable patients, or do we offer death? Do we rail against suicide, or do we facilitate it? Do we risk facilitating a patient’s demise when other options are unavailable because of a lack of access to treatment or when social and financial struggles exacerbate a person’s hopelessness? Should we worry that psychiatric euthanasia will turn into a form of eugenics where those who can’t contribute are made to feel that they should bow out? If we, as psychiatrists, aren’t the emissaries of hope, who exactly are we?

Dr. Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is an assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore. She disclosed no relevant conflicts of interest.

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

I remember what it was like to be a medical student at a well-known cancer hospital where patients were dying of cancer. In life’s final stages, it was not uncommon for physicians to increase the dose of morphine; it alleviated pain, eased labored breathing, and yes, probably hastened the inevitable for patients who were in their final hours. In these scenarios, no one considered this euthanasia, and no one questioned whether it was the right thing to do.

Fast-forward to 2023 when the act of a physician hastening a patient’s death has become a controversial topic as criteria have expanded. Like all such topics in our polarized society, people aligned on sides, politics and religion rush to the head of the room, legislation is proposed, and words take on new meanings. If you’re in favor of legalization of clinician assistance in a patient’s death, the term is “medical assistance in dying”. If you’re opposed, the term is the more graphic physician-assisted suicide.

The scenario is entirely different from what I saw in my medical school rotations decades ago. It’s no longer an issue of easing the pain and discomfort of patients’ final hours; the question now is whether, faced with a potentially terminal or progressively debilitating physical illness, a patient has the right to determine when, and how, their life will end, and the medical profession is given a role in this.

In many places the bar has been further lowered to incorporate nonterminal conditions, and Belgium and the Netherlands now allow physician-facilitated suicide for psychiatric conditions, a practice that many find reprehensible. In these countries, patients may be provided with medications to ingest, but psychiatrists also administer lethal injections.

While Belgium and the Netherlands were the first countries to legalize physician-facilitated death, it could be argued that Canada has embraced it with the most gusto; physician-assisted suicide has been legal there since 2016.

Canada already has the largest number of physician-assisted deaths of any nation, with 10,064 in 2021 – an increase of 32% from 2020. The Canadian federal government is currently considering adding serious mental illness as an eligible category. If this law passes, the country will have the most liberal assisted-death policy in the world. The Canadian government planned to make serious mental illness an eligible category in March 2023, but in an eleventh-hour announcement, it deferred its decision until March 2024.

In a press release, the government said that the 1-year extension would “provide additional time to prepare for the safe and consistent assessment and provision of MAID in all cases, including where the person’s sole underlying medical condition is a mental illness. It will also allow time for the Government of Canada to fully consider the final report of the Special Joint Committee on MAID, tabled in Parliament on Feb. 15, 2023.”

As a psychiatrist who treats patients with treatment-refractory conditions, I have watched people undergo trial after trial of medications while having psychotherapy, and sometimes transcranial magnetic stimulation or electroconvulsive therapy (ECT). The thing that is sustaining for patients is the hope that they will get better and go on to find meaning and purpose in life, even if it is not in the form they once envisioned.

To offer the option of a death facilitated by the very person who is trying to get them better seems so counter to everything I have learned and contradicts our role as psychiatrists who work so hard to prevent suicide.

Where is the line, one wonders, when the patient has not responded to two medications or 12? Must they have ECT before we consider helping them end their lives? Do we try for 6 months or 6 years? What about new research pointing to better medications or psychedelics that are not yet available? According to Canada’s proposed legislation, the patient must be aware that treatment options exist, including facilitated suicide.

Physician-assisted suicide for psychiatric conditions creates a conundrum for psychiatrists. As mental health professionals, we work to prevent suicide and view it as an act that is frequently fueled by depression. Those who are determined to die by their own hand often do. Depression distorts cognition and leads many patients to believe that they would be better off dead and that their loved ones would be better off without them.

These cognitive distortions are part of their illness. So, how do we, as psychiatrists, move from a stance of preventing suicide – using measures such as involuntary treatment when necessary – to being the people who offer and facilitate death for our patients? I’ll leave this for my Canadian colleagues to contemplate, as I live in a state where assisted suicide for any condition remains illegal.

As Canada moves toward facilitating death for serious mental illness, we have to wonder whether racial or socioeconomic factors will play a role. Might those who are poor, who have less access to expensive treatment options and social support, be more likely to request facilitated death? And how do we determine whether patients with serious mental illness are competent to make such a decision or whether it is mental illness that is driving their perception of a future without hope?

As psychiatrists, we often struggle to help our patients overcome the stigma associated with treatments for mental illness. Still, patients often refuse potentially helpful treatments because they worry about the consequences of getting care. These include career repercussions and the disapproval of others. When this legislation is finally passed, will our Canadian colleagues offer it as an option when their patient refuses lithium or antipsychotics, inpatient care, or ECT?

Susan Kalish, MD, is a geriatric and palliative care physician in Boston who favors the availability of facilitated death. She practices in a state where this option is not available.

She told me that she is “in favor of expanding acceptance of, and access to, medical aid in dying for patients who choose to exercise autonomy over their dying process, for those who remain with irremediable suffering, despite provision of optimal palliative care.” However, she added, some countries have lowered the threshold “way too far.”

She noted, “It is complicated and harmful to the general issue of medical aid in dying.”

As psychiatrists, do we offer hope to our most vulnerable patients, or do we offer death? Do we rail against suicide, or do we facilitate it? Do we risk facilitating a patient’s demise when other options are unavailable because of a lack of access to treatment or when social and financial struggles exacerbate a person’s hopelessness? Should we worry that psychiatric euthanasia will turn into a form of eugenics where those who can’t contribute are made to feel that they should bow out? If we, as psychiatrists, aren’t the emissaries of hope, who exactly are we?

Dr. Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is an assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore. She disclosed no relevant conflicts of interest.

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

I remember what it was like to be a medical student at a well-known cancer hospital where patients were dying of cancer. In life’s final stages, it was not uncommon for physicians to increase the dose of morphine; it alleviated pain, eased labored breathing, and yes, probably hastened the inevitable for patients who were in their final hours. In these scenarios, no one considered this euthanasia, and no one questioned whether it was the right thing to do.

Fast-forward to 2023 when the act of a physician hastening a patient’s death has become a controversial topic as criteria have expanded. Like all such topics in our polarized society, people aligned on sides, politics and religion rush to the head of the room, legislation is proposed, and words take on new meanings. If you’re in favor of legalization of clinician assistance in a patient’s death, the term is “medical assistance in dying”. If you’re opposed, the term is the more graphic physician-assisted suicide.

The scenario is entirely different from what I saw in my medical school rotations decades ago. It’s no longer an issue of easing the pain and discomfort of patients’ final hours; the question now is whether, faced with a potentially terminal or progressively debilitating physical illness, a patient has the right to determine when, and how, their life will end, and the medical profession is given a role in this.

In many places the bar has been further lowered to incorporate nonterminal conditions, and Belgium and the Netherlands now allow physician-facilitated suicide for psychiatric conditions, a practice that many find reprehensible. In these countries, patients may be provided with medications to ingest, but psychiatrists also administer lethal injections.

While Belgium and the Netherlands were the first countries to legalize physician-facilitated death, it could be argued that Canada has embraced it with the most gusto; physician-assisted suicide has been legal there since 2016.

Canada already has the largest number of physician-assisted deaths of any nation, with 10,064 in 2021 – an increase of 32% from 2020. The Canadian federal government is currently considering adding serious mental illness as an eligible category. If this law passes, the country will have the most liberal assisted-death policy in the world. The Canadian government planned to make serious mental illness an eligible category in March 2023, but in an eleventh-hour announcement, it deferred its decision until March 2024.

In a press release, the government said that the 1-year extension would “provide additional time to prepare for the safe and consistent assessment and provision of MAID in all cases, including where the person’s sole underlying medical condition is a mental illness. It will also allow time for the Government of Canada to fully consider the final report of the Special Joint Committee on MAID, tabled in Parliament on Feb. 15, 2023.”

As a psychiatrist who treats patients with treatment-refractory conditions, I have watched people undergo trial after trial of medications while having psychotherapy, and sometimes transcranial magnetic stimulation or electroconvulsive therapy (ECT). The thing that is sustaining for patients is the hope that they will get better and go on to find meaning and purpose in life, even if it is not in the form they once envisioned.

To offer the option of a death facilitated by the very person who is trying to get them better seems so counter to everything I have learned and contradicts our role as psychiatrists who work so hard to prevent suicide.

