Hitting a Nerve

STAT News recently ran a series on UnitedHealthcare (UHC) and its growing physician empire. This includes the corporation pressuring its employed physicians to see more patients, work weekends, upcode visits, add in diagnoses that will increase reimbursement, yadda, yadda, yadda.

For legal disclaimer purposes, I’m not saying UHC did any of this, nor am I saying they didn’t. But the series on STAT is worth reading.

Reading the articles brings back memories of the last time I was an employed physician, 24 years ago. I didn’t have people telling me to upcode visits, but I do remember hearing terms such as “dollars per physician per square foot” bandied about concerning my performance. At least back then no one was going to yell at me about a 1-star online review from a disgruntled patient.

After a little over 2 years I’d had enough and went solo.

I have no desire at this point to go back to that. I certainly make a lot less money than my employed counterparts, but I also have time and a degree of peace, which are worth something.

I’m not paying for anyone else’s overhead. I don’t slack off, but at least I know what I’m working for, and where the money is going when I write out a check. I can work my schedule around having to take my dog to the vet, or pick a kid up at the airport, or whatever.

I can spend more time with the patients who need it. Isn’t that part of why I’m here?

Wearing Hawaiian shirts and shorts to the office everyday is also a plus (at least I think so).

It surprises me that more physicians aren’t willing to go into solo or small group practice. The big advantage is freedom, only needing to pay the overhead and your salary, and cover for others when needed.

The downside is financial. Like our hunting and gathering ancestors, you eat what you kill. If there’s a shortfall in cash flow, I’m the one who doesn’t get paid. It’s always good to have a line of credit available to fall back on in a pinch.

I can see why it’s daunting. Coming out of training you have loans to pay off. You may have a young family, and your first mortgage. You sure don’t want to take out another loan to start a private practice. The security of a guaranteed paycheck and no start-up costs is attractive. I was there, too, and I also took the first job I was offered back then.

There’s also the fear of suddenly working without a net for the first time in your career. It’s reassuring to get some added experience while being able to bounce a challenging case off another doctor. (I still do that, too, and always will.)

But no one tells me to upcode visits or add diagnostic codes just to get more money. Patients don’t call in panicked that they have an ICD-10 code for a condition no one told them they had.

At the end of the day I can tell the guy in the mirror that I’m doing my best.

Medicine has changed a lot over time ... but being a doctor hasn’t. The spark that led us all here is still there, somewhere, I hope. Go back and read Neighbor Rosicky by Willa Cather, and The Doctor Stories by William Carlos Williams.

In an age when technology is moving us forward, I think the practice of medicine should move backward, away from McDoctors Inc. A small, even solo, medical practice isn’t incompatible with the shiny toys of 2024 medicine. You can make good patient care happen with both.

Small practice isn’t for the faint of heart. I freely admit that it’s not for everyone.

But I wish more people would see it as a realistic option, and take the road less traveled.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

STAT News recently ran a series on UnitedHealthcare (UHC) and its growing physician empire. This includes the corporation pressuring its employed physicians to see more patients, work weekends, upcode visits, add in diagnoses that will increase reimbursement, yadda, yadda, yadda.

For legal disclaimer purposes, I’m not saying UHC did any of this, nor am I saying they didn’t. But the series on STAT is worth reading.

Reading the articles brings back memories of the last time I was an employed physician, 24 years ago. I didn’t have people telling me to upcode visits, but I do remember hearing terms such as “dollars per physician per square foot” bandied about concerning my performance. At least back then no one was going to yell at me about a 1-star online review from a disgruntled patient.

After a little over 2 years I’d had enough and went solo.

I have no desire at this point to go back to that. I certainly make a lot less money than my employed counterparts, but I also have time and a degree of peace, which are worth something.

I’m not paying for anyone else’s overhead. I don’t slack off, but at least I know what I’m working for, and where the money is going when I write out a check. I can work my schedule around having to take my dog to the vet, or pick a kid up at the airport, or whatever.

I can spend more time with the patients who need it. Isn’t that part of why I’m here?

Wearing Hawaiian shirts and shorts to the office everyday is also a plus (at least I think so).

It surprises me that more physicians aren’t willing to go into solo or small group practice. The big advantage is freedom, only needing to pay the overhead and your salary, and cover for others when needed.

The downside is financial. Like our hunting and gathering ancestors, you eat what you kill. If there’s a shortfall in cash flow, I’m the one who doesn’t get paid. It’s always good to have a line of credit available to fall back on in a pinch.

I can see why it’s daunting. Coming out of training you have loans to pay off. You may have a young family, and your first mortgage. You sure don’t want to take out another loan to start a private practice. The security of a guaranteed paycheck and no start-up costs is attractive. I was there, too, and I also took the first job I was offered back then.

There’s also the fear of suddenly working without a net for the first time in your career. It’s reassuring to get some added experience while being able to bounce a challenging case off another doctor. (I still do that, too, and always will.)

But no one tells me to upcode visits or add diagnostic codes just to get more money. Patients don’t call in panicked that they have an ICD-10 code for a condition no one told them they had.

At the end of the day I can tell the guy in the mirror that I’m doing my best.

Medicine has changed a lot over time ... but being a doctor hasn’t. The spark that led us all here is still there, somewhere, I hope. Go back and read Neighbor Rosicky by Willa Cather, and The Doctor Stories by William Carlos Williams.

In an age when technology is moving us forward, I think the practice of medicine should move backward, away from McDoctors Inc. A small, even solo, medical practice isn’t incompatible with the shiny toys of 2024 medicine. You can make good patient care happen with both.

Small practice isn’t for the faint of heart. I freely admit that it’s not for everyone.

But I wish more people would see it as a realistic option, and take the road less traveled.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

STAT News recently ran a series on UnitedHealthcare (UHC) and its growing physician empire. This includes the corporation pressuring its employed physicians to see more patients, work weekends, upcode visits, add in diagnoses that will increase reimbursement, yadda, yadda, yadda.

For legal disclaimer purposes, I’m not saying UHC did any of this, nor am I saying they didn’t. But the series on STAT is worth reading.

Reading the articles brings back memories of the last time I was an employed physician, 24 years ago. I didn’t have people telling me to upcode visits, but I do remember hearing terms such as “dollars per physician per square foot” bandied about concerning my performance. At least back then no one was going to yell at me about a 1-star online review from a disgruntled patient.

After a little over 2 years I’d had enough and went solo.

I have no desire at this point to go back to that. I certainly make a lot less money than my employed counterparts, but I also have time and a degree of peace, which are worth something.

I’m not paying for anyone else’s overhead. I don’t slack off, but at least I know what I’m working for, and where the money is going when I write out a check. I can work my schedule around having to take my dog to the vet, or pick a kid up at the airport, or whatever.

I can spend more time with the patients who need it. Isn’t that part of why I’m here?

Wearing Hawaiian shirts and shorts to the office everyday is also a plus (at least I think so).

It surprises me that more physicians aren’t willing to go into solo or small group practice. The big advantage is freedom, only needing to pay the overhead and your salary, and cover for others when needed.