Where is the line, one wonders, when the patient has not responded to two medications or 12? Must they have ECT before we consider helping them end their lives? Do we try for 6 months or 6 years? What about new research pointing to better medications or psychedelics that are not yet available? According to Canada’s proposed legislation, the patient must be aware that treatment options exist, including facilitated suicide.

Physician-assisted suicide for psychiatric conditions creates a conundrum for psychiatrists. As mental health professionals, we work to prevent suicide and view it as an act that is frequently fueled by depression. Those who are determined to die by their own hand often do. Depression distorts cognition and leads many patients to believe that they would be better off dead and that their loved ones would be better off without them.

These cognitive distortions are part of their illness. So, how do we, as psychiatrists, move from a stance of preventing suicide – using measures such as involuntary treatment when necessary – to being the people who offer and facilitate death for our patients? I’ll leave this for my Canadian colleagues to contemplate, as I live in a state where assisted suicide for any condition remains illegal.

As Canada moves toward facilitating death for serious mental illness, we have to wonder whether racial or socioeconomic factors will play a role. Might those who are poor, who have less access to expensive treatment options and social support, be more likely to request facilitated death? And how do we determine whether patients with serious mental illness are competent to make such a decision or whether it is mental illness that is driving their perception of a future without hope?

As psychiatrists, we often struggle to help our patients overcome the stigma associated with treatments for mental illness. Still, patients often refuse potentially helpful treatments because they worry about the consequences of getting care. These include career repercussions and the disapproval of others. When this legislation is finally passed, will our Canadian colleagues offer it as an option when their patient refuses lithium or antipsychotics, inpatient care, or ECT?

Susan Kalish, MD, is a geriatric and palliative care physician in Boston who favors the availability of facilitated death. She practices in a state where this option is not available.

She told me that she is “in favor of expanding acceptance of, and access to, medical aid in dying for patients who choose to exercise autonomy over their dying process, for those who remain with irremediable suffering, despite provision of optimal palliative care.” However, she added, some countries have lowered the threshold “way too far.”

She noted, “It is complicated and harmful to the general issue of medical aid in dying.”

As psychiatrists, do we offer hope to our most vulnerable patients, or do we offer death? Do we rail against suicide, or do we facilitate it? Do we risk facilitating a patient’s demise when other options are unavailable because of a lack of access to treatment or when social and financial struggles exacerbate a person’s hopelessness? Should we worry that psychiatric euthanasia will turn into a form of eugenics where those who can’t contribute are made to feel that they should bow out? If we, as psychiatrists, aren’t the emissaries of hope, who exactly are we?

Dr. Miller is a coauthor of “Committed: The Battle Over Involuntary Psychiatric Care” (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2016). She has a private practice and is an assistant professor of psychiatry and behavioral sciences at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore. She disclosed no relevant conflicts of interest.

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

Our fear of death is exposed often in medicine. It is not uncommon to hear the last moments of a patient’s life described as a series of futile, sterile medical interventions that attempt to prolong that life in quasi-sadistic fashion. So much effort is placed in making sure that “everything necessary” is tried that less emphasis is made on providing a comfortable death.

It seems obvious that a profession dedicated to prolonging health would have difficulty confronting death. But it should also be natural for psychiatry to be the specialty able to integrate this discomfort within the medical psyche.

Dr. Neha Akkoor

Yet, in training, we have noted much more time spent on the assessment of capacity in patients in order to refuse medical intervention than on time spent educating about the importance to die at the right time, as suggested by Friedrich Nietzsche.¹ A psychiatry resident may graduate knowing dozens of questions to assess the ability of a family member to consider the risk, benefits, and alternatives of continued intubation in a comatose patient, but may feel very ill-equipped in discussing the meaning of a rightful life and a rightful death.

Death anxiety can also come outside the context of not having endured enough traumas or successes in one’s life, or not having lived life right. As poignantly described by Dostoevsky in his 1864 novella, “Notes from the Underground,” death anxiety can manifest as a result of the deterministic nature of life.² Doing everything which is expected of us can feel like a betrayal of our one chance to have lived life authentically. This concept is also particularly familiar to physicians, who may have – in part – chosen their career path in response to a recommendation from their parents, rather than a more authentic feeling. Dostoevsky goads us to transgress, to act in a rebellious way, to truly feel alive. This can serve as a solution for death anxiety – if you are scared to die then live, live your fullest. Even if that means doing the unexpected or changing your path.

The fear of being forgotten after death can also drive many to pursue a legacy. Even a parent choosing to have children and teaching them values and belief systems is a way of leaving behind a mark on the world. For some, finding ways for being remembered after death – whether through fame, fortune, or having children, is a way of dealing with death anxiety.

The Mexican holiday “Dia de los Muertos,” or Day of the Dead, and the Japanese holiday “Obon” are examples from cultures where deceased ancestors are celebrated through rituals and offerings. Such cultures may relieve the anxiety of death by suggesting that one’s descendants will still care for the departed, and their legacy may remain.
 

Coping with death anxiety

For others, the road to recovery from death anxiety may take a completely different approach. Some may find comfort in the position that, to extinguish death anxiety, one should not live to the fullest but accept the tragic and mostly inconsequential aspects of life. The philosophical movement of “absurdism” addresses this perspective.

In our modern world, where we are so deeply attached to finding the cause and reason for things, absurdism reminds us that most of our lives and world do not have to make sense. While Albert Camus, arguably the most famous of the absurdist philosophers, encourages us to create meaning and transcend the tragedy and randomness of life,³ some patients can also find comfort in the idea that life is absurd, and thus one should not judge one’s own life and not fear own’s inevitable death.

Death anxiety can also be therapeutic. Especially in the existential tradition, one can enlist the fear of death for motivation. Many patients come to see us with a lack of motivation or drive. They feel paralyzed by their predicament and mental illness. As in the experiments of Martin Seligman, PhD, who shocked animals at random, a human exposed to repeated failure and abuse can get a sense of learned helplessness.⁴ Such patients can be very hard to reach, yet ultimately their despondence is no match for the reality that life will end. Reminding a patient that any day spent not feeling alive might as well be a metaphor for death is a challenging interpretation, but one that can lead to significant growth.

When considering the fear of death, psychiatry has generally taken the position that it is pathological, a form of anxiety. Psychiatry argues that one should strive to find fulfillment and joy in life. It thus may be a surprise to find that this is not a universally shared perspective.

In his 2010 book, author Thomas Ligotti argues on behalf of pessimistic and antinatalist views.⁵ Throughout the book he emphasizes the suffering that life can offer and argues against the endless pursuit of more life. To some psychiatrists, such arguments will be understood as insulting to our profession. Some may even interpret his texts as an argument in favor of ending one’s life.

However, psychiatrists must ask themselves “what are my answers to those arguments?” Mr. Ligotti’s book is a series of arguments against the idea that life will be pleasurable. Understanding those arguments and formulating a rebuttal would be an important process for any mental health provider. It is foolish to think that our patients do not have a rich and complicated relationship to death, and that none of our patients find death attractive in some ways. After all, accepting our fears as an important part of our body is a natural coping skill, which can also be taught.⁶

Part of the difficulty in discussing death and the fear of death may come from society’s resistance at having complicated conversations. It is not uncommon, currently, to include trigger warnings at the mention of discussions about death, even abstract ones. While we appreciate and encourage the articulation of feelings that a discussion about death may raise, we worry that such trigger warnings may be a form of censure that only makes society more resistant to talk about those important topics.

For another example of the avoidance of discussions about death, recall the “death panel” debates of 2009.⁷ When the U.S. government considered encouraging physicians to have discussions with their patients about end-of-life care, politicians and pundits decried that such discussions were “death panels,” and claimed they were an encouragement to patients to “cut [their] life short.” Such public projection of one’s anxiety about death has made it particularly difficult for psychiatry to make meaningful progress.
 

Acknowledging and addressing the fear

Death anxiety is such a common aspect of human life that most religions make some effort to address this fear. Many do so by offering a form of afterlife, often one described in idyllic fashion without anxiety.

Heaven, if one believes in it, is appealing for the person dreading death anxiety. Heaven is often described as being offered to those who have lived a rightful life, thus relieving the anxiety regarding the decisions one has made. Reincarnation can also be interpreted as another way of calming death anxiety, by promising a continual repetition of chances at getting life right. However, for many patients, religion doesn’t have the appeal that it once had.