The downside is financial. Like our hunting and gathering ancestors, you eat what you kill. If there’s a shortfall in cash flow, I’m the one who doesn’t get paid. It’s always good to have a line of credit available to fall back on in a pinch.

I can see why it’s daunting. Coming out of training you have loans to pay off. You may have a young family, and your first mortgage. You sure don’t want to take out another loan to start a private practice. The security of a guaranteed paycheck and no start-up costs is attractive. I was there, too, and I also took the first job I was offered back then.

There’s also the fear of suddenly working without a net for the first time in your career. It’s reassuring to get some added experience while being able to bounce a challenging case off another doctor. (I still do that, too, and always will.)

But no one tells me to upcode visits or add diagnostic codes just to get more money. Patients don’t call in panicked that they have an ICD-10 code for a condition no one told them they had.

At the end of the day I can tell the guy in the mirror that I’m doing my best.

Medicine has changed a lot over time ... but being a doctor hasn’t. The spark that led us all here is still there, somewhere, I hope. Go back and read Neighbor Rosicky by Willa Cather, and The Doctor Stories by William Carlos Williams.

In an age when technology is moving us forward, I think the practice of medicine should move backward, away from McDoctors Inc. A small, even solo, medical practice isn’t incompatible with the shiny toys of 2024 medicine. You can make good patient care happen with both.

Small practice isn’t for the faint of heart. I freely admit that it’s not for everyone.

But I wish more people would see it as a realistic option, and take the road less traveled.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Like millions of other modern humans, my daughter and I stood in the backyard recently and watched comet C/2023 A3 (Tsuchinshan–ATLAS) with binoculars. It took a few minutes to locate, but once you see it is unmistakable.

It’s got a long (at least in human terms) orbit, roughly 80,000 years. So what was going on here, on our pale blue dot, the last time it graced our skies?

Well, here in Phoenix, the people were ... not here. Nor were they in Arizona, or North America, or pretty much the entire Western Hemisphere.

In fact, Homo sapiens were confined to Africa. The hardier Neanderthals had successfully moved into Eurasia, but our lineage was just starting to migrate there. There’s some evidence that we numbered maybe 10,000-15,000 at that point. Far more people saw the comet that night in the United States than our entire population count last time it swung by.

But we were moving up in the world. Our ancestors at the time had developed the first forms of jewelry, using seashells. There’s evidence that we’d learned to trade with other, distant, communities. We were using spears to put dinner on the table with less risk to ourselves than clubs posed.

And, in what’s now Kenya, in the same time frame, a pair of grieving parents carefully buried their 3-year-old child, wrapped in a covering and gently placed on a pillow.

Sadly, this isn’t a scene we’re unfamiliar with. Possibly the most famous painting of a physician is “The Doctor” (1891) by Luke Fildes, showing a physician trying to treat a seriously ill child while the parents look on helplessly.

Tate, London 2017

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Like millions of other modern humans, my daughter and I stood in the backyard recently and watched comet C/2023 A3 (Tsuchinshan–ATLAS) with binoculars. It took a few minutes to locate, but once you see it is unmistakable.

It’s got a long (at least in human terms) orbit, roughly 80,000 years. So what was going on here, on our pale blue dot, the last time it graced our skies?

Well, here in Phoenix, the people were ... not here. Nor were they in Arizona, or North America, or pretty much the entire Western Hemisphere.

In fact, Homo sapiens were confined to Africa. The hardier Neanderthals had successfully moved into Eurasia, but our lineage was just starting to migrate there. There’s some evidence that we numbered maybe 10,000-15,000 at that point. Far more people saw the comet that night in the United States than our entire population count last time it swung by.

But we were moving up in the world. Our ancestors at the time had developed the first forms of jewelry, using seashells. There’s evidence that we’d learned to trade with other, distant, communities. We were using spears to put dinner on the table with less risk to ourselves than clubs posed.

And, in what’s now Kenya, in the same time frame, a pair of grieving parents carefully buried their 3-year-old child, wrapped in a covering and gently placed on a pillow.

Sadly, this isn’t a scene we’re unfamiliar with. Possibly the most famous painting of a physician is “The Doctor” (1891) by Luke Fildes, showing a physician trying to treat a seriously ill child while the parents look on helplessly.

Tate, London 2017

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Like millions of other modern humans, my daughter and I stood in the backyard recently and watched comet C/2023 A3 (Tsuchinshan–ATLAS) with binoculars. It took a few minutes to locate, but once you see it is unmistakable.

It’s got a long (at least in human terms) orbit, roughly 80,000 years. So what was going on here, on our pale blue dot, the last time it graced our skies?

Well, here in Phoenix, the people were ... not here. Nor were they in Arizona, or North America, or pretty much the entire Western Hemisphere.

In fact, Homo sapiens were confined to Africa. The hardier Neanderthals had successfully moved into Eurasia, but our lineage was just starting to migrate there. There’s some evidence that we numbered maybe 10,000-15,000 at that point. Far more people saw the comet that night in the United States than our entire population count last time it swung by.

But we were moving up in the world. Our ancestors at the time had developed the first forms of jewelry, using seashells. There’s evidence that we’d learned to trade with other, distant, communities. We were using spears to put dinner on the table with less risk to ourselves than clubs posed.

And, in what’s now Kenya, in the same time frame, a pair of grieving parents carefully buried their 3-year-old child, wrapped in a covering and gently placed on a pillow.

Sadly, this isn’t a scene we’re unfamiliar with. Possibly the most famous painting of a physician is “The Doctor” (1891) by Luke Fildes, showing a physician trying to treat a seriously ill child while the parents look on helplessly.

Tate, London 2017

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

MOA — Mechanism of action — gets bandied about a lot.

Drug reps love it. Saying your product is a “first-in-class MOA” sounds great as they hand you a glossy brochure. It also features prominently in print ads, usually with pics of smiling people.

It’s a good thing to know, too, both medically and in a cool-science-geeky way. We want to understand what we’re prescribing will do to patients. We want to explain it to them, too.

It certainly helps to know that what we’re doing when treating a disorder using rational polypharmacy.

But at the same time we face the realization that it may not mean as much as we think it should. I don’t have to go back very far in my career to find Food and Drug Administration–approved medications that worked, but we didn’t have a clear reason why. I mean, we had a vague idea on a scientific basis, but we’re still guessing.

This didn’t stop us from using them, which is nothing new. The ancients had learned certain plants reduced pain and fever long before they understood what aspirin (and its MOA) was.

At the same time we’re now using drugs, such as the anti-amyloid treatments for Alzheimer’s disease, that should be more effective than one would think. Pulling the damaged molecules out of the brain should, on paper, make a dramatic difference ... but it doesn’t. I’m not saying they don’t have some benefit, but certainly not as much as you’d think. Of course, that’s based on our understanding of the disease mechanism being correct. We find there’s a lot more going on than we know.

Like so much in science (and this aspect of medicine is a science) the answers often lead to more questions.

Observation takes the lead over understanding in most things. Our ancestors knew what fire was, and how to use it, without any idea of what rapid exothermic oxidation was. (Admittedly, I have a degree in chemistry and can’t explain it myself anymore.)

The glossy ads and scientific data about MOA doesn’t mean much in my world if they don’t work. I’d rather have a drug that works, even if the MOA isn’t clear, than a known MOA without clinical benefit. My patients would say the same.

Clinical medicine, after all, is both an art and a science.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

MOA — Mechanism of action — gets bandied about a lot.

Drug reps love it. Saying your product is a “first-in-class MOA” sounds great as they hand you a glossy brochure. It also features prominently in print ads, usually with pics of smiling people.

It’s a good thing to know, too, both medically and in a cool-science-geeky way. We want to understand what we’re prescribing will do to patients. We want to explain it to them, too.

It certainly helps to know that what we’re doing when treating a disorder using rational polypharmacy.

But at the same time we face the realization that it may not mean as much as we think it should. I don’t have to go back very far in my career to find Food and Drug Administration–approved medications that worked, but we didn’t have a clear reason why. I mean, we had a vague idea on a scientific basis, but we’re still guessing.

This didn’t stop us from using them, which is nothing new. The ancients had learned certain plants reduced pain and fever long before they understood what aspirin (and its MOA) was.

At the same time we’re now using drugs, such as the anti-amyloid treatments for Alzheimer’s disease, that should be more effective than one would think. Pulling the damaged molecules out of the brain should, on paper, make a dramatic difference ... but it doesn’t. I’m not saying they don’t have some benefit, but certainly not as much as you’d think. Of course, that’s based on our understanding of the disease mechanism being correct. We find there’s a lot more going on than we know.

Like so much in science (and this aspect of medicine is a science) the answers often lead to more questions.

Observation takes the lead over understanding in most things. Our ancestors knew what fire was, and how to use it, without any idea of what rapid exothermic oxidation was. (Admittedly, I have a degree in chemistry and can’t explain it myself anymore.)

The glossy ads and scientific data about MOA doesn’t mean much in my world if they don’t work. I’d rather have a drug that works, even if the MOA isn’t clear, than a known MOA without clinical benefit. My patients would say the same.

Clinical medicine, after all, is both an art and a science.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

MOA — Mechanism of action — gets bandied about a lot.

Drug reps love it. Saying your product is a “first-in-class MOA” sounds great as they hand you a glossy brochure. It also features prominently in print ads, usually with pics of smiling people.

It’s a good thing to know, too, both medically and in a cool-science-geeky way. We want to understand what we’re prescribing will do to patients. We want to explain it to them, too.

It certainly helps to know that what we’re doing when treating a disorder using rational polypharmacy.

But at the same time we face the realization that it may not mean as much as we think it should. I don’t have to go back very far in my career to find Food and Drug Administration–approved medications that worked, but we didn’t have a clear reason why. I mean, we had a vague idea on a scientific basis, but we’re still guessing.

This didn’t stop us from using them, which is nothing new. The ancients had learned certain plants reduced pain and fever long before they understood what aspirin (and its MOA) was.

At the same time we’re now using drugs, such as the anti-amyloid treatments for Alzheimer’s disease, that should be more effective than one would think. Pulling the damaged molecules out of the brain should, on paper, make a dramatic difference ... but it doesn’t. I’m not saying they don’t have some benefit, but certainly not as much as you’d think. Of course, that’s based on our understanding of the disease mechanism being correct. We find there’s a lot more going on than we know.

Like so much in science (and this aspect of medicine is a science) the answers often lead to more questions.

Observation takes the lead over understanding in most things. Our ancestors knew what fire was, and how to use it, without any idea of what rapid exothermic oxidation was. (Admittedly, I have a degree in chemistry and can’t explain it myself anymore.)

The glossy ads and scientific data about MOA doesn’t mean much in my world if they don’t work. I’d rather have a drug that works, even if the MOA isn’t clear, than a known MOA without clinical benefit. My patients would say the same.

Clinical medicine, after all, is both an art and a science.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Hidden behind all of the new drugs and breakthroughs reported at the 2024 ECTRIMS meetings was one paper that caught my attention.

It was that, after several years of study, simvastatin had no benefit for multiple sclerosis.

Statins for MS (and for Alzheimer’s disease) have been bandied about for some time, with arguments based on theoretical ideas, and small studies, that they’d have a beneficial effect on the disease – maybe from anti-inflammatory and other properties. In addition, they offered the benefit of being widely available and comparatively inexpensive.

Because of those studies, 15-20 years ago I used them off label for MS in a handful of patients – sometimes as an adjunct to their current treatment (limited at that point to interferons and Copaxone), or in patients who couldn’t afford the FDA-approved drugs. Although not without their drawbacks, the statins are relatively well understood and tolerated.

At some point, for reasons I’ve long forgotten, they all came off of them (at least for MS purposes). Maybe for side effects, or lack of benefit, or because new medications, with much clearer efficacies, were rolling out.

Now it seems pretty clear that statins don’t work for MS.

So was it a bad idea to try? No. Without asking questions we don’t find answers. If they’d worked out it would have been great, another tool on the neurology workbench to reach for in the right situation. It might also have led us to new avenues in MS treatment.

But it didn’t, and that’s fine. Although they don’t get the attention, we learn as much (sometimes more) from negative studies as we do from positive ones. If we put people on every drug that initially showed promise for their conditions, my patients would have a pretty huge medication list. For Alzheimer’s disease alone I remember studies that once suggested ibuprofen, statins, estrogen, nicotine, and several vitamins might be effective (“might” being the key word). Today we’re looking at the PDE5 inhibitors and semaglutide. The jury is still out on them, but whichever way it goes we’ll still learn something.

The statins are good drugs. Their benefits in cardiac and cerebrovascular disease can’t be disputed (I’m sure someone would, but that’s not the point of this piece). But, like all drugs, they don’t work for everything.

Just like other sciences, everything we do now in medicine is based on both the successes and failures of what came before. We learn from both and keep moving forward.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Hidden behind all of the new drugs and breakthroughs reported at the 2024 ECTRIMS meetings was one paper that caught my attention.

It was that, after several years of study, simvastatin had no benefit for multiple sclerosis.

Statins for MS (and for Alzheimer’s disease) have been bandied about for some time, with arguments based on theoretical ideas, and small studies, that they’d have a beneficial effect on the disease – maybe from anti-inflammatory and other properties. In addition, they offered the benefit of being widely available and comparatively inexpensive.

Because of those studies, 15-20 years ago I used them off label for MS in a handful of patients – sometimes as an adjunct to their current treatment (limited at that point to interferons and Copaxone), or in patients who couldn’t afford the FDA-approved drugs. Although not without their drawbacks, the statins are relatively well understood and tolerated.

At some point, for reasons I’ve long forgotten, they all came off of them (at least for MS purposes). Maybe for side effects, or lack of benefit, or because new medications, with much clearer efficacies, were rolling out.

Now it seems pretty clear that statins don’t work for MS.

So was it a bad idea to try? No. Without asking questions we don’t find answers. If they’d worked out it would have been great, another tool on the neurology workbench to reach for in the right situation. It might also have led us to new avenues in MS treatment.