Ultimately, the fear of death is a complex and multifaceted issue that can manifest in various ways. The medical profession, especially psychiatry, has a responsibility to address this fear in patients, but it also struggles with its own discomfort with the topic. The importance of providing a comfortable death is often overshadowed by the emphasis on prolonging life, which may manifest as a series of futile medical interventions.

The fear of death can be therapeutic and motivating, but it can also be pathological and lead to a lack of motivation or drive. The philosophical movements of absurdism and antinatalism offer alternative perspectives on death and life, and it is important for mental health providers to understand and engage with these views.

Society’s resistance to having a meaningful conversation about death only perpetuates the fear and makes progress difficult. Yet acknowledging and addressing the fear of death is an important aspect of mental health care and a crucial part of the human experience.

Dr. Akkoor is a psychiatry resident at the University of California, San Diego. She is interested in immigrant mental health, ethics, consultation-liaison psychiatry, and medical education. Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com. Dr. Badre and Dr. Akkoor have no conflicts of interest.

References

1. Nietzsche F. Thus Spoke Zarathustra. 1883-1892.

2. Dostoevsky F. Notes from the Underground. 1864.

3. Camus A. The Plague. 1947.

4. Seligman M. Helplessness: On depression, development, and death. 1975.

5. Ligotti T. The Conspiracy Against the Human Race. 2010.

6. Hayes SC. Behav Ther. 2016 Nov;47(6):869-85. doi: 10.1016/j.beth.2016.11.006.

7. Nyhan B. The Forum. 2010 April 27;8(1). doi: 10.2202/1540-8884.1354.

Our fear of death is exposed often in medicine. It is not uncommon to hear the last moments of a patient’s life described as a series of futile, sterile medical interventions that attempt to prolong that life in quasi-sadistic fashion. So much effort is placed in making sure that “everything necessary” is tried that less emphasis is made on providing a comfortable death.

It seems obvious that a profession dedicated to prolonging health would have difficulty confronting death. But it should also be natural for psychiatry to be the specialty able to integrate this discomfort within the medical psyche.

Dr. Neha Akkoor

Yet, in training, we have noted much more time spent on the assessment of capacity in patients in order to refuse medical intervention than on time spent educating about the importance to die at the right time, as suggested by Friedrich Nietzsche.¹ A psychiatry resident may graduate knowing dozens of questions to assess the ability of a family member to consider the risk, benefits, and alternatives of continued intubation in a comatose patient, but may feel very ill-equipped in discussing the meaning of a rightful life and a rightful death.

Death anxiety can also come outside the context of not having endured enough traumas or successes in one’s life, or not having lived life right. As poignantly described by Dostoevsky in his 1864 novella, “Notes from the Underground,” death anxiety can manifest as a result of the deterministic nature of life.² Doing everything which is expected of us can feel like a betrayal of our one chance to have lived life authentically. This concept is also particularly familiar to physicians, who may have – in part – chosen their career path in response to a recommendation from their parents, rather than a more authentic feeling. Dostoevsky goads us to transgress, to act in a rebellious way, to truly feel alive. This can serve as a solution for death anxiety – if you are scared to die then live, live your fullest. Even if that means doing the unexpected or changing your path.

The fear of being forgotten after death can also drive many to pursue a legacy. Even a parent choosing to have children and teaching them values and belief systems is a way of leaving behind a mark on the world. For some, finding ways for being remembered after death – whether through fame, fortune, or having children, is a way of dealing with death anxiety.

The Mexican holiday “Dia de los Muertos,” or Day of the Dead, and the Japanese holiday “Obon” are examples from cultures where deceased ancestors are celebrated through rituals and offerings. Such cultures may relieve the anxiety of death by suggesting that one’s descendants will still care for the departed, and their legacy may remain.
 

Coping with death anxiety

For others, the road to recovery from death anxiety may take a completely different approach. Some may find comfort in the position that, to extinguish death anxiety, one should not live to the fullest but accept the tragic and mostly inconsequential aspects of life. The philosophical movement of “absurdism” addresses this perspective.

In our modern world, where we are so deeply attached to finding the cause and reason for things, absurdism reminds us that most of our lives and world do not have to make sense. While Albert Camus, arguably the most famous of the absurdist philosophers, encourages us to create meaning and transcend the tragedy and randomness of life,³ some patients can also find comfort in the idea that life is absurd, and thus one should not judge one’s own life and not fear own’s inevitable death.

Death anxiety can also be therapeutic. Especially in the existential tradition, one can enlist the fear of death for motivation. Many patients come to see us with a lack of motivation or drive. They feel paralyzed by their predicament and mental illness. As in the experiments of Martin Seligman, PhD, who shocked animals at random, a human exposed to repeated failure and abuse can get a sense of learned helplessness.⁴ Such patients can be very hard to reach, yet ultimately their despondence is no match for the reality that life will end. Reminding a patient that any day spent not feeling alive might as well be a metaphor for death is a challenging interpretation, but one that can lead to significant growth.

When considering the fear of death, psychiatry has generally taken the position that it is pathological, a form of anxiety. Psychiatry argues that one should strive to find fulfillment and joy in life. It thus may be a surprise to find that this is not a universally shared perspective.

In his 2010 book, author Thomas Ligotti argues on behalf of pessimistic and antinatalist views.⁵ Throughout the book he emphasizes the suffering that life can offer and argues against the endless pursuit of more life. To some psychiatrists, such arguments will be understood as insulting to our profession. Some may even interpret his texts as an argument in favor of ending one’s life.

However, psychiatrists must ask themselves “what are my answers to those arguments?” Mr. Ligotti’s book is a series of arguments against the idea that life will be pleasurable. Understanding those arguments and formulating a rebuttal would be an important process for any mental health provider. It is foolish to think that our patients do not have a rich and complicated relationship to death, and that none of our patients find death attractive in some ways. After all, accepting our fears as an important part of our body is a natural coping skill, which can also be taught.⁶

Part of the difficulty in discussing death and the fear of death may come from society’s resistance at having complicated conversations. It is not uncommon, currently, to include trigger warnings at the mention of discussions about death, even abstract ones. While we appreciate and encourage the articulation of feelings that a discussion about death may raise, we worry that such trigger warnings may be a form of censure that only makes society more resistant to talk about those important topics.

For another example of the avoidance of discussions about death, recall the “death panel” debates of 2009.⁷ When the U.S. government considered encouraging physicians to have discussions with their patients about end-of-life care, politicians and pundits decried that such discussions were “death panels,” and claimed they were an encouragement to patients to “cut [their] life short.” Such public projection of one’s anxiety about death has made it particularly difficult for psychiatry to make meaningful progress.
 

Acknowledging and addressing the fear

Death anxiety is such a common aspect of human life that most religions make some effort to address this fear. Many do so by offering a form of afterlife, often one described in idyllic fashion without anxiety.

Heaven, if one believes in it, is appealing for the person dreading death anxiety. Heaven is often described as being offered to those who have lived a rightful life, thus relieving the anxiety regarding the decisions one has made. Reincarnation can also be interpreted as another way of calming death anxiety, by promising a continual repetition of chances at getting life right. However, for many patients, religion doesn’t have the appeal that it once had.

Ultimately, the fear of death is a complex and multifaceted issue that can manifest in various ways. The medical profession, especially psychiatry, has a responsibility to address this fear in patients, but it also struggles with its own discomfort with the topic. The importance of providing a comfortable death is often overshadowed by the emphasis on prolonging life, which may manifest as a series of futile medical interventions.

The fear of death can be therapeutic and motivating, but it can also be pathological and lead to a lack of motivation or drive. The philosophical movements of absurdism and antinatalism offer alternative perspectives on death and life, and it is important for mental health providers to understand and engage with these views.

Society’s resistance to having a meaningful conversation about death only perpetuates the fear and makes progress difficult. Yet acknowledging and addressing the fear of death is an important aspect of mental health care and a crucial part of the human experience.

Dr. Akkoor is a psychiatry resident at the University of California, San Diego. She is interested in immigrant mental health, ethics, consultation-liaison psychiatry, and medical education. Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com. Dr. Badre and Dr. Akkoor have no conflicts of interest.

References

1. Nietzsche F. Thus Spoke Zarathustra. 1883-1892.

2. Dostoevsky F. Notes from the Underground. 1864.

3. Camus A. The Plague. 1947.

4. Seligman M. Helplessness: On depression, development, and death. 1975.

5. Ligotti T. The Conspiracy Against the Human Race. 2010.

6. Hayes SC. Behav Ther. 2016 Nov;47(6):869-85. doi: 10.1016/j.beth.2016.11.006.

7. Nyhan B. The Forum. 2010 April 27;8(1). doi: 10.2202/1540-8884.1354.

Our fear of death is exposed often in medicine. It is not uncommon to hear the last moments of a patient’s life described as a series of futile, sterile medical interventions that attempt to prolong that life in quasi-sadistic fashion. So much effort is placed in making sure that “everything necessary” is tried that less emphasis is made on providing a comfortable death.