But it didn’t, and that’s fine. Although they don’t get the attention, we learn as much (sometimes more) from negative studies as we do from positive ones. If we put people on every drug that initially showed promise for their conditions, my patients would have a pretty huge medication list. For Alzheimer’s disease alone I remember studies that once suggested ibuprofen, statins, estrogen, nicotine, and several vitamins might be effective (“might” being the key word). Today we’re looking at the PDE5 inhibitors and semaglutide. The jury is still out on them, but whichever way it goes we’ll still learn something.

The statins are good drugs. Their benefits in cardiac and cerebrovascular disease can’t be disputed (I’m sure someone would, but that’s not the point of this piece). But, like all drugs, they don’t work for everything.

Just like other sciences, everything we do now in medicine is based on both the successes and failures of what came before. We learn from both and keep moving forward.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Hidden behind all of the new drugs and breakthroughs reported at the 2024 ECTRIMS meetings was one paper that caught my attention.

It was that, after several years of study, simvastatin had no benefit for multiple sclerosis.

Statins for MS (and for Alzheimer’s disease) have been bandied about for some time, with arguments based on theoretical ideas, and small studies, that they’d have a beneficial effect on the disease – maybe from anti-inflammatory and other properties. In addition, they offered the benefit of being widely available and comparatively inexpensive.

Because of those studies, 15-20 years ago I used them off label for MS in a handful of patients – sometimes as an adjunct to their current treatment (limited at that point to interferons and Copaxone), or in patients who couldn’t afford the FDA-approved drugs. Although not without their drawbacks, the statins are relatively well understood and tolerated.

At some point, for reasons I’ve long forgotten, they all came off of them (at least for MS purposes). Maybe for side effects, or lack of benefit, or because new medications, with much clearer efficacies, were rolling out.

Now it seems pretty clear that statins don’t work for MS.

So was it a bad idea to try? No. Without asking questions we don’t find answers. If they’d worked out it would have been great, another tool on the neurology workbench to reach for in the right situation. It might also have led us to new avenues in MS treatment.

But it didn’t, and that’s fine. Although they don’t get the attention, we learn as much (sometimes more) from negative studies as we do from positive ones. If we put people on every drug that initially showed promise for their conditions, my patients would have a pretty huge medication list. For Alzheimer’s disease alone I remember studies that once suggested ibuprofen, statins, estrogen, nicotine, and several vitamins might be effective (“might” being the key word). Today we’re looking at the PDE5 inhibitors and semaglutide. The jury is still out on them, but whichever way it goes we’ll still learn something.

The statins are good drugs. Their benefits in cardiac and cerebrovascular disease can’t be disputed (I’m sure someone would, but that’s not the point of this piece). But, like all drugs, they don’t work for everything.

Just like other sciences, everything we do now in medicine is based on both the successes and failures of what came before. We learn from both and keep moving forward.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

“Here’s my records.”

I hear that a lot, usually in the context of a patient handing me a flash drive or (less commonly) trying to plug it into my computer. (I have the USB ports turned toward me to keep that from happening.)

Uh, no.

I love flash drives. They definitely make data transfer easy, compared with the CDs, ZIPs, JAZZ, floppies, paper, and punch cards of past years (I should also, as a childhood TRS-80 user, include cassette tapes).

At this point an encrypted flash drive is pretty much the entire briefcase I carry back and forth to work each day.

But there is no patient I trust enough to plug in one they handed me.

I’m sure most, if not all, are well meaning. But look at how many large corporations have been damaged by someone slipping in a flash drive with a malicious program somewhere in their network. Once in, it’s almost impossible to get out, and can spread quickly.

Even if the patient is benign, I have no idea who formatted the gadget, or put the records on. It could be a relative, or friend, with other motives. It could even be a random flash drive and they don’t even know what else is on it.

My desktop is my chart system. I have to protect the data of all my patients, so I exercise caution about what emails I open and what I plug into it. Even the person offering me the flash drive wants the info guarded.

So I don’t, as a rule, plug in anything a patient hands me. All it takes is one malicious file to compromise it all. Yeah, I pay for software to watch for that sort of thing, but you still can’t be too careful.

This is where paper still shines. It’s readable and it’s transportable (at least for small things like an MRI report and lab results). I can scan it into a PDF without risking any damage to my computer. And it definitely shouldn’t be plugged into a USB drive unless you’re trying to start a fire.

Of course, paper isn’t secure, either. If you have it piled up everywhere it’s pretty easy for an unsupervised person to walk off with it. That actually happened to a doctor I shared space with 20 years ago, albeit unintentionally. A patient had brought in a bunch of his records in a folder and set them down on the counter. When he left he grabbed another patient’s chart by mistake and didn’t realize it until the next day. Fortunately he returned them promptly, and there were no issues. But it had the potential to be worse.

Today my charts on roughly 20,000 patients can all fit on a gadget the size of my thumb instead of a multi-room shelving system and storage closet. That’s pretty cool, actually. But it also opens other vulnerabilities.

It ticks some patients off that I won’t plug in their flash drives, but I don’t care. Most of them understand when I explain it, because it’s to protect them, too.

The odds are that they don’t mean any harm, but I can’t take that chance.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

“Here’s my records.”

I hear that a lot, usually in the context of a patient handing me a flash drive or (less commonly) trying to plug it into my computer. (I have the USB ports turned toward me to keep that from happening.)

Uh, no.

I love flash drives. They definitely make data transfer easy, compared with the CDs, ZIPs, JAZZ, floppies, paper, and punch cards of past years (I should also, as a childhood TRS-80 user, include cassette tapes).

At this point an encrypted flash drive is pretty much the entire briefcase I carry back and forth to work each day.

But there is no patient I trust enough to plug in one they handed me.

I’m sure most, if not all, are well meaning. But look at how many large corporations have been damaged by someone slipping in a flash drive with a malicious program somewhere in their network. Once in, it’s almost impossible to get out, and can spread quickly.

Even if the patient is benign, I have no idea who formatted the gadget, or put the records on. It could be a relative, or friend, with other motives. It could even be a random flash drive and they don’t even know what else is on it.

My desktop is my chart system. I have to protect the data of all my patients, so I exercise caution about what emails I open and what I plug into it. Even the person offering me the flash drive wants the info guarded.

So I don’t, as a rule, plug in anything a patient hands me. All it takes is one malicious file to compromise it all. Yeah, I pay for software to watch for that sort of thing, but you still can’t be too careful.

This is where paper still shines. It’s readable and it’s transportable (at least for small things like an MRI report and lab results). I can scan it into a PDF without risking any damage to my computer. And it definitely shouldn’t be plugged into a USB drive unless you’re trying to start a fire.

Of course, paper isn’t secure, either. If you have it piled up everywhere it’s pretty easy for an unsupervised person to walk off with it. That actually happened to a doctor I shared space with 20 years ago, albeit unintentionally. A patient had brought in a bunch of his records in a folder and set them down on the counter. When he left he grabbed another patient’s chart by mistake and didn’t realize it until the next day. Fortunately he returned them promptly, and there were no issues. But it had the potential to be worse.

Today my charts on roughly 20,000 patients can all fit on a gadget the size of my thumb instead of a multi-room shelving system and storage closet. That’s pretty cool, actually. But it also opens other vulnerabilities.

It ticks some patients off that I won’t plug in their flash drives, but I don’t care. Most of them understand when I explain it, because it’s to protect them, too.

The odds are that they don’t mean any harm, but I can’t take that chance.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

“Here’s my records.”

I hear that a lot, usually in the context of a patient handing me a flash drive or (less commonly) trying to plug it into my computer. (I have the USB ports turned toward me to keep that from happening.)

Uh, no.

I love flash drives. They definitely make data transfer easy, compared with the CDs, ZIPs, JAZZ, floppies, paper, and punch cards of past years (I should also, as a childhood TRS-80 user, include cassette tapes).

At this point an encrypted flash drive is pretty much the entire briefcase I carry back and forth to work each day.

But there is no patient I trust enough to plug in one they handed me.

I’m sure most, if not all, are well meaning. But look at how many large corporations have been damaged by someone slipping in a flash drive with a malicious program somewhere in their network. Once in, it’s almost impossible to get out, and can spread quickly.

Even if the patient is benign, I have no idea who formatted the gadget, or put the records on. It could be a relative, or friend, with other motives. It could even be a random flash drive and they don’t even know what else is on it.

My desktop is my chart system. I have to protect the data of all my patients, so I exercise caution about what emails I open and what I plug into it. Even the person offering me the flash drive wants the info guarded.

So I don’t, as a rule, plug in anything a patient hands me. All it takes is one malicious file to compromise it all. Yeah, I pay for software to watch for that sort of thing, but you still can’t be too careful.

This is where paper still shines. It’s readable and it’s transportable (at least for small things like an MRI report and lab results). I can scan it into a PDF without risking any damage to my computer. And it definitely shouldn’t be plugged into a USB drive unless you’re trying to start a fire.

Of course, paper isn’t secure, either. If you have it piled up everywhere it’s pretty easy for an unsupervised person to walk off with it. That actually happened to a doctor I shared space with 20 years ago, albeit unintentionally. A patient had brought in a bunch of his records in a folder and set them down on the counter. When he left he grabbed another patient’s chart by mistake and didn’t realize it until the next day. Fortunately he returned them promptly, and there were no issues. But it had the potential to be worse.

Today my charts on roughly 20,000 patients can all fit on a gadget the size of my thumb instead of a multi-room shelving system and storage closet. That’s pretty cool, actually. But it also opens other vulnerabilities.

It ticks some patients off that I won’t plug in their flash drives, but I don’t care. Most of them understand when I explain it, because it’s to protect them, too.

The odds are that they don’t mean any harm, but I can’t take that chance.

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Dr. Jones and Dr. Joans are neurologists in town. I don’t know either one particularly well.

I don’t know their backstory, either, but they seem to have some intense competition going on.

Technically all of us neuros in the area compete with each other, but it’s pretty friendly. There are plenty of patients, and we all get along on the occasions we run into each other at the hospital or Costco or a meeting. Occasionally we call to bounce a case off each other. None of us advertise.

But Jones and Joans have kicked it up a notch. One got an EEG machine, the other got an EEG machine. A few weeks later one got a balance testing gadget, then the other got the same thing. One invested in all kinds of fancy devices to detect concussions, and shortly afterward so did the other one. Within a few months each bought their own Doppler equipment and hired an ultrasound tech. One took out a glossy ad in a local magazine, the next month so had the other. Both point out that they’ve been named on different “best doctor” lists. I assume it’s only a matter of time before each invests in their own MRI.

This kind of thing requires a lot of money to support, so both have jumped into the world of medical liens and hired NPs and PAs to increase patient volume.

I’m sure they both make more money than I ever will, and they can have it.

I don’t need that kind of complexity in my life. I have my own EMG/NCV machine, and beyond that I send all the testing (and complicated EMG/NCVs) to other facilities. I don’t want to figure out how to make payments on all those new gadgets, or hire staff to run them, or learn all the new codes I’d need (I do all my own coding, anyway), or decide if the advertising will pay for itself, or deal with liens.

I’m not even sure I want to be that busy. Obviously, I don’t want to be empty, but I also like having some degree of sanity. Time to review tests, type up notes, return calls ... all the things you have to do on the fly between patients, because if you don’t get them done at the office then you have to do them when you get home. Believe me, I already have enough going on there.

I have no desire to advertise that I’m the best neurologist in town (though I believe I’m the best in my building, since there isn’t another one) or to be the busiest, or to be involved in a game of one-upmanship with the nice group down the street.

If Drs. Jones and Joans want to do that, fine. More power to them.

For me, I’ve chosen simplicity in my practice, and prefer it. Like everyone else I want to earn a living, but I also want to to enjoy my job, and non-job, time as best possible.

I’m willing to trade that for money.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Dr. Jones and Dr. Joans are neurologists in town. I don’t know either one particularly well.

I don’t know their backstory, either, but they seem to have some intense competition going on.

Technically all of us neuros in the area compete with each other, but it’s pretty friendly. There are plenty of patients, and we all get along on the occasions we run into each other at the hospital or Costco or a meeting. Occasionally we call to bounce a case off each other. None of us advertise.

But Jones and Joans have kicked it up a notch. One got an EEG machine, the other got an EEG machine. A few weeks later one got a balance testing gadget, then the other got the same thing. One invested in all kinds of fancy devices to detect concussions, and shortly afterward so did the other one. Within a few months each bought their own Doppler equipment and hired an ultrasound tech. One took out a glossy ad in a local magazine, the next month so had the other. Both point out that they’ve been named on different “best doctor” lists. I assume it’s only a matter of time before each invests in their own MRI.

This kind of thing requires a lot of money to support, so both have jumped into the world of medical liens and hired NPs and PAs to increase patient volume.

I’m sure they both make more money than I ever will, and they can have it.

I don’t need that kind of complexity in my life. I have my own EMG/NCV machine, and beyond that I send all the testing (and complicated EMG/NCVs) to other facilities. I don’t want to figure out how to make payments on all those new gadgets, or hire staff to run them, or learn all the new codes I’d need (I do all my own coding, anyway), or decide if the advertising will pay for itself, or deal with liens.

I’m not even sure I want to be that busy. Obviously, I don’t want to be empty, but I also like having some degree of sanity. Time to review tests, type up notes, return calls ... all the things you have to do on the fly between patients, because if you don’t get them done at the office then you have to do them when you get home. Believe me, I already have enough going on there.

I have no desire to advertise that I’m the best neurologist in town (though I believe I’m the best in my building, since there isn’t another one) or to be the busiest, or to be involved in a game of one-upmanship with the nice group down the street.

If Drs. Jones and Joans want to do that, fine. More power to them.

For me, I’ve chosen simplicity in my practice, and prefer it. Like everyone else I want to earn a living, but I also want to to enjoy my job, and non-job, time as best possible.

I’m willing to trade that for money.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Dr. Jones and Dr. Joans are neurologists in town. I don’t know either one particularly well.

I don’t know their backstory, either, but they seem to have some intense competition going on.

Technically all of us neuros in the area compete with each other, but it’s pretty friendly. There are plenty of patients, and we all get along on the occasions we run into each other at the hospital or Costco or a meeting. Occasionally we call to bounce a case off each other. None of us advertise.