It seems obvious that a profession dedicated to prolonging health would have difficulty confronting death. But it should also be natural for psychiatry to be the specialty able to integrate this discomfort within the medical psyche.

Dr. Neha Akkoor

Yet, in training, we have noted much more time spent on the assessment of capacity in patients in order to refuse medical intervention than on time spent educating about the importance to die at the right time, as suggested by Friedrich Nietzsche.¹ A psychiatry resident may graduate knowing dozens of questions to assess the ability of a family member to consider the risk, benefits, and alternatives of continued intubation in a comatose patient, but may feel very ill-equipped in discussing the meaning of a rightful life and a rightful death.

Death anxiety can also come outside the context of not having endured enough traumas or successes in one’s life, or not having lived life right. As poignantly described by Dostoevsky in his 1864 novella, “Notes from the Underground,” death anxiety can manifest as a result of the deterministic nature of life.² Doing everything which is expected of us can feel like a betrayal of our one chance to have lived life authentically. This concept is also particularly familiar to physicians, who may have – in part – chosen their career path in response to a recommendation from their parents, rather than a more authentic feeling. Dostoevsky goads us to transgress, to act in a rebellious way, to truly feel alive. This can serve as a solution for death anxiety – if you are scared to die then live, live your fullest. Even if that means doing the unexpected or changing your path.

The fear of being forgotten after death can also drive many to pursue a legacy. Even a parent choosing to have children and teaching them values and belief systems is a way of leaving behind a mark on the world. For some, finding ways for being remembered after death – whether through fame, fortune, or having children, is a way of dealing with death anxiety.

The Mexican holiday “Dia de los Muertos,” or Day of the Dead, and the Japanese holiday “Obon” are examples from cultures where deceased ancestors are celebrated through rituals and offerings. Such cultures may relieve the anxiety of death by suggesting that one’s descendants will still care for the departed, and their legacy may remain.
 

Coping with death anxiety

For others, the road to recovery from death anxiety may take a completely different approach. Some may find comfort in the position that, to extinguish death anxiety, one should not live to the fullest but accept the tragic and mostly inconsequential aspects of life. The philosophical movement of “absurdism” addresses this perspective.

In our modern world, where we are so deeply attached to finding the cause and reason for things, absurdism reminds us that most of our lives and world do not have to make sense. While Albert Camus, arguably the most famous of the absurdist philosophers, encourages us to create meaning and transcend the tragedy and randomness of life,³ some patients can also find comfort in the idea that life is absurd, and thus one should not judge one’s own life and not fear own’s inevitable death.

Death anxiety can also be therapeutic. Especially in the existential tradition, one can enlist the fear of death for motivation. Many patients come to see us with a lack of motivation or drive. They feel paralyzed by their predicament and mental illness. As in the experiments of Martin Seligman, PhD, who shocked animals at random, a human exposed to repeated failure and abuse can get a sense of learned helplessness.⁴ Such patients can be very hard to reach, yet ultimately their despondence is no match for the reality that life will end. Reminding a patient that any day spent not feeling alive might as well be a metaphor for death is a challenging interpretation, but one that can lead to significant growth.

When considering the fear of death, psychiatry has generally taken the position that it is pathological, a form of anxiety. Psychiatry argues that one should strive to find fulfillment and joy in life. It thus may be a surprise to find that this is not a universally shared perspective.

In his 2010 book, author Thomas Ligotti argues on behalf of pessimistic and antinatalist views.⁵ Throughout the book he emphasizes the suffering that life can offer and argues against the endless pursuit of more life. To some psychiatrists, such arguments will be understood as insulting to our profession. Some may even interpret his texts as an argument in favor of ending one’s life.

However, psychiatrists must ask themselves “what are my answers to those arguments?” Mr. Ligotti’s book is a series of arguments against the idea that life will be pleasurable. Understanding those arguments and formulating a rebuttal would be an important process for any mental health provider. It is foolish to think that our patients do not have a rich and complicated relationship to death, and that none of our patients find death attractive in some ways. After all, accepting our fears as an important part of our body is a natural coping skill, which can also be taught.⁶

Part of the difficulty in discussing death and the fear of death may come from society’s resistance at having complicated conversations. It is not uncommon, currently, to include trigger warnings at the mention of discussions about death, even abstract ones. While we appreciate and encourage the articulation of feelings that a discussion about death may raise, we worry that such trigger warnings may be a form of censure that only makes society more resistant to talk about those important topics.

For another example of the avoidance of discussions about death, recall the “death panel” debates of 2009.⁷ When the U.S. government considered encouraging physicians to have discussions with their patients about end-of-life care, politicians and pundits decried that such discussions were “death panels,” and claimed they were an encouragement to patients to “cut [their] life short.” Such public projection of one’s anxiety about death has made it particularly difficult for psychiatry to make meaningful progress.
 

Acknowledging and addressing the fear

Death anxiety is such a common aspect of human life that most religions make some effort to address this fear. Many do so by offering a form of afterlife, often one described in idyllic fashion without anxiety.

Heaven, if one believes in it, is appealing for the person dreading death anxiety. Heaven is often described as being offered to those who have lived a rightful life, thus relieving the anxiety regarding the decisions one has made. Reincarnation can also be interpreted as another way of calming death anxiety, by promising a continual repetition of chances at getting life right. However, for many patients, religion doesn’t have the appeal that it once had.

Ultimately, the fear of death is a complex and multifaceted issue that can manifest in various ways. The medical profession, especially psychiatry, has a responsibility to address this fear in patients, but it also struggles with its own discomfort with the topic. The importance of providing a comfortable death is often overshadowed by the emphasis on prolonging life, which may manifest as a series of futile medical interventions.

The fear of death can be therapeutic and motivating, but it can also be pathological and lead to a lack of motivation or drive. The philosophical movements of absurdism and antinatalism offer alternative perspectives on death and life, and it is important for mental health providers to understand and engage with these views.

Society’s resistance to having a meaningful conversation about death only perpetuates the fear and makes progress difficult. Yet acknowledging and addressing the fear of death is an important aspect of mental health care and a crucial part of the human experience.

Dr. Akkoor is a psychiatry resident at the University of California, San Diego. She is interested in immigrant mental health, ethics, consultation-liaison psychiatry, and medical education. Dr. Badre is a clinical and forensic psychiatrist in San Diego. He holds teaching positions at the University of California, San Diego, and the University of San Diego. He teaches medical education, psychopharmacology, ethics in psychiatry, and correctional care. Dr. Badre can be reached at his website, BadreMD.com. Dr. Badre and Dr. Akkoor have no conflicts of interest.

References

1. Nietzsche F. Thus Spoke Zarathustra. 1883-1892.

2. Dostoevsky F. Notes from the Underground. 1864.

3. Camus A. The Plague. 1947.

4. Seligman M. Helplessness: On depression, development, and death. 1975.

5. Ligotti T. The Conspiracy Against the Human Race. 2010.

6. Hayes SC. Behav Ther. 2016 Nov;47(6):869-85. doi: 10.1016/j.beth.2016.11.006.

7. Nyhan B. The Forum. 2010 April 27;8(1). doi: 10.2202/1540-8884.1354.

It’s tough to keep up with the proliferation of monoclonal antibodies. Seems every day I’m confronted by a patient who’s using a new drug with a name ending in “mab.” That drug blocks a cellular receptor I haven’t heard of that’s involved in a cascade of interactions I haven’t thought about since medical school. The resulting disruption reduces disease burden, typically at great expense to the medical system, the patient, or both. We’ve truly entered the era of precision medicine. It’s not enough to understand disease; you also must know its heterogeneous expression so that you can prescribe the ‘mab that targets the biology responsible for variants in behavior. All diseases are, in fact, syndromes. This isn’t a bad thing, but it’s a challenge.

A series of ‘mabs have been approved for treating type 2 high (TH2) or eosinophilic asthma. We refer to this group of ‘mabs generically as biologics. The group includes omalizumab, mepolizumab, dupilumab, benralizumab, reslizumab, and tezepelumab. While mechanism of action varies slightly across drugs, the biologics all target a specific arm of the immune system. Efficacy is linearly related to serum eosinophil count and there’s little clinically or pharmacologically to distinguish one from another. Of course, no head-to-head comparisons of efficacy are available and there’s no financial incentive for them to be performed.
 