But Jones and Joans have kicked it up a notch. One got an EEG machine, the other got an EEG machine. A few weeks later one got a balance testing gadget, then the other got the same thing. One invested in all kinds of fancy devices to detect concussions, and shortly afterward so did the other one. Within a few months each bought their own Doppler equipment and hired an ultrasound tech. One took out a glossy ad in a local magazine, the next month so had the other. Both point out that they’ve been named on different “best doctor” lists. I assume it’s only a matter of time before each invests in their own MRI.

This kind of thing requires a lot of money to support, so both have jumped into the world of medical liens and hired NPs and PAs to increase patient volume.

I’m sure they both make more money than I ever will, and they can have it.

I don’t need that kind of complexity in my life. I have my own EMG/NCV machine, and beyond that I send all the testing (and complicated EMG/NCVs) to other facilities. I don’t want to figure out how to make payments on all those new gadgets, or hire staff to run them, or learn all the new codes I’d need (I do all my own coding, anyway), or decide if the advertising will pay for itself, or deal with liens.

I’m not even sure I want to be that busy. Obviously, I don’t want to be empty, but I also like having some degree of sanity. Time to review tests, type up notes, return calls ... all the things you have to do on the fly between patients, because if you don’t get them done at the office then you have to do them when you get home. Believe me, I already have enough going on there.

I have no desire to advertise that I’m the best neurologist in town (though I believe I’m the best in my building, since there isn’t another one) or to be the busiest, or to be involved in a game of one-upmanship with the nice group down the street.

If Drs. Jones and Joans want to do that, fine. More power to them.

For me, I’ve chosen simplicity in my practice, and prefer it. Like everyone else I want to earn a living, but I also want to to enjoy my job, and non-job, time as best possible.

I’m willing to trade that for money.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Outside of caffeine, I have very few addictions. One of them is “Midnight Diner.”

“Midnight Diner” is a quirky, sometimes funny, sometimes bittersweet, Japanese series on Netflix. It’s about a small diner in Tokyo, open only in the wee hours of the morning, its enigmatic owner/cook, and the eclectic patrons that come and go. Each is seeking a dish that means something to them.

One episode (spoiler alert, in case you’re planning to watch it) deals with the regulars realizing a fellow who frequently comes in and orders potato salad is secretly Japan’s most famous porn actor, Erect Oki. This revelation garners him the respect, awe, and envy of the other male patrons, though Mr. Oki would rather be left to his potato salad.

The jokes are there ... but as things develop, we learn he has the potato salad because it reminds him of his mother’s potato salad — and that he’s been cut off from his family for more than 20 years because of his career path. The potato salad is all he has left.

While preparing for a shoot, he learns his mother has Alzheimer’s disease, and immediately returns home. As they sit talking on the patio of a care center, she tells him about her son, who lives in Tokyo, and loves her potato salad. The show doesn’t make it clear if she ever remembers who he is.

In the darkening hallways of her mind, she asks his sister for help in making potato salad for her visitor. It’s too salty, though whether this is from the ingredients or his tears is also never stated.

The episode is a poignant reminder of how Alzheimer’s disease is a worldwide human problem. Not American. Not western. Not restricted by race, or ethnicity, or continent. It effects us all as a species, as families, and as individuals. No matter what our jobs or backgrounds are.

For those of us on this side of the desk, it’s a reminder that effective treatments for Alzheimer’s disease are still not available. Yes, we have all kinds of new toys, but from a practical viewpoint it’s hard to say that we’ve made any major advances. I’m sure my drug reps will disagree with me, and I’m not saying any of the treatments of the last 28 years are worthless, but even now we’re still far from a cure, or even something that stops progression.

That’s not from lack of trying, either.

For all the jokes about his job, Mr. Oki is no different from any other children trying to hold onto their parents as the disease slowly takes them away.

I hope we have real answers, soon.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Outside of caffeine, I have very few addictions. One of them is “Midnight Diner.”

“Midnight Diner” is a quirky, sometimes funny, sometimes bittersweet, Japanese series on Netflix. It’s about a small diner in Tokyo, open only in the wee hours of the morning, its enigmatic owner/cook, and the eclectic patrons that come and go. Each is seeking a dish that means something to them.

One episode (spoiler alert, in case you’re planning to watch it) deals with the regulars realizing a fellow who frequently comes in and orders potato salad is secretly Japan’s most famous porn actor, Erect Oki. This revelation garners him the respect, awe, and envy of the other male patrons, though Mr. Oki would rather be left to his potato salad.

The jokes are there ... but as things develop, we learn he has the potato salad because it reminds him of his mother’s potato salad — and that he’s been cut off from his family for more than 20 years because of his career path. The potato salad is all he has left.

While preparing for a shoot, he learns his mother has Alzheimer’s disease, and immediately returns home. As they sit talking on the patio of a care center, she tells him about her son, who lives in Tokyo, and loves her potato salad. The show doesn’t make it clear if she ever remembers who he is.

In the darkening hallways of her mind, she asks his sister for help in making potato salad for her visitor. It’s too salty, though whether this is from the ingredients or his tears is also never stated.

The episode is a poignant reminder of how Alzheimer’s disease is a worldwide human problem. Not American. Not western. Not restricted by race, or ethnicity, or continent. It effects us all as a species, as families, and as individuals. No matter what our jobs or backgrounds are.

For those of us on this side of the desk, it’s a reminder that effective treatments for Alzheimer’s disease are still not available. Yes, we have all kinds of new toys, but from a practical viewpoint it’s hard to say that we’ve made any major advances. I’m sure my drug reps will disagree with me, and I’m not saying any of the treatments of the last 28 years are worthless, but even now we’re still far from a cure, or even something that stops progression.

That’s not from lack of trying, either.

For all the jokes about his job, Mr. Oki is no different from any other children trying to hold onto their parents as the disease slowly takes them away.

I hope we have real answers, soon.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Outside of caffeine, I have very few addictions. One of them is “Midnight Diner.”

“Midnight Diner” is a quirky, sometimes funny, sometimes bittersweet, Japanese series on Netflix. It’s about a small diner in Tokyo, open only in the wee hours of the morning, its enigmatic owner/cook, and the eclectic patrons that come and go. Each is seeking a dish that means something to them.

One episode (spoiler alert, in case you’re planning to watch it) deals with the regulars realizing a fellow who frequently comes in and orders potato salad is secretly Japan’s most famous porn actor, Erect Oki. This revelation garners him the respect, awe, and envy of the other male patrons, though Mr. Oki would rather be left to his potato salad.

The jokes are there ... but as things develop, we learn he has the potato salad because it reminds him of his mother’s potato salad — and that he’s been cut off from his family for more than 20 years because of his career path. The potato salad is all he has left.

While preparing for a shoot, he learns his mother has Alzheimer’s disease, and immediately returns home. As they sit talking on the patio of a care center, she tells him about her son, who lives in Tokyo, and loves her potato salad. The show doesn’t make it clear if she ever remembers who he is.

In the darkening hallways of her mind, she asks his sister for help in making potato salad for her visitor. It’s too salty, though whether this is from the ingredients or his tears is also never stated.