Latest research

A new randomized controlled trial (RCT) of dupilumab for chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) adds to the aforementioned biologic knowledge base. Turns out it works as long as the patients are carefully selected. Researchers enrolled GOLD D (or E depending on which iteration of the GOLD Statement you use) patients on triple inhaler therapy (inhaled corticosteroids [ICS]/long-acting beta-agonist [LABA]/long-acting muscarinic antagonist [LAMA]) with two moderate exacerbations or one exacerbation requiring hospitalization in the past year. Blood eosinophil counts were > 300 cells/mcL and chronic bronchitis was present clinically. The primary and multiple secondary outcomes were improved with dupilumab.

This is welcome news. I’ve treated countless patients with severe COPD who have repeated exacerbations despite my efforts to prevent them. These patients are on ICS/LABA/LAMA and azithromycin or roflumilast, and occasionally both. While every COPD guideline known to man forbids using chronic oral corticosteroids (OCS), I’ve prescribed them repeatedly because the benefits to keeping a recalcitrant, exacerbating patient out of the hospital seem to outweigh OCS risks. It would be nice to have a better option. Although we were taught that they were immutably distinct in medical school, every first-year pulmonary fellow knows that asthma and COPD share more similarities than differences, so it makes sense that proven asthma therapies would work for some patients with COPD.

However, the dupilumab study must be placed in context. Past studies haven’t been as positive. In 2017, two separate RCTs found that mepolizumab reduced the annual rate of moderate to severe exacerbations (primary outcome) in one trial but not the other. Interpretation gets more complicated when broken down by intention to treat (ITT) vs. modified ITT and when secondary outcomes are considered. Sparing you those details, this trial does not instill confidence, leading the Food and Drug Administration to refuse approval for mepolizumab for COPD. A second RCT of benralizumab for COPD was published in 2019. Much less cognitive load was required to interpret this one; it was negative. FDA approval was not requested.

Looking through the trial designs for the three RCTs of biologics for COPD, I couldn’t find major differences that could explain the discordant results. Sample size and enrollment criteria were similar. As stated, I don’t believe that the biologic data in asthma allow for predicting efficacy in one eosinophilic patient vs. another and I assume the same would be true for COPD. All three trials found that eosinophils were eliminated, so responses were biologically equivalent.
 

Key takeaways

If trial design and pharmacology don’t account for the disparate outcomes, how do we explain them? More important, how do we translate these trials into clinical practice? I looked for a review or editorial by a scientist-clinician smarter than I so I could steal their ideas and express them as pedantic euphemisms here. I found it curious that I was unable to find one. A recent publication in the American Journal of Respiratory and Critical Care Medicine suggests that the answer lies within the complex lattice of eosinophil subtypes, but I’m unqualified to judge the veracity of this “phenotype within a phenotype” theory.

For now, there will be no biologics prescribed for COPD – at least not by me. More trials in COPD are being done. We should have results on tezepelumab, that great savior that may cover noneosinophilic asthma phenotypes, within the next few years. Until then, we’re stuck defying guidelines with the anachronistic use of OCS for the COPD patient who exacerbates through ICS/LABA/LAMA, roflumilast, and azithromycin.

Dr. Holley is professor of medicine at Uniformed Services University in Bethesda, Md., and a pulmonary/sleep and critical care medicine physician at MedStar Washington Hospital Center in Washington. He reported receiving income from CHEST College, Metapharm, and WebMD.

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

It’s tough to keep up with the proliferation of monoclonal antibodies. Seems every day I’m confronted by a patient who’s using a new drug with a name ending in “mab.” That drug blocks a cellular receptor I haven’t heard of that’s involved in a cascade of interactions I haven’t thought about since medical school. The resulting disruption reduces disease burden, typically at great expense to the medical system, the patient, or both. We’ve truly entered the era of precision medicine. It’s not enough to understand disease; you also must know its heterogeneous expression so that you can prescribe the ‘mab that targets the biology responsible for variants in behavior. All diseases are, in fact, syndromes. This isn’t a bad thing, but it’s a challenge.

A series of ‘mabs have been approved for treating type 2 high (TH2) or eosinophilic asthma. We refer to this group of ‘mabs generically as biologics. The group includes omalizumab, mepolizumab, dupilumab, benralizumab, reslizumab, and tezepelumab. While mechanism of action varies slightly across drugs, the biologics all target a specific arm of the immune system. Efficacy is linearly related to serum eosinophil count and there’s little clinically or pharmacologically to distinguish one from another. Of course, no head-to-head comparisons of efficacy are available and there’s no financial incentive for them to be performed.
 

Latest research

A new randomized controlled trial (RCT) of dupilumab for chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) adds to the aforementioned biologic knowledge base. Turns out it works as long as the patients are carefully selected. Researchers enrolled GOLD D (or E depending on which iteration of the GOLD Statement you use) patients on triple inhaler therapy (inhaled corticosteroids [ICS]/long-acting beta-agonist [LABA]/long-acting muscarinic antagonist [LAMA]) with two moderate exacerbations or one exacerbation requiring hospitalization in the past year. Blood eosinophil counts were > 300 cells/mcL and chronic bronchitis was present clinically. The primary and multiple secondary outcomes were improved with dupilumab.

This is welcome news. I’ve treated countless patients with severe COPD who have repeated exacerbations despite my efforts to prevent them. These patients are on ICS/LABA/LAMA and azithromycin or roflumilast, and occasionally both. While every COPD guideline known to man forbids using chronic oral corticosteroids (OCS), I’ve prescribed them repeatedly because the benefits to keeping a recalcitrant, exacerbating patient out of the hospital seem to outweigh OCS risks. It would be nice to have a better option. Although we were taught that they were immutably distinct in medical school, every first-year pulmonary fellow knows that asthma and COPD share more similarities than differences, so it makes sense that proven asthma therapies would work for some patients with COPD.

However, the dupilumab study must be placed in context. Past studies haven’t been as positive. In 2017, two separate RCTs found that mepolizumab reduced the annual rate of moderate to severe exacerbations (primary outcome) in one trial but not the other. Interpretation gets more complicated when broken down by intention to treat (ITT) vs. modified ITT and when secondary outcomes are considered. Sparing you those details, this trial does not instill confidence, leading the Food and Drug Administration to refuse approval for mepolizumab for COPD. A second RCT of benralizumab for COPD was published in 2019. Much less cognitive load was required to interpret this one; it was negative. FDA approval was not requested.

Looking through the trial designs for the three RCTs of biologics for COPD, I couldn’t find major differences that could explain the discordant results. Sample size and enrollment criteria were similar. As stated, I don’t believe that the biologic data in asthma allow for predicting efficacy in one eosinophilic patient vs. another and I assume the same would be true for COPD. All three trials found that eosinophils were eliminated, so responses were biologically equivalent.
 

Key takeaways

If trial design and pharmacology don’t account for the disparate outcomes, how do we explain them? More important, how do we translate these trials into clinical practice? I looked for a review or editorial by a scientist-clinician smarter than I so I could steal their ideas and express them as pedantic euphemisms here. I found it curious that I was unable to find one. A recent publication in the American Journal of Respiratory and Critical Care Medicine suggests that the answer lies within the complex lattice of eosinophil subtypes, but I’m unqualified to judge the veracity of this “phenotype within a phenotype” theory.

For now, there will be no biologics prescribed for COPD – at least not by me. More trials in COPD are being done. We should have results on tezepelumab, that great savior that may cover noneosinophilic asthma phenotypes, within the next few years. Until then, we’re stuck defying guidelines with the anachronistic use of OCS for the COPD patient who exacerbates through ICS/LABA/LAMA, roflumilast, and azithromycin.

Dr. Holley is professor of medicine at Uniformed Services University in Bethesda, Md., and a pulmonary/sleep and critical care medicine physician at MedStar Washington Hospital Center in Washington. He reported receiving income from CHEST College, Metapharm, and WebMD.

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

It’s tough to keep up with the proliferation of monoclonal antibodies. Seems every day I’m confronted by a patient who’s using a new drug with a name ending in “mab.” That drug blocks a cellular receptor I haven’t heard of that’s involved in a cascade of interactions I haven’t thought about since medical school. The resulting disruption reduces disease burden, typically at great expense to the medical system, the patient, or both. We’ve truly entered the era of precision medicine. It’s not enough to understand disease; you also must know its heterogeneous expression so that you can prescribe the ‘mab that targets the biology responsible for variants in behavior. All diseases are, in fact, syndromes. This isn’t a bad thing, but it’s a challenge.