The episode is a poignant reminder of how Alzheimer’s disease is a worldwide human problem. Not American. Not western. Not restricted by race, or ethnicity, or continent. It effects us all as a species, as families, and as individuals. No matter what our jobs or backgrounds are.

For those of us on this side of the desk, it’s a reminder that effective treatments for Alzheimer’s disease are still not available. Yes, we have all kinds of new toys, but from a practical viewpoint it’s hard to say that we’ve made any major advances. I’m sure my drug reps will disagree with me, and I’m not saying any of the treatments of the last 28 years are worthless, but even now we’re still far from a cure, or even something that stops progression.

That’s not from lack of trying, either.

For all the jokes about his job, Mr. Oki is no different from any other children trying to hold onto their parents as the disease slowly takes them away.

I hope we have real answers, soon.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Black Friday is coming up. Although it seems (fortunately) to have lost some of its insanity since the pandemic, it’s still a huge shopping day for those who want to spend their day off in hand-to-hand combat at a Walmart. For me it’s a good day not to leave my house at all.

Following Black Friday we have Cyber Monday, where people go online to start buying stuff, presumably using business WiFi when they’re back at work. In spite of the apparent contradiction of having an online shopping day when people are at their jobs, it’s shamelessly promoted by the online retail giants.

Sandwiched between them is the quieter Small Business Saturday, started in 2010 by American Express and since gradually taking hold here and across the pond. The idea is to support the smaller local, perhaps family-owned, stores of varying kinds. Politicians love to talk about small businesses, calling them the backbone of the economy, promising to support them, etc.

I have no issue with that. I agree with it. I try to support my smaller, local places whenever I can. I’m glad AMEX started it, and that it’s taken off.

So why don’t we have a campaign to support small medical practices? Aren’t we small businesses, too? I’m the only doctor at my place, that’s about as small as you can get.

Like other small businesses, I don’t have the resources to advertise, aside from a simple website. At the same time I can’t drive too far without seeing a billboard, or hearing a radio ad, for one of the large local healthcare systems promising better convenience and care than that of their competitors.

I’m certainly not in a position to offer extended or weekend hours — I mean, I could, but I also have my own sanity to keep. But at the same time small practices may know their patients better than Huge Medicine Inc. We don’t have as many patients, and the staff turnover at small places is usually lower.

No one, though, is going to stand up for us, AMEX included (outside of cosmetic services, doctor visit charges are probably a tiny fraction of credit card company charges). Even our own organizations, like the AMA and others, won’t (at least not too much). They might pay lip service to us, but the reality is that most of their members work for large healthcare systems. Those groups probably make some big donations to them, too. So the last thing they want to do is tick them off.

I’m not against large groups. They have capabilities I don’t, like the ability to run research trials and have subspecialists. Even the best of us in solo practice needs someone better to refer to, such as an epileptologist, Parkinsonologist, neuromuscular disease-ologist, When I can’t help a patient any further those are the doctors I turn to, and, believe me, I appreciate them.

But it sometimes seems odd that, in a world where financial companies and public figures often stress their support for small business, those of us in the small medical practice are forgotten.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Black Friday is coming up. Although it seems (fortunately) to have lost some of its insanity since the pandemic, it’s still a huge shopping day for those who want to spend their day off in hand-to-hand combat at a Walmart. For me it’s a good day not to leave my house at all.

Following Black Friday we have Cyber Monday, where people go online to start buying stuff, presumably using business WiFi when they’re back at work. In spite of the apparent contradiction of having an online shopping day when people are at their jobs, it’s shamelessly promoted by the online retail giants.

Sandwiched between them is the quieter Small Business Saturday, started in 2010 by American Express and since gradually taking hold here and across the pond. The idea is to support the smaller local, perhaps family-owned, stores of varying kinds. Politicians love to talk about small businesses, calling them the backbone of the economy, promising to support them, etc.

I have no issue with that. I agree with it. I try to support my smaller, local places whenever I can. I’m glad AMEX started it, and that it’s taken off.

So why don’t we have a campaign to support small medical practices? Aren’t we small businesses, too? I’m the only doctor at my place, that’s about as small as you can get.

Like other small businesses, I don’t have the resources to advertise, aside from a simple website. At the same time I can’t drive too far without seeing a billboard, or hearing a radio ad, for one of the large local healthcare systems promising better convenience and care than that of their competitors.

I’m certainly not in a position to offer extended or weekend hours — I mean, I could, but I also have my own sanity to keep. But at the same time small practices may know their patients better than Huge Medicine Inc. We don’t have as many patients, and the staff turnover at small places is usually lower.

No one, though, is going to stand up for us, AMEX included (outside of cosmetic services, doctor visit charges are probably a tiny fraction of credit card company charges). Even our own organizations, like the AMA and others, won’t (at least not too much). They might pay lip service to us, but the reality is that most of their members work for large healthcare systems. Those groups probably make some big donations to them, too. So the last thing they want to do is tick them off.

I’m not against large groups. They have capabilities I don’t, like the ability to run research trials and have subspecialists. Even the best of us in solo practice needs someone better to refer to, such as an epileptologist, Parkinsonologist, neuromuscular disease-ologist, When I can’t help a patient any further those are the doctors I turn to, and, believe me, I appreciate them.

But it sometimes seems odd that, in a world where financial companies and public figures often stress their support for small business, those of us in the small medical practice are forgotten.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Black Friday is coming up. Although it seems (fortunately) to have lost some of its insanity since the pandemic, it’s still a huge shopping day for those who want to spend their day off in hand-to-hand combat at a Walmart. For me it’s a good day not to leave my house at all.

Following Black Friday we have Cyber Monday, where people go online to start buying stuff, presumably using business WiFi when they’re back at work. In spite of the apparent contradiction of having an online shopping day when people are at their jobs, it’s shamelessly promoted by the online retail giants.

Sandwiched between them is the quieter Small Business Saturday, started in 2010 by American Express and since gradually taking hold here and across the pond. The idea is to support the smaller local, perhaps family-owned, stores of varying kinds. Politicians love to talk about small businesses, calling them the backbone of the economy, promising to support them, etc.

I have no issue with that. I agree with it. I try to support my smaller, local places whenever I can. I’m glad AMEX started it, and that it’s taken off.

So why don’t we have a campaign to support small medical practices? Aren’t we small businesses, too? I’m the only doctor at my place, that’s about as small as you can get.

Like other small businesses, I don’t have the resources to advertise, aside from a simple website. At the same time I can’t drive too far without seeing a billboard, or hearing a radio ad, for one of the large local healthcare systems promising better convenience and care than that of their competitors.

I’m certainly not in a position to offer extended or weekend hours — I mean, I could, but I also have my own sanity to keep. But at the same time small practices may know their patients better than Huge Medicine Inc. We don’t have as many patients, and the staff turnover at small places is usually lower.

No one, though, is going to stand up for us, AMEX included (outside of cosmetic services, doctor visit charges are probably a tiny fraction of credit card company charges). Even our own organizations, like the AMA and others, won’t (at least not too much). They might pay lip service to us, but the reality is that most of their members work for large healthcare systems. Those groups probably make some big donations to them, too. So the last thing they want to do is tick them off.