A series of ‘mabs have been approved for treating type 2 high (TH2) or eosinophilic asthma. We refer to this group of ‘mabs generically as biologics. The group includes omalizumab, mepolizumab, dupilumab, benralizumab, reslizumab, and tezepelumab. While mechanism of action varies slightly across drugs, the biologics all target a specific arm of the immune system. Efficacy is linearly related to serum eosinophil count and there’s little clinically or pharmacologically to distinguish one from another. Of course, no head-to-head comparisons of efficacy are available and there’s no financial incentive for them to be performed.
 

Latest research

A new randomized controlled trial (RCT) of dupilumab for chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) adds to the aforementioned biologic knowledge base. Turns out it works as long as the patients are carefully selected. Researchers enrolled GOLD D (or E depending on which iteration of the GOLD Statement you use) patients on triple inhaler therapy (inhaled corticosteroids [ICS]/long-acting beta-agonist [LABA]/long-acting muscarinic antagonist [LAMA]) with two moderate exacerbations or one exacerbation requiring hospitalization in the past year. Blood eosinophil counts were > 300 cells/mcL and chronic bronchitis was present clinically. The primary and multiple secondary outcomes were improved with dupilumab.

This is welcome news. I’ve treated countless patients with severe COPD who have repeated exacerbations despite my efforts to prevent them. These patients are on ICS/LABA/LAMA and azithromycin or roflumilast, and occasionally both. While every COPD guideline known to man forbids using chronic oral corticosteroids (OCS), I’ve prescribed them repeatedly because the benefits to keeping a recalcitrant, exacerbating patient out of the hospital seem to outweigh OCS risks. It would be nice to have a better option. Although we were taught that they were immutably distinct in medical school, every first-year pulmonary fellow knows that asthma and COPD share more similarities than differences, so it makes sense that proven asthma therapies would work for some patients with COPD.

However, the dupilumab study must be placed in context. Past studies haven’t been as positive. In 2017, two separate RCTs found that mepolizumab reduced the annual rate of moderate to severe exacerbations (primary outcome) in one trial but not the other. Interpretation gets more complicated when broken down by intention to treat (ITT) vs. modified ITT and when secondary outcomes are considered. Sparing you those details, this trial does not instill confidence, leading the Food and Drug Administration to refuse approval for mepolizumab for COPD. A second RCT of benralizumab for COPD was published in 2019. Much less cognitive load was required to interpret this one; it was negative. FDA approval was not requested.

Looking through the trial designs for the three RCTs of biologics for COPD, I couldn’t find major differences that could explain the discordant results. Sample size and enrollment criteria were similar. As stated, I don’t believe that the biologic data in asthma allow for predicting efficacy in one eosinophilic patient vs. another and I assume the same would be true for COPD. All three trials found that eosinophils were eliminated, so responses were biologically equivalent.
 

Key takeaways

If trial design and pharmacology don’t account for the disparate outcomes, how do we explain them? More important, how do we translate these trials into clinical practice? I looked for a review or editorial by a scientist-clinician smarter than I so I could steal their ideas and express them as pedantic euphemisms here. I found it curious that I was unable to find one. A recent publication in the American Journal of Respiratory and Critical Care Medicine suggests that the answer lies within the complex lattice of eosinophil subtypes, but I’m unqualified to judge the veracity of this “phenotype within a phenotype” theory.

For now, there will be no biologics prescribed for COPD – at least not by me. More trials in COPD are being done. We should have results on tezepelumab, that great savior that may cover noneosinophilic asthma phenotypes, within the next few years. Until then, we’re stuck defying guidelines with the anachronistic use of OCS for the COPD patient who exacerbates through ICS/LABA/LAMA, roflumilast, and azithromycin.

Dr. Holley is professor of medicine at Uniformed Services University in Bethesda, Md., and a pulmonary/sleep and critical care medicine physician at MedStar Washington Hospital Center in Washington. He reported receiving income from CHEST College, Metapharm, and WebMD.

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

The advent of subcutaneously injectable glucagonlike peptide–1 (GLP-1) receptor agonists for the management of type 2 diabetes during 2005 was arguably one of the greatest therapeutic advances for the condition since metformin.

I was an early advocate of the class, given its potent glucose-lowering efficacy, secondary benefits of significant weight reduction, and a low risk for hypoglycemia (if not used alongside sulfonylureas or insulin).

During 2016, the first cardiovascular outcomes trial for a GLP-1 agonist, in the form of the LEADER study, was reported. These trials were mandated by the Food and Drug Administration in the aftermath of the rosiglitazone debacle in which the type 2 diabetes drug had its use restricted because of cardiovascular events attributed to it in a meta-analysis. These events weren’t seen in a subsequent trial, and the FDA’s restrictions were later lifted.

LEADER examined the once-daily GLP-1 agonist liraglutide and showed that, in addition to its glucose-lowering effects, liraglutide brought cardiovascular benefits to the table. Moreover, during 2019, the REWIND trial, the cardiovascular outcome trial for once-weekly subcutaneous dulaglutide, revealed the same cardiovascular benefits but also demonstrated a lower incidence of macroalbuminuria, albeit with no significant improvements in hard renal endpoints such as estimated glomerular filtration decline or rates of dialysis.

Despite these compelling benefits, the uptake of GLP-1 agonists has always been slower than that of other compelling agents such as the sodium-glucose cotransporter 2 inhibitors, mainly because the latter are oral drugs, while GLP-1 agonists were initially injectable medications. This difference has proven to be a barrier for patients and clinicians alike.

However, in 2019, oral semaglutide, in doses of 7 mg and 14 mg, was approved by the FDA as the first (and still only) commercially available oral GLP-1 agonist to improve glycemic control in adults with type 2 diabetes. This approval was hailed as a “game changer” at the time. The treatment had no proven cardiovascular benefits, only lack of cardiovascular harm in PIONEER 6. The SOUL cardiovascular outcome trial for oral semaglutide in doses of 7 mg and 14 mg is due to be completed during 2024. But semaglutide certainly had compelling glucose-lowering efficacy and secondary benefits of significant weight loss similar to those of its injectable counterparts.

Cardiovascular benefits of injectable semaglutide for type 2 diabetes were demonstrated in the SUSTAIN-6 trial in 2016, and the U.S. label for Ozempic was amended accordingly in 2020.

Again, I was an early adopter of oral semaglutide, and it has been great for my patients with type 2 diabetes to have the option of a noninjectable GLP-1 agonist. However, it is not without its drawbacks: Oral semaglutide must be taken on an empty stomach, at least 30 minutes before any other food, drink, or medication, and with no more than 120 mL water to maximize absorption and bioavailability.

I am of South Asian origin and have a strong family history of type 2 diabetes. If I develop type 2 diabetes in the future and require treatment escalation to a GLP-1 agonist, I will most likely opt for a weekly injectable, as it would best fit my lifestyle. But having choices of preparation has been a huge advantage in helping my patients best individualize their therapies.

I attended the recent American Diabetes Association congress in San Diego, which had two interesting oral GLP-1 agonist sessions on the program.

The first discussed the efficacy and safety of a new daily oral nonpeptide GLP-1 agonist, orforglipron, for weight reduction in adults with obesity. The phase 2 results were impressive, with clinically significant reductions in weight and cardiometabolic parameters, and a reassuring safety profile similar to that of the injectable GLP-1 agonists.

Notably, because orforglipron is a nonpeptide, it can be taken without any food, water, or medication restrictions. This indeed could turn out to be a real game changer by simplifying the complex administration of oral semaglutide, which no doubt has hampered compliance.

In fact, an Association of British Clinical Diabetologists real-world audit (also presented at the ADA Congress as a poster) of oral semaglutide use for type 2 diabetes found clinically significant hemoglobin A1c and weight reductions, but perhaps less than expected when compared with the clinical trial program, which could be a sign of poor adherence.

A phase 3 trial of orforglipron is underway (ATTAIN-2), exploring its efficacy and safety in adults with obesity or overweight and type 2 diabetes, but it is not due to be completed until 2027.

I also attended the session presenting the results of the OASIS 1 and PIONEER-PLUS trials of higher-dose oral semaglutide.