I’m not against large groups. They have capabilities I don’t, like the ability to run research trials and have subspecialists. Even the best of us in solo practice needs someone better to refer to, such as an epileptologist, Parkinsonologist, neuromuscular disease-ologist, When I can’t help a patient any further those are the doctors I turn to, and, believe me, I appreciate them.

But it sometimes seems odd that, in a world where financial companies and public figures often stress their support for small business, those of us in the small medical practice are forgotten.
 

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Earlier in 2024 the American Headache Society issued a position statement that CGRP (calcitonin gene-related peptide) agents are a first-line option for migraine prevention.

No Shinola, Sherlock.

Any of us working frontline neurology have figured that out, including me. And I was, honestly, pretty skeptical of them when they hit the pharmacy shelves. But these days, to quote The Monkees (and Neil Diamond), “I’m a Believer.”

Unfortunately, things don’t quite work out that way. Just because a drug is clearly successful doesn’t make it practical to use first line. Most insurances won’t even let family doctors prescribe them, so they have to send patients to a neurologist (which I’m not complaining about).

Then me and my neuro-brethren have to jump through hoops because of their cost. One month of any of these drugs costs the same as a few years (or more) of generic Topamax, Nortriptyline, Nadolol, etc. Granted, I shouldn’t complain about that, either. If everyone with migraines was getting them it would drive up insurance premiums across the board — including mine.

So, after patients have tried and failed at least two to four other options (depending on their plan) I can usually get a CGRP covered. This involves filling out some forms online and submitting them ... then waiting.

Even if the drug is approved, and successful, that’s still not the end of the story. Depending on the plan I have to get them reauthorized anywhere from every 3 to 12 months. There’s also the chance that in December I’ll get a letter saying the drug won’t be covered starting January, and to try one of the recommended alternatives, like generic Topamax, Nortriptyline, Nadolol, etc. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Having celebrities like Lady Gaga pushing them doesn’t help. The commercials never mention that getting the medication isn’t as easy as “ask your doctor.” Nor does it point out that Lady Gaga won’t have an issue with a CGRP agent’s price tag of $800-$1000 per month, while most of her fans need that money for rent and groceries.

The guidelines, in essence, are useful, but only apply to a perfect world where drug cost doesn’t matter. We aren’t in one. I’m not knocking the pharmaceutical companies — research and development take A LOT of money, and every drug that comes to market has to pay not only for itself, but for several others that failed. Innovation isn’t cheap.

That doesn’t make it any easier to explain to patients, who see ads, or news blurbs on Facebook, or whatever. I just wish the advertisements would have more transparency about how the pricing works.

After all, regardless of how good an automobile may be, don’t car ads show an MSRP?

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Earlier in 2024 the American Headache Society issued a position statement that CGRP (calcitonin gene-related peptide) agents are a first-line option for migraine prevention.

No Shinola, Sherlock.

Any of us working frontline neurology have figured that out, including me. And I was, honestly, pretty skeptical of them when they hit the pharmacy shelves. But these days, to quote The Monkees (and Neil Diamond), “I’m a Believer.”

Unfortunately, things don’t quite work out that way. Just because a drug is clearly successful doesn’t make it practical to use first line. Most insurances won’t even let family doctors prescribe them, so they have to send patients to a neurologist (which I’m not complaining about).

Then me and my neuro-brethren have to jump through hoops because of their cost. One month of any of these drugs costs the same as a few years (or more) of generic Topamax, Nortriptyline, Nadolol, etc. Granted, I shouldn’t complain about that, either. If everyone with migraines was getting them it would drive up insurance premiums across the board — including mine.

So, after patients have tried and failed at least two to four other options (depending on their plan) I can usually get a CGRP covered. This involves filling out some forms online and submitting them ... then waiting.

Even if the drug is approved, and successful, that’s still not the end of the story. Depending on the plan I have to get them reauthorized anywhere from every 3 to 12 months. There’s also the chance that in December I’ll get a letter saying the drug won’t be covered starting January, and to try one of the recommended alternatives, like generic Topamax, Nortriptyline, Nadolol, etc. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Having celebrities like Lady Gaga pushing them doesn’t help. The commercials never mention that getting the medication isn’t as easy as “ask your doctor.” Nor does it point out that Lady Gaga won’t have an issue with a CGRP agent’s price tag of $800-$1000 per month, while most of her fans need that money for rent and groceries.

The guidelines, in essence, are useful, but only apply to a perfect world where drug cost doesn’t matter. We aren’t in one. I’m not knocking the pharmaceutical companies — research and development take A LOT of money, and every drug that comes to market has to pay not only for itself, but for several others that failed. Innovation isn’t cheap.

That doesn’t make it any easier to explain to patients, who see ads, or news blurbs on Facebook, or whatever. I just wish the advertisements would have more transparency about how the pricing works.

After all, regardless of how good an automobile may be, don’t car ads show an MSRP?

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Earlier in 2024 the American Headache Society issued a position statement that CGRP (calcitonin gene-related peptide) agents are a first-line option for migraine prevention.

No Shinola, Sherlock.

Any of us working frontline neurology have figured that out, including me. And I was, honestly, pretty skeptical of them when they hit the pharmacy shelves. But these days, to quote The Monkees (and Neil Diamond), “I’m a Believer.”

Unfortunately, things don’t quite work out that way. Just because a drug is clearly successful doesn’t make it practical to use first line. Most insurances won’t even let family doctors prescribe them, so they have to send patients to a neurologist (which I’m not complaining about).

Then me and my neuro-brethren have to jump through hoops because of their cost. One month of any of these drugs costs the same as a few years (or more) of generic Topamax, Nortriptyline, Nadolol, etc. Granted, I shouldn’t complain about that, either. If everyone with migraines was getting them it would drive up insurance premiums across the board — including mine.

So, after patients have tried and failed at least two to four other options (depending on their plan) I can usually get a CGRP covered. This involves filling out some forms online and submitting them ... then waiting.

Even if the drug is approved, and successful, that’s still not the end of the story. Depending on the plan I have to get them reauthorized anywhere from every 3 to 12 months. There’s also the chance that in December I’ll get a letter saying the drug won’t be covered starting January, and to try one of the recommended alternatives, like generic Topamax, Nortriptyline, Nadolol, etc. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Having celebrities like Lady Gaga pushing them doesn’t help. The commercials never mention that getting the medication isn’t as easy as “ask your doctor.” Nor does it point out that Lady Gaga won’t have an issue with a CGRP agent’s price tag of $800-$1000 per month, while most of her fans need that money for rent and groceries.

The guidelines, in essence, are useful, but only apply to a perfect world where drug cost doesn’t matter. We aren’t in one. I’m not knocking the pharmaceutical companies — research and development take A LOT of money, and every drug that comes to market has to pay not only for itself, but for several others that failed. Innovation isn’t cheap.

That doesn’t make it any easier to explain to patients, who see ads, or news blurbs on Facebook, or whatever. I just wish the advertisements would have more transparency about how the pricing works.

After all, regardless of how good an automobile may be, don’t car ads show an MSRP?

Dr. Block has a solo neurology practice in Scottsdale, Arizona.