OASIS 1 explored the efficacy and safety of high-dose oral semaglutide, 50 mg once daily, for the treatment of adults with overweight or obesity without type 2 diabetes. The investigators found clinically significant reductions in body weight of around 15%-17% from baseline, compared with placebo. This result was similar to the weight loss observed in the STEP 1 trial of 2.4 mg weekly subcutaneous injectable semaglutide in adults with obesity (a much lower dose is needed when GLP-1 agonists are given as injectables because the oral forms are not very bioavailable). The side-effect profile was also similar.

PIONEER PLUS explored the efficacy and safety of high-dose oral semaglutide 25 mg and 50 mg in adults with inadequately controlled type 2 diabetes. Patients treated with 50 mg oral semaglutide had around a 2% reduction in A1c and an 8-kg (18-lb) reduction in weight from baseline. It is well known that people with obesity and type 2 diabetes lose less weight than those with obesity alone, so this result was impressive. Again, the safety profile was similar to that of the wider class, with predictably high levels of gastrointestinal side effects.

So, the future appears very bright for oral GLP-1 agonists. I hope that future developments bring the class to an even wider demographic and perhaps reduce some of the global inequities in managing type 2 diabetes and obesity. It should be easier (and cheaper) to mass-produce and distribute an oral medication, compared with an injectable one.

However, it should be noted that, in the United Kingdom, the National Health Service tariff cost of oral semaglutide (at usual doses for type 2 diabetes) remains similar to that of injectable semaglutide (at doses for type 2 diabetes rather than obesity). And notably, the U.K. National Institute for Health and Care Excellence, which decides whether new drugs will be funded on the NHS, has recently delayed its decision on approving tirzepatide, a dual GLP-1 and GIP agonist, for type 2 diabetes, citing the requirement for further evidence for its clinical and cost-effectiveness. This is not uncommon for NICE, and I fully expect tirzepatide to gain NICE approval on resubmission later in 2023.

One solution to contain costs might be a phased approach to the management of obesity, with initial stages using highly efficacious obesity drugs such as tirzepatide, injectable semaglutide, or high-dose oral semaglutide, and then transitioning to lower-efficacy and cheaper obesity drugs for weight maintenance.

On this note, a generic version of liraglutide (a once-daily injectable GLP-1 agonist) will be available during 2024. Moreover, it will be interesting to see the cost of orforglipron, assuming that it is approved, when it becomes commercially available in a few years, given that a nonpeptide agent should be cheaper to produce than a peptide-like semaglutide.

This phased approach is analogous to the treatment of rheumatoid arthritis, where potent targeted biologic therapy is often used early on to achieve remission of rheumatoid arthritis, followed by a switch to a conventional disease-modifying antirheumatic drug for maintenance therapy, for reasons of long-term safety and health economics.

Using this approach for obesity management might help the sustainability of health care systems.

Dr. Fernando is a general practitioner near Edinburgh. He reported receiving speaker fees from Eli Lilly and Novo Nordisk.

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

The advent of subcutaneously injectable glucagonlike peptide–1 (GLP-1) receptor agonists for the management of type 2 diabetes during 2005 was arguably one of the greatest therapeutic advances for the condition since metformin.

I was an early advocate of the class, given its potent glucose-lowering efficacy, secondary benefits of significant weight reduction, and a low risk for hypoglycemia (if not used alongside sulfonylureas or insulin).

During 2016, the first cardiovascular outcomes trial for a GLP-1 agonist, in the form of the LEADER study, was reported. These trials were mandated by the Food and Drug Administration in the aftermath of the rosiglitazone debacle in which the type 2 diabetes drug had its use restricted because of cardiovascular events attributed to it in a meta-analysis. These events weren’t seen in a subsequent trial, and the FDA’s restrictions were later lifted.

LEADER examined the once-daily GLP-1 agonist liraglutide and showed that, in addition to its glucose-lowering effects, liraglutide brought cardiovascular benefits to the table. Moreover, during 2019, the REWIND trial, the cardiovascular outcome trial for once-weekly subcutaneous dulaglutide, revealed the same cardiovascular benefits but also demonstrated a lower incidence of macroalbuminuria, albeit with no significant improvements in hard renal endpoints such as estimated glomerular filtration decline or rates of dialysis.

Despite these compelling benefits, the uptake of GLP-1 agonists has always been slower than that of other compelling agents such as the sodium-glucose cotransporter 2 inhibitors, mainly because the latter are oral drugs, while GLP-1 agonists were initially injectable medications. This difference has proven to be a barrier for patients and clinicians alike.

However, in 2019, oral semaglutide, in doses of 7 mg and 14 mg, was approved by the FDA as the first (and still only) commercially available oral GLP-1 agonist to improve glycemic control in adults with type 2 diabetes. This approval was hailed as a “game changer” at the time. The treatment had no proven cardiovascular benefits, only lack of cardiovascular harm in PIONEER 6. The SOUL cardiovascular outcome trial for oral semaglutide in doses of 7 mg and 14 mg is due to be completed during 2024. But semaglutide certainly had compelling glucose-lowering efficacy and secondary benefits of significant weight loss similar to those of its injectable counterparts.

Cardiovascular benefits of injectable semaglutide for type 2 diabetes were demonstrated in the SUSTAIN-6 trial in 2016, and the U.S. label for Ozempic was amended accordingly in 2020.

Again, I was an early adopter of oral semaglutide, and it has been great for my patients with type 2 diabetes to have the option of a noninjectable GLP-1 agonist. However, it is not without its drawbacks: Oral semaglutide must be taken on an empty stomach, at least 30 minutes before any other food, drink, or medication, and with no more than 120 mL water to maximize absorption and bioavailability.

I am of South Asian origin and have a strong family history of type 2 diabetes. If I develop type 2 diabetes in the future and require treatment escalation to a GLP-1 agonist, I will most likely opt for a weekly injectable, as it would best fit my lifestyle. But having choices of preparation has been a huge advantage in helping my patients best individualize their therapies.

I attended the recent American Diabetes Association congress in San Diego, which had two interesting oral GLP-1 agonist sessions on the program.

The first discussed the efficacy and safety of a new daily oral nonpeptide GLP-1 agonist, orforglipron, for weight reduction in adults with obesity. The phase 2 results were impressive, with clinically significant reductions in weight and cardiometabolic parameters, and a reassuring safety profile similar to that of the injectable GLP-1 agonists.

Notably, because orforglipron is a nonpeptide, it can be taken without any food, water, or medication restrictions. This indeed could turn out to be a real game changer by simplifying the complex administration of oral semaglutide, which no doubt has hampered compliance.

In fact, an Association of British Clinical Diabetologists real-world audit (also presented at the ADA Congress as a poster) of oral semaglutide use for type 2 diabetes found clinically significant hemoglobin A1c and weight reductions, but perhaps less than expected when compared with the clinical trial program, which could be a sign of poor adherence.

A phase 3 trial of orforglipron is underway (ATTAIN-2), exploring its efficacy and safety in adults with obesity or overweight and type 2 diabetes, but it is not due to be completed until 2027.

I also attended the session presenting the results of the OASIS 1 and PIONEER-PLUS trials of higher-dose oral semaglutide.

OASIS 1 explored the efficacy and safety of high-dose oral semaglutide, 50 mg once daily, for the treatment of adults with overweight or obesity without type 2 diabetes. The investigators found clinically significant reductions in body weight of around 15%-17% from baseline, compared with placebo. This result was similar to the weight loss observed in the STEP 1 trial of 2.4 mg weekly subcutaneous injectable semaglutide in adults with obesity (a much lower dose is needed when GLP-1 agonists are given as injectables because the oral forms are not very bioavailable). The side-effect profile was also similar.

PIONEER PLUS explored the efficacy and safety of high-dose oral semaglutide 25 mg and 50 mg in adults with inadequately controlled type 2 diabetes. Patients treated with 50 mg oral semaglutide had around a 2% reduction in A1c and an 8-kg (18-lb) reduction in weight from baseline. It is well known that people with obesity and type 2 diabetes lose less weight than those with obesity alone, so this result was impressive. Again, the safety profile was similar to that of the wider class, with predictably high levels of gastrointestinal side effects.

So, the future appears very bright for oral GLP-1 agonists. I hope that future developments bring the class to an even wider demographic and perhaps reduce some of the global inequities in managing type 2 diabetes and obesity. It should be easier (and cheaper) to mass-produce and distribute an oral medication, compared with an injectable one.

However, it should be noted that, in the United Kingdom, the National Health Service tariff cost of oral semaglutide (at usual doses for type 2 diabetes) remains similar to that of injectable semaglutide (at doses for type 2 diabetes rather than obesity). And notably, the U.K. National Institute for Health and Care Excellence, which decides whether new drugs will be funded on the NHS, has recently delayed its decision on approving tirzepatide, a dual GLP-1 and GIP agonist, for type 2 diabetes, citing the requirement for further evidence for its clinical and cost-effectiveness. This is not uncommon for NICE, and I fully expect tirzepatide to gain NICE approval on resubmission later in 2023.

One solution to contain costs might be a phased approach to the management of obesity, with initial stages using highly efficacious obesity drugs such as tirzepatide, injectable semaglutide, or high-dose oral semaglutide, and then transitioning to lower-efficacy and cheaper obesity drugs for weight maintenance.

On this note, a generic version of liraglutide (a once-daily injectable GLP-1 agonist) will be available during 2024. Moreover, it will be interesting to see the cost of orforglipron, assuming that it is approved, when it becomes commercially available in a few years, given that a nonpeptide agent should be cheaper to produce than a peptide-like semaglutide.

This phased approach is analogous to the treatment of rheumatoid arthritis, where potent targeted biologic therapy is often used early on to achieve remission of rheumatoid arthritis, followed by a switch to a conventional disease-modifying antirheumatic drug for maintenance therapy, for reasons of long-term safety and health economics.

Using this approach for obesity management might help the sustainability of health care systems.

Dr. Fernando is a general practitioner near Edinburgh. He reported receiving speaker fees from Eli Lilly and Novo Nordisk.

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

The advent of subcutaneously injectable glucagonlike peptide–1 (GLP-1) receptor agonists for the management of type 2 diabetes during 2005 was arguably one of the greatest therapeutic advances for the condition since metformin.

I was an early advocate of the class, given its potent glucose-lowering efficacy, secondary benefits of significant weight reduction, and a low risk for hypoglycemia (if not used alongside sulfonylureas or insulin).

During 2016, the first cardiovascular outcomes trial for a GLP-1 agonist, in the form of the LEADER study, was reported. These trials were mandated by the Food and Drug Administration in the aftermath of the rosiglitazone debacle in which the type 2 diabetes drug had its use restricted because of cardiovascular events attributed to it in a meta-analysis. These events weren’t seen in a subsequent trial, and the FDA’s restrictions were later lifted.

LEADER examined the once-daily GLP-1 agonist liraglutide and showed that, in addition to its glucose-lowering effects, liraglutide brought cardiovascular benefits to the table. Moreover, during 2019, the REWIND trial, the cardiovascular outcome trial for once-weekly subcutaneous dulaglutide, revealed the same cardiovascular benefits but also demonstrated a lower incidence of macroalbuminuria, albeit with no significant improvements in hard renal endpoints such as estimated glomerular filtration decline or rates of dialysis.

Despite these compelling benefits, the uptake of GLP-1 agonists has always been slower than that of other compelling agents such as the sodium-glucose cotransporter 2 inhibitors, mainly because the latter are oral drugs, while GLP-1 agonists were initially injectable medications. This difference has proven to be a barrier for patients and clinicians alike.

However, in 2019, oral semaglutide, in doses of 7 mg and 14 mg, was approved by the FDA as the first (and still only) commercially available oral GLP-1 agonist to improve glycemic control in adults with type 2 diabetes. This approval was hailed as a “game changer” at the time. The treatment had no proven cardiovascular benefits, only lack of cardiovascular harm in PIONEER 6. The SOUL cardiovascular outcome trial for oral semaglutide in doses of 7 mg and 14 mg is due to be completed during 2024. But semaglutide certainly had compelling glucose-lowering efficacy and secondary benefits of significant weight loss similar to those of its injectable counterparts.

Cardiovascular benefits of injectable semaglutide for type 2 diabetes were demonstrated in the SUSTAIN-6 trial in 2016, and the U.S. label for Ozempic was amended accordingly in 2020.

Again, I was an early adopter of oral semaglutide, and it has been great for my patients with type 2 diabetes to have the option of a noninjectable GLP-1 agonist. However, it is not without its drawbacks: Oral semaglutide must be taken on an empty stomach, at least 30 minutes before any other food, drink, or medication, and with no more than 120 mL water to maximize absorption and bioavailability.

I am of South Asian origin and have a strong family history of type 2 diabetes. If I develop type 2 diabetes in the future and require treatment escalation to a GLP-1 agonist, I will most likely opt for a weekly injectable, as it would best fit my lifestyle. But having choices of preparation has been a huge advantage in helping my patients best individualize their therapies.

I attended the recent American Diabetes Association congress in San Diego, which had two interesting oral GLP-1 agonist sessions on the program.

The first discussed the efficacy and safety of a new daily oral nonpeptide GLP-1 agonist, orforglipron, for weight reduction in adults with obesity. The phase 2 results were impressive, with clinically significant reductions in weight and cardiometabolic parameters, and a reassuring safety profile similar to that of the injectable GLP-1 agonists.

Notably, because orforglipron is a nonpeptide, it can be taken without any food, water, or medication restrictions. This indeed could turn out to be a real game changer by simplifying the complex administration of oral semaglutide, which no doubt has hampered compliance.

In fact, an Association of British Clinical Diabetologists real-world audit (also presented at the ADA Congress as a poster) of oral semaglutide use for type 2 diabetes found clinically significant hemoglobin A1c and weight reductions, but perhaps less than expected when compared with the clinical trial program, which could be a sign of poor adherence.

A phase 3 trial of orforglipron is underway (ATTAIN-2), exploring its efficacy and safety in adults with obesity or overweight and type 2 diabetes, but it is not due to be completed until 2027.

I also attended the session presenting the results of the OASIS 1 and PIONEER-PLUS trials of higher-dose oral semaglutide.

OASIS 1 explored the efficacy and safety of high-dose oral semaglutide, 50 mg once daily, for the treatment of adults with overweight or obesity without type 2 diabetes. The investigators found clinically significant reductions in body weight of around 15%-17% from baseline, compared with placebo. This result was similar to the weight loss observed in the STEP 1 trial of 2.4 mg weekly subcutaneous injectable semaglutide in adults with obesity (a much lower dose is needed when GLP-1 agonists are given as injectables because the oral forms are not very bioavailable). The side-effect profile was also similar.

PIONEER PLUS explored the efficacy and safety of high-dose oral semaglutide 25 mg and 50 mg in adults with inadequately controlled type 2 diabetes. Patients treated with 50 mg oral semaglutide had around a 2% reduction in A1c and an 8-kg (18-lb) reduction in weight from baseline. It is well known that people with obesity and type 2 diabetes lose less weight than those with obesity alone, so this result was impressive. Again, the safety profile was similar to that of the wider class, with predictably high levels of gastrointestinal side effects.

So, the future appears very bright for oral GLP-1 agonists. I hope that future developments bring the class to an even wider demographic and perhaps reduce some of the global inequities in managing type 2 diabetes and obesity. It should be easier (and cheaper) to mass-produce and distribute an oral medication, compared with an injectable one.

However, it should be noted that, in the United Kingdom, the National Health Service tariff cost of oral semaglutide (at usual doses for type 2 diabetes) remains similar to that of injectable semaglutide (at doses for type 2 diabetes rather than obesity). And notably, the U.K. National Institute for Health and Care Excellence, which decides whether new drugs will be funded on the NHS, has recently delayed its decision on approving tirzepatide, a dual GLP-1 and GIP agonist, for type 2 diabetes, citing the requirement for further evidence for its clinical and cost-effectiveness. This is not uncommon for NICE, and I fully expect tirzepatide to gain NICE approval on resubmission later in 2023.

One solution to contain costs might be a phased approach to the management of obesity, with initial stages using highly efficacious obesity drugs such as tirzepatide, injectable semaglutide, or high-dose oral semaglutide, and then transitioning to lower-efficacy and cheaper obesity drugs for weight maintenance.

On this note, a generic version of liraglutide (a once-daily injectable GLP-1 agonist) will be available during 2024. Moreover, it will be interesting to see the cost of orforglipron, assuming that it is approved, when it becomes commercially available in a few years, given that a nonpeptide agent should be cheaper to produce than a peptide-like semaglutide.

This phased approach is analogous to the treatment of rheumatoid arthritis, where potent targeted biologic therapy is often used early on to achieve remission of rheumatoid arthritis, followed by a switch to a conventional disease-modifying antirheumatic drug for maintenance therapy, for reasons of long-term safety and health economics.

Using this approach for obesity management might help the sustainability of health care systems.

Dr. Fernando is a general practitioner near Edinburgh. He reported receiving speaker fees from Eli Lilly and Novo Nordisk.

